Social Media Meets its Match—Hackers with Pretend Money Worming Their Way into People’s Hearts
With great sadness I preface this blog with news that Her Majesty the Queen, 96, has died at Balmoral Castle on the Royal Estate, Aberdeenshire. We send sincere condolences and support/love to the Royal Family.
Not certain if as a Brit ex-pat, currently living mid-Pacific, I should announce her death as a post- or ante-script to IWSG & First Wednesday, but a series of unprecedented events this week led me to miss this month’s deadline by 2 days {GMT-1 day PDT}.
My Angelic choir clearly approved/sent spiritual help support my request 2recover from mental & physical violation. Not only did Source aka the Universe send power outage-cum-rainstorm couple hours Weds. evening, but my computah wouldn’t load the blog. Death announcement arrives as the date/midnight changes to zero-day+1 Hence delay, date confusion—didn’t backdate to correct-so here goes Writing Addicts Pic rt. © NewYorker Monarch sits on 11thC Stone of Destiny.
SOCIAL MEDIA MEETS ITS MATCH—HACKERS WITH PRETEND MONEY WORMING THEIR WAY INTO PEOPLE’S HEARTS
FIRST WEDNESDAY BLOG—TIME FOR CREATIVE WRITERS, ARTISTS, MUSICIANS—INSECURE OR OTHERWISE—TO RISE OUT OF OUR DUSTY WRITING CAVERN INTO THE LIGHT OF DAY TO CHRONICLE/COMMENT ON HUMANITY’S SEPTEMBER FOLLIES—BEFORE THE FALL
Hack-Attack: new fearsome enemy on the home front that nobody thought would last
Human memory bank-especially in a child’s 1st, happy, protected, familiar territory with beloved toys, dollies, baby names-rulez!
"I'm gonna buy a paper doll that I can call my own / A doll that other fellas cannot steal / And then those flirty flirty guys / With their flirty flirty eyes / Will have to flirt with dollies that are real" John Mayer
As the Old World [double-entendre] gets demolished around us to make way for the New—below left Cahuenga cut-off where SoCA’s Hollywood “superhighway” (no longer exists) used to link northern end of San Fernando Valley Hwy with downtown Los Angeles Civic Center. Demolished too are downtown Alhambra district Japan and Chinatown, with loss of beloved restaurants like The Far East Café. Korean food trucks replace.
As fuel prices soar, superhighways aren’t getting the traffic. Windfarms and environmentalists rulez.
A ‘stay-at-home work-from-home’ preference shown by majority of employees during our enforced two-year isolation period—using video meetings instead—has begun to rub off on businesses around the globe, with outdoor walks, recreational gardening and a work-at-home-ethic becoming the norm. Remarkably, Saudi desert’s THE LINE, recreational ‘outdoor living’—a feature of old hippie times—is likely to catch on with the new wave—nouvelle vague—of iGen/Generation-Z of youngsters finding joy, pleasure and fulfillment in simple pursuits.
This shorthand version of ‘happiness’ is the wavelength accomplished hackers beam in on. But it’s the oldies—but goodies with a kindly trusting heart—who get spammed.
Decline… and Fall—Call Center Consciousness
There are many spaces between Earth and Heaven and in between are The Doors
misquote Wm.B.Yeats by Jim Morrison & The Doors
In the ‘Fifties when Baby Boomers were ‘in’, English-speaking nations commissioned call centers in Kenya, Ethiopia, Uganda, Pakistan using [cough] “English-speaking” local labour at a fraction of cost of a similar outfit at home in the West. They died pre-internet revolution, with onset of mobile phones, but seem to have raised their head again in this latest phone-related scandal.
In the ‘Sixties and ‘Seventies, nobody gave a thought to such strange remote telephone exchanges. An antiquated (but cheap) method of communication did survive the noughties’ boom. But now, surprise surprise, not only is the hacking empire privy to your personal information, but it has resuscitated the old call-center theme—this time in Nigeria, South Africa and Midlands England.
To a veteran ex-pat Brit with octogenarian comfort zone, a Manchester accent even in text—dahling—is a whole lot less intimidating than a voice on the line in broken accent telling you to hang up already.
The little lady from Manchester—so short of breath you can hear her gasping between texts—but so inner circle—in the know about it all—she has time and patience to chat (text)with an oldie—usually a safe bet as we Booomers & beyond less likely to baulk at bottom line when the money chat comes up.
iGens & Millennials are decidedly wary creatures; have little time for subjects that need a long-winded explanation. Often the shortest answer—no—can take Boomers and vintage grannies a very long time to unearth from their verbal repertoire. So they/we say yes instead and then wonder why our friendly social media accounts no longer belong to us.
Cleverly, the technique works in the hackers’ favour: soc.med. sites like Pinterest and Facebook aren’t equipped to handle breakdown. Restoring isn’t an option, either—your site no longer belongs to you. One has to start all over at the beginning; ask to join Insta, send a new photo—the newbie approach.
Meantime—every day since—my poor iPhone jumps and splutters, beeps and cajoles me from mine- no-longer Insta account telling me fifty-two messages from the hacker to all of my followers. Some of my followers still think it’s me. And until I have the strength to initiate a new account, I’m unable to correct that. Thankfully some (young, bright minds) figured it out & challenged the chat-monkey.
Monsieur Musk Plunges into Twitterdom
Most brilliant of all events, however, unfolding in this cyber-saga of crazies, and because I managed to (sortof) get my Twitter page up and running again, albeit with no files or explanation to friends: I asked Elon Musk to look into security risk and hacking potential of his new acquisition.
True to his image as Humanity’s Saviour, not only did the dear billionaire listen, actually read my text, give it some thought, respond! and follow up but my stats on that day hit the ceiling. Bless you M.Musk
Warning to oldies who get targeted: at first it feels friendly, ‘why not help her? I’m old, what harm can it do?’ Loads. Don’t mean losing friends. I mean losing one’s mind. Constant texting-even when I didn’t reply- sent me to cloud cuckoo-land. More below.
I believe in Musk. I believe he will actually make the change which wraps all this garbage up into a spaceball and flings it into orbit to join all the other spacejunk circling ever circling out there till it falls…
In 40% of hacking cases, the target is older, newcomer-friendly, artistic, feels socially responsible to help humanity and therefore, almost invariably will respond to the long-reaching arm of a complete stranger asking intimate personal questions with a view to “helping out”.
Generation Gap Plus Factor—More Oldie+Goodie Vibe
The older the target, the greater likelihood of receiving off-the-wall personal questions amicably. This sole fact of difference in age producing a different response on a thorny subject has been a miracle catalyst in the whole “false-coin” issue. Hackers already know who the best targets are: they’ve usually well beyond middle years. They’ve had their life. It’s okay to help another out, especially if they’re only just past the starting gate.
One pill makes you larger / And one pill makes you small / And the ones that Mother gave you / Don’t do anything at all
Go ask Alice when she’s ten feet tall
And if you go chasing [White] Rabbits / And you know you’re gpin’ to fall ——— Tell them a hookah-smokin’ caterpillar / Has given you the call
When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead / And the White Knight is talking backwards / And the Red Queen’s lost her head / Remember what the dormouse said:
Feed your head / Feed your head
courtesy Gracie Slick 1967 & Jefferson Airplane/Starship White Rabbit
‘Advice from a Caterpillar’ from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll illustration by Arthur Rackham d. Sept. 6th 1867-1939 (71) via his dau. Mrs B. Edwards
‘Sixties: Biggest, Most, Best, Weirdest—all the Superlatives
Sample text (below right) received by new Insta ‘followers’, with emphasis on revealing your own pet project, so that #superfriendly lady hacker from Birmingham or Wolverhampton can encourage a ‘sale’
If you were assured a sum of 50 thousand [take your pick, Euro, Yen, Roubles], how would you spend the money?
- New car
- New house
- Cruise liner vacation abroad
- Help relatives
- None of the above
I don’t want to achieve immortality through my work. I want to achieve immortality by not dying
Woody Allen
Music holds the space as underlying influence in all 20thC generations. The earlier the group, the more likely are they to be controlled by addiction of choice. Twenties and Thirties: booze, including illegal venues. Forties: war-restricted, but booze and cigarettes. Fifties & early ‘Sixties: heroin, cocaine, opium. Late ‘Sixties: everything including hard drugs, heroin, cocaine, synthetic and natural coca, ayahuasca, methamphetamine, opiate morphine, lysergic acid diethylamide (LSD) & recreational ganja.
Closing the StarGate: Full Harvest Moon ends Twin Flame Month
So what do the ‘Sixties and 21stC 2022 Full Harvest Moon post-8/8-Lionsgate Twin-Flame month have in common?
For several generations of moviegoers/big screen watchers, film production invariably features as a growing-up medium. Less so is the attitude of Millennials, 16-year old Gen-Zs and 20-year old iGens to anything that smacks of Media, television news, man-made hype. They are, as a rule, only interested in one person aka self.
This generational trait surfaces in art, film, media presence, social interaction, text and creative identity.
Google the first of the bigtime internet-friendly outfits has warned Google Chrome users of the security risk posed by “friendly” hackers.
Twitter, as we’ve seen above, is responding to the threat with appropriate action.
Writing All the Way to the End
For us (Insecure) Creative types, writing fills the gap between empty memory Muse-infused hippie cabin in Redwood country and 21st Century internet wobble from a system of bots who will control our cyber-future.
Stargates are familiar. We’ve all been here before. As all the best ‘Fifties & ‘Sixties beat generation know, Reggae and Boyband Dance Moves are just playful repeats of an age-old message. This one’s REALLY the last time round, this time. Maya gate-keepers confirm.
p.s. Rainstorms over Pacific and gates of Balmoral; yet HM managed to hold an audience with new Tory PM Liz Truss to form a goverment, before she died Weds/early Thurs—like her daddy Geo.VI— in her sleep. Royal Family members William, Charlotte & George had flown north from Norfolk to Ballater and Balmoral on Monday, to be by her side as she rested on advice of doctors. She asked Tory appointee Liz Truss in her official capacity as Monarch to form a government Tuesday. Died peacefully in early hours of Wednesday a.m.
Ticking all the boxes, Your Majesty. Stay cool, Ma’am. We love you.
Like Her Majesty, tapping her riding crop with an impatient dig at the Almighty B4 the Pearly Gates: Open the Door brother: Immortality here we come.
Or words to that effect. Writers write. Bloggers blog. Gardeners plant gardens and the rest is in the hands of Fate. Go ask Alice. She knowz. ©2022 Marian C. Youngblood
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Human Kindness Grows Tentacles—Learning new Migrant ways in CultchaShock of Moving Home—
HUMAN KINDNESS GROWS TENTACLES LEARNING NEW MIGRANT WAYS IN CULTCHASHOCK OF MOVING HOME
MONTHLY FIRST WEDNESDAY EMERGENCE FROM SUBTERRANEAN/SUB-PACIFIC CINDER-CONE TUNNEL for INSECURE WRITERS, FLYAWAY SUPERSCRIBES & WORD-ADDICTS OF ALL AGES
Driving on Right… Thinking on Left
Catherine Zeta Jones‘s experience—a Welsh-born (Sept. 1969 barely a Millennial) star of Glamorgan, S.Wales, then London, Paris, New York and LAX with her hit Chicago (2002, also Renée Zellwegger & Richard Gere) brought her full attention world-wide. Working with and eventually marrying Michael Douglas was a clincher in Hollywood, but she swears her daily quickies to local supermarket or even regular swing-by her hair stylist still cause her palpitations.
You think she’s kidding? Driving on or off the freeway in downtown Los Angeles—or even a leisurely stop off for fries in demure Beverly Hills is not automatic. It causes her to do her “British click-click” as she switches her brain to remember to drive on the right.
It’s no joke.
Back home, on sweet-perfumed winding hedge-lined roads of Tiger Bay rural South Glamorgan—home to Welsh stars Shirley Bassey & Tom Jones, we Boomers, pre-Boomers—Crazee-Oldie Land Girl Diggie Chickies use bicycles, maybe a pony, a horse or two if we’re fortunate, and we DRIVE ON THE LEFT.
This remarkable observation may have escaped the attention of the Greater American continent or in fact most of the Western World and including Oz/NZ & Indonesia; but interestingly NOT Japan. This curious anomaly results in a parking lot in downtown Hilo, Big Island, HI where traffic travels left: entry & exit look left. This teensy weensy change in direction caused chaos on entry to the Suisan marina and dock parking lot—built by Japanese contractor—for the official government-funded multi-glitter rocket-boosted star-filled sky over Hawai’i’s downtown Bayshore—the municipal fireworks display last Monday night, July 4th. Please allow the 4th to be with you. Blatant crib. Sorry Star Wars.
It boomed and popped (superb right-brain chaos thinking) for a prescribed Government-funded fully loaded Fireworks Display lasting precisely 90 minutes. Then all the vehicles drove on the LEFT to get back out on the Highway. Thank you Queen Liliuokalani (last queen) for having us on your shoreline.
I empathize deeply with Catherine—wondergirl to beat all exports from pre-Celtic mystical Wales. I don’t live in SoCal or even get to do a little shopping on Rodeo Drive (long time ago)—no longer desire. But growing up in Scotland, having 30-year offspring period; then zoom All Change—CulchaShock USA here we come. Neither American husband understood. They drove on the right: always; no problem. But neither got it that it was not automatic for me. There’s not a day I don’t forget to remember which side of the street to look out for traffic on: Boom she-bang. Give that woman a ticket.
Olde Times Always There—iGens Tackle Retro-Book-Learning
But there’s hope for us Oldtimers—call us what you will—WWII Land Girls—who wore the dizziest snaz headscarf routine to keep unruly hair out of the pail while milking the cow—or planting kale & cabbage.
May not be quite old enuff to be a Land Girl, but my parents had friends who were and the ethos stuck.
Armed with bucket and spade, sometimes water hose or mechanic’s toolkit, Brit lady volunteers pretty well ran everything behind the scenes, vide HM Queen bottom left, on visit to War Museum to see her khaki wartime volunteer uniform.
Even our language is different. Lingo changes generationally—each new gen a new word. Only now they’re called memes. Don’t ask me. I’m not a millennial. Nor am I an IGen, GenZ or even a Boomer. Ahem. I was born before the Julian calendar change. Well, not quite that old. But…
Onward and upward: pix top above mostly the gorgeous and forever timeless-no-age-looking Zeta-Jones in triplicate counter-clockwise from top left 1. Butterfly nebula to get us thinking aerial thoughts on transformation and transfiguration in this new world 2.&3. trailer for and Catherine’s seminal scene from Chicago starring Richard Gere & Renée Zellwegger 4. July 2022 reconciliation-family reunion of husband Michael Douglas’s estranged son, courtesy selfless Catherine <3. 5. Semi-serious break from Silly Season distractions: Wild boar—contested entrant into human race for environmental regeneration unpopular with some new rewilding charitable institutions; carved stone rooftile found embedded in Chesters fort, Northumberland, part of Hadrian’s Wall abandoned before Roman exit A.D. 420. Sacred wild boar was not only emblem of the 20th Legion Deva Victrix, but important enough for legionaries to hack away at Gordon territorial boar coat of arms in Aberdeenshire [Deva also ancient pre-Celtic name for River Dee—goddess’s victory over sacred water]?
Aberdeenshire is coincidentally target of summertime exit from London heat to pleasures of Scottish country dancing, highland pony trekking, forest rewilding and—later—Braemar Gathering attended by Her Majesty. Formerly part of her holiday from metropolitan demands after she views Windsor Horse Show [fave animal after corgis] & Windsor Royals Polo Match. Unable now to ride because of spinal pain, at age 96, she deputized grandson HRH Prince William to swing his polo stallion around like he’s a professional, good at animal recognition/communication and care. There are plenty horses waiting for them in Balmoral, after touchdown in Scots capital, Edinburgh, to “receive the keys to the kingdom”; a short tree-planting session and (private) passenger train ride later & she will reach Outlander territory allowing rain, wind, trees, river Dee and peace to enfold. She may even get some personal catchup time for reading (and planting more trees) with the children. Lonach Gathering, Strathdon gathers friends of mountain, sky and earth together as the Clans march through the Glen to the sound of the pipes.
Without libraries, what are we? We have no past, no future
Ray Bradbury
Probably most famous of all, the Great Library of Alexandria, Egypt, holding scrolls in its Mouseion—an Academy dedicated to the nine Muses held papyrus scrolls from Nineveh, Nebuchadnezzar’s Babylon 605 B.C.; Sumerian, Assyrian, Mesopotamian papyrus records brought into port in ships of Hellenic origin. This aura of cultural academia was created as a royal initiative on impetus of author-historian Ptolemy I Soter c. 320 B.C. with his son, c.240 B.C Ptolemy II Philadelphus, after the death of Alexander the Great, 323 B.C. when the empire collapsed, dividing into three. The Library was built in the Brucheion (Royal Quarter, below l.) as part of the Mouseion building which included living quarters dining facilities and tax-free academic lifestyle for a dozen teachers. Sacred ‘temple’ for an estimated 400,000 scrolls held by royal command the main purpose of the Ptolemaic campus of buildings was to show off the wealth of Egypt, with research as a lesser goal. Library contents were created strategically for the benefit of their royal ruler, with the Chief Librarian appointed as personal tutor to the king’s son Intent was if scholars were completely freed from all the burdens of everyday life they could devote more time to research and intellectual pursuits. Historian Strabo called the group of scholars who lived at the Mouseion a σύνοδος (synodos, “community”). As early as 283 B.C. they may have numbered between thirty and fifty learned men.
The *Place of the Cure of the Soul*
Μουσεῖον τῆς Ἀλεξανδρείας original Mouseion Academy sacred to Goddesses of the Arts, Nine Muses, was established as major part of Ptolemaic plan: academic tax-free community learning institution, shared dining-living quarters, garden walk, botanical zoo, teaching classrooms, lecture hall, a dozen academics including a Head Librarian. Ptolemy II Philadelphus son on father-historian Ptolemy I Soter’s advice, provided a learning environment, lecture halls, shared dining, reading room, meeting rooms, gardens, creating a model for the modern university campus.[32] A hall contained shelves for the collections of papyrus scrolls known as bibliothekai (βιβλιοθῆκαι). An inscription above shelves read: “The place of the cure of the soul.”
You Have to be Both Sexist & Racist to Remember WWII
Perfectionist in personal appearance, HM’s superb timing @QueensCanopy est. 2022 her charity of choice encouraging tree-planting by spade & rake aka WWII WRAC female-backup force technique! Monarch’s war uniform held London Military Museum
Alternate aphorism from Brit Land Girls as reaction to learning of American G.I.s’ rural station as uniformed migrant gum-chewing baggy-pants-wearing khaki bois drinking at the local: “Them Yanks—over-weight, over-sexed and over here”
Remembering to Remember or Forgetting Writing Cues, Deadlines
July stand by! It’s traditionally hurricane season in Bahamas and Antilles—but it’s Silly Season in the Press Office—this grateful not-so-young pre-Boomer still breathing & counting the sacred numbers, despite current trending political Brit. Downing Street news. No.10 Cat is more clued in on that story.
Much more relevant to the wondrous miracle of being present—of hauling oneself by one’s bootstraps out of our Cinder Cone Cave of Writerly Solitude to Face the World for one first Wednesday per month: think NaNo & IWSG who both have summer projects on the slow burner.
Smell Burning? It’s a cloud of leftover dynamite, gunpowder smoke from July 4 Independence Day Weekend+Monday fireworks-to-die-for, sparkler* heaven for Oldie Americans, rocket shower gems for toddlers. All cats indoors, however. Drive ‘wrong way’ down Bayshore & Banyan.
Watch yer feet for S.Korean Enhypen-clone #redsnapper bangers—all the rage.
*p.s. On anti-glitter sparkler campaign, I washed some of my shiny (sixties’) Mendocino abalone shells and resulting glitter scattered on the carpet as I dried them was verrrry sparkling!
Light Beings Call (Writing) Hideaway Hotline by Sacred Numbers
They say home is where the heart is; Deepak Chopra says breath is life; Zen monk Thich Nhat Hanh would say breathe in I have arrived—breathe out I am home, Peek out cave take in-breath; write blog post blog tune into madness of human lot. On exhale, the pundits say, we put the world to rights. Happy 4th or as #roaring ‘twenties star Groucho Marx said “plenny mo’ numbers”. Happy scribing. ©2022 Marian Youngblood
The Scythian Connection—Eastern Scotland & Ireland Share Famous Firbolg Ancestors: Create First Scythian/Scots Race
THE SCYTHIAN CONNECTION—EASTERN SCOTLAND & IRELAND SHARE FAMOUS FIRBOLG ANCESTORS who SAILED BALTIC from THRACE to GAUL— CREATED FIRST SCYTHIAN/SCOTS RACE
RECENT FORENSIC/DIGITAL IMAGERY REVEALS CELTIC GENETIC ARCHETYPE
Sailing the Baltic from Ancient Thrace, Scythian Genes reach Belgic Gaul, Eire and Caledonia
According to Irish writers, the Picts, in their first progress to Ireland from Thrace, settled a colony in Gaul, and the tribes called Pictones, Pictavi in that country are descended from them. They also gave their name to Pictavia, Poitiers and the province of Poitou. From these Picts are descended the Vendeans of France.
It would appear that the Picts were Celtic-Scythian or a mixture of Celts and other branches of the Scythian family from the Caucasus, and spoke a dialect of the Celtic language.
The Caucasus mountains synchronously create the Euro-Asian mountain divide. How revealing.
Discovered 1997 in a cave in the Black Isle, Rosemarkie Man, above left—reconstruction based on forensic digital imagery and carbon dated A.D.430-630—shows remarkable “Caucasian” Nordic &/or Hispanic features. Perhaps he arrived in a boat of skins and wood like the Broighter, right, found in a gold hoard on a Kerry beach, at the entrance to Lough Foyle. Long journey from the Baltic. Even longer from ancient homelands on the Black Sea.
The original boat would have had nine benches for the rowers, with 18 oars/rowlocks, a long oar for steering at the stern, three forked barge poles, and a grappling iron or anchor and a mast. This is the kind of boat which traded in prehistoric seas between the Channel, North Sea, Mediterranean, Baltic and west mainland Europe—Celto-Belgic, Gaulish, Brittany decor share similarities. Scythian influence had them bringing back not only goods but also ideas, technologies and fashions.
Focus of the Broighter hoard, the gold boat has ancient symbolic meaning. As centre of a rich offering to sea god Manannán macLyr, it was placed by the sea shore on a raised beach leading to Lough Foyle.
The sea was, as it still is today, an unpredictable force.
Mythical Manannán ruled his otherworldly kingdom, riding out over the waves on his chariot. He is ultimate master mariner, impervious to the sea’s deadly turbulence. Early sailors were as superstitious as their descendants! Easy to understand why open boats like this would seek his help and protection.
Along with the delight of the boat itself, the gold objects found alongside were mostly imported from the Mediterranean, including two gold neck chains from the east—possibly Roman Egypt.
Setting out from above the Arctic Circle, Scythian Celts sailed south through the Baltic in ships like the (sacred gold) Broighter Boat, above right, navigating from Archangel or St Petersburg, Lübeck, Bergen, through the North Sea, via the English Channel, Guernsey to Brittany and N. Gaul; and from the Cornish coast to W. Ireland and North to Pictland.
Caledonian chiefs were provided with wives from among widows of slain Tuatha de Danaan by Milesian monarch Eremon, so Cruithneans became “possessed of North Britain & there founded the kingdom of the Picts which continued for many centuries until 9thC when conquered by Kinneth MacAlpin, king of Dalriadic Scots-Irish colony in Scotland.” Psalter of Cashel 10thC
Class-II Pictish carved stone Monymusk, Aberdeenshire left, late cross, stylized cauldron; Reliquary original home
Akkadian Indo-Euro script, over: Akkadian Cimmerians were culturally caucasian, similar to Scythians 1000B.C.
Big Guys with Quivers of Arrows, Renowned Harpists
Belgians were called in the Gaulish-Celtic language Bolg and Bolgach, hence Firbolgs, and Firvolgians; and by Roman writers Belgae, Belgii. Celtic Bolg means ‘quiver of arrows’—apparently they were great archers, although bolgach also signifies ‘corpulent’. So, visualize large men of stout size; celebrated for their bravery. they fought with great valour against the Romans, and were called Fortissimi Gallorum by Julius Caesar, ‘most valiant of the Gauls’.
Bolgs owned a huge landmass. (Roman) Gallia Belgica covered extensive territory stretching through Gaul and northern France, including present country of Belgium. They were divided into separate tribes or nations: Parisii, Rheni, Belovaci, Atrebates, Nervii, Morini, Menapii.
Belgians were a mixed race of Cimmerians and Germans, or a Gaul-Teuton mix like Cimbrians. Having adopted neighbour Germanic language, they were sometimes considered a Gothic or Teutonic race. They were chiefly Celts or Gaels, and spoke a dialect of the Celtic language in German/Teutonic.
Every Bolg Town a Firbolg Market Town
Wealth & status were shown (above) as desirable in prehistoric and early-medieval cultural art. Mithras, god of Rome’s fascination with war and sacrifice, top left Phrygian helmet worn by honored legionaries; sacred pinnacle of Roman foot soldier’s devotion and belief. Caledonians’ sacred symbols, middle, began long before Pictish (Class I & II) incised & relief stones, with fields of Buchan littered with granite carved stone balls-all designs-c.3000B.C. In pre-Christian Scotland, early Class-I boundary stone at Drimmies, Inverurie ABD rt. in situ missing top symbol, but flowing symbol, l.below, may indicate river Don—important waterway—stone’s throw away with feet of lost ‘arch’, mirror & comb c.f. Pictish Class-I symbol chart where symbols are locally identified, e.g. horse Inverurie; bull Burghead. Last pic: Bullion Class-II relief slab Angus, approx. same vintage as battle of Nechtansmere, c.685, example of late Pictish (royal) artisan-craft smithworking community attached to a large cultural centre. Old man on horse drinking unsteadily—classic Class-II relief, no symbols but great realism, both rider & horse.
Many centuries before the Christian era, the Belgians (Bolgs) of Gaul sent colonies to Britannia. When Caesar invaded Britain, 55B.C., they were a powerful people already possessing the southern part of England from Suffolk to Devonshire. Belgic tribes in South Britain included: Cantii in Kent, Trinobantes in Essex and Middlesex; Regini and Atrebates in Surrey, Sussex, Hampshire, Berkshire, Wiltshire and Somerset; the Durotriges in Dorsetshire, and the Damnonii in Devonshire and Cornwall. Their capital city was Venta Belgarum, (trans. Bolgs’ Market; Winchester).
The Caledonians, (Picts, or Cruithneans), according to 9thC Psalter of Cashel and other ancient annals, were an Indo-European race from Scythia on borders of Europe and Asia. According to Venerable Bede, writing in 7thC Ecclesiastical History of the English People, on their flight from Thrace/Scythia through the Baltic, via Finland, they made their way over the North Sea to S.Ireland—present Bay of Wexford. Not being permitted to settle at Inver Slainge, they sailed for Albain, Scotia, “that part of North Britain now called Scotland”.
While Scotland’s Caledonia is strewn with burgh markets, fairs and summertime food festivals celebrating local specialties, equivalent Welsh, Cornish, Brittonic (Saxon-English) market towns retain their Roman character (and in places, name Venta) around which Brit agriculture and livelihood was focused: e.g. Winchester Hampshire above, Gwent-on-Wye ‘Venta’ major market S.Wales.
In an historical context, Chepstow’s Welsh name, Caes Gwent, castle of Venta, Roman ‘market place’, shows how ancient are its roots and significant its position on the confluence of the river Wye (over which the 11thC Castle of Gwent still towers) with the Severn’s great tidal estuary which eventually flows into the Bristol Channel and the Atlantic Ocean. This is southern heartland of ancient (pre-Celtic) Brythonic kingdom, where ancient Britons spoke a dialect understood by other Britons of Prydein–Roman Britannia. Their language was understood over the water-bridge in Brittany, throughout Cornwall, Isle of Man, Rheged (ancient Cumbria), Dumbarton and Strathclyde (Dun-Britton), Brigantia (Yorkshire and Northumberland) and northern Pictland (Prydein). Their ancient monuments, aligned with the movements of the heavens and dedicated to their ancestral dead, were generations older than Stonehenge. Avebury’s great circle is their nearest relative in design and in time. As are the stone balls.
Nation of Shopkeepers Come Thru with Aid when Chips are Down
Pre-Celtic waterways like great tidal Severn estuary, left, combine ancient travel route, with Roman market town, and modern shipping canal. CaerGwent=Chepstow from Roman Venta & Gaulish Brythonic Caer castle holds ancient custodianship over River Wye, Wales, & Atlantic waters
Weren’t you wondering when the Scythian connection would penetrate?
Yes, the blue&yellow flag flying over valleys between the Caucasus and the Black Sea—Ukraine. That’s where our Scythian gene comes from. That’s the cross-Caucasus Asian-Euro mix that confounds any division, brings a HUGE international so-called Caucasian alliance to front & center. You thought DNA & ancestral genealogy research were dominated by Viking-Norse? Re-think: Caucasus wins hands down.
The French—never great buddies with the English [contra the Cruithne aka 16thC Auld Alliance MQS, French court language insinuating its way into Scots]*—are reputed to be origin of uncomplimentary Brit shopkeeper comments—more likely attribution to Napoleon who really didn’t like them. Mixing metaphors here, shopping seems to have unforeseen cultural advantages in breaking barriers—like big personally-driven overseas deliveries from Bradford, Liverpool with the Euro-consortium Médecins sans frontières, and Poland and Finland loaning military equipment normally used for rescue. Shopkeepers adding groceries to growing international rescue mission for refugees score top marks for volunteering.
*Local Scots understand French imports like golf caddy (cadet, young boy), and colloquial ‘loo’ (‘gardez l’eau’) as maid throws bucket of water into Edinburgh street below—16thC—no plumbing.
Writing our Way Out of A Situation is Good (Insecure) Writers’ Cave Advice
In Ukraine, the horse is a symbol of loyalty, devotion and freedom. They still have wolf and auroch (exist in wild) symbols of fertility and strength. Crane symbolizes sadness for their native land. And they tell ancient stories of angels and dragons, like other border communities. They share mythical gods of ocean and mountains with other cultures like Brythonic Bride. Shakespeare even wrote King Lear to satisfy his craving for mythical tales of ancestral gods. Rashly, Scythians calculate Gregorian calendar now along with Western world countries celebrating Easter a month late, a dislocated Ramadan and dislodged Carnival, with a slew of social media reels to cover their trail.
A Doric Northeast Scotland (Cruithne) calendar calculation rhyme for Easter should keep us on local track with the ‘fit like’ dialect. Spoken to me at the Back o’ Bennachie, by a born-‘n’-bred Insch quine with full intonation—Picts, Scots Irish & adoptive Brit-Scythian-Thracians might like to try it.
Fit like?
‘First come Candlemas
Syne the New Meen
The niest Tiseday efter ‘at
Is aye Festern’s E’en.
That Meen oot
An’ anither at its hicht
The niest Sunday efter ‘at
Is aye Pasche richt.’
Ancient Scots Easter calculation. Anon
We in our Writer’s Cave send what we can: support comes in many guises. Gotta get out the Scythian dictionary. Or maybe, like the Doric of N.E.Scotland above Pictish throwback medieval Cruithne dialect (fit like translates as how are you); or Edinburgh’s insider French from a Parisian courtly ‘close’ [passageway], we will probably keep on keeping on.
©2022 Marian Youngblood
FLOWER POWER in the North—Folk Memory & HiTech Open Doors to Rich Caledonian Past
FLOWERPOWER IN THE NORTH—FOLK MEMORY HiTech & TRADITION OPEN DOORS TO RICH LANDHOLDINGS in CALEDONIAN Provinces
Mar, Buchan & Moray—Pride of Pictish Kings for 1000 years
“Tweed, Forth, Tay, Dee, Don, Spey”
Children’s NE.Scotland learning River Rhyme in geographical sequence S to N
Borders Lothians, Central Belt to ancient capital Forteviot; Mearns, Aberdeenshire Banffshire & Northcoast Moray to Great Glen’s ‘Highland Line’ fault
Burghead Pictish Bull, l. totem guardian 1 of 32 Pictish Class-I carved stones found (&reburied) in Burghead harbour
Work by University of Aberdeen Archaeology Unit‘s revelationary & revealing 2021 season just ended at two of the North’s seminal Pictish sites: Burghead on Moray’s North Coast and Tap o’Noth, 1,800ft over Rhynie—inland Britain’s largest hillfort in Aberdeenshire— gold country: farming, silver/metalsmithing, stone carving centre in the North. Excitement has been high recently in academic circles—Aberdeen, Glasgow and Stirling—with new season on-site work enhanced not only by drone footage, but by the miracle of computer-enhanced search and dating tools.
High Status Northern Royal Fortress Protected by Moray Firth Waters on Three Sides, Triple-ringed Ditches on Landward
Descended from Iron Age Celtic tribes, East coast Picts were culturally and linguistically distinct from neighbouring Gaels, who inhabited western Scotland, and the Britons, in present southern Scotland & northern Lake District. Formation of their identity as a distinct group accelerated by Roman presence, forced separate tribal groups to organize and cooperate with each other, developing large Pictish settlements—sub- kingdoms—in the face of a common threat. By the 10th century, the Picts had apparently vanished from Alba, leaving only myths and carved symbol stones inscribed with ‘regional’ designs.
Burghead—Roman Tarvedunum Bull Fort—30 Lost Carved Stones
“It’s like having a magnifying glass that sees thru the layers below me”, said one mystified transformed pupil of Burghead Primary School during their day spent in the Pictish lower trench of the triple-walled Royal fort on the North Coast. Precipitated by rising Moray Firth waterline, lucky local kids got to witness ‘full-throttle hi-tech deep dig’ combo, prompting input from three Scots universities, charitable Leverhulme Trust funding and cooperation of NationalTrust [NTSScotland], with Collections at National Museum of Scotland, Edinburgh.
New discoveries in a remarkably short month were astounding—from Mediterranean wine dregs in Roman amphorae staining high-status blue glass goblets, to cremated animal boneyard relics with their carved mummy headstones, to precious personal mirror and comb fragments of well-known ‘Pictish’ design—even Anglo-Saxon coins from the reign of (very South of the Border) Alfred the Great—871-886, top left. No carved bull fragments yet.
Group interest from Celtic and pre-Celtic academics from Gaul to Cornwall to North Wales, found evidence of mead implying resident bees and honey expertise, with alcoholic perks for high holidays. Invergowrie’s Bullion Stone, top, is known for its drunken rider, implying success in the (battle)field.
Rhynie Man, below rt, ploughed up next to Craw Stane, mid above, with sacred Salmon & Dolphin symbols, holds a titular axe similar in design to silver axehead pin, below, found during the local dig at Tap o’Noth. ‘Rescued’ as treasure trove 1978 (Barflat farmer paid), the then-Aberdeenshire Council authority placed him in entrance to Woodhill House, Aberdeen. Where he still stands—available to view only during business hours. <(
Down in the Burghead Trench…
It was a huge disappointment that all 36 bull stones (except six*) were ‘lost’ aka reburied? when the Broch’s 19thCentury newtown, below l. was built over one third of the prehistoric promontory within its oldest prehistoric walls. The possibility of finding such buried treasure will have to wait till next season. *British Museum has one.
Burghead overbuilt 19thC newtown 
Oak beams destroyed by fire 
Rhymie Man 
Pictish bone comb fragment 
The Doorie 
silver pin ritual axe ornament
Radiocarbon dates show the fort was occupied from at least the sixth through the tenth centuries. But its prehistoric past beckons. It is the Broch to locals—hinting at its headland massif: the dun of Latin Tarvedunum, the name given to it by the Romans. Later residents lived on top of earlier, adding at least three stages. Burned (oak) timber beams suggest the fort was eventually destroyed by fire. West coast Nordophiles are keen to blame 10thC burning of the ancient fort’s triple layered [imported English] oak beams, above mid. on contemporary Vikings who were raiding Orkney, Sutherland and vulnerable Argyll’s Hebridean fjörd-like coastline, 839-45. it is, however, a tragic historical fact that the Dunadd Scots contingent under Cinaed MacAlpin took the Pictish kingdom (and Forteviot capital) by force in 843, claiming ancestry through matrilineal succession. He and three generations of descendants retained the title ‘Kings of Alba’—former name of Pictish royal house. One descendant, Giric, gave his name to St.Cyrus in the Mearns; another Culen Dubh to Cullen, in former Banffshire. Rocky Kintyre soil (inhospitable to farming) was abandoned for rich agricultural hinterland of lowland Aberdeenshire, Perthshire, Moray, Black Isle and the Great Glen.
Pictish Chronicles, Sacred Books & Long-lost Placename Clues
Pictish Chronicles—such as survived the deliberate defacement and downgrade of a subdued culture—were either rewritten or ‘lost’. Despite Nordic and Scotian suppression, we are fortunate to have original contemporary accounts by Venerable Bede (Northumbrian Anglian monk and historian, d.735 Jarrow) and Columba’s 7thC biographer, St. Adamnan of Iona. Margin illustration notes in 10thC Book of Deer show how gradually over 200 years, the so-called Kings of Alba gradually asserted their Irish and Scots roots, in a country they finally named Scot-land. Pictish heritage is jealously guarded in lowland central Aberdeenshire in a rich assortment of Pictish placenames, ancient forests, tollroads and routeways carved through an adoptive-Gaelic landmass. In this maelstrom of mixed lineage, Aberdeenshire Moray and Banff proudly speak the Doric—local Scots sub-language with strong Pictish overtones filled with hidden meaning.
Cathedrals may come and go but Pechts’ hooses remain…
Elgin cathedral— Light in the North—burned and ravaged before the Reformation. Pluscarden Sistercian Abbey and Brotherhood, burned but rebuilt; Abbeys of Arbroath, Brechin and Melrose ruinous, roofless. Yet the Fite Kirks (white aka stone building c.f. sod earth structures of pre-Christian cells) survive at Tyrie, Old Rayne, and Fordyce—a sacred stone’s throw distant from Deskford battlefield where a lone Celtic Carnyx battlehorn was found.
Trajan’s Column in Rome shows barbarian hoards sounding the Carnyx in battle. Designs in 1st-4thCC continental Celtic countries share the trumpet’s ‘Pictish beast’ shape, like the Craw Stane & pin above; imply a sacred meaning, as do regional shapes of traditional Class-I incised Pictish symbols on slabs from Ross & Cromarty to the Firth of Tay. Mirror & comb usually indicate lineage through female line of succession.
Old Aberdeen’s 10thC St.Machar’s Cathedral retains the best of ten centuries of change in a multi-faith population. Within a ploughshare of the ‘teaching stones’ of early-Christian monk Fergus’s sanctuary at Dyce [Aberdeen airport], top rt., sacred kirks and preaching steens (cross-carved stones with no other ornament) gradually filled in the jigsaw of Pictish ‘affiliation’ with Rome in King Nechtan’s time, 721. Then the Pictish nation politically and architecturally surpassed Northumbrian Jarrow, Lindisfarne and York in holding ‘Roman’ Easter alongside the Vatican, ahead of laggard barbarians of the Saxon south and ‘antiquated’ Iona. This division within the church in Scotland survived the Reformation.
Local kirk adherents [Church of Scotland] still prefer to speak to God directly, without the assistance of meenister, beadle, angels or peripatetic monks as intermediary.
HighTech to the Rescue: Creative Solution to Past Mysteries
Exciting new work opens the door for creativity in a field previously dominated by English [Oxbridge] chroniclers with understandably few tentacles in the Northeast Brythonic black-haired race’s murky past. With Univ. Aberdeen in the cauldron mix now, stirring chronicler cells in the Celtic cerebral cortex, folk memory, subconscious links to our past are no longer ‘forgotten’. They surface and bring aha moments.
Triggered by drone footage—superior to ’50s archaeological ‘aerial photography’ in cost and fuel efficiency—and I.T., Earth equivalent of depth-sounding in the Deep, avenues we never knew existed open—multi-layer occupation; imported oak versus local-grown timber for sacred buildings; extended habitation as royal residences within surrounding high population dense ‘burgh’.
Tap o’Noth, 1,800ft, similarly surprised the team in revealing a high density ‘town’ at hilltop level, supported by a rich artisan-agriculture-forestry-based ‘royal’ burgh below in Rhynie-Clatt culture centre within prehistoric RSCs of Wheedlemont and the Ladder Hills. Rhynie’s current residents call for return of their iconic Man, to reunite with remaining carved compatriots in Market Square.
Looking Ahead at Burghead
Past & Future Storm
Burghead winter frolics are just beginning. Clavie King Dan Ralph, son John & Clavie Crew brush up their tar-burning barrel-toting oil-spill defying skills 2prepare for Auld’Eel Burning the Clavie on the Doorie fire-altar overlooking the Moray Firth. Late solstice: early January here we come.
For all creative spirits under the solstital Storm’s watchful eye, may we writers gain wisdom from our own collective subconscious, learn new ways to preserve and protect our ancient paths.
Here’s to embracing both past and our human future. Sláinte selig skøl santé salute salud cheers. ©2021 Marian Youngblood
Eightsome, Strip-the-Willow, Reel of the 51st Signal Sloane Migration to Eastern Scotland
BANK HOLIDAY/MEMORIAL WEEKEND FROLICS ACROSS OCEAN DIVIDE
Extracting Insecure Scribes from Our Writers‘ Cave for 1st Wednesday Date
Approaching solstitial heat brings global rise in temperatures, snowmelt in Iceland, German exodus to beaches on North Sea, as world leaders cautiously advise population mobility for the summer of 2021. North American population either on the move again, or thinking about it. Thereby hangs a tale.
Across the Water in Britain, the Royals—bravely—TRHs Earl & Countess of Strathearn (their title while in Scotland) have been out-and-about walking, driving and sailing the outdoors in a widely-covered expedition into their past, setting an example for the future, and simultaneously enjoying the backwoods.
Original royal Strathearn founder CUSTATIN FILIUS FORCUS (811-820) 9thC Christian King of Picts & Scots reigned from dual capital Forteviot—ancient Fortriu—where this Dupplin high cross stood. Original now in museum, replica stands in royal meadow overlooking Strathearn’s strategic power centre, q.v. Interlace drapes cross over royal rider, Latinized inscription gives his lineage
see Forteviot Arch , Pictish Kinglist Custatin
From start to finish, vitality has been the vibration of the current royal catchup-with-Northern Britain: sentimental journey to where they first met, packing in fun & games, fish & chips, while blasting the horn of their fave charities to help essential workers take a day off! The explosion of joy streamed across nations and seas, as social media pounced on them, setting an example for us all.
SLOANE MIGRATION TO EASTERN SCOTLAND No Cause for Writerly Alarm
EXTRACTING US INSECURE WRITERS FROM OUR WRITER’S CAVE TAKES SOME DOING, BUT …
‘Ve haf owr vays’
The Eightsome Reel Ghillies ball at Balmoral thanks to ©James Fraser on Vimeo.
It takes something special to tap us (Insecure Writers) gently on the shoulder and wake us up out of our (perennial, mostly to other people, boring) state of creative existence down the rabbit, er, writing hole to emerge into daylight unshuttered, aka the real world.
But after a year on the gravy train’s opposite track, we need a thrill—something to entice us—into joining in once again. So easy to lose track, the knack. Social distancing, self-isolating requirew self discipline, care, self-awareness.
But wasn’t that what we were always told we were good at?
Ahem.
Royals Lead the Pack Back into the Countryside
While we weren’t looking, it seems, over the last 35 years or so, most of us—even the most hibernating of writers—have seen the change in society, an almost imperceptible trend towards the metropolis: a citification, joining others in an urbanization of country ways. Nations holding traditional country ceremonies had their celebrations curtailed; ancient traditions stopped dead. The world—both Western ‘city’ style and ’emerging’ nations dependent exclusively on the earth directly for their food—stopped. Everyone went indoors, switched off the metaphorical light.
Official advice throughout prolonged enforced isolation has been health-related, breathing fresh air, keeping mobile, with outdoor activities actively encouraged by world governments as soon as it was #safe to do so.
So it’s both refreshing and deep-down psychically encouraging to find the Royals’ first engagement after their release from the regal stronghold-cum-retreat was to revel on tidal shores of Forth and Tay, share a love of fresh countryside and take part in famliar traditions far removed from city smoke. HRH Prince William succeeded in expressing the embodiment of his northern kingdom’s ancient roots—as Earl of Strathearn, (Fortriu territory early-Christian 9thC combined kingdom of Picts and Scots in Perthshire), pictured top. His consort, HRH Countess Catherine, actively engaged in providing much-needed recreation for key care workers who have had little relief.
St. Andrew’s, middle/bottom l. university town perched on Fife tidal foreshore, was focus of early church of Pictish King Custatin (Forteviot high cross after Roman Constantine) sarcophagus still dominates ruined 9thC cathedral. Strathearn inherited title last used in 1299. TRH Earl & Countess top l. attend Church of Scotland general assembly with Moderator, Edinburgh as HM Queen’s High Commissioner—but as an ordinary subject, as protestant dictates.
Early Christian monasteries like Lindisfarne, Deer in Buchan (Book of Deer) and Iona (Book of Kells) kept illustrated, illuminated gospel prayer books like simple monk’s doodling, right, as teaching tools and to while away the hours.
Revered Pictish monks St. Serf (Culsalmond) and St. Fergus (Dyce) Aberdeenshire used scrollwork within familiar fish symbols to teach the illiterate Christian: ICHTHYS*=fish (Gk.)followed ancient knotwork traced in fish body.
*shorthand for Jesu Christos son of Theos most high. Dyce cross slab is inscribed in fish-shaped ogham lettering.
Whirlwind Royal Visit Achieves Media ‘Massive Strides’, Touches the Heart
While us creative types still plug in and turn on in our daily writing routine, it’s seratonin-inducing happy-making encouraging to have rôle-models—especially youthful, genuine, energetic, fit and motivated national figures.
The Royal family have maintained their privacy during this last year, ending charismatically with the death and funeral of HRH Prince Philip (of Battenberg, Hohenzohlern Hesse-Coburg & Greece & Denmark). By innovating/initiating a visit by the younger generation—with a romantic connection to a beloved countryside—the Queen played her trump card. William, as High Commissioner of Church of Scotland’s General Assembly in Holyrood Palace in the nation’s capital, converted the Moderator’s stoney heart, captivated audiences worldwide.
Writers (Insecure or Otherwise), journalists, scribes of all faiths, Panic Not. Remember. Thereby hangs a tale.
Jas.Fraser’s video at Balmoral of the annual Ball, above, shows the secret language of dance that the Royals use, based on a shared schooling background in Scotland, and the traditional form Scottish Country Dancing can take.
Prince Philip was so enamored of Morayshire’s ‘Outward Bound’ Gordonstoun School, he had all his children attend. Charles is reputedly no fan [his children William & Harry schooled at Eton instead]. But HRH Princess Anne, the Princess Royal, has been supportive and a Governor of the Board of the campus at Duffus-Elgin on the Moray coast for over 20 years. Both her brothers, Princes Andrew (dancing with her in the reel) and Edward attended along with her children Peter Philips and Zara Tindall who graduated there.
Secret Insider Dance-spotting Detective Trick
Like all establishments in the so-called ‘public school’ aka private system in Britain, Gordonstoun encourages outdoor pursuits, personal excellence, a full schedule of examinations and activities—including country dance. Annual balls like the (winter) Holly Hoolie, & Aberdeen Beach Ballroom Children-1st Touch of Tartan Ball (revitalized after a three year hiatus as New Tartan Ball for Barnardo’s along with (summer) Donside Ball (WWF), Ghillies’ Ball, and an array of private dances in school holidays when skirts and kilts join in merrily.
One teeny giveaway of the #hardened #seasoned kilt-swinging tribe—you can see from Anne’s twirling with her brother Andrew that they’re serious about their reeling—is footwork. No, no pointy points or ballet posture as in Ladies Highland Dance. It’s important to be as low-profile, un-pas-de-bas as possible, slushing into the swing, slushing back out to await next partner.
Within Northeast Scotland’s dancing élite, this style is known as #Aberdeenshire.
When Haddo House hosted weekend parties for Princess Margaret (until her death) and later charity events for some of Prince Edward’s charities, held in the old Canadian-built WWII wooden Hall, dance style is relaxed—kilts to the fore, with familiar slushy footwork. Haddo Hall’s Reel of the 51st Battalion is truly a magnificent sight. While an Eightsome dots the room with individual circles interweaving [vid above], Strip-the-Willow gets dancers lined up in rows, but pièce-de-résistance Reel of the 51st has the building shaking, all dancers somehow entwined in a communal embrace.
Now, that’s Aberdeenshire.
So when next St.Andrew’s Day (November 30) or Feast of Fergus or Colm or Giric or Blane you feel like dancing the night away, you may remember least stressful most physically satisfying style adopted by Britain’s leading families snakes back to its country beginnings on Scotland’s North Coast.
That in itself is encouraging for a future (outdoor-trending) lifestyle. Breathe fresh air, breathe health, breathe well. Thank you for listening. May we all fare well through our next Muse-directed experience. ©2021MarianYoungblood
Surprise Benefits of Lockdown: Revealing New Insights in Old—Archaeological—Territory
LOCKDOWN’S SURPRISE BENEFITS: REVEAL NEW INSIGHTS ON OLD—ROMAN—GROUND
MARCH MUSINGS IN THE WRITERS‘ CORNER—INSECURE WRITERLY STYLE—AFTER ONE YEAR OF SOCIETAL DISLOCATION, INNER DISRUPTION & FOLLOWING THE RULES
Writing—especially when done under difficult conditions—can, like many professions—medical, physical, psychological—bring joy, new discoveries, even resolve to beat one’s own record. When our usual comfort zone in the Writer’s Cave is threatened, writers, creative artists and humans generally have the capacity to hunker down and do what it required. We have had TIME to think, to be comfortable with ourselves, sometimes to open new doors we didn’t know existed.
Suggestions from the world of archaeology have indicated that long term study provided by enforced closure and reversion ‘to the books’ and laptop have produced remarkable new insights into what we thought was a locked-up world of Scotland’s Pictish past.
Fierce Pictish ‘beasts’ guard Class II relief slab at former early Xtian site in Conon Bridge, Easter Ross Black Isle. Rescue-restoring a previously-recycled 18thC McAuley tombstone, revealed affinity with larger group of Pictish relief cross-slabs Rosemarkie, Cromarty Firth and inner Morayshire, direct line to southern enclaves of Pictish centres Forfar, Brechin, Meigle. Pink granite stone will be on display after conservation in Dingwall museum.
The new Dingwall cross-slab is a uniquely significant western extension of the prestigious Pictish symbol-bearing relief sculpture of Easter Ross, notably connected with the tall slabs of Shandwick and Rosemarkie Dr. Isabel Henderson
Double disc, Z-rod & horsemen, 7thC similar to reliefs in ‘Kingdoms’ of Fib (Fife), Fotla, Fortriu (Forteviot) & Forgue are dominated by cross-carved interlace guarded by beasts on Christian side of 6-foot Conon megalith
Not so. In Pictland, the former Scotland, that is. With time on their hands, access to drone and digital technology, it’s all change.
So say archaeological field- and National Museum-based historians and archivists who have had amazing revelations on their doorstep appearing within last 24 months. With recent lockdown private time provided to reassess and appreciate collections and individual finds, their vision of North Britain in (1st C) Roman times and following Roman withdrawal in A.D. 420 has changed.
At the close of the 1st Century, when Roman legions were at their most adventurous and conquering best, the Empire stretched from modern Russian riviera in the Caucasus to Scotland’s Ultima Thule. Marching camps furthered the Roman reach beyond what would become Hadrian’s Wall, and while Romans never quite relaxed to enjoy the warm waters of Moray Firth and Cromarty—no lush villas built after Agricola’s seminal campaign, A.D. 83 below, as they did in the South near Bath, Colchester, St. Alban’s or Birdlip Gloucestershire. No swimming pools, games or multi-servant dining in the triclinium until autumn return to Rome. Nevertheless, Roman marching camps (following the few ancient tracks north) were substantially built upon—sometimes like Inchtuthil reworked to become fully-manned forts—Raedykes in Kincardine spanned 93acres/37ha. and was capable of housing three legions, or 16,000 troops.
A marching camp of similar size at Durno in Donside seems more likely to have fueled 11,000 legionaries ‘held in reserve’ at battle of Mons Graupius—on undulating lower ramparts of Mither Tap of Bennachie—in the Garioch*, while 3000 cavalry and 8000 British auxiliary infantry (according to Tacitus) alone decimated the screaming tribes numbering at least 30,000. *pron.Gee-ree
Pictish Placenames come to the Rescue
Cairnamounth pass between the Mearns (Kincardineshire) and Deeside (Aberdeenshire) has also been suggested, but no large Pictish royal centre lies south of River Dee at Banchory. Several Pictish placenames do help, however—Pictish Pitcaple Pet-capull ‘place of royal horse’ gives weight to a location closer to Bennachie. Kintore was built adjacent to a mile-long avenue of prehistoric cairns, circles and carved stone megaliths (Druidsfield, Broomend Crichie, Kintore kirkyard) sacred-ancestral to local tribes. Kintore-Inverurie corridor is lined by Pictish Class I (5thC-7thC) incised carved stones.
At the time of building Emperor Hadrian’s wall to keep out wild pagan Caledonii (A.D.122) Roman presence in NE Scotland followed ancient trackways from conquered territories in S, over the Mounth into Donside and via Aberdeen north to Fyvie, Banff and Moray coast, in order to control gold reserves and pre-Pictish sacred centres in Black Isle (Rosemarkie) and Cawdor
At the height of Agricola’s campaign, 20 years before the end of the 1st Century, according to his son-in-law, Tacitus, Rome could do no wrong. Twenty years earlier, her legions had defeated (tortured and killed) most of the Iceni under their great queen Boudicca, ransacked all the Brigantian gold reserves and sacred shrines they could find, and were on a mission to subdue the northern tribes: Dicalydones (Caledonian tribes in two main divisions) for their rich eastern landholdings.
Caledonians Unsubjugated, Rome Withdraws
By A.D.368, just thirty years before Roman withdrawal from Britain, Ammianus Marcellinus describes tribes of the Priteni [Picts] split into two by the Mounth: northern Dicalydones and Verturiones in the south. To Roman authors, Priteni-Britannii were linguistically just another people of Prydein. By the post-Roman (early Medieval) Dark Age, Caledonians had re-possessed their northern forests, the Fortriu people their rich lands of Perth, Kinross and Fife.
Tacitus was faithful to his father-in-law in the possibly fictitious speech he put in Caledonian chieftain Calgacus’ mouth:
Solitudinem faciunt pacem appelant
They create a wilderness and call it ‘peace’
Following the rout of local tribes by such a small Roman force—not even involving key legions— army ranged from 17,000 to 30,000; although Tacitus says that 11,000 auxiliaries were engaged, along with a further four squadrons of cavalry, the number of legionaries in reserve was iapproxunately 15,000—none deployed.
Caledonian chariotry was charging about on the level plain between both armies, their wooden war chariot wheels getting stuck in mud. Imagine Harthill Castle, Back of Bennachie, Gadie Burn hinterland, leading to Insch, the Cabrach, protective forest cover.
After a brief exchange of missiles, Agricola ordered auxiliaries to launch a frontal attack on the enemy. These were based around four cohorts of Batavians and two cohorts of (paid) Tungrian swordsmen intended to terrorize the tribes who were deployed in a U-shape upslope. Caledonians were cut down and trampled on the lower slopes of the hill. Those at the top attempted to outflank them, but were themselves outflanked by Roman cavalry. Caledonians were then comprehensively routed and fled for the shelter of nearby woodland, ‘relentlessly pursued’ by well-organised Roman units.
It is said that the Roman Legions took no part in the battle, being held in reserve throughout. According to Tacitus, 10,000 Caledonian lives were lost at a cost of only 360 auxiliary troops. 20,000 Caledonians retreated into the woods, where they fared considerably better against pursuing forces. Roman scouts were unable to locate any Caledonian forces the next morning.
Tacitus was succinct in his criticism of Agricola’s recall to Rome in the autumn of 83: having confiscated the Caledonians’ granary harvest—leaving the locals without food for winter—their subjugation was assured. It was a significant victory for Rome. Honors and illustrious awards awaited him, but the frontier he had opened shut down tight. Tacitus’ quote on his account of Roman history A.D.68-98 : Perdomita Britannia et statim missa ‘Britain was completely conquered and immediately let go’, showed his bitter disapproval of Emperor Domitian’s failure to unify the whole island under Roman rule after Agricola’s successful campaign.
Perdomita Britannia et statim missa Britannia was completely conquered and immediately allowed release
Retreat to Writer’s Cave When no Other Avenue on Offer
Given Tacitus’ example of a journalist’s account of an event outwith his area of conttrol (mostly), our suggestion to fellow scribes for March—one year down the line from a time when we had not a (writing) care in the world—must be to hold down that inner knowing that we’ll pull through; that we can (and will) find the words we’re looking for. And to use them as wisely—and with as much human compassion—f not love—as we can muster.
Because we know our writerly Muse has higher [consciousness] ancestral connections, who also look down—like Calgacus—from their virtual mountain perches, wishing us well and directing us—ever so gently—along this new, previously untrodden path. ©2021 Marian C. Youngblood
The Carnyx, the Games—Aberdeenshire’s Royal Farewell to Summer
THE CARNYX, THE GAMES—ABERDEENSHIRE’S ROYAL FAREWELL TO SUMMER
or The Royals know where to Party for End of Summer Fun
First Wednesday IWSG Party Time for Insecure Writers and other Scribes
March of the Lonach Men recalls the 1745 Rebellion, when wearing of the kilt was outlawed for 100 years
Aberdeenshire’s Other Summereve’s Celebration
Braemar, on the river Dee, follows a rival tradition—over the mountain and through the pass to Donside—where the (178th) Lonach Gathering and Games was held last Saturday, August 24th in Bellabeg, on the banks of the Don.
Beloved of Lonach fans, Robin Williams at the 2001 Gathering at Bellabeg, Strathdon Aberdeenshire
It’s an excuse for the remote glen to entertain as many famous international guests as they can squeeze into the valley for their last summer party—and the noble families of Donside hinterland open their houses in force. Sir James Forbes, Bart, cousin to Lord Forbes, head of clan Forbes, leads his green-kilted warriors to pipe and march from 8a.m. until they reach the field at 11a.m. Other pipers and pike-carrying members of the Wallaces and former rival-clan Gordon—join them, swinging in down the winding track.
No Historial Reenactment—Lonach Men March Three Hours through the Glen
Sir James Forbes of Newe, Bart, Patron of the Lonach Highland & Friendly Society, Bellabeg Strathdon
“Scotland in 1823 was on the cusp of monumental change, finally emerging from the bleak post-Culloden years to resume her rightful place in the World. With so much change in the air our ancestors saw the need to preserve their heritage, whilst still embracing the new.
“This is no historical re-enactment. The Lonach March represents an unbroken link from our forefathers to the 21st Century. Encountering the Lonach Highlanders for the first time takes you back to pre-1745 Scotland.”
Sir James Forbes of Newe and Edinglassie, Bart.
The Forbeses were once premier barons of Donside and Mar. Today, despite dwindling fortunes and a rich, punishing history—but unlike rival Gordons—a Forbes remains in possession of the clan’s oldest stronghold, Druminnor—the original 1429 Castle Forbes, seat of Chiefs of Forbes for 500 years. The Gordons rose to become Marquesses and Dukes, lording it over Strathbogie and the North, but Huntly Castle is a ruin and the feud has gone into the history books. Nowadays Lonach Men march together as one.
Flying threadbare standards gifted by Queen Victoria (tattered replaced by new, 2011), the Lonach Men stop at several remote dwellings on their way through the pass, each marcher toasted in whisky, given a dram and ‘haste ye back’, before the next halt. By the time they reach the playing field three hours later, they are in fine fettle.
Drunk or sober, it is the pipers’ duty to play after the day is done, too. They beat the retreat at 5:30p.m. when everybody—upwards of 8,000 souls—starts packing up champagne bucket, shooting stick and cucumber sandwich leftovers, to drive home. There have been years when it took four hours to reach Aberdeen and the coast—42miles away—in single-track traffic from Newe. [For perfectionists, it’s pronounced N-y-ow, like Meow with an N].
Rallying Call to Battle Gathering—Pipes or Carnyx
Celtic continental influence in Roman Scotland, Deskford’s Carnyx battle horn rallied Caledonian troops to march—as haunting a sound as Lonach bagpipes
A recent collaboration by Aberdeen and Euro continental archaeologists, comparing the few examples of bronze-cast sacred battle horns—Roman carnyx—allowed a replica to be made which sounds authentic—John Kenny plays, photo left.
Its weird high-pitched call (to battle) is hauntingly similar to the sound of the pibroch from a single piper’s drone on a high mountain pass. The Deskford carnyx , found in 1816 Banffshire (now Aberdeenshire) was ritually buried (on a battlefield?) with gold, silver, bronze bell, the battle horn itself a stylized boar’s head with upturned snout, signifying bravery of an indomitable superior race.
Sacred to the Picts, carved Boar stone from Donside, Aberdeenshire approx. A.D.420-700—earliest clan animal of Forbes and Gordon, courtesy National Museums of Scotland
Roman legions called them the painted people. In A.D.4thC Ammianus Marcellinus’s historical accounts Dicalydones were northern tribes: one of two branches of Picti, Picts, Roman chronicler Tacitus’s Caledonians who inhabited modern-day Moray, Banff and Buchan. The second group were the Verturiones who occupied southern territories of modern Fife, Perthshire, Forfar (Fortriu) and Lothian. Carnyces have turned up in sacred settings along Roman routes through France to northern Baltic. There is a famous carnyx series embossed on the silver Gundestrup cauldron found in 1891 in a Baltic peat bog in Jutland, dating to around 2nd Century B.C. Its boar-headed shape has the same curvature, and was the work of Iron Age Celtic Franco-Germanic artists.
My fellow IWSG-ers and our Cap’n at the Helm, Alex will agree that we writers who have the advantage of Space-Time awareness, courtesy of our ancestral lineage, know how the power of sound/music—certain plaintive notes—can trigger a rush of joy, inspiration, fresh creativity.
Danzig Willie’s Craigievar William Forbes, creator of Craigievar Castle in Upper Donside brought the style of France to the Aberdeenshire hinterland, 1686
Is my historical desire to link the fantastic Pictish family of animal symbols with the conquering (Scots) lineage A.D.845 so farfetched?
Forbes tradition has it that their ancestor, Pictish chief Ochonochar, trapped a boar which was terrorizing the neighborhood. Their emblem shows stylized muzzled boar. The House of Gordon has a similar legend for their boar crest worn by the Cock o’ the North. Pictish Class I Boar stone, as late as A.D.700, above, was a Donside symbol—just as the Pictish Bull is mainly associated with Burghead and Moray.
IWSGers with Scots-Irish ancestry, even when writing deadlines hover—today is Anthology Contest—know we all enjoy a dip in the gene pool.
Have fun. Take a last wild plunge before summer ends. Let me know how it feels.
Thanks for listening.
©2019 Marian Youngblood
Royal Prerogative—Generosity of the Monarch in a 21stC World
Generosity of the Monarch in a 21stCentury World
Monthly Pointers for Insecure Writers and other Wanderers in Time
Generosity was historically how a Monarch was judged by her people. Nobles who usurped their position—or took handouts—didn’t make it into the history books.
HM the Queen shares a smile with POTUS her guest at State Banquet in the palace ballroom
The bard was asked who of the kings of Prydein
is most generous of all
‘And I declared boldly
That it was Owain’
The Gorhoffedd, 12thC Brittonic heroic poem
We in the known world have this week been treated to a vision of the splendour and magnificence which comes out when great dynasties meet. A State visit by the president of the United States of America to Great Britain—regardless of decade or political swing—is not taken lightly in royal circles. When Her Majesty the Queen decides to commemorate a ‘special relationship’ with military undertones, nobody born in the last hundred years is going to stop her. Her generosity shows.
The Palace knows how to pull out all the stops—and last week they did.
Buckingham Palace ballroom was setting for State Banquet for 170 guests given by HM Queen for President Trump and First Lady of USA, June 2019
June 6th marks seventy-five years this week since the Allied forces of Europe and America made D-Day landings on the beaches of Normandy. The second world war (WWII) ended one year later in 1945.
During President Donald Trump’s visit, HM the Queen presented him with a gold leaf embossed first edition of Winston Churchill’s Second World War 6-volume set. And she will also attend a ceremony with him in Portsmouth—English channel coast—to mark the D-Day event, before he leaves.
If anyone can carry off a grand banquet, a major wartime memorial, inspecting four ‘Trooping the Colour’ Royal Guards Birthday ceremonial parades with two 41-gun salutes, on three cups of tea, this beloved monarch can. She also celebrated the anniversary of her own coronation and accession to the throne of Great Britain [Scotland, England, Wales and Northern Ireland] this week.
HM the Queen’s coronation took place on June 2nd, 1953 in Westminster Abbey*, when she was 25 years old. Her father, George VI, died on 6 February 1952. She has reigned for 67 years and has been visited by all but one of thirteen U.S. Presidents—Lyndon B. Johnson—during that time.
*Foundation of the abbey church laid by Edward the Confessor in 1065.
Buck House to Kilt-buckled Deeside
Both HM Queen and her son Charles are reputed Beatles’ fans, seen here pretending to ignore Macca, right
“English winter—ending in July,
To recommence in August”
Lord Byron, Romantic poet and satirist, 1788-1824
Most of the month of June is filled with high profile royal engagements—a time in Britain when the weather has been known to improve. One high point of June is Derby Day at Epsom Racecourse—her Majesty making it a twofold party last weekend, June 1-2, 2019, while she enjoyed this year’s equine lineup from the comfort of her Royal Box.
Often considered a high point of the fashion year, Ladies’ Day at Epsom is outclassed and outshone only by Royal Ascot, this year’s five-day event spanning solstice from June 18-22, 2019. The Royal Box will be filled to capacity, with aristocratic fashion statements being made all over the place.
By end July, nearly every royal—except Prince Philip, who turns 98 on June 10th—will have performed multiple civic and charitable duties around the country and—for Commonwealth interests—around the globe. All without assistance from the former Civil List, cancelled with Royal consent in 2011.
August brings recreation and rest.
Ultima Thule provides Country Retreat
Balmoral castle, half-way between Ballater and Braemar Aberdeenshire, Royal Deeside retreat from London
That’s mostly accomplished by helicopter, these days.
Her Majesty’s sole duty during her month in Scotland—and it is said, she looks forward to it—is to attend the last highland games of the Season—the Braemar Gathering—always held first weekend of September. That’s before the mountains close in and Ballater and the Highland passes become impregnable.
We recall how unprecedented was the upheaval—upon the death of HRH Diana, Princess of Wales, August 31, 1997, of rearranging the Royal household for an emergency return to the capital, with the royal vacation technically still in effect centered within the sight of Glen Shee, Ben Avon (pron. A’an) and the Devil’s Elbow—escape route to central Perthshire.
Abandoning Aberdeenshire—at 57º05’N latitude—c.f. Juneau, Alaska—to prepare for its ski traffic and winter sports, the Royal household’s return to London and their extended autumn schedule signals resumption of an English way of life.
I suspect our Insecure Writers’ self-appointed Commander-in-Chief, Alex—along with some other urban Americans-of-that-Ilk—may resonate with the excitement of urbane Kensington or with Kentucky’s Derby millions, but my country origins leave me with a fondness for Braemar.
Romans termed any territory North of the Highland fault line, running West to East from Argyll to Inverness, Ultima Thule. Some of us locals call it affectionately the Back of Beyond.
This rural backdrop, however, with its pristine breathable air, is just the place for our future forests, protected fishing rivers and World Heritage sites to coalesce and bring new hope and vital regeneration to a marginal agricultural economy.
God Save the Queen.
©2019 Marian C.Youngblood
Focusing Calm while the Storm Outside Rages
What to do during a Grand Cross
Phoenix Haboob over July 4th weekend, 2011: Signs of the Times
“During such intense time acceleration, chaos breaks out everywhere, since chaos is always part of new creation. The reorganization of the fractal fields creates exceedingly unexpected new things in our lives.”
Barbara Hand Clow
We in this blog have commented on celestial Grand Crosses and Cosmic Crossroads before now. Last year’s was pretty bad.
But, if seen in the light of current crises, world drama and, combined with the personal pain and grief we have all been through in 2011, it may seem mild by comparison.
Last (2010) June’s Grand Cross was only a taster. One would be forgiven for thinking the world-as-we-know-it has taken a giant tumble since then.
The horror of March 2011 earthquakes brought repercussions within world charitable organizations which turned a disaster into a desire to share human resources. By the following month — April, end of the tax year — world agencies were predicting a calmer year ahead.
Spring equinox brought new hope. In the northern hemisphere the season was seen to have started well. Mother Nature lulled us into believing maybe the signs weren’t all bad. The month of April was, in Britain, the hottest and driest on record. Abundant rain filled the waterways of Spain, Italy, the Rhein, North and South Carolina and the American Midwest. Snow lingered on hills in the US Eastern Seaboard, in the Alps and in the Caucasus. Even North Africa and Afghanistan had respite from drought.
May and June were unbelievably sweet: suitably decked with blossom and birdsong, English fields grew abundant with a brand new (higher dimensional) version of the 2011 Crop Circle.
Summer solstice came and went. Despite a flurry of internet speculation on the imminence of Comet Elenin, and a record number of three successive eclipses, most northern hemisphere activity progressed as normal: English Ascot, horse-racing in Virginia, mountain climbing in the High Sierras, even hotair balloons in New Zealand — to get away from the heat. One astrological chart for solstice week featuring the longest day was likened to music of the spheres — all heavenly bodies were singing, if not in harmony, at least in tune.
… by the time I get to Phoenix she’ll be rising…
And then July arrived. With a jolt.
While America was revelling in its July 4th weekend celebrations, a Sahara-style Haboob — a massive dust storm — went raging into Phoenix… and engulfed this manmade miracle in the desert, the Arizona city with its six million-plus inhabitants. The fuzzy-looking dust-bunny with its huge friendly-looking paws caused electronics breakdown, electrical shorts, water pollution and breathing hazard.
…and there was more to come…
Barbara Clow is an author and respected astrologer, as well as being a devotee and proponent of Carl J. Calleman and his view of 2012 from an accelerated viewpoint. In their opinion, the December 2012 ‘end’-date has already speeded up and Humanity is now facing its nemesis, its ‘Fate’, its comeuppance — depending on your Judaeo-Christian/EarthFirst concept of End Times. Ms Clow and Dr Calleman believe the end of Mayan calculation happens nearly one year early — on October 28th, this year.
Ms Clow is particularly intrigued by the way events playing themselves out on the 2011 stage seem to hark back, almost mystically, to the astro chart for 1776 when America’s founding fathers set it all in motion.
Cherhill Whitehorse peace-pipe crop circle, Calne, Wiltshire July 27th, 2011 in same location as 1999 9-point star
‘…the problem is not the good-natured heart of the people, but the outmoded mindset of the controllers…’ BHC
And the abundance brought by August fulfilled the prophecies of July. There was indeed more to come.
Ninth-century saint Swithun, Anglo-Saxon Bishop of Winchester also predicted weather from his niche in Stavanger cathedral!
But in the 21st century, the outside world has rushed in.
With clamor and clash, we are surrounded daily by images, events, and newsmedia words which heighten our stress levels, draw us in sinuous path, yet oftentimes with success, away from our inner guides. That elusive quality that our ancestors revered and listened to — that still small voice within — is harder to hear. She speaks in silent syllables, but we are too distracted sometimes to listen.
Grand Cross realigns
Grand Cross with all the trimmings -- August Full Moon, Saturday 13th, 2011
‘We have to end the rape of Earth by nuclear power, corrupted entertainment, and the diversion of our resources to warfare. It is obscene for media to showcase starving people in Africa while not critiquing military expenditure.’ BHClow
When such contrasts surface daily in our lives, it is not difficult to see why there are riots in London and the North of England, drought warnings for nearly half (41%) of the landmass of the United States and nuclear power officials tearing their hair in the (ongoing, continuing and continuous) global disaster that is Fukushima.
August full moon (13th, in Aquarius, the far-sighted) nevertheless brings the power necessary to use the energy window wisely; directing us to focus and not to be drawn off-balance by news of earthquakes in Cheyenne, Wyoming (August 11th) and submarine volcanoes in the axial Seamount off the Juan de Fuca tectonic plate (August 12th) on Oregon’s Pacific coast.
Vedic belief would have it otherwise: that all is solved by releasing tension and disbelief into the hands of the gods. Here is a friend’s take on the wisdom of the Subcontinent. True, if humanity can focus daily on manifesting the best, highest and most calm, we might just get through this time of huge stress — together. But it will take considerable wit and presence-of-mind to keep one’s head above the waters.
Calleman, too, has positive thoughts to see us through the next months. He considers a New World will emerge ‘after the end of the tun-based Calendar’, i.e. after October 28th, 2011. He is promoting a worldwide ‘cosmic convergence’ for the autum equinox.
It is at times like these that heroes are made.
The Glorious Twelfth
3D Starfish crop circle at Knoll Down, Beckhampton appeared with a companion, one field distant, on the morning after the Glorious Twelfth
Central nest in Windmill Hill-2 crop circle, another sign of authenticity
photo Stuart Dike
Our Oversoul seems insistent that we recognize those members of the community who nurture the soil, protect the earth. It is relevant that the Aberdeenshire farmer whose land was chosen August 24, 1995 to display the only crop circle in NE Scotland at Culsalmond, did at the time farm organically — still does — and is now one of the first in this corner of Scotland to drive an electric car.
Crop designs at Etchilhampton (left) & Windmill Hill appeared on consecutive mornings, July 25 & 26, on arable land farmed organically by the Whites who are donating all visitor moneys to Swindon Fluency Trust
The only thing that matters is how you live your life. Who do you love now? Are you faithful and devoted to each person you are connected to? Are you ready, at a moment’s notice, to go right to those who need assistance from you? Do you trust the grand plan that is unfolding, no matter what will happen in your personal life?
While cutting through a lot of male-dominant bluster featuring wars, weaponry-build-up, space race and political manoeuvering, she does not dismiss these ‘shocking weaknesses’ in aspects of society which have been under the control of ‘outmoded industrial and political systems’. She believes that some may be unable to dissolve their fears and guilt instilled by 5,000 years of organized religion in a second of ‘new time’. But we have to believe we can. We have at least to try.
These concepts are revealed in her book The Mayan Code: Time Acceleration and Awakening the World Mind where successive compartments of the Universal Underworld (March 9 to October 28), broken down into ‘days’ of human spiritual progress and ‘nights’ of terror, mayhem and planetary destruction, are a few of the surprises yet in store for us.
“Remember, you create your own reality, and the events in the outer world are deeply connected and inspired by what’s in your mind. Please take a look at your Spring Equinox intentions, for example, and assess how you are doing now, and also take note of the things that are popping into your life that you didn’t even plan on.” Astroflash
Ms Clow –selflessly– attributes her erudition to many teachers, including José Argüelles, Terence McKenna, Teilhard de Chardin, Carl Jung,
Graham Hancock and, not least, her Cherokee grandmother on one side and her Celtic heritage on the other.
“We are living through a great awakening and we are going to go through a lot of stuff. But I am optimistic. We live in a benevolent Universe.”
Others of her calibre and strength believe so, too. McKenna called the Universal Mind an ongoing process.
“To whatever degree any one of us can bring into focus a small piece of the (Universal) picture and contribute it to the building of a new paradigm then we participate in the redemption of the human spirit. That is, after all, what this is all about.”
T. McKenna, 2000.
It takes courage to face the music and not fail at the final reprise. We have great minds before us on the Path, and many fellow seekers focusing inner intent while the storm rages outside. There’s just a wild chance that — together — we’ll make it.
©2011 Marian Youngblood
2009/2010 El Niño Crazies? or Just Weather
It was a dark and stormy night – oh, no – wrong genre – start again.
Beauty of a snowflake
And amass it did.
In this neck of the woods, a white Christmas has become something of a rarity over the last score years: an event you remembered from childhood, when lampposts were short and dogs were tall; when traffic was a report you heard on the radio; when the wind blew from the North and old men predicted the white stuff. In these last few years, it feels as if the Earth is turning on the screws and testing us countryfolk to see if we’re made of the right stuff.
There’s a link there somewhere.
All summer long – I blogged about the weather, because there was nothing I could do to change it – winds brought cloud and rain from the west: dragged it kicking and screaming across the Grampian Mountains – that famous Roman chain that spawned Mons Graupius, which usually blocks precipitation – and dumped it on Aberdeenshire.
Geology of Aberdeenshire: granite, red sandstone and raised beach gravel
The Cairngorms form a natural divide between East and West. These stately peaks – though only in the minds of Scots, as they rise to a maximum of 4,000 feet – are geographically closer to the Atlantic Ocean than they are to the North Sea; yet their granite bloc is a block for precipitation, most years dumped unceremoniously on the long-suffering, midge-ridden West.
For every mile east you go you can expect one inch less rainfall. It’s an old Scots maxim that made some sense in Grandfather’s time.
The charmed population of Aberdeenshire has historically experienced early springs, punctual return of swallows, balmy if slightly dry summers and mild falls. Winter, since the storms of 1981-2, was a gleam in the weatherman’s eye.
Until 2009-2010.
Summer was a non-starter. A brilliant flash in late June – like a forgotten dream: one week after solstice, a few days into early July seemed like a world of childhood fantasy; running barefoot through meadow flowers, gathering domestic strawberries, wild raspberries; thinking of lush promised fruits to come: plums and pears and apples.
Then the drought (so-called ‘heat-wave’) vanished and the rains came. And with them the winds.
Hurricane Katrina August 2005
‘June: too soon,
July: stand by,
August: come it must,
September: remember,
October: all over.’
It applied last year to eastern Scotland, to a scary degree.
June and July were the calm before the storm. August – a month when surprise ‘spates’ arrive and inundate fields of ripening grain, sweeping all before them into overflowing ditches, burns and rivers – brought two downpours. Central riverine communities sandbagged doors, secured and taped windows. And still it came. September there were three more floods; this time the river Don burst its banks in several places: in Kintore a farmer died in his tractor, caught out and drowned, unable to extract himself from floodwaters.
A mile of Don’s worth two of Dee
Except for fish and stone and tree
The September ‘spate’, likened to its ancestor, the ‘Muckle Spate o’ ‘29’ (by that they meant 1829), carried away everything not tied down: including fish, stone and tree.
Equinox came and went and still it rained. Still the winds blew. It was as if the hurricane season of Florida had not only exported its rhyme, but all of its storms:
After Ana, Bill and Claudette, the twisting tail headed north, skirted Bermuda and aimed straight for the north Atlantic, round the Pentland Firth and down through the Moray Firth to blast Aberdeenshire.
That’s right. Not only were these storms of gale-force strength (in high summer a wind over 60mph is unusual, to say the least), but they came from the North. Poor battered plants in struggling northern gardens usually basking in an exquisite micro-climate of Icelandic and Scandinavian temperatures, were being blown to bits.
I digress only momentarily to explain that our countryman, Admiral Sir Francis Beaufort is responsible for giving us the scale of wind speeds that we currently use. It really hasn’t changed much since he standardized it in 1806. There’s been no need. Wind, from a gentle summer breeze that cools the romantic brow (3 to 6 knots, Beaufort 2) right through to a full hurricane-force gale greater than 73mph (64 knots, Beaufort 12) has a way of letting you know it’s there.
sheltering toad
I planted a giant sunflower out of its (greenhouse seeded) pot in May, thinking how lovely the vision that, in a summer like 2005, 2004, 2001 or 1998 (‘Global warming’ years) it might set seed to feed finches by autumn.
By equinox it still hadn’t flowered.
It was so statuesque, so tall, so strong – its stem larger than the area I could encompass with my two hands. It was full of moisture and had responded with phenomenal growth. But no yellow petals.
October arrived. Swallows had long departed – they’d decided for the first time in twenty years that enough was enough. They’d lingered in Ultima Thule only long enough to hatch a single clutch. They left on a singular warm wind three weeks early. I should have known then we were in for more.
I thought things would change after the ‘equinoctial gales’. It is traditionally a time when, if summer has been a little less than kind, the burgeoning vines, the bending limbs, the fully laden branches of fruit and Nature’s bounty make up for all the hard work, lost sleep, missed opportunities: the promise is fulfilled, Mother Earth comes through in spades, the sun shines and all is forgiven. The warm earth brings forth ripened plums, pears and apples in abundance, even a choice late cherry or two.
Not last year.
Green tomatoes so abundant they were going out of style
Granny Smiths & zucchini: bounty of summer 2009
Then suddenly, as if the weather elves had been napping and awoke in a frantic state of guilt at not having done their usual earth tending, October turned mild.
Roses bloomed, butterflies emerged from wall crevices, a dry shed, and sought out the late blossom of buddleia to stock up for overwintering. California poppies that thought they’d come to an alien planet, flowered and raised their faces to the sun.
And, lo and behold, my sunflower popped her first petal.
But the stratosphere wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot. She’d started, so she was going to finish.
I mentioned earlier that the Grampian mountain chain forms a barrier that usually holds back rain from the West. And last year, its barricading powers failed miserably. Not only did rain follow wind and wind follow rain, but the midges, the West’s most unmentionable tourist nightmare, followed piggy-back along the trail.
The swallows, great feeders of the heavens, had already gone; so nobody was scooping great mouthfuls of the little monsters in massive numbers. Wrens, robins and a few finches that weren’t busy feeding on grain, demolished a few, but the air was alive with them. Wind seems not to perturb these tiny insects: they hide under trees and reappear the minute it drops.
all birds huddle together for warmth
Thing is, there was no evening birdsong. Most of the summer visitors had departed. And those that were still around were looking for winter habitat. Wrens can bundle together in numbers up to twenty-two in one disused nest. Body heat is the only thing that keeps out the cold. Wrens were doing a big business in re-roofing spring nests – for future reference.
There were other signs. I should have known.
Greylag geese feast on harvest leftovers
And the geese were gone too.
In late October my drenched sunflower was looking a little the worse for wear, but she was still hanging in there. Her strong stem was sturdy enough to support loads of hungry finches, tits, songbirds.
Sunflower, drenched but philosophical
The rain succeeded. Not in taming her, but when her petals closed in late October – usually a (midsummer) sign that the head is transfiguring, metamorphosing, setting seed – they chose not to reopen. She bowed her head and became silent. She’d had enough.
November raged and birds were blown about. Humans and animals prepared for what was to come. Early December brought some sunny days, but there was a chill in the air that nobody could really pretend was unfamiliar.
And then, one week before Christmas, the snowflakes arrived. And they fell in great soft plops of Inuit 32-linguistic varieties. And they didn’t stop falling until every last man, woman, child, blackbird, wren, robin, chicken, fox, wildcat, deer, rabbit and stoat had felt every possible chill factor they were capable of bringing.
* * *
There isn’t much point in going into the blow-by-blow of how difficult it’s been. But it might be interesting to look at the overview.
Scotland isn’t traditionally a snowy place. I’ve explained why. It sits on the northern edge of the Atlantic Ocean in a latitude akin to Alaska, but with temperatures more normal for the 42nd parallel of the Pacific Northwest. Yes, there are storms which come and go in the three months of so-called Winter, and local government services are never ready for them; it’s a standing joke. They complain before it comes, don’t deliver enough salt or grit enough or clear enough if it does and then blame central Government afterwards for not warning them or providing enough funding in the first place. As if the weather were not God’s fault, but the Labor Government’s.
People in Northeast Scotland have over time grown weary of bureaucratic bickering, complaining and infighting. In country districts in particular, they just get out and get on with it: fend for themselves. Farmers with snow-ploughs attached to tractors clear country roads which large council ploughs can no longer access.
This last winter saw more hardship, more strenuous community togetherness, more help-thy-neighbor-like-thy-life-depended-on-it gestures to make up for every snowless winter or heat-blistered summer of the new millennium.
To backtrack a little: we’ve all heard of, or been made aware of the ways of El Niño.
El Nino tropical Pacific anomaly
Spanish for ‘male child’, colloq. the Christmas Child, El Niño was the anthropomorphic name given by Peruvian sailors around 1892 to a warm northerly Pacific current in winter time. It is produced by a weather anomaly combined with atmospheric pressure: Indonesia usually experiences huge amounts of rainfall in winter under low atmospheric pressure, while high pressure hovers over the dry coast of Peru. This cycle produces a westward flow of tropical trade winds.
When the pressures weaken, the trades do too and a period of warmer-than-average sea surface temperatures arise in the east-tropical Pacific Ocean around December, blown along the surface against weakening trade winds which churn its billowing mass into a lingering ‘entity’; the length of its stay can influence weather conditions across much of the globe.
In an El Niño year, warm surface water encouraged by lessening trades migrates east from Indonesia across the central Pacific to the coast of Peru and Ecuador, bringing tropical rains which would otherwise fall on Jakarta, Bali and Papua New Guinea. Not only does the warm water linger, but with weakened winds, it forms a dense mass of warm ocean that does not sustain plankton (which prefer cooler waters) and consequently the larger fish that feed on this resource. In an El Niño year, the high desert, the Altiplano can experience huge rainstorms, while Australia and India suffer from drought.
Recent meteorological interest has been piqued by the growing frequency of El Niño years and the apparent resultant extremes in temperature worldwide which occur the following summer. El Niños since 1982 have occurred so regularly that world attention has been focused, not only on their effect on mean summer temperature but on the fact that they may contribute to ‘global warming’.
Recent El Niños happened in 1986-1987, 1991-1992, 1993-1994, 1997-1998; and in 2002-2003, 2004-2005, 2006-2007 and 2009-2010.
For comparison, using mean world temperature data, the hottest years on record are, in order of maximum extreme temperature:
Red Admiral on autumn-flowering buddleia
1 2005, hottest on record since 1880
2 1998
3 2002
4 2003
5 2004
6 2001
7 1997
8 1990
9 1995
10 1999
These freak hot summers all happened within the last two decades. And nineteen of the hottest 20 years have occurred since 1980.
Notably, and possibly related to the gap of non-El Niño years since 2007, 2009 is not one of them!
What may be happening is that, with an erratic move away from climatic norm, weather patterns become reversed, unpredictable. Bottom line, for the weather man, a nightmare.
So back to the point. The year 2009 already marked the end of the hottest decade in history – or at least since they started measuring annual mean temperature. We are, of course eliminating Northern Scotland as a candidate here.
The winter of 2009-2010 will also go down in the history books, I suspect. Not just because Scotland was cut off from the rest of the world for virtually three months, but weather conditions everywhere were, shall we say, a little out of the ordinary.
Dickey Ridge in the Deep South, USA winter 2010
This winter, Belgium had weather like Estonia; Estonia a brief snowfall like Guernsey. Scotland is the land of the deep freeze, British Columbia hasn’t had enough snow to support the Winter Olympics. Torrential rainfall in Sacramento, Monterey and Orange County exceeded seasonal maximum; Las Vegas had more rain in two days than in the entire previous year.
La Soufrière collapse - the 'Sulfurer' from Space (ISS photo)
We’re not experiencing anything out of the ordinary.
We’re just in the middle of a shakedown while Mother Earth gets herself ready for spring in the Northern Hemisphere. After all, we, her children, haven’t been behaving all that well these last two decades. So she’s entitled to shake her feathers like a tousled sea eagle and take a look round to see what else she can do to get us to pay attention. Weather is, after all, one of her mechanisms for that.
We decimate tropical rain forests, she sends less rain. We rape the desert for subterranean oil, she sends dust storms and African drought. We create huge whirlpools of plastic waste in the North Pacific Gyre trapping and killing earth’s most evolved sea mammals: it seems fitting that she should turn around and send us an oceanic anomaly to make us scratch our scientific heads in vain.
What’s in store for 2010?
If the Niño camp are right, and the winter of 2009-2010 is one of the ‘strongest’ El Niño seasons yet, then the summer which follows could outstrip all previous chart-topping statistics.
Snowless slopes for Vancouver's Winter Olympics
Snow melts down at about a 10 to 1 ratio, meaning 10 inches of snow equals about one inch of water. One thing’s for sure: we’ll have water in abundance to get us ready for the growing season.
Perhaps that’s what Mother Earth has in store. If the summer of 2010 turns out to be another like those twenty hottest years on record, maybe she’s filling up her tanks; mustering inner reserves; getting ready to take us through some punishing temperatures.
I mentioned animal signs. We humans may have lost our ability to intuit what lies ahead, but the birds, wild animals, flora and fauna know a thing or two.
chickens dared to emerge in frozen snow, but didn't lay for weeks
I mentioned Kamchatka. In the darkest days of solstice – and even in subsequent weeks when January turned to February and the light began to return – temperatures in this part of Scotland were, as I said, more appropriate for Siberia than for an island on the Atlantic seaboard. In the second of three storms, four blackbirds fell off their tree limbs in the night and died. I found the body of a fifth frozen under one of the vehicles, as if she hadn’t had the strength to fly for cover. A greenfinch died in my hands from sheer exhaustion and inability to get enough seed in her crop before nightfall.
As I see it, the winter of 2009/2010 has brought out the best and the worst. At the height of the storms, kind neighbors with 4×4 vehicles ferried immobile snowbound waifs to shop for emergency groceries. Birds died, but hens are laying again and there is birdsong. It’s a signal spring is on the way. The pheasant population, usually set by surrounding farmers as fodder for guns in the Spring Shoot are feeding by day with my chickens, roosting by night in my frozen trees. Safety not only in numbers, but also in the non-shooting enclave.
Aconite petals are gleaming with frost, but their yellow is trying to shine.
They remind me of my sunflower. Beaten but unbowed, she made it through some of the harshest conditions ever to greet one of the girosol family. She stood all winter, too. She stands there still. No flower, no seed, but her stem as strong as a sapling.
If she can make it through, I guess some of the rest of us will, too.
©2010 Marian Youngblood
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