Sitting with the Mothers: Getting to Know an Cailleach

Into the Wise and Wild Embrace of the 'Veiled One'

Nov 17, 2024

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An audio recording is included as an invitation to experience the sacredness held within the voice (and tradition) of oral storytelling. If it resonates, please enjoy at your leisure - maybe curled up with a warm cuppa tea or held within the wild embrace of the magical natural world that surrounds you.

Mo ghrá go léir / All my love,

Erica

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Bones, bones
Hallowed and whole; 
Listen to the earth,
She's calling you home.

Turn from the sun
And bask 'neath her moon;
Knowing that the ancestors
Stand behind and within;
The wisdom that is you.

I’ve always felt that winter is a part of my bones.

I adore the cold.

I love the sanctuary that falls upon the earth with midnight snow.

And I know the soothing peace that comes with leaning into the beauty of her long, dark nights; shadows are nothing to fear under the steady witness of a winter moon.

Within her presence, I feel serenity and stillness in her stark silence.

As Samhain has circled ‘round once more, with the doors to the new year held wide open, I find myself longing for the wintery presence of an Cailleach.

For with her, I find myself loosing the reigns - the ones I often hold too tightly upon myself.

I find myself surrendering into the spaces with my breath.

I find myself leaning into permission for rest.

I find myself coming home.

Coming home to the spirt of imbas [creativity illuminated], under the compassionate Otherworldly guidance of ancestral company. Stories longing to be told. Seeds beckoning to be planted. Words dancing across a gently lit screen, as I weave pearls of the dreams I have for the future.

As winter descends, my body and spirit run towards the wise and wild embrace of Her. For rest, for respite, for replenishment. Aching for the anciently sturdy grounds of Her; where I am lovingly tended to during the sacred darkness of this time of year.

I asked to be shown the energetic resonance that longed to come through this ‘Sitting with the Mothers’ gathering. Of course, I pulled from Jane Brideson’s Wisdom of the Cailleach oracle deck. What solace, peace, and sanctuary are held for us here. *Míle buíochas, Seanmháthair Naofa.*

Sacred Grandmother & Great Mother

Cailleach translates as ‘Veiled One’ in Old Irish. Her name also means divine hag, crone, widow, nun, and most commonly, ‘witch’ in modern Irish.

Jennifer Murphy, The Celtic Creatives: The Cailleach

Bringer of storms, snow, winter and wind; for me personally, an Cailleach is a sacred guide for initiating and illuminating change in my life.

To me, she is Máthair Mhór and Seanmháthair Naofa. Great Mother and Sacred Grandmother.

She stands at the beginning and ending of all things. The wise keeper of the in-between. As real as the land beneath my feet; attentive with each step.

She is both gentle counsel for the tender heart; and the fiercely compassionate, no non-sense, grandmother who will humble you with her harsh truths.

While the term cailleach can be explored in both the earthly and Otherworldly realms; for the purposes of this place in time, I wish to honour her ancient archetypal essence.

In doing so, I’ve gather a few bones of stories, old and new, as glimpse into my path of getting to know Her.

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Let me rest my head at the banks
Of your river;
Let me breathe beside
Your snowy shore;
Let the wind of your wise hands
Comb through the wilderness of my salt-soaked hair.

I am tired.
Mind stalled.
Immovable bones.

The wiles of your landscape
Remind me that is time.
Time to dive within.

Hallowed and whole;
Hallowed and whole;
Heralding your voice.
'It is time to come home.'

To stillness.
To silence.
To the sturdiness of your embrace.

Nourished within the shadows,
Of your earthly soil.

Sanctuary in space,
Sacredly held in place;
Here and now.

As Land Herself

While wandering the pages of The Book of the Cailleach: Stories of the Wise-Woman Healer [by Gearóid Ó Crualaoich], I came across a tale called The Cailleach Bhéarrthach and the cold of May-day Monday.

Set in the mountains of County Mayo, we are introduced to an Cailleach as the old woman known to roam across all of Ireland - in the company of her animal kin.

A local man had heard of her ancient age and set out to ask her knowledge of the coldest day in May - said to have blown through the hills hundreds of years before.

Instead of offering a direct answer, an Cailleach sends him on a journey to seek the knowledge of this day from her animal friends. Along his way he speaks with Eagle, and then Otter, and finally Salmon.

Salmon shares of day where winter blew upon the winds of spring with such might, that as he leapt from the river to catch a fly the water froze instantly, as he landed on thick bed of ice. It was only the blood from his own eye (plucked by a seagull) that saved his life - causing the ice to melt and for him to return to his watery dwelling.

… it is made clear to us that all of Ireland is her domain, through the length and breadth of which she has continually moved with her animals, never staying long in any one place. At evening time, we are told, the animals used to gather together, into one great assembly, ready to relocate the next day in continual and perpetual redispensation of her sacred presence, a presence pulsing throughout her territory as a cosmic vitality in the landscape and in its life forms. 1

To me, this tale speaks to an Cailleach’s primordial essence that’s etched within the landscape of Éire herself.

She is found within all; all at once.

She is all encompassing.

Being a part of the Irish diaspora, this particular tale reminds me: wherever my feet may roam, if I am called to know her majesty, an Cailleach will always be home.

For, she is the bean feasa that sends the man on his journey. She is the wise Eagle. She is the playful Otter. She is the one-eyed Salmon. She is the mountain, the wind, the water, and the weather.

She is the land herself.

**An Cailleach** mural in Drogheda, Ireland. Artist credit: Vera Bugatti.

Saoirse couldn’t find the words to express her gratitude. So instead, she curled up even closer within the wise and wild embrace of an Cailleach. Resting her head on the ancient one’s breast, Saoirse listened to the drumming of the primordial heartbeat - belonging to the land herself.

Excerpt from ‘Stars, Stones, and Shadows: A Heroine’s Tale’. Into the Circle Theatre (2023).

As Otherworldly Spirit

In gathering some of her tales for this piece, I also came across the story of The Cailleach Bhéarthach and the Walker.

In running at the river and clearing it at a jump, carrying her neighbour companion under her arm, the cailleach emerges from her apparent role as human neighbour and enters into her true identity as sovereign landscape figure whose writ runs across rivers and mountains and all other aspects of her territorial domain. She operates, within the landscape of the domain, at a scale and swiftness that is beyond the human, that, literally, leaves the human behind…2

Another journeying tale, this story shares of an Cailleach and a Mayo man walking to Galway together - both with errands and purpose of their own.

Sharing in the joy of each-other’s company, on the way home the man experiences the vastness of an Cailleach’s supernatural scope - from leaping across rivers to receiving a remedy for his earthly body.

The hag goddess, before returning him fully to the human order, counsels him on how to protect himself from the ill-effects of such close involvement with the energies of the otherworld… Butter here is the ‘crock of gold’ that enhances and sustains human life as nourishment, not only for the body but, in narratively creative ways, for the imagination and the life of the spirit too.3

While, it is not long, I feel this tale is rich with invitations.

We see worlds woven together. For me, the physical world and the Otherworld aren’t separate places; but threaded together within the mystical fabric of illusive time.

Within this story, we receive a glimpse into the magic as these worlds collide; witnessing what wondrous possibilities can be uncovered within the simplicity of everyday tasks.

Yes, we are made of earth and spirit, of land and sky; but it’s our physical bodies that root us within our ordinary reality.

While, there is much beauty, inspiration, and illumination that is sacredly held within the Otherworld, I also feel this story reminds us of the gift that we are given by living within physical form. Concluding in a rather sombre tone, while the man heeded an Cailleach’s wise counsel, it is said that the next day the man was found dead - his feet resting at the edge of the hearth, immersed within a cauldron of butter.

Whether intentional or not, to be swept up within the whimsy and wonder of non-ordinary reality can be easily done. Sometimes resting within the Otherworld can feel more comfortable than our earthly dwellings. However, choosing to by-pass or ignore the lessons of our ‘human-ness’, means we’re also choosing to by-passing the fullest of our physical experience.

In a modern context, I feel this story shares with us that healing doesn’t reside in the clouds. It rests in our blood and bones.

The Otherworld will always there; especially when we may need company or counsel in navigating the intricacy of our physical and spiritual selves.

But, at this point in our journey, our physical bodies are our homes.

They are magical and mystical all their own.

As Time Herself

One of my favourite folktale’s shares of a young priest who finds himself at an Cailleach’s forest door; carry with him only one thing, a wondering on his heart: how old is she?

Upon hearing his question, an Cailleach shares that she is as old as the ox bones in her attic. Opening her door to the young priest, she invites him to count his way through to the wisdom of her age.

So, up the ladder he goes. And there he counts. Bone after bone.

Days turn to weeks. Weeks turn to months. Months spiral from one season into the next. For years. Until the priest himself is no longer the young man he once was.

Now, whether he lived to tell the tale himself, or he died of old age, it is said that the priest barely made a dent in the in pile of bones that spilled across her attic floor.

When I rest within the spirit of this tale, it’s as though I can hear the clinking of those hallowed bones. I can hear the priest shuffling about in the dark and dusty attic. I can hear the chortle of an Cailleach, as a smile dances across her face and she shakes her head. For me, there’s a cozy sense of coming home felt within the imagery of those sounds.

I can picture an inviting attic resting above a tiny wooden cabin. From the outside, the ancient one’s home would appear mystical and quaint - tucked within the embrace of a forest-scape. Resting within, one couldn’t imagine an attic being much more than a small crawl space; but, maybe only the priest will ever know of the expansive, liminal space that rested just above that cabin’s door.

As Sacred Initiator

While it may not be obvious at first glance, all of these stories share a common thread.

A journey of soul.

An individual seeking the wisdom, the company, or the answers held within an Cailleach’s wise bones.

So, as we find ourselves at the precipice of her season, the wish upon my heart holds:

May you find rest and solace within the wise and wild embrace of Her winter season.
And may you know, that as you wander amongst the snow,
You are never walking alone.

As told, and inspired by, Erin’s tale The Old Woman in the Snow.

[Experience Erin’s story within the audio recording at the time stamp of 16:08]

Being of Irish and French ancestry, I continue to be reverently grateful to the traditional spirits and keepers of the land [past, present, and forth-coming] of the unceded and unsurrendered territory of the Algonquin Anishinabeg People; where I was born and currently reside.

Culture, language, and stories run within the rivers and are held within the stones of landscapes. Míle buíochas, a thousand thanks, for the opportunity to live, create, share stories, and walk alongside you.

If this is your first experience held within our corner of the Substack realm, I would love for you to continue the journey with us.

Weavings of the Wise & Embodied is also an invitation for us to connect in the circle of shared story. A homecoming of souls around the hearth, held within this sacred liminal space.

Please feel welcome to contribute or share by leaving a comment below. It would be wonderful to hear from you:

How does an Cailleach resonate with you?

Is there a story shared here that resonated most with you? For what reasons?

Do you know another tale of the ‘Veiled One’ you feel called to share?

If you could ask an Cailleach any question about the seasons of life, what would you ask her?