Personal Saints

In the course of developing my own personal mythology I have acquired, or I guess canonized, a number of saints to guide and inspire me along the way. Of course, though I grew up in the Catholic Church, these are not officially sanctioned or recognized by the church, but are more among the ranks of "popular" or "folk saints" - Like those medieval folks who continue to be venerated by a local, or global, population, having died leaving a legacy of miracles and healings in their wake (My personal favorite example of this being Saint Guinefort, a 13^th Century French greyhound killed by his master for supposedly devouring their baby son, until they found the baby alive and a dead snake lying nearby, having died from dog bites. When the local peasants heard of this martyrdom while saving a child, they venerated Guinefort to the Saint Protector of Children, particularly ill children, and they performed many rituals at his grave site.). 

In 1995 began a protracted, arduous decade-long daily ordeal of severe panic attacks and anxiety. Only years later was I able to recognize this as my own 'shamanic illness' - The traditional life-or-death health crisis that shamans often experience as the catalyst to their shamanic awakening and acceptance of their vocation. 

During this time I found myself speaking/praying to my childhood hero Davy Crockett for help and inspiration, to "Keep me ever mindful that my life is an adventure."  It was amazing to me what an impactful difference this made in how I dealt with my anxiety, and I half-jokingly drew a picture of 'Saint Davy,' reminiscent of the depictions of saints in the stained-glass windows of my youth, on a comic page, later coloring and transferring the image onto a prayer candle. 

After emerging from that long dark night of the soul, where I was no longer attempting to see the adventure in just surviving every day, I turned my attention to the horizon and where I wanted to go on my life's path.  Thus I found myself invoking another hero from childhood, this time the explorer and trailblazer Daniel Boone, to guide me into the "unknown lands of the undiscovered country of my soul." Another comic page. Another candle. Another saint. 

More recently I wished to honor the First True Love of my life - Cartooning. This side of me often takes a backseat to Shamanism, and it was time to bring it out of the shadows and to the forefront where it belongs. The best way I know to honor something is to make an altar for it. But who would be the Patron Saint of this aspect of my life? There was only ever one candidate - Charles Schulz. He once said, "All I've ever wanted to be is a cartoonist." I have said those self-same words myself. 

This one stalled a little bit until one day, meditating down by the river, Charles Schulz himself gently  inserted himself into my otherwise peaceful state of bliss. Another, slightly longer, comic (Which you can read here: https://drawingbreath-comic.blogspot.com/2023/08/st-charles-place-complete.html?m=0). Another candle. Another saint. 

I thought I was done. Then recently I met a real, live, professional cartoonist! I got a tour of her studio, which she shares with a collective of other cartoonists, and she agreed to help answer whatever questions might come up along my own way to becoming published.  Suddenly my own dreams began to come into focus, and became more believable and within reach! 

I started thinking of the other cartoonists, besides Charles Schulz, who had carried me on their wings of inspiration from a young age. I realized there were at least a few more who needed to be canonized, as a way to thank them for stoking the flame of my dreams and passions, and for leading and clearing my path forward to my destiny. 

The first newly recognized member to my personal sainthood is Saint George - As in George Herriman, the creator of Krazy Kat, who was arguably my 2^nd most influential cartoonist after Schulz. No comic yet. No candle yet. But here's the drawing, in all its stages:

I decided to keep this one in black & white because of the era he was in, and I always sort of favored his earlier b&w work over his later color work.  Additionally, there's the significance in that he was black and struggled to keep that, literally, under his hat, which he always wore to hide his curly hair.

 

There are a few more who are up for sainthood (So technically according to Catholicism, they would be "beatified," and referred to as ' 'Blessed' rather than 'Saint.'), so we will see what lies ahead for the likes of Blessed Walt Kelly, Blessed Windsor Mackay, and Blessed Walt Disney, who may turn out to be an archangel or some such. 

Happy Birth-Fae

As I sit in ceremony on Beltane afternoon at my beloved river, preparing to burn a pair of flower crowns left over from previous Beltane celebrations, and musing about this time of the Faeries, it occurrs to me why this is my favorite holiday of all the sabbats along the Wheel of the Year. Beltane is, in a way, my "half birthday." 

My birthday is October 20th, 11 days (there's a definite significant number) before Samhain, Hallow's Eve, when the veils between us and the realms of the dead are thinnest. Half way across the Wheel from my birthday (my half birthday) is April 20th, 11 days before Beltane, where again the veils are thinnest, but, at this time, between us and the Faery Realms. 

In the rigmarole of daily human life it's easy for me to forget about my connection to the Fae. But if you've known me from years past when the Faerieworlds festival was still happening every year, you've heard me talk about how it was my personal Christmas. It was the one place and time throughout the year were I could feel and be my absolute self. No pretenses. No image. Just my pure, unadulterated (which itself is an interesting term for this), unicorn self. It was home! 

As an ever present reminder of my Fae origins is that my last name, "Corrigan", is actually the name of a race of Faery folk, even mentioned in the writings of JRR Tolkien. Still etched in my brain is exactly where I was as a child on the playground when one of my classmate's fathers looked at me and, musingly, said, "Huh. Corrigan. That's another word for the fairies." 

So this is the one day of the year that I celebrate my Fae nature and remember how deeply those roots run. And in celebration of all this I wished to share my Birth Story, which I wrote years ago but still brings me to tears every time I read it. If you'd like to read the original blog post where I go into more of the details surrounding this story, you can find it here: "Mom, Dad, I'm Fae." 

Beneath the "actualities" of time, date, location, etc on my birth certificate, the truth of this story rings so much louder for me than the facts. Please enjoy!...

Birth Story

Once upon a time, there was a magickal pool, and around this pool sat nine sisters. At least they sat around the pool at night, combing their long, glorious hair that shimmered in the moonlight, because that was when they appeared beautiful and young. During the day they stayed out of sight for in the sunlight they had the appearance of old, wrinkled crones. This was slightly offset by their ability to change into any creature they desired.

One of the sisters, My'riad, wishing to be alone one day, assumed her favorite shape, that of a unicorn, and wandered out into the sun dappled forest. So lost in the beauty of the woods was she that, not until the snapping of a twig brought her back to the present, did she realize she was not alone.

In a single instant, she saw the arrow pointed at her, saw it loosed from it's string, saw a hand strike the bow, and watched the arrow whistle harmlessly into the under brush beside where she stood. Without thought she fled, disappearing into the trees, but, as is the habit of most curious wild creatures, she circled back around to investigate what had, just moments ago, threatened her very life. What she saw was two men, one of whom was red in the face from screaming at the other man, "Bastard! You cost me a unicorn! I could have been set up for life! How dare you interfere with my shot! If I see you again you will pay with your life!" And the man stomped, very noisily, off into the woods.

The other man stood silently for a moment, watching where the first man had gone, then without turning his head, he said quietly, "You're not a real unicorn are you." The only answer was a gasp as the faery woman's, currently fuzzy, chin dropped and her eyes widened in shock. Who was this man who not only sensed her presence, but that she wasn't who she appeared to be? He turned toward her, reaching out an inviting hand and an even more inviting smile. Darkness had begun to fall so she allowed herself to slip back into her human form -- her beautiful, young human form -- and slip her hand softly into his. There was a rush of energy as they touched and, beneath the splendor of the rising moon, they kissed for the first time.

They kissed many more times that night, among other things I can not mention without having to tag this blog as unsuitable for minors, and as the first rays of the sun began to break across the horizon, he whispered softly in her ear, "I know who you are, and I release you." Her mind reeled as she was overcome at this, for this is the only way a Corrigan may become, and remain, young and beautiful -- A human man who loves her enough to allow her to be who she is. A joy she had not known washed over her, coupled with the certain knowledge that a miracle had been conceived within her.

My'riad returned with him to his cottage in the woods where they lived happily together for some time, and her belly continued to swell. One evening, though, her husband did not return from his hunt. Her concern grew and she set out in search of him, again taking the unicorn's shape, as four legs could carry her more swiftly than two. Oh! If only she had had six, perhaps she would have arrived in time! As it was she happened upon the scene to see her lover freshly fallen to the earth, an arrow protruding from his chest.

The anguish that issued from her throat was unearthly, and some say it froze her beloved's slayer in his tracks, even as he attempted to flee. Literally froze his heart in his chest. His life ended by she who would have earlier been his prey, for he was the previously mentioned man making good his threat against her husband. Then shifting instantly back to human form she cradled her love's head in her hands, caressing his hair with her fingers and bathing his face with her tears. One last kiss on his cold lips was all she could bear and she had to go. Just get away, as far and as fast as her four legs would carry her!

In another part of the forest, a hunter heard a creature crashing through the forest and moved to intercept it, to see what manner of beast could make such an ungodly wailing, and to put this beast out of its misery. And so it happened that for the second time, My'riad came face to face with a nocked arrow intended to take her life.

"Please, my Lady, do with me what you will, but pray do not harm my babe!" A soft growl rose from My'riad's throat.

With this a smile flickered at the corner of the hunter's mouth and she slowly lowered her bow. "You're not a real unicorn are you."

"No my Lady," My'riad replied with a bow as she shimmered back to her true form, at which time her pregnancy became blatantly clear.

"Fear not precious one. You and your babe are safe now, for you are under my protection."

My'riad, having pushed herself to her already emotionally strained limits, nearly passed out, but her tears turned from grief to relief for she knew that the Huntress Goddess before her was also the Goddess of Childbirth. And so, whether because she was Fae, or because the Goddess of Midwives personally delivered her baby, she had the easiest of labors and was soon holding a beautiful boy child to her breast.

"I know this one," Artemis whispered, gathering the supple deer hide back around a tiny wiggling leg that had escaped the bundle, held by the new mother. "And so do you," She added, looking My'riad in the eye. My'riad balked, then began to cry, for in her babe she recognized the essence of her slain husband.

"And this one," continued the Goddess, wrinkling Her nose and winking at the child, "remembers me, don't you my little wolf?" The baby laughed and waved his arms. "How would you know my son, M'Lady?" "He lived a lifetime, long ago, as one of my children in a forest far from here. A place called Sherwood. And before that he spent time as one of my beloved beasts, the wildest, yet gentlest of creatures -- whose form, by no accident, is one that you know well." She smiled again as She traced a spiral, ever so gently, upon My'riad's forehead.

"Now, Daughter, there is some unfortunate business to attend to." My'riad's heart sank into her stomach. Hadn't she been through enough? "Because your child's blood is partly mortal, he can not be raised among the Fair Folk. His path leads into 'Man's World', where he will be challenged, true, but he will thrive, I promise you. He will bring to human minds and hearts a joy and whimsy born of his faery blood, and a hope they can not understand, yet will they be drawn to it like moths to the flame."

"And fear not for I will watch over him, instilling his heart with a love of the wild and a taste of the Faery Realm, that he may find his way back to his origins. And find his way back he will, for he is now my adopted son. He will be able to track and read the signs."

"What signs?" Demanded My'riad, "I will not give up my only son, even to you, without reason!"

"Calm yourself Daughter. I know of a family whose heritage is very spiritual, overflowing with holy men and women, through the monasteries and churches of Eire..." "Catholics?!" My'riad interrupted, showing her disdain by almost gagging on the word. Artemis continued unfazed, "And their surname is 'Corrigan'. He will gain enough experience and knowledge in his youth to maintain a solid footing in mystical matters, enabling him to make the leap from religion to spirituality. His name will be his first clue as to his true origin, and he will spend his life endeavoring to find that truth."

The Goddess of the Wild smiled pridefully as only a god, who knows of things to be, could.

"Oh yes. He will return."