In the heat of waning July days, the ancient Celts would ready themselves for the August festivals and the beginning of the harvest.

They would take these final days to spend intentional time resonating with the world around them, relaxing in the earth and seeking out sacred spots to bless and in which to be blessed.

You might say this ancient practice is a precursor to our ideas of “vacation” these days. Summer rest is not something we invented, Beloved, but inherited through the long echoes of phenomenological rhythms that pulse throughout the looping threads of time.

Celtic author Mara Freeman notes three ways to honor the earth in these last July days that fall on the cusp of transition.

First, you can give thanks. Find a quiet spot in nature, breath deeply, listen carefully, and be grateful for what is around you. She notes that “a sacred site does not have to be famous or located in a distant country. It can also be a quiet, secret place you have found in the woods or, if you live in the city, a favorite old tree in a local park.” (from Kindling the Celtic Spirit)

Secondly, do some clean up. Whether it is in your backyard, along a well-hiked stream, your local park, or even just bush pruning around the house, caring for nature is an act of sacrifice to the very Earth who will, in the coming months, sacrifice fruit for us. Pruning, by the way, is necessary for many plants, and should be done with the plant in mind, and should not primarily be about how your yard looks from the street.

Finally, take a pilgrimage. Journey to a place where the Earth has been damaged or is in danger of being defiled, calling attention to it. Whether it is the pipeline in the Dakotas, over-fishing off the coasts, or even unwelcome infringement on a natural prairie in your little pocket of creation, walking there, seeing what is happening with your own eyes, and calling attention to it is an act of power and grace. Or, as one theologian puts it, “an actively mobilized process of bearing witness to woundedness and to the mysterious possibilities of the sacred.”

In these acts, the whole Earth becomes an altar upon which our attention, our love, and our gratitude is sacrificed. These acts have rippled throughout the cosmos from our ancient parents until today.

How will you add to the wave?

I have had many calls upon my life;
about what and who to be.
But none quite as persistent,
as the siren call of the sea.

In reading about my ancestors, the ancient Celts, I recently came across the god Manannan mac lir, the Irish god of the sea. They called him, “Ruler of the Land Under Wave” (which I think is a pretty bad-ass title).

For the Celts the sea they spoke of consisted mostly of the Irish Sea and the islands between Ireland and Britain.

It was thought that the Ruler of the Land Under Wave traveled over the water in his chariot called Ocean Sweeper, led by his favorite horse Enbarr (which roughly translates to “Waterfoam”).

Manannan held one of the ancient magical pieces of the world, a great shining cloak that could change color as the sea changed, making him largely invisible for those not paying attention.

On the Isle of Man the ancients would climb a mountain with a bundle of green rushes and pay tribute to him on Midsummer Eve, as they regarded the Ruler of the Land Under Wave as their great protector.

Even now some Irish and Scottish fisherman who hold on to the old ways say a blessing to Manannan before heading out to sea:

“Manannan mac lir (Son of the Sea),
who blessed our Island,
Bless us and our boat, going out well.
Coming in better, with living and dead (fish) in our boat.”

A statue to Manannan mac lir still stands in Gortmore, Magilligan, County Londonderry, Northern Ireland.

The ancient Celts had a strong inclination that the rhythms of nature were echoed in the rhythms of the human body. Winter was for silence and rest, Spring for energy and growth, Summer for blazing work and toil, and Autumn for winding down and letting go.

They understood that living in a way that was in alignment with these rhythms led to a balanced way of being in this world.

At every new moon they also saw that the cycle of life both as continued and began again at the same time, giving support for this idea that time is circular, not linear, and that every moment is both a continuation of a past step and the opportunity for newness.

Let those with ears to hear, hear.

As we break into July I’m reminded that the ancient Celts always felt that they had two homes: the “inside house,” and the “outside house.”

In the winter months the hearth became their sun, and the family gathered around it to live well.

But from May-November, they didn’t need the false sun of the hearth, and their world (literally) revolved around the burning star that provides us life and light. The “outside house” was all creation, every living thing not within four walls.

They called this “outside home” the “house of light.”

In July they would sit in the house of light, outside, to learn: how to grow, how to use the light offered you free of charge, how to rise early, and how to retire as the sun retired.

We’d do well in these days to find ways to imagine our lives being between two houses, I think…and being able to learn what is taught in July.

In July the Celts found themselves under the Holly Moon. The holly tree was lifted up in this time of the year not because it was in particular bloom, but because it was basically unchanged. The fortitude of the holly tree no matter the season was the reason it was elevated in this month: it’s ever green leaves and ever red berries were seen as mythically strong.

The holly tree was also seen to embody the masculine and feminine all in one. The prickly leaves were seen as masculine, and the ripe berries like the feminine womb, a symbol of coexistence and marriage (and fertility, to be honest).

In the ancient lore, the Holly King ruled from the summer solstice to the winter solstice, only to be overtaken by the Oak King from the winter solstice to the summer solstice. Both equally strong and wise, but both specializing in something unique.

The Holly King was everlasting and unchanging, a testament to fortitude.

The Oak King was wise and powerful, a testament to discernment.

As the Celts were slowly Christianized (or rather, adopted some Christian ideas), the holly tree came to be seen as a special symbol for Jesus: the prickly leaves for his crown, the red berries for his blood. And the fact that it never changed was even more-so a symbol for them (and us?).

There is a prayer they used to say at this time of year using holly berries (though any berry can suffice if it is red). Find a flowing body of water and three berries.

Toss the first berry in and say a prayer of gratitude.

Toss the second berry in and ask for divine wisdom.

Toss the third berry in and pray for someone who needs it.

The Holly Moon is one of unchanging fortitude. A good feeling for July.

On the Summer Solstice the ancient Celts would give thanks for our star.

They’d build fires on the tops of the hills, believing these fires would further fuel the sun. They’d bring their babies close to the fire as a blessing, and they’d dance and sing and daring couples would hold hands and leap over the flame for good luck.

Midsummer was a day of indulgence with shared feasts and partying and plays and dramatic re-enactments of all kinds. As the sun indulged the Earth on this day, so the people took the minute here as summer was half gone (summer on the Celtic wheel is May-July) to bask in the House of Light, as they called the summer fields and hills.

Tonight is a very appropriate night to light a bonfire, enjoy some food outside, and give thanks for our star without which none of us could live.

Today is World Oceans Day, a day to honor the great incubator of life, the first amniotic fluid of creation: The Seas.

The ancient Celts held the sea in high reverence. Like anything powerful, the sea provided for the people and was also dangerous. It was a road to distant lands as well as a graveyard, a reminder that the wilds of creation are to be respected and not taken for granted.

With our modern minds we may imagine that the seas of this world are ours for dominating and using as we please, but with every strengthening hurricane and with every new exploration into the deepest parts of our oceans we are reminded that the oceans still have a temper and hold a temptation for adventure.

Let us not abuse it nor forget it.

I’ve stood at the base of huge mountains, and I’ve flown over quite a bit of amazing land, and yet it is still the ocean’s siren song that enlivens the most awe in me.

Green and brackish, blue and calm, full of terrors and wonders and teeming with living things yet undiscovered, the oceans of our round rocket ship spinning in this universe are a reminder for me that, even though we may flex our mortal muscles, stronger forces exist and must be honored and respected.

If you’re one who endears themselves to such rituals, the ancients used to thank the Mer-people in these mid-summer months. Mer-folk were known to protect humans as well as correct humans in their courses and, while I certainly don’t believe in such a thing, I understand how the ancients would.

After-all, with so many mysteries beneath the waves, why wouldn’t someone imagine that there might be a whole undiscovered universe of inhabitants who gazed up at the blue sky like we gaze at the briny blue depths, a reflection of what we know…just a little different, you know?

Regardless of what you believe, I hope we can all agree on one thing: the mother of all life, the Oceans, the Seas, deserves not only our thanks and awe, but also our protection.

For the ancient Celts, June was a time of herb collecting. Used in medicine, dyes, cooking, cosmetics, and floor coverings (they would cover their floors with the herbs for a fragrant and hygienic carpeting), herbs were considered a healing gift.

At this time of year they’d incorporate herbs into most every dish, creating lilac teas and treating fish both steamed and pan fried with plenty of dill, parsley, and chives.

As they headed toward the Solstice and St.John the Baptist’s feast day, using all of the given daylight was paramount. Waste nothing, especially daylight, and do those things appropriate with the season.

For June this meant herb gathering, freshening things up, and preserving the harvest for cooking and healing in the year to come.

In May the Celts would turn their sights toward the land and the seeds to be buried in hope and prayer.

They’d pull out their ploughs and pray these instruments be sturdy to do the good work ahead of them, keeping their promise to help produce life-giving food for the land.

Here’s a modern Blessing of the Plough adapted from an ancient blessing (and also happens to be a nice one for those prepping for Holy Trinity Sunday):

Blessed be, God of all creation.
Give softness to the land.
Give us skill to work the land.
This plough is sign to us of Your blessing.
Give us softness of heart.
Give us skill to serve You.
Blessed be God–Creator, Christ, and Spirit,
Three of Glory, Three of Light, Three of Life.
Blessed be the Bright Three forever.
God speed the plough.
God speed the plough.

-prayer from Llewellyn’s The Celtic Wheel of the Year

-painting by Anne Savage, “The Plough”