THE DEVIL’S SUPPER: A PRESENTATION BY SHANI OATES AT THE CASTLE BYTHAM SPIRIT CIRCLE NOVEMBER 2015

This evening presentation, a gathering of the Castle Bytham Spirit Circle, took place in the ever convivial atmosphere of the Castle Inn of that village. The evening was hosted by the landlord, that well-known and affable personality, Eamonn Loughran.

Castle Bytham itself is a quaint country village nestling deep in the Lincolnshire countryside. The village is rather isolated but it is all the more beautiful for that. Spread as it is across a valley and a steep hillside, it is dominated from the plain by the remains of a castle mound of Norman origin, the village has a relaxed atmosphere mixed with an odour of history.

Due to the distance required in travel, I chose to rent the rather pleasant Glen Cottage in the village and so make a weekend of the outing. The cottage was clean, pleasant and affordable. The owners were welcoming and helpful. Making a weekend of the trip meant I was able to spend time with friends, including Mr Loughran himself, a gentleman I had not seen in the flesh for far too long and therefore enjoy the excellent food at the Castle itself.

The evening lecture consisted of a beautifully read and seamless presentation of readings, incorporating specially selected poetry relevant to the Clan of Tubal Cain. The readings were given by Shani Oates, herself the Maid of the Clan of Tubal Cain and virtue holder in direct lineage from Evan John Jones and Roy Bowers, better known as Robert Cochrane.

This lady and she is a Lady, has a vast experience within the Craft and the Occult, less than half of which I know and most of which I cannot share. The Maid is the author of seven published works, with several more planned and is a contributor to numerous magazines and journals. The readings which had been chosen with great care, were all from her own works, both published and those awaiting publication.

The talk which I was honoured to introduce, was insightful, deep and at times challenging. It began with a question, what is the Tradition? In an attempt to answer this question, the Maid by necessity explored the enigma of Robert Cochrane, the origin of and the importance of Evan John Jones within that Tradition, the place of people and kin within the Tradition.

The Maid explained in far greater depth than I can possibly capture here, the place of personal devotion with the Craft as a Mystery Tradition. Aspects that have an important historical precedence found with Mithraism, Marionism and other cults, with a thread that winding by providence through folk-magic, leads us to Her, the Dame.

Going into greater depth as the evening progressed, the role of the Priesthood and the place of heteronormative initiation was explored by way of clarifying the Clan ethos. There was an emphasis upon the refutation of labels, the Clan is the Clan and although like many other groups, sharing and recognising influences, the Clan stands alone, separate and unique. There is only one Clan of Tubal Cain.

To emphasise this, the nature of the Clan and the meaning of Tradition, there was explanation offered defining the Covenant as a Sacred Contract, literally a kinship of the people in a state of grace. Faith is the Children of the Gods and the Clan are children of the Sun. All points that many will recognise within their own path and important points for all who are members of any coven, cuveen or coterie. Yet still containing something inviolate to the Clan itself.

One of the most memorable and meaningful statements made by our speaker that evening was; “Gnosis is the self-realisation of one’s own Divinity.” I felt a deep personal resonance within that statement, it captures something of the great depth and personal nature of the lecture.

Going deeper yet, the Maid introduced us to the tripartite representation of Deities within the philosophy of the Clan of Tubal Cain; Hekate, Hermes and Saturn. Cain the waning, lame luminary is a representation of Saturn the Father. Hermes is Tubal Cain, in which the stream of wisdom is preserved and the mediator we are told, of that internal spark the Promethean Stream.

Moving on, we were given an insight into elements specific and possibly unique to the Clan of Tubal Cain in this instance. Looking at Tubal Cain as the Wandering Ancestor, the magister’s staff of office, topped with his totem and the maxim; “Where the Clan Stang is, the Clan is.” I have said something similar in relation to our own Hearthstone and Hearthsword.

Elements of the presentation were replete with terms, maxims and phraseology, all designed to stimulate the mind and encourage further study. Art and artifice belong to the Devil, that patron of the artes. Pan the Allfather, is neither dead nor dying. The information was cast like pearls of wisdom upon the air and with the acceptance of the pilgrim, we treasured the moment to share this evening, as a Delphic Oracle spoke to us in allegory and metaphor.

We were taken on a journey from annihilation to evolution, from stillness and communion. It was explained that pacts should be performed and given insight into the Egregore, that heart and mind of the Clan. Past members remain forever Clan even in death, noting that we neither command nor summon the ancestors. For it is we who go to them, they do not come to us. Yet it a Clan teaching, that by knowing both sides of paradise, at death we are detached from either.

Bringing the evening to an end, spanning these readings and the exploration of many Clan concepts, we were reminded that future works would further examine the presented material and the subject matter therein. Whether Truth is a straight road or a crooked path, we are reminded that the Fool is a Holy Wanderer. In a search for Holy Sophia the Midnight Sun, the Seeker hopes to behold the beauty of Her who is beyond words, in awe.

This lecture like many is but one step, for we seekers that hope for the Gnosis promised. Like a well prepared feast, to be fully appreciated; the material needs to be both savoured and digested. A memorable, thoughtful and intellectual journey, shared by those who know a pearl when the eyes behold one.

Glen Cottage

https://www.holidaylettings.co.uk/rentals/castle-bytham/241061

The Clan of Tubal Cain

http://www.clanoftubalcain.org.uk/

https://clantubalcain.com/the-people-of-goda-the-clan-of-tubal-cain/

The Castle of Castle Bytham

http://www.castleinnbytham.co.uk/

Invictus by William Ernest Henley (1849–1903)

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever Gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance,

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance,

My head is bloody but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears,

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years,

Finds and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

Tubal Cain by Charles Mackay (circa 1846-56)

1.

Old Tubal Cain was a man of might,

In the days when Earth was young;

By the fierce red light of his furnace bright,

The strokes of his hammer rung,

And he lifted high his brawny hand

On the iron, glowing clear,

Till the sparks rush’d out in scarlet rout,

As he fashion’d the sword and spear;

And he sang “Hura! for my handiwork!

Hurra for the spear and sword!

Hurra for the hand that shall wield them well,

For he shall be King and Lord!”

2.

To Tubal Cain came many a one,

As he wrought by his roaring fire,

And each one pray’d for a strong steel blade,

As the crown of his own desire;

And he made them weapons sharp and strong

Till they shouted loud for glee,

And gave him gifts of pearls and gold,

And spoils of the forest free;

And they sang “Hurra for Tubal Cain

Who hath giv’n us strength anew­­

Hurra for the smith! hurra for the fire!

And hurra for the metal true!”

3.

But a sudden change come o’re his head

Ere the setting of the sun;

And Tubal Cain was fill’d with pain

For the evil he had done;

He saw that men, with rage and hate,

Made war upon their kind;

And the land was red with the blood they shed

In their lust for carnage blind;

And he said “Alas! that ever I made,

Or that skill of mine should plan,

The spear and the sword for men whose joy

Is to slay their fellow man!”

4.

And for many a day old Tubal Cain

Sat brooding o’er his woe;

And his hand forbore to smite the ore,

And his furnace smoulder’d low:

And he rose at last with a cheerful face,

And a bright courageous eye,

And bar’d his strong right arm for work,

While the quick flames mounted high;

And he sang “Hurra for my handiwork!

And the red sparks lit the air,­­

Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made,”

And he fashion’d the first ploughshare.

5.

And men, taught wisdom from the past,

In friendship join’d their hands,­­

Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall,

And plough’d the willing lands;

And sang “Hurra for Tubal Cain,

Our staunch good friend is he;

And for the ploughshare, and the plough,

To him our praise shall be.

But while oppression lifts its head,

Or a tyrant would be lord,

Though we may thank him for the plough,

We’ll not forget the sword.”

Words by Charles Mackay, Esq. Music Composed and Sung by Henry Russell, 1812-1900. Pages 81-88 from “One Hundred Songs by Henry Russell.”

THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH (1807)

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;

Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;

The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;

For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not.

Great God! I’d rather be,

A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE SONNET 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love,

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man (nor woman), ever loved.

LAST NIGHT I DREAMT OF YOU AGAIN

Last night, I dreamt of you again.

A warm dream, a dream of comfort,

A dream of memory.

I held you.

Perhaps you held me,

And I knew love gain,

I knew happiness.

And then with the sun,

And the singing of garden birds,

I awoke to loneliness.

You had gone;

And I was cold.

Daniel B. Griffth the Chattering Magpie © 2015

VELVET GREEN BY JETHRO TULL

Walking on velvet green. Scots pine growing.

Isn't it rare to be taking the air, singing.

Walking on velvet green.

Walking on velvet green. Distant cows lowing.

Never a care: with your legs in the air, loving.

Walking on velvet green.

Won't you have my company, yes, take it in your hands.

Go down on velvet green, with a country man.

Who's a young girls fancy and an old maid's dream.

Tell your mother that you walked all night on velvet green.

One dusky half-hour's ride up to the north.

There lies your reputation and all that you're worth.

Where the scent of wild roses turns the milk to cream.

Tell your mother that you walked all night on velvet green.

And the long grass blows in the evening cool.

And August's rare delight may be April's fool.

But think not of that, my love,

I'm tight against the seam.

And I'm growing up to meet you down on velvet green.

Now I may tell you that it's love and not just lust.

And if we live the lie, let's lie in trust.

On golden daffodils, to catch the silver stream,

That washes out the wild oat seed on velvet green.

We'll dream as lovers under the stars,

Of civilizations raging afar.

And the ragged dawn breaks on your battle scars.

As you walk home cold and alone upon velvet green.

Walking on velvet green. Scots pine growing.

Isn't it rare to be taking the air, singing.

Walking on velvet green.

Walking on velvet green. Distant cows lowing.

Never a care: with your legs in the air, loving.

Walking on velvet green.

Writer(s): Ian Scott Anderson/Ian Anderson

Copyright: The Ian Anderson Group of Companies Ltd.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JG77YHX5yYE

A TRANSPORTED CONVICT WRITES HOME 1841

DERBYSHIRE RECORDS OFFICE D4716/1

20^th June 1841 Sydney, New South Wales.

My dear father and Mother,

I have taken the opportunity of writing you these lines trusting the same will find you both in good health, Brothers and sisters, and all relations and enquiring friends, as it leaves me by the blessing of God in good health at present. I received your affectionate letters, and on account of being removed from my master prevented in answering your letters, my reasons for leaving my master, was that he objected to sign his name for my liberty.

It gave me great pleasure in one way of hearing from you and I was very much grieved of hearing the death of my Uncle, and my cousin Elizabeth but, I trust they are gone to a better world, in which they will enjoy everlasting happiness.

It was your particular wish to know the present state of the colony in regard of wages. If I was free I could get from thirty five pounds at least to forty pounds per year. I have been offered lately one pound per week and rations I have been engaged with a master at Wollongong. Soon even I am free and that will be on the 14th of October. I am very happy to think you have the intention of coming over, and there is not the least doubt of your doing well, provisions are very cheap – according to the wages. I am happy to hear from you, that I have learnt from difference Branches, since I have been in the colony.

Should I have the pleasure of meeting you again in the colony, I shall be able to make you comfortable and happy all days of your lives. I have given up the thought of returning home, on account of your having the intention of coming out here, and it will give me a great consolation of seeing after so long a time, and if you have got a neighbour that would like to come, come all together and not have the least danger in crossing the ocean for it is a delightful passage a person can take by cutter.

I conclude with my kind love to my brother, William and my sister Elizabeth and likewise to young Charles, and to the rest of the family and all relatives and friends, God be with you wishing you all prosperity and happiness trusting to the helps of a merciful providence of seeing you all out here. In the cause of twelve months.

From your affectionate son, James Foster.

Send me an answer if you intend leaving, before you sail so that I may know you are coming.

TAKEN FROM: https://recordoffice.wordpress.com/