The Raven, Messenger of Death

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This morning, a huge Raven alighted on the giant Yew in the garden. One sees them in the neighbourhood from time to time, but I never saw one this close to the house. I immediately felt that it came here as a messenger from the Other Realm.

My stepfather died a few days ago after a prolonged and valiant battle with a terminal illness that prevented him from breathing. Despite the agony of fighting for every breath, he endeavoured to lead an active life as long as possible for my mother's sake. I seldom have witnessed a greater love than his for my Mother.

My Mum, although she loved her husband dearly, was not always kind to him. She is an individual who tends to explode when she is frustrated. Sometimes, she would try to apologise to him for one of her outbursts but he would tell her, 'I love you just as you are.' (She never apologised to me for any of her outbursts but I love her all the same, although I would not go as far as my stepfather... I really could wish for NO violent verbal outbursts in my life.)

My Mum married him when I was six years old, so he was a father to me most of my life. Had it not been for my biological father's intense jealousy, I probably would have had an easier time emotionally when my mother remarried. Nonetheless, the best way of perceiving the situation is to accept that I had two fathers and indeed, our society now has become more accepting of families that encompass more than the traditional nuclear unit of mother, father and the children of their union.

Every one deals with the reality of Death differently. Too many people tend to lash out at those who are closest to them. As is often the case, there was far too much drama and negativity at my stepfather's deathbed, but one hopes it will be forgotten and that ultimately, the survivors will draw closer to one another. I believe that it is misplaced anger in any case. People are angry with Death but they cannot confront that power directly, so they unleash their frustration and rage upon their loved ones.

Is it right to be angry with Death? Death is not our Enemy, although our own society views it as such and indeed, tries to market the illusion of immortality and eternal youth through the use of cosmetics, surgical procedures and other artificial aids. I have come to believe that Death is the natural result of a creature 'wearing out'. However much one patches the weak points in the body, sooner or later the spirit reaches a point where it must discard the old shell and move forward.

In literature, the weariness of Immortals has been recognised. What would it be like to live forever, watching loved ones and friends die, finding less and less that is new and exciting as the centuries passed and the antics of life became more and more repetitive? How many times could an Immortal fall in love? How long could an Immortal retain that sense of childlike wonder that is the best part of our psyches? I think eternal life would be a curse to any one other than a God for the Divine One would exist for a far greater purpose than his/her/its own amusement and needs.

To live forever, one would have to become a Sacrifice to the lives of all others, a perpetual servant of the Universe. Is not that what the Divine One is in essence? The creation and maintenance of Life is a task. One could set it in motion and then ignore it, I suppose, but how infinitely dull that would be? I cannot believe that the Divinity would choose Void and Nothingness over Creation, however 'old' the performance of the living became.

Death is a rite of passage, a farewell to this life. It leads to the Great Unknown.

Ravens long have been perceived as the messengers of Death. They were the companions of Odhinn, named Huginn and Munin, Memory and Thought. For the Celts, they were the messengers who traveled between the earth and the Otherworld. one of the ancient kings of the British Isles was Bran the Blessed. 'Bran' can be translated as 'Raven' and his head is believed to have been buried at the site of the Tower of London. The Ravens who live at the Tower are believed to represent the safety of the realm and so long as their presence endures, the land will endure.

The Raven, like the colour Black, originally a bird of great power and mystery, through the centuries acquired negative connotations in the same way that Death became an Event to be dreaded and feared, the Great Enemy of Life.

In fact, originally the Raven acted as a guardian of the Earth to obtain knowledge for the Gods. Death was nothing more than a Portal to the Otherworld and when any creature died, it moved on to another form or sphere of existence. This life and this world were but transitional phases in an existence that possibly might endure forever. It is the body that dies, not the soul.

The Raven is a very intelligent bird who can imitate the calls of other birds as well as the sound of falling water. Ravens have been known to echo songs, whether from a music box or an ice cream vendor.

My stepfather was Celtic and British in his heritage. Although he did not subscribe much to organised religion, he loved mythology and fantasy. He was a very spiritual man, albeit not a religious one in the ordinary Western sense of the word. His religion was Music and Art. He was a gifted tenor and acted as the soloist in a local church for decades. It was through his music that his spirit soared to Heaven, through Music that he communed with the Deity.

In the Silmarillion, Tolkien writes about the creation of Life as a symphony comprised of different voices whose songs are interwoven. The power of the Music is so great that every individual musical contribution can be embraced, however unique or different from the others...

In Lord of the Rings, Pippin and Gandalf have a conversation about Death, while awaiting a battle that could be the end of them.

Pippin: I didn't think it would end this way.

Gandalf: End? No, the journey doesn't end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it.

Pippin: What? Gandalf? See what?

Gandalf: White shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.

Pippin: Well, that isn't so bad.

Gandalf: No. (Thoughtfully) No, it isn't.

Tolkien did not perceive the 'Lord of the Rings' as fantasy but rather as the natural weave of the tapestry of Anglo-Saxon tradition and lore had not Christianity come to the British Isles. He therefore incorporated many Celtic and Anglo-Saxon concepts into the work, including that of the 'lands in the West' to which the Elves set sail when they wearied of Middle Earth.

My stepfather loved Tolkien and it seems to me that, if any of the old lore of the journey after Death would hold true for him, it would be that of setting sail in one of the White Ships to 'Tir Na Nog' or the Lands in the West.

It is fitting that a Raven appeared to me today. I am far from the place where my stepfather died but my Mum is going to send me some of his ashes and I shall plant a little tree in the garden in his memory, even though I do not own the land myself. Before I saw the Raven this morning, I was in the garden, considering where I would plant the small tree as well as trying to decide the sort of Tree that would be most appropriate. Blackthorn perhaps, after the Raven's appearance. I have Oak, Ash, Birch, Rowan and Yew in the garden, but do not have Blackthorn. If my stepfather had been of a Mediterranean heritage, I would plant a Cypress for him but as an Irish Celt, he should have a Northern Tree.

These are the lyrics to 'Into the West', the song that ends Peter Jackson's Tolkien trilogy:

Lay down your sweet and weary head,
Night is falling,
You have come to journey's end.

Sleep now and dream of the ones who came before,
They are calling from across the distant shore.

Why do you weep?
What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see,
All of your fears will pass away.

Safe in my arms, you're only sleeping.

What can you see on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea, a pale moon rises,
The ships have come to carry you home.

Dawn will turn to silver glass,
Light on the water, all souls pass...

Hope fades into the world of night
Through shadows falling, out of memory and time.

Don't say we have come now to the end,
White shores are calling.
You and I will meet again.

You'll be here in my arms just sleeping.
What can you see on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?

Across the sea, a pale moon rises,
The ships have come to carry you home.'

And all will turn to silver glass,
Lights on the water, grey ships pass into the West.

In Memoriam

Into the West from Lord of the Rings



There was a time when I wondered at the reference to 'silver glass' but now I think it is a reference to a mirror. After all, Jean Cocteau wrote that 'Mirrors are the doors through which Death comes and goes'.* (This is a line from Orphee, one of my favourite films when I was a child.) The way in which a mirror or looking glass was made was by adding silver to the surface of one side of a piece of glass. Mirrors are magical portals in myth and storybooks. When 'all will turn to silver glass', it is THIS existence on earth that becomes nothing more than a pale reflection of eternity and the world beyond.

*In the original: 'Les miroirs sont les portes par lesquelles la mort vient et va.'

Is History Guts and Glory?

I admire Bernard Cornwell's sheer industry as well as his apparent determination to cover many of the important 'watershed' periods in the history of the English-speaking world, but now that I have read quite a few of his novels, it is clear to me that his focus always is battle and killing. His research of the various killing methods is impeccable and his grasp of battles and the conflicts that led to them is sound but it is killing and more killing that definitely is at the heart of every book I have read.

Does he glorify the hero in his persona as a 'killing machine'? Oh, most definitely. Although he includes graphic descriptions of the less romantic aspects of battle from excrement to spilled brains and entrails, he does 'sing' of the glory of killing, the sweet ecstacy of rising beyond humanity to become nothing more than an instrument of death. In doing so, he is continuing an ancient tradition that can be found in Western classical literature from Homer to Beowulf and many other Northern epic poems. Heroes in the history of our Western culture are killing machines for the most part. The introduction of Christianity 2000 years ago did not change that. In fact, Christianity was altered to promote killing programmes such as the 'Crusades' and the 'Inquisition' although the message of the Christ most definitely was in complete opposition to any of that.

Christianity itself is based on ancient mystery religions of death and rebirth. Without death, there can be no rebirth, but the art of killing is not embraced at all in the Christian philosophy. Judaic history and religion, on the other hand, embraces slaughter and advocates the obliteration of any obstacles that might block the path of the 'Chosen' and Christians who wished to promote political agendas looked to the 'Old Testament' for religious justification. The actual message of Christ at the heart of Christianity was based instead on the concept of life through death, making a sham of any worldly conflicts and political ambitions.

That aside, the history of Western civilisation, like most civilisations, is a long litany of conflict and killing and Bernard Cornwell is adept at describing pivotal periods in the timeline of his and our own ancestors.

As I read the account of the battle of Agincourt this morning, however, I had a small epiphany about his work. Bernard Cornwell's prose in terms of battle and killing embodies a very ancient religious mystery probably known best in contemporary culture as the Goddess Kali.

Hindu deities take many different forms, with diverse names and legends. They have many manifestations and attibutes, some of which may appear initially to be in fundamntal opposition to one another.

The primary tale of Kali herself has very diverse forms but the one that has the most parallels in other mythologies and religious systems is that of the Goddess summoned to the battlefield who wins the battle against evil and yet, drunken with bloodlust and battle-frenzy continues to destroy until the very world was poised on the edge of utter annihilation. In totality with the very spirit of death and destruction, she finally unwittingly danced upon the body of her own lover and consort, the lord Shiva. It was only when he forced her back to ordinary consciousness and made her recognise him that she was able to cut short her all-consuming path of total obliteration. In another version of the tale, Shiva appeared on the battlefield in the form of an infant, exciting Kali's maternal instincts and thus ending her path of total destruction of the world.

The powers of creation and destruction are two sides of the same coin and both can be equally dangerous to the welfare of others. The various diseases known collectively as 'Cancer' could be perceived as an overabundance of creation where cells proliferate wildly, destroying the balance of the organism in which they are housed. Too much creation can choke an environment, whether it is a large city or a great forest. Nature, in both her generative and destructive aspects is terrifying and her power must be respected and recognised.

Bernard Cornwell, in describing the slaughter of the battlefield, is describing the dance of destruction, the human component of the ecstacy of Kali. It is only when the warrior surrenders completely to the lust of battle that he is able to do his job properly and indeed survive the encounter. Human beings are born with kill-lust and it is a gift of instinct to aid self-preservation. Undifferentiated killing is not to be tolerated, but society always has directed the killing instinct into political avenues, sending human beings into battles throughout the globe in order to advance economic or social agendas that are promoted as somehow being more noble or justifiable than the actions of a serial killer or gangster. Legalised killing is a fundamental part of civilisation in almost every culture.

The political and social philosophy of legal homicide basically is as follows: If we are born to kill as well as to create, let some one harness that drive to cleanse the earth of undesirable elements. Bernard Cornwell's books actually clearly denote the fallacious underpinnings of every war in which his heroes fight, and he therefore could not be considered primarily as a propagandist for any specific cause, although he writes usually from the vantage point of a soldier fighting for the British Empire or its predecessor in the form of the Kingdom of England. He does revel in the kill-lust of the battlefield, however, in those moments when the hero transcends his own identity and throws off the constraints of civilisation to become a superior killing machine, acting solely upon his martial training and instinct.

Is this troubling in moral terms? On reflection, I came to the conclusion that it actually is no more than an honest appraisal of our history as human beings. Surrender to kill-lust is the fuel of any 'hero' of any battle or war. It is an integral part of our nature as human beings as well. Few would argue against the basic premise that it is right and proper to defend our own lives and the lives of our loved ones. Nor would I. What I decry is the propaganda of governments to create an illusory threat to our own lives and the lives of our loved ones in order to propel an invasion such as the invasion of Iraq. Wars fought in the name of 'democracy' are fueled by as much economic greed, deceit and selfish interest on the part of the governments that instigate them as any other wars.

Killing, however, IS a fact of life and human nature. Bernard Cornwell writes about the past and he follows an ancient tradition of poets and novelists in describing heroes and their actions. For the most part, he does not attempt to argue in favour of one war against another or one side in any conflict against another. Ordinarily, he simply follows the career of one killing machine as that finely-trained tool of destruction moves from battle to battle, reverting to his own personality, thoughts and desires when he is at rest. Every story he tells is a tale of conflict that focuses primarily on the story of one warrior. The fact that his most lyrical descriptions inevitably involve transcendantal bloodlust, killing fields and slaughter simply demonstrates a devotion (unwitting or not) to the mysteries of the force of Death and Destruction whether given the name of Kali, Odhinn or unnamed.