New Beginnings: Part Two. Celtic Omen Days, Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, and selling our dreams during the 2009 financial crash.

How this year’s twelve days of Christmas have brought my awareness to our own annus horribilis in 2009, but have also helped me to focus and be vigilant to the world around me.

I’m banging this out in a last-minute panic as what I’d had planned – and half written – has been demoted to lingering in the wings while this piece urges me to give it centre stage.  The other piece will walk on when the time is right.

‘Banging it out’ and ‘panic’ are ideas that completely go against what I’ve been trying to do over this yuletide break, but I use them with a sense of urgency that anyone who writes or creates will know well: when the ‘flow’ presents itself, it can’t be ignored.

Influenced by what I’d read about Celtic Omen Days from the wonderful Kerri ní Dochartaigh, whose book Thin Places I’m loving reading at the moment, and also by an explanation of this from Emily Moran in her blog post, alongside my family links to Ireland and my thick, red hair and DNA which suggest that my roots are firmly planted in Celtic soil, I decided to give these so called Celtic Omen days a try. 

The main idea behind them is that the observed days reflect the interconnectedness between us and the world around us. If you’re curious and haven’t tried this before, perhaps you could put it in your calendar for next year? It’s not witchcraft, and it doesn’t detract from any religious beliefs – in fact, in my view, it supports the gentle hand that beckons us when we pray to whoever we pray to, in whatever religion, and it can help to make us part of a community that is far bigger than us or our immediate world.

The omen days traditionally begin on St. Stephen’s Day, the 26^th December. The 25^th is kept sacred and holy which pushes the ending, after the twelve days of Christmas, to the 6^th January. For each omen day, a written note/aide memoire is made of voices, sights, sounds, passing thoughts or snapshots of the day – perhaps something which has raised its head or been inspiring – or something which has harnessed deeper thought.  Each day is indicative of what is to come in the correlating month of the new year so, for example, day two would relate to the month of February. 

Photo Credit: Emily Moran.

As the new year evolves, each correlating month can then be reflected upon in the hope of finding links or recognitions … a kind of gathering of what has appeared in previous visitations (in the Celtic Omen days) and which might create support, direction, hope or even an epiphany which sheds light on a dilemma or an episode of indecisiveness. I like to think of it as a lifting of a veil into the beauty that is there before us but which we need a nudge to recognise and appreciate … an interaction of sorts between the seen and the unseen world.  And it’s often not the obvious things.  Sometimes it’s just the simple beauty of connectedness.

On the second day of trying this, with notebook dated and prepared for the day ahead, I set off to our local wholesaler for some bulky supplies. I pulled into the left-hand side of the car park. Nothing too strange about that, apart from my usual pattern of driving behaviour was to swerve to the right – force of habit, I think. As I swung into an empty space, two cars to either side, I recognised the car to my right: a pea green coloured Volvo Estate car. It was, in fact, the car that we’d exchanged last year for our current car …the car that we’d driven all the way up and along the north coast of Scotland, and the car in which I’d slept on the back seat, feet pressed up against its side window, when the winds felt too wild to stay in our little two-person tent. I couldn’t believe it! What are the chances of this happening, I thought. 

It felt sad and strange when I came back out of the store to find an empty space next to me.  It was like one of those films where something appears then quickly disappears leaving the character wondering if it actually happened.  I made a note in my phone and, still a bit perplexed by the chances of this happening, I drove home, dropped my shopping by the front door and wrote down this peculiar coincidence on my day two Celtic omens’ list dated the 27^th December.  I’m very much looking forward to seeing how this might relate to the month of February! Could it be that it was a reminder, amongst the rushing around of the Christmas break, of the peace and beauty of the natural world that we experienced in Scotland, and the importance of taking it all in. Or a reminder to open ourselves up and to allow it to absorb us?  Or was it something to do with a contrast between an old life and a new life - a new version of us for the coming year ahead? Or is it that we are being prepared for a huge car repair bill with all the regret of getting rid of that old Volvo which didn’t let us down at all on our trip away? Who knows … but at the very least, it gave me an opportunity to reflect in an otherwise busy day, on past experiences.

If you have any theories, let me know!

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This interconnectedness is something that was very familiar to our ancestors. And even in these modern times or in times of trouble or unsettledness, we often still try to connect ourselves with people and places from our past.  We remember what they might have said or done in certain situations.  Or we listen to stories from older relatives about characters who we only know as names on a family tree. Native Americans were big believers in the power of harnessing the spirits of their ancestors and the respect and recognition that is brought to them.  In other places around the world important ceremonies also include, or draw upon, the wisdom of the dead, and are respectful of what they continue to bring to the world.  In some places, the spirits of ancestors are invoked simply to connect and sustain past and present values for future generations.

The idea of ancestors helping us became important to me in 2009. That was a particularly bad year for us.  It was the year when the banks crashed, my husband lost his job, he was of an age where scarcity of jobs didn’t help him, and we were trying to pay a mortgage on a house on which we’d completely overstretched ourselves - aided by being loaned far too much money.  It was a house that served a purpose for us for the short time – five years – that we lived there.  When we bought it, it seemed that we’d ‘made it’.  This was the house we’d been working for. It was a physical manifestation of the fruits of our labour.  It was also one of our biggest life lessons: never assume anything and never get too comfortable!  To resolve our situation, we decided to sell the house and pay off remaining debts to ease the financial pressure we were under.  We were very, very, very lucky – we had another property we could use … not our dream home but a place to shelter and keep warm until we decided on the way forward. We very quickly learned to appreciate the importance of having somewhere to shelter, to gather with friends and family and to keep warm and safe.  Our new home didn’t outwardly have the trappings or the space that we’d previously had, but it was somewhere, we discovered, which had gifted us the loveliest people around us and which quickly, on the inside, became the new hub for our family.  The transition was hard.  I never thought of myself as a materialistic kind of person, but I clearly was.

During this difficult time, I found myself dwelling on the lives of our ancestors.  At one point, I was reading an article in a newspaper and a quotation (which I can’t find anywhere online to acknowledge) leapt out at me.  It was fuelled with meaning for our situation, so much so that I had a friend paint it on a scroll of paper, using calligraphy, and had it framed and put up in our new home as a reminder of our onward journey and to instil a feeling of hope into our everyday existence.   

                     'It's green and stormy and you can hear the sea
                      and you can taste the salt in the storm ...
                      we'll know when we'll find it because it will be home.
                      Our ancestors will lead us there.'

Still to this day, I remind myself of those words when I begin to lose sight of the important things in life, even though the interpretation, for me, has changed from the physical to the metaphysical and back again over the intervening fourteen years. But ultimately, it’s a reminder that the destination is there – we just need to be aware, to be vigilant and to listen to the world around us and to the voices within us, to find that destination.  Which is why paying attention to the Celtic omens during the twelve days of Christmas really appealed to me.

But how does this relate to Shakespeare?

To give Shakespeare’s famous and incredibly topical play, ‘Twelfth Night,’ its full name, would be to refer to it as, ‘Twelfth Night, or What you Will.’    The obvious connection is that the omen days come to an end on January 6^th or the twelfth night (twelfth night differs in different religions/cultures depending on the start date) of Christmas. But it wasn’t until recently that I realised the word ‘will’ as in the context of ‘what you will,’ could be interpreted as something that you might invite into your life … an urging, a manifestation, a prayer, or a wish … whatever your leaning is.  This in turn happily links to the idea behind the Celtic Omen Days and also Saturnalia, the Roman tradition of merriment and swapping roles – servants becoming masters etc.  But the merriment doesn’t stop there.  It also links to Nollaig na mBan - or women’s little Christmas where, traditionally, in Ireland – women, after (traditionally) taking on the role of present buying and wrapping, and cooking copious meals, take a day off, leave their husbands (remember we’re still in the traditional sphere here before you throw rotten tomatoes at me!) and go out for some merriment with their friends.  This was and still is, I believe, a particularly strong tradition in the west of Ireland, but all over Ireland, younger women, are replacing the traditional merriment with spa days or long brunches – a modern twist on an old tradition.

As the observance of Celtic Omen Days comes to an end on January 6^th - the Christian festival of the Feast of the Epiphany, so does Christmas officially end, and all decorations are taken down.  If you have any holly in your house, or perhaps a wreath on your front door – save the remnants until Shrove Tuesday when (traditionally) they are burned on the fire as you prepare to make your pancakes.  Although I’m sure these days some burning on a fire pit, with al fresco pancakes and all the accoutrements, would go down just as well.

I’ve really enjoyed using the Celtic Omen Days as a period of time to reflect, to observe, to consider my connections and, ultimately, to slow down.

As we go into 2024, listen for the inner voices and sounds around you: the signs of new beginnings. Watch for them in the natural world or in a book, or on a TV programme. You can find them anywhere if the intention is there to open up to them. And if you’ve had a busy Christmas, give yourself a celebration with friends, or some quiet time alone to rest and rejuvenate and to prepare for the year ahead. You could add your own touch by throwing a modern twist on the idea of Saturnalia or Nollaig na mBan as part of your new beginning or tradition for the new year.

Thank you, as always, for reading and for your continued support as we go into 2024.

And to you, and your past, present and future loved ones, from all of our family – past, present, and future … Happy New Year or Athbhliain faoi mhaise daoibh!