Truth Abounds in the Harvest of Lughnasadh
By C. Austin
And July becomes August. Summer slips away with the twilight on
Lughnasadh, the eve of August and the Celtic autumn. Summer meets its
moment of truth - seed becomes fruit - and fruit becomes the harvest
of Lughnasadh.
A change of seasons, a coming to pass, is a "moment of truth" an
act of courage, inevitability or constancy?
From what little we know, Truth, as an ideal, was a pervasive
principle to the pre-Celts and the Celts. In the Agallamh na
Seanorach,or Colloquy of the Ancients, a 12th century Irish
narrative, the ghost Caeilte tells Patrick that the Fianna, the heroic
warrior band of Fionn mac Cumhaill, sought "truth that was in our
hearts, and strength in our arms, and fulfillment in our tongues."
Truth was the in-sight, discernment and self-knowledge to guide
action. Even today, Irish dead are considered to reside in a place of
firinne, of Truth.
The symbol of a cup of truth is found in world mythology, often as
a vessel used to cement alliances and relationships. The "Cup of
Cormac" in Celtic mythology is a golden goblet given to Cormac mac
Airt by the sea-god, Manannan mac Lir. The cup broke apart with the
telling of lies and was restored with the pronouncement of truth.
Perhaps it is in the fragmented pieces of the cup of Cormac that we
might find the "moment of truth," that we refer to today.
Truth itself is a slippery subject. No two people can ever feel or
think precisely the same way about any object, any event. Though we
may believe similarly, or be "common-minded," we are all solitary
voyagers while inside our skins.
There is personal truth and there is cultural truth, and very often
the two do not meet. The cultural standard of a "good wife," a "good
friend" or a "good employer" may be backbreakingly impossible to meet
in today's world of rampant neediness and expectation.
Like a two-headed Janus figure, the most difficult truths are
relative and found only in the fluid perception of the individual
observer.
As to a "moment" of truth, is its singularity a deception? Just as
the eternal song of crickets on a hot summer night distracts us from a
sultry background, do "moments" of truth distract us from the reality
that truth is an unbounded field available to us at any juncture - if
only we had the strength to admit it? Does a morse code of momentary
truths in life compose a larger message that points back to what we
were missing all along?
Returning to Cormac's cup, it is a golden vessel, a solar container
for what has become conscious, what has taken form. The cup stands
distinct as an object, a thing discerned from the deep, flowing world
of the sea-god. The truths that bind the cup of Cormac are a gift
from the unconscious, having no shape until they are contained,
embraced by authenticity.
It requires courage to stand up for the truth one believes is
authentic. Oftentimes that truth seems weaker than the persistent
progression of our day-to-day charade of human life. But when called
by destiny, concern for what is wrong gives way to the clarity of what
is right, the Fianna warrior Caeilte's "truth of the heart," which is
both inevitable and constant.
That "moment of truth" represents fruition, a harvest that has been
slowly and honestly growing for a season, or decades, that emerges to
be seen, heard or felt. It is veritas, the truth of the heart and
when spoken, represents one's love for Self and for all others who
seek Truth, in this life or beyond.
When we speak our truth, like Cormac's cup, we become whole. By
divine craftsmanship we are transformed, rejoined and rejoicing in the
freedom, the personal illustration, that only such a moment can bring.
Indeed it is a long-sought harvest, a harvest that we must store for
difficult times to come. With freedom comes responsibility, the task
of staying to the deepening path of one's life. The moment will come,
sooner than later, will your cup hold?
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