June 21 - is Summer Solstice - An Ancient Celebration of Life!

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Summer Solstice: Legends and Lore about this Magical Day

By Mackenzie Wright

Summer Solstice marks the longest day and shortest night of the year. It's the point at which the days have been consistently growing longer for half a year, and will now begin growing shorter again for the rest of the year. In the Northern Hemisphere, it occurs on or about June 21st; in the Southern Hemisphere, it occurs in December.

Putnam at Stonehenge

There are a lot of legends and lore about this day from history that can make for fun stories if you find yourself at a Midsummer bonfire or beach party.

Midsummer Night's Dream

If you're familiar with the Shakespeare play, you know that the bard wrote about the mischievous fairies coming out to play their tricks on human beings on this night. There is a reason that Shakespeare used this date for this story. In fairy legends and folklore, this is supposed to be a night in which the 'veil' between our world and the world of fairy and nature spirits are thin.

There are a lot of legends and lore about this day from history that can make for fun stories if you find yourself at a Midsummer bonfire or beach party.

It's said that if you hope to catch a glimpse of a fairy, this is the best night. You would first have to find a fairy circle-- a circle of stones in which fairies gather. Or, you'd need to create a place that would attract fairies. Ideally, this should be a natural area of your yard.

Leaving out offerings such as shiny things to play with (crystals, glittery balls) as well as food offerings like honey, milk and fruit will also be inviting to these spirits. One thing you should know, though-- fairies are thought to be very tricky, and have even been known to kidnap humans.

Also be wary of other little people, or ‘hidden folk’ on this night; along with fairies, you might run into trolls or evil nature spirits in the midst of this night. I can’t vouch for any of this, but if you do decide to wait up for them, you’ve been warned! Stay safe!

Stonehenge

The ancient Celts were said to celebrate the solstices at the standing stones sites, like Stonehenge. Modern Druids and Celtic reconstructionists continue the tradition of holding ceremonies here to greet the rising sun over the heel stone. It's said by those who've had the opportunity to sit in the circle of stones for meditation or quiet time that energy is quite strong and spiritual experiences are very common.

Magical Herbs

The Summer Solstices has long been associated with magic. In ancient times people would harvest wild herbs, plants and flowers at sunrise. This time was seen as capturing the magic of the various plants. People collected fern seeds because they thought it made them invisible. The made wreaths and garland of herbs to hang on the home and front door in order to ward off evil. St. John’s Wort was seen as a particularly magical herb on this day; it was collected to make a cleansing and purification bath, or was dried and carried to repel evil and negativity for the rest of the year.

Even the dew was seen as magical on the Summer Solstice. It was a common practice in Northern Europe for people to collect the morning dew and wash with it in order to assure a good, healthy year for yourself.

If you really want to take advantage of that dew, you can roll around in it naked. Though it may bring you good physical health, watch out for your neighbors. If they catch you, they’ll surely question your mental health.

  

The Sun festivals of ancient Ireland are still known by their old Irish names, Imbolg, Beltine, Lughnasa and Samhain. These Sun festivals are many thousands of years old; they have survived an imperial invasion and occupation for 800 years and the attempted erasure of indigenous consciousness by the catholic church for almost 1500 years. These Sun festivals are the gateway for today's Celtic Men and Women to celebrate with the Celtic Gods – Brigid at Imbolg, Bile at Beltine, Lugh at Lughnasa and Tlachtga at Samhain.

But the advice for anyone seeking connection to the Celtic Gods is to avoid the current catholic calendar of the so-called civilised world to time your ceremony. Pagans and Druids on a Celtic Path use Natural Time as their ancestors did – this means working with the alignments of the oldest temples to the four bright stars in the belt of the Zodiac. The Solstices and Equinoxes do not line up with particular Stars, they are turning points of the day / night balance such as when the Sun’s energy enters the ancient temple at Brú na Boinne (Newgrange) energising the God Dagda after the longest night of the year. The history and correct timing methods are shared below for those who wish to walk a Celtic Path.

Celtic Druid’s Summer Sun Standing 
Solstice is from the Latin and is made up from two words given roughly as: sol = sun and stice = stopped. Celtic Druí do not believe that the Sun stops so we use the old Irish word “Tairisem” which means standing still. In summer this Sun Standing happens in the month of June around the 20th, 21st or 22nd when we honour Éatain Eachraidhe, the White Mare Goddess. This is the highest point of the solar year when the Sun reaches it maximum height in the Sky. The Sun is at its highest at noon and shadows are at their shortest. There are almost 20 hours of daylight and only four hours of darkness if you are in Ireland at this time.

This is not a specifically Gaelic holiday and many Pagan cultures celebrate this time with many festivals known by a range of names - Denmark, Sankt Hans Aften. Wiccan sabbat Litha. Slavonia, St. John's Night. Alban Heruin. Gaul (old France), Feast of Epona, (white mare goddess). Roman Empire, Vestalia. Catholic countries: feast of St. John the Baptist – this was an attempt to shift the natives away for the true date by setting the 24th of June as bone fire night. Hopi Indians and Native Americans celebrate the summer solstice but I don’t know their names for this day. 

Putnam at Hopi Prophecy Stone

Etain, White Mare Celtic Goddess, Crom agus Corra
In Ireland, many people of all ages and religions do some sort of celebration for this day. The resurgence of the old Pagan ways and the need to believe in something truly spiritual for this day has many people visit the ancient sacred sites. We at Ireland’s Druidschool often hold a presence on Tara and we have multiple ceremonies. Our sunrise ceremony is very simple - we just stand or sit in silence facing the horizon where the sun will actually rise. We watch the clouds, the colours and the rising of the false sun and then the actual sun, and then the actual sun merge into the false sun. Magically - this is spirit rising within.

This longest day is sacred to the White Mare Goddess, who was known in Wales as Rhiannon, in France as Epona and here in Ireland She is called Éatain Eachraidhe (sometimes also spelt Edaín). In the recent destruction of the sacred valley in the Royal City of Tara the remains of a high status female (with horse and giant dog found nearby) was kept totally under media wraps. The high status female is wrapped in black plastic and stored in a warehouse in Drogheda. But Her spirit has returned to native consciousness and once again Éatain, the White Mare Goddess, is honoured with ceremony on Tara on the longest day of the year. 

We also watch the Sun rise from Tallaght Hill as the sun aligns with Lambay Volcano, the Pond called Linn Oir and then to the Cairn on the Hill of the Fair Gods. Much is written about this alignment in this website - words cannot describe the thrill of being at a complex of sacred sites that were laid out to work with the energies on this specific day.

We also hold Pilgrimage to Croagh Crom, Ireland's Holy Mountain (aka the Reek). Just south of the holy mountain is a triangular lake called Loughnacorra – this should read – Lough na Corra which translates as the Lake of the Crane Birds. At midday the Sun is reflected from the surface of Lough na Corra onto Croagh Crom and a powerful connection is made. This is the harmony of balance between God and Goddess expressed in the landscape.

Litha Legends and Lore

Myths and Mysteries of the Midsummer Solstice

Litha, or Midsummer, is a celebration that has been observed for centuries, in one form or another. It is no surprise, then, that there are plenty of myths and legends associated with this time of year!

In England, rural villagers built a big bonfire on Midsummer's Eve. This was called "setting the watch," and it was known that the fire would keep evil spirits out of the town. Some farmers would light a fire on their land, and people would wander about, holding torches and lanterns, from one bonfire to another. If you jumped over a bonfire -- presumably without lighting your pants on fire -- you were guaranteed to have good luck for the coming year.

After your Litha fire has burned out and the ashes gone cold, use them to make a protective amulet. You can do this by carrying them in a small pouch, or kneading them into some soft clay and forming a talisman. In some traditions of Wicca, it is believed that the Midsummer ashes will protect you from misfortune. You can also sow the ashes from your bonfire into your garden, and your crops will be bountiful for the rest of the summer growing season.

It is believed in parts of England that if you stay up all night on Midsummer's Eve, sitting in the middle of a stone circle, you will see the Fae. But be careful - carry a bit of rue in your pocket to keep them from harassing you, or turn your jacket inside out to confuse them. If you have to escape the Fae, follow a ley line, and it will lead you to safety.

Residents of some areas of Ireland say that if you have something you wish to happen, you "give it to the pebble." Carry a stone in your hand as you circle the Litha bonfire, and whisper your request to the stone -- "heal my mother" or "help me be more courageous", for example. After your third turn around the fire, toss the stone into the flames.

Astrologically, the sun is entering Cancer, which is a water sign. Midsummer is not only a time of fire magic, but of water as well. Now is a good time to work magic involving sacred streams and holy wells. If you visit one, be sure to go just before sunrise on Litha, and approach the water from the east, with the rising sun. Circle the well or spring three times, walking deosil, and then make an offering of silver coins or pins.

Sunwheels were used to celebrate Midsummer in some early Pagan cultures. A wheel -- or sometimes a really big ball of straw -- was lit on fire and rolled down a hill into a river. The burned remnants were taken to the local temple and put on display. In Wales, it was believed that if the fire went out before the wheel hit the water, a good crop was guaranteed for the season.

In Egypt, the Midsummer season was associated with the flooding of the Nile River delta. In South America, paper boats are filled with flowers, and then set on fire. They are then sailed down the river, carrying prayers to the gods. In some traditions of modern Paganism, you can get rid of problems by writing them on a piece of paper and dropping them into a moving body of water on Litha.

William Shakespeare associated Midsummer with witchcraft in at least three of his plays. A Midsummer Night's Dream, Macbeth, and The Tempest all contain references to magic on the night of the summer solstice.

SCOTTISH CUSTOMS AND HOLIDAYS

A Midsummer Celebration

Summer Solstice - Litha

"The young maid stole through the cottage door,
And blushed as she sought the Plant of pow'r;--
Thou silver glow-worm, O lend me thy light,
I must gather the mystic St. John's wort tonight,
The wonderful herb, whose leaf will decide
If the coming year shall make me a bride."

In addition to the four great festivals of the Pagan Celtic year, there are four lesser holidays as well: the two solstices, and the two equinoxes. In folklore, these are referred to as the four 'quarter-days' of the year, and modern Witches call them the four 'Lesser Sabbats', or the four 'Low Holidays'. The Summer Solstice is one of them.

Technically, a solstice is an astronomical point and, due to the procession to the equinox, the date may vary by a few days depending on the year. The summer solstice occurs when the sun reaches the Tropic of Cancer, and we experience the longest day and the shortest night of the year. Astrologers know this as the date on which the sun enters the sign of Cancer.

However, since most European peasants were not accomplished at reading an ephemeris or did not live close enough to Salisbury Plain to trot over to Stonehenge and sight down its main avenue, they celebrated the event on a fixed calendar date, June 24th. The slight forward displacement of the traditional date is the result of multitudinous calendrical changes down through the ages. It is analogous to the winter solstice celebration, which is astronomically on or about December 21st, but is celebrated on the traditional date of December 25th, Yule, later adopted by the Christians.

Again, it must be remembered that the Celts reckoned their days from sundown to sundown, so the June 24th festivities actually begin on the previous sundown (our June 23rd). This was Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Eve. Which brings up another point: our modern calendars are quite misguided in suggesting that 'summer begins' on the solstice. According to the old folk calendar, summer BEGINS on May Day and ends on Lammas (August 1st), with the summer solstice, midway between the two, marking MID-summer. This makes more logical sense than suggesting that summer begins on the day when the sun's power begins to wane and the days grow shorter.

Although our Pagan ancestors probably preferred June 24th (and indeed most European folk festivals today use this date), the sensibility of modern Witches seems to prefer the actual solstice point, beginning the celebration on its eve, or the sunset immediately preceding the solstice point. Again, it gives modern Pagans a range of dates to choose from with, hopefully, a weekend embedded in it.

Just as the Pagan mid-winter celebration of Yule was adopted by Christians as Christmas (December 25th), so too the Pagan mid-summer celebration was adopted by them as the feast of John the Baptist (June 24th). Occurring 180 degrees apart on the wheel of the year, the mid-winter celebration commemorates the birth of Jesus, while the mid-summer celebration commemorates the birth of John, the prophet who was born six months before Jesus in order to announce his arrival.

Although modern Witches often refer to the holiday by the rather generic name of Midsummer's Eve, it is more probable that our Pagan ancestors of a few hundred years ago actually used the Christian name for the holiday, St. John's Eve. This is evident from the wealth of folklore that surrounds the summer solstice (i.e. that it is a night especially sacred to the faerie folk) but which is inevitably ascribed to 'St. John's Eve', with no mention of the sun's position. It could also be argued that a Coven's claim to antiquity might be judged by what name it gives the holidays. (Incidentally, the name 'Litha' for the holiday is a modern usage, possibly based on a Saxon word that means the opposite of Yule. Still, there is little historical justification for its use in this context.) But weren't our Pagan ancestors offended by the use of the name of a Christian saint for a pre-Christian holiday?

Well, to begin with, their theological sensibilities may not have been as finely honed as our own. But secondly and more importantly, St. John himself was often seen as a rather Pagan figure. He was, after all, called 'the Oak King'. His connection to the wilderness (from whence 'the voice cried out') was often emphasized by the rustic nature of his shrines. Many statues show him as a horned figure (as is also the case with Moses). Christian iconographers mumble embarrassed explanations about 'horns of light', while modern Pagans giggle and happily refer to such statues as 'Pan the Baptist'. And to clench matters, many depictions of John actually show him with the lower torso of a satyr, cloven hooves and all! Obviously, this kind of John the Baptist is more properly a Jack in the Green! Also obvious is that behind the medieval conception of St. John lies a distant, shadowy Pagan deity, perhaps the archetypal Wild Man of the Wood, whose face stares down at us through the foliate masks that adorn so much church architecture. Thus medieval Pagans may have had fewer problems adapting than we might suppose.

In England, it was the ancient custom on St. John's Eve to light large bonfires after sundown, which served the double purpose of providing light to the revelers and warding off evil spirits. This was known as 'setting the watch'. People often jumped through the fires for good luck. In addition to these fires, the streets were lined with lanterns, and people carried cressets (pivoted lanterns atop poles) as they wandered from one bonfire to another. These wandering, garland-bedecked bands were called a 'marching watch'. Often they were attended by morris dancers, and traditional players dressed as a unicorn, a dragon, and six hobby-horse riders. Just as May Day was a time to renew the boundary on one's own property, so Midsummer's Eve was a time to ward the boundary of the city.

Customs surrounding St. John's Eve are many and varied. At the very least, most young folk plan to stay up throughout the whole of this shortest night. Certain courageous souls might spend the night keeping watch in the center of a circle of standing stones. To do so would certainly result in either death, madness, or (hopefully) the power of inspiration to become a great poet or bard. (This is, by the way, identical to certain incidents in the first branch of the 'Mabinogion'.) This was also the night when the serpents of the island would roll themselves into a hissing, writhing ball in order to engender the 'glain', also called the 'serpent's egg', 'snake stone', or 'Druid's egg'. Anyone in possession of this hard glass bubble would wield incredible magical powers. Even Merlyn himself (accompanied by his black dog) went in search of it, according to one ancient Welsh story.

Snakes were not the only creatures active on Midsummer's Eve. According to British faery lore, this night was second only to Halloween for its importance to the wee folk, who especially enjoyed a ridling on such a fine summer's night. In order to see them, you had only to gather fern seed at the stroke of midnight and rub it onto your eyelids. But be sure to carry a little bit of rue in your pocket, or you might well be 'pixie-led'. Or, failing the rue, you might simply turn your jacket inside-out, which should keep you from harm's way. But if even this fails, you must seek out one of the 'ley lines', the old straight tracks, and stay upon it to your destination. This will keep you safe from any malevolent power, as will crossing a stream of 'living' (running) water. Other customs included decking the house (especially over the front door) with birch, fennel, St. John's wort, orpin, and white lilies. Five plants were thought to have special magical properties on this night: rue, roses, St. John's wort, vervain and trefoil. Indeed, Midsummer's Eve in Spain is called the 'Night of the Verbena (Vervain)'. St. John's wort was especially honored by young maidens who picked it in the hopes of divining a future lover.

"And the glow-worm came With its silvery flame, And sparkled and shone Through the night of St. John, And soon has the young maid her love-knot tied."

There are also many mythical associations with the summer solstice, not the least of which concerns the seasonal life of the God of the sun. Inasmuch as I believe that I have recently discovered certain associations and correspondences not hitherto realized, I have elected to treat this subject in some depth in another essay. Suffice it to say here, that I disagree with the generally accepted idea that the Sun-God meets his death at the summer solstice. I believe there is good reason to see the Sun-God at his zenith -- his peak of power -- on this day, and that his death at the hands of his rival would not occur for another quarter of a year. Material drawn from the Welsh mythos seems to support this thesis. In Irish mythology, Midsummer is the occasion of the first battle between the Fir Bolgs and the Tuatha De Danaan.

Altogether, Midsummer is a favorite holiday for many Witches in that it is so hospitable to outdoor celebrations. The warm summer night seems to invite it. And if the celebrants are not in fact skyclad, then you may be fairly certain that the long ritual robes of winter have yielded place to short, tunic-style apparel. As with the longer gowns, tradition dictates that one should wear nothing underneath -- the next best thing to skyclad, to be sure. (Incidentally, now you know the REAL answer to the old Scottish joke, 'What is worn underneath the kilt?')

The two chief icons of the holiday are the spear (symbol of the Sun-God in his glory) and the summer cauldron (symbol of the Goddess in her bounty). The precise meaning of these two symbols, which I believe I have recently discovered, will be explored in the essay on the death of Llew. But it is interesting to note here that modern Witches often use these same symbols in the Midsummer rituals. And one occasionally hears the alternative consecration formula, 'As the spear is to the male, so the cauldron is to the female...' With these mythic associations, it is no wonder that Midsummer is such a joyous and magical occasion!
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My Newest Book - Take Me Now God! - on Amazon Digital - Finding Meaning and Purpose in Life

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The following is a puff piece introduction to my book.

TAKE ME NOW GOD!

A story by Jim Putnam

So what happens when one pursues every course of self-enlightenment and discovery available to people with too much time on their hands?  And what happens when they have exhausted their search through religion, cults, mysticism, spiritualism, Native American cultures, prophecies, politics, the psychic world and beyond?

At the journeys end they have only one option left.  "Take Me Now God!"  A demand to the Creator, Source, or God, no matter what you choose to call him or her, for immediate salvation.  As the author says, "In the beginning was the Word, and no one listened."

In the first chapter of this "unauthorized autobiography", he laments; "She's right you know.  I'm not compatible with humans.  Hell, half the time my damn dog loses it's loyalty.  She once asked me if I ever considered suicide.  Who wouldn't after what I'd seen.  But I said no. So she rephrased the question.  Maybe I should consider suicide.  That's why I decided to end it."

Beginning with the opening Post Mortem, the author rushes to dispose of all that is important in his life so God can take him now.  Prepare yourself for a hilarious journey through the world of religions, the metaphysical, spiritual and more, leaving a trail of shattered searches for inspiration and failure to find the hidden meaning in life.

Excerpts:

True love: "I was star crossed from day one, double crossed by day two, and nailed to the cross by day three."

The Illuminati: "The New Age of enlightened beings - the Illuminati.  Often caught up in their own delusional hysteria.  Demanding to be heard. Demanding to be followed.  Judging others as they don't want themselves judged.  Know how to tell the difference between a fraudulent Illuminati and enlightened one?  You can't."

The Rapture: "There are a lot of interesting things in the spiritual world, but of all of them, the Rapture wins hands down.  Think about it, the optimum lift off.  The ultimate high.  No more bills.  No more taxes."

Creation: "Ever wonder about creation?  I do all the time.  Seems the Bible can account for about 6,000 years, back to the time of the big surf, or flood.  The Hopi and Mayan Indian can account for another 250,000 years, including the mystic kingdom of Atlantis.

"Dinosaurs are 60-120 million years old.  The Grand Canyon is 2 billion years old.  Earth 4 billion, while the universe as we know it is 26 billion years old.  I figure that is more than enough time to accommodate just about every version of creation there can be."

Channels:  "I want real proof.  Give me the winning numbers to next week's Powerball lottery and I'll be a true believer for the rest of my annuities.  Those damn lotteries.  Why is it there are only a few thousand possible combinations of winning numbers, yet the odds of winning are 12 million to one?  Where does that math come from?  Pythagoras in a drunken stupor?"

Native Americans:  "I always had an affinity for them.  Was the only kid that ever volunteered to be the Indian.  Didn't bother me to get killed in most battles.  Every once in a while we played Little Big Horn and I kicked some white ass."

Genetic Manipulation:  "I've had suspicions about it since I was 5 years old, when I first tasted cooked spinach.  That shit had to be genetically engineered poison.  And don't you think it made me more than a little suspicious about my mother, who was trying to kill me with it?"

Ancient Prophecies:  "There is nothing I want more than to believe the ancient prophecies.  After the mess we have made of the Earth, we deserve no less than the catastrophic earth changes that have been foretold.  It would be a fitting tribute to our self-aggrandizing ego trip."

From dogs to demons, Christians to pagans, Take Me Now God! takes one on a wild ride through the life of a searcher, albeit, one who came up empty handed but with no regrets.

Here is the opening of the book:

From: Take Me Now God!

Part One

The Fall

  

EPILOGUE

I got to taste the big time

been chasing dreams I thought mine

but then a cowboy he never learns

when to say no, when to go slow

and all those people ‘round me

all those good friends I thought I’d see

they disappeared in the night

maybe they’re right, I just shouldn’t fight

Keep searching for a home with laughter

seems I’ve some upon the final chapter

as I play out the last scene

footlights fade out, an end to my dream

That curtain it - began descending

as that final act was finally ending

that stage of life I had known

left me no home, left me alone

and don’t you know I can’t wait to get out of here

so tired of being alone

don’t you know I can’t wait to get out of here

I’ve got to find my home

  

-  -  -  -  Getting Acquainted  -  -  -  -

First, let me acquaint you with said subject me, the world I am trying to escape, her world, and the great beyond, my world.  Consider the obvious, and the less obvious becomes easier to comprehend.  I was Left Handed, Four Eyed, Small Town, and Catholic, and they called me Lucky.

The second son sandwiched 13 months on either side by much larger brothers.  I was born the first year of the Baby Boomers as the fallout was still raining down from the two atomic bombs dropped on Japan.  My Mother said I was quite an oddball even in the middle of the helter skelter revolutionary and often anarchist generation of the 1950's and 1960's.  

How many people do you know that start life with four strikes against them?  You see, I would have been most fortunate if those were the only strikes against me in life.  However, my role as entertainer to the gods or archangels or whatever celestial beings needed comic relief, endowed far more strikes against me than just left handed, four eyed, small town, and Catholic.

My maternal side of the family, the Campbell clan, left me with a legacy of the fantastic and mysterious ways of the Dark Irish, a familiarity with the little people from Fairies to Leprechauns, an unsought awareness of the ancient Druid wizards and high priests, healers, and storytellers, and a whole bunch of other weird, mystical, and metaphysical stuff.

Genetically manufactured with the best and worst of Scotland, Ireland, and the Celtic Campbell clan, truly, I was the ultimate hybrid or mutant DNA.

Then there was the paternal side, the Putnam clan, mostly English aristocrats with a touch of German engineering and inventiveness, and pretty much at odds with everything from the whimsical and magical world of my mother's ancestors.  They were the aristocratic ancestry leading to various figures of nobility I dare not mention lest I sully their memories in the history books we read.

Why my father's non-Catholic ancestors even had their own big church near London shortly after the English drove the Catholics out of Britain, meaning back when my father's side in jolly old England drove my mother's side from their ancient homes in the Scottish Highlands to Ireland, and eventually to land here in America.

I do not know a lot about DNA and genetic coding but if we are the product of our parents and ancestors combined DNA then I must have lived in a constant state of revolution and never known who I could trust from my own family.

However, I cannot afford to believe in the children inheriting the sins of their fathers or mothers or ancestors.  From the little genealogy I have dared to research about my family the burden of sins like those are of such tremendous magnitude that us siblings haven't got a chance in Hell of living normal lives.

That sucks...

When I get to the Pearly Gates and confront St. Peter, I expect he will not find my name on the invitation list.  You see, based on the sins of my families my judgment was a foregone conclusion long before I even died.

Still I am a writer and storyteller by birthright, ancestry, and intuitive expectation and I am an occasional believer, when it suits my purpose, that we can create our own reality.  So do not be surprised that the moment of my birth I had the dreadful realization that a very serious mistake took place.

It was a dread that would haunt me through my life.  You see, I just knew there was a serious mix up at God's baby processing facility in Heaven and some absent-minded angel had sent me to the wrong family on earth.

Over time, it was to become obvious.

House of Rothschild

I was supposed to be born a Rothschild in the legendary House of Rothschild in London, home of one of the most mysterious and powerful families in history.  Of course, there is no single House of Rothschild but castles all over Europe and the world.

My real family owned nations, kings, diamonds, gold, banks, and politicians.  Though my palate back in Iowa longed for lobster, caviar, sconces, and tea, I was stuck with pork, corn, hamburgers, and hot dogs.

I did the best I could in a world without soufflé.

Of course, there were serious sacrifices.  I expected armies of servants, limos and trillions of dollars, but I had to settle for an apartment in small town Iowa, parents who were just college students themselves, and a family history of bizarre tragedies and wild magic.

So very reluctantly, I had to accept the cards dealt to me in life and rest assured it was the last time I ever trusted a card dealer.  No matter what my birth certificate said, I was a Rothschild, quite Jewish, an English aristocrat, rich beyond imagination, and lost in the cornfields of Iowa.

My ancestors did not just read the Bible, they wrote it!

However, I never let go of the hope that one day when they audit the baby factory in Heaven they find and rectify the fatal mistake that made a potential Rothschild prodigy into a cursed Campbell-Putnam ancestor.

That "sins of the father" talk hits far too close to home.

Go back to the 1600's, just after the age of my favorite Queen of England, Elizabeth, Virgin Queen.  During her reign she did her best to prevent her father's (Henry the VIII no less her mother beheaded by old Henry) orders to persecute the Catholics by forcing them to renounce their Catholic faith or drive them from Britain.

It just happened that one of the most powerful Catholic clans in Scotland was the Campbell clan, my other folks.  For decades, maybe centuries they had ruled in the desolate but beautiful Scottish Highlands and fought for and against the imperial English rule depending on the mood at the time.

Of course, it was the same English rule that the non-Catholic Putnam family in London was advocating.  After Elizabeth's death at the turn of the 17th century King Henry's rule was finally enforced and the Campbell clan got a choice, denounce your Catholic faith or be banished to Ireland.  Refuse to choose and you lose - you die.

One of many Campbell castles in Scotland

What a choice.  Give up all ancestral religion, rights, titles, and property under Great Britain or go to Ireland.  They made it sound as if Ireland was a far worse fate than losing everything.

The part of the Campbell Clan refusing to convert to the Church of England knew those deceitful Brits were lying about how dreadful things were in Ireland.  The Brits just hated the place because the Irish kept rejecting English rule.  However, where else could Scottish Celts go to be among friends?

Another Campbell castle

My ancestors held to their conviction, then kicked out of Scotland, and banished from their homeland, estates, and titles.  After a few generations in County Cork Ireland, the Campbell family then migrated to America in the 1800's.  They were victims of one side of the family curse.

Once the Putnam's got the Campbell's and other Catholics out of Britain in the early 1600's they migrated to America, arriving in the mid 1600's in New England in the Puritan rush to Plymouth Rock, some 200 years earlier than the Campbell clan.

Yet another of the dozen or more surviving Campbell castles

Specifically the Putnam family arrived in New England and once unpacked, some chose to settle in a Puritan place called Salem, Massachusetts, just in time for the Salem Witch trials.  Thus, set in motion the other half of my family's ancient curse.

Here it gets quite complicated.  Look at the court transcripts of that fateful and tragic trial in the 1690's.

You see, there was a Puritan Putnam family who spent years creating a safe and isolated haven to protect the "witches" from harm by the village church fanatics.  They successfully hid those suspected of being witches for decades in their remote estates.  At the time of the trial, supposedly 6 of the 8 largest property owners in the Salem area were from the Putnam family.

Then into the story comes a young Putnam girl named Anne, but not from the Putnam family creating the safe haven, rather she was the minister's daughter from town.  She told her Putnam Preacher pop the witches possessed her and made her do evil things against her will.

It was a rather ingenious story perhaps but with deadly consequences.  Soon a bunch of other local kids joined the chorus and suddenly all those witches protected by one Putnam family were arrested and tried for practicing Black Magic on those poor innocent children of the villagers by the other Putnam family.

You probably heard the rest.  A couple of dozen witches were burned or hanged to death, later the kids admitted they made up the story, and thus began the curse of the Salem witches cast upon the immediate and all future Putnam descendants until the Putnam blood line was wiped out.

Seemed to me our family should have got some metaphysical credit for protecting the witches all those decades.  However, as far as the curse was concerned all Putnams looked alike.  It was as good a curse as any ancient Egyptian curse (King Tut) or medieval curse from the Spanish Inquisition.

At any rate, I would not have thought much about the curse except one day I was reading about Amelia Earnhardt, the world famous airplane pilot, and I realized that Amelia married a certain George Putnam of the New England Putnam family when she was 33 years old, and six years later, she disappeared off the face of the earth.

Well, so goes the story of my ancestry as passed down from generations of Celtic and thus Irish storytellers.  My Irish grandfather on the Campbell side used to tell me one should only half believe any good story told.

I can tell you this.  Where I was born, Iowa City, Iowa, was home to the University of Iowa Scottish Highlanders Marching band, one of the most famous bagpipe bands in the world.  Why a Scottish band was far from the magical land of the Loch Ness monster and located in the same town where I lived in Iowa is a mystery?

Okay, in spite of the curse, we survived which was somewhat unusual but I do feel the DNA coding with its highly conflicting Campbell and Putnam elements, which we did indeed inherit, is an important clue in the story of the wayward Iowa Hayseed.

Think about it.  DNA just might be the direct link to God since most of us blame Him or Her for giving it to us in the first place.  In fact, we do not control a number of critical life elements, like inheriting the DNA.  Did you pick the family you join, the country, state, town, or village?  Did you choose your family status in your town, rich, poor, or dependent?

Then there are the race, income, religion, language, and a host of other major cultural, religious, and demographic classifications in your life, and again you have no control.  Then, wait a minute.  What are the most significant influences on your life?

There is Survival 101 - your parents.  Then there is Survival 102 - your grandparents.  Finally, we have Survival 103 - your elementary, secondary, and higher education teachers.  What do they all have in common?  You did not choose any of them.

Add to that the millions of variables that make up your life, for instance the number and gender of siblings, their smarts, and their attitudes.  Toss a few dozen relatives, priests, ministers, mullahs, or rabbis into the mix and you have yourself one powerful cocktail.

What do these amazingly varied and seemingly unrelated components of your life all have in common?  On Judgment Day, any or all of these variables provide unintended consequences in your verdict.

In spite of the fact your Day of Atonement and moment of judgment will come from whoever your divine God might be, your fate relies on a whole bunch of factors and standards you did not control, select, or endorse!

You did not create!  You did not choose!

Yet they are the measuring sticks for your judgment.

Do not know about you but I feel I have just made a powerful case against the use of "free will" as a determining factor for judgment day.

There is nothing "free" about those varied components we inherited in our lives and it is about time we not be held responsible for all those impediments to the exercise of genuine "free will" on our part.

They are all someone else's "will" being unfairly imposed on our life.

That compelling argument and consequential attitude should get me off the hook on a whole lot of stuff when I stand before St. Peter awaiting judgment at the gate.

Youth is, wasted on the young.  If only we could have waited until we piled up all those experiences, feelings, joys, failures, loves found, and lost loves before we lost our innocence, our ability to dream, and our faith in the unknown.

Instead we spend a lifetime being beaten down, educated I guess they call it, tricked, fooled, disappointed, and occasionally, well, we might even find a moment to get happy.

That is not to say everyone is that way but now that I am much older and wiser I have noticed there are fewer and fewer happy people.

She is right you know, the Pretender.  I am not compatible with humans.  Hell, half the time my damn dog even loses its loyalty.  Every time I try to relate to anyone, I just seem to blow it.  Guess the only thing compatible with me is my cactus, and lately some of them have even taken to dying.

She once asked me if I ever considered suicide.  You would after what I had seen.  However, I said no.  Therefore, she rephrased the question.  Maybe I should consider suicide.  That is why I decided to end it.

My termination seems to be the only way to protect the human race from further contamination by me.  What did she call me?  Oh yeah, the Devil Incarnate, better known as the Prince of Darkness.

Once wrote a book that talked about the Prince.  Guess she finally figured anyone that knew as much about the Prince as I wrote about must be speaking from first hand experience.  She might be right I reckon.

Makes sense that the Prince would know all the details of Jesus’ life.  He was there tempting him in the desert, trying to seduce him with riches, power and women.  Finally, when he gave up on Jesus, he was there nailing him to the cross.

That could explain what I saw.  All the time I thought I was the reincarnation of Joshua, the friend and scribe of Jesus.  Never crossed my mind I might just be the Prince of Darkness.  It took the Pretender to wake me up.  Her insights take all the fun out of the end of the world.

Therefore, this must serve as my final will and testament.  Consider it my great escape.  This sorry world has hit such a subterranean level of degradation that anywhere can only be better.  It is the final plane ride to Neverland.

Some might call this a “Living Will” or something like that, but how could a living will be serving the dead?  Never did figure that one out.

That might have been my problem, always trying to figure things out.  My persistent questioning of anybody and everybody got me in more trouble than I could ever imagine.  That and telling stories.  When I was a kid, my grandfather and a bunch of other old men used to tell me stories, for hours.

They made me laugh.  They made me cry.  They even scared the shit out of me.  However, they always made me feel.  Nothing else ever did I guess, except those old stories.  It was a gift.  Made people feel good.  Made some like me feel for about the only time.

So there I was, just a kid, and already burdened by twin curses.  Curses, by the way, that would haunt me the rest of my life.  Figuring things out and telling stories.  Yes, maybe she was right; maybe I was the son of Satan.

You see there is no other logical explanation on why this Iowa Hayseed set out on his Quixote-like adventure through life as reflected in this story. 

I had a couple of advantages over my brothers to offset the many disadvantages and most important was my obsessive compulsion to read and write, something they found overly demanding with little downside reward.

Thus, I was the gatekeeper for all the knowledge of the universe found in books and I could communicate what I learned to others through the ability to write.

For quite different reasons they both settled on me being rather odd, although Bosco did find my adventures far more interesting and challenging than the Archangel did.

In my fantasy world, getting dirty was normal, getting in trouble was noteworthy, and getting someone mad was worth a merit badge.

For the most part our childhood memories consisted of observing the Biblical life style of the Archangel and causing as much chaos and confusion as possible for a couple of Afterthoughts.

Except for the scripted interaction from the parents in which the Archangel was to bestow on us his favor, we lived separate lives.  We were so separate in fact, that neither the Archangel nor we remember being friends or hanging out throughout childhood.

I did with my brothers what the laws of God and nature required, but that was the extent of it.  Beyond that I created a new world of boundless creative endeavors, the aggressive pursuit of knowledge, and the ability to instantly leap into the Land of Oz, Wonderland, Camelot or even the Alamo and still escape.

By kindergarten, my highly disciplined path began by joining the Public Library Book Reading Club where I won many honors reading the most books each month.  It was the first of my activities intended to separate me from my siblings, as the thought of joining a library book club terrified both.

My pursuit of information taught me what the kids in Russia, China, and Europe learned long ago; do not overlook our grandparents as a source of information and knowledge.

Interestingly, my grandparents on both the Putnam and Campbell sides found my curiosity to be charming and spent a lot of time sharing their knowledge with me and I shall forever be grateful.  I was far more comfortable in the company of adults than other kids were.

By the time third grade came, I found kids to be quite naive as they were clueless about world affairs, politics, or history.  Yet every weekend Grandfather Campbell would test me on current events that week expecting me to have read Time and Life magazines before I saw him for Sunday brunch.  Of course, he did not know I also read Popular Science, National Geographic, and Boys Life.

If you were I, how would you feel about having the four strikes against you at birth?  As you can see, my life was not just the four strikes against me but the fascinating DNA issues and the myriad of other factors dumped on me at birth and for a long time to come after.

I was born with a bull's eye on my back.

Before my mouth even opened, confusion and torment already threatened my existence.  Back when I was still in the womb I'm sure I sensed the foreboding and when I was jerked out into the world the first thing I saw was a woman doctor, quite uncommon back in those post-war days.

Then there was my religion.  Of course, I already mentioned I was really a misplaced Rothschild kid due to the screw up back at HQ.  That left me a Jewish-Catholic.

In my reality show family back in Iowa the ancient battles between my maternal and paternal ancestors were renewed, the battles where my non-Catholic father's English family helped drive my Catholic mother's Scottish family from their birthright, titles, castles, and money.

Now fast forward to my birth.  My father was a recent convert to Catholicism and when it comes to embracing religion, there is nothing like a new convert for enthusiasm and a bad case of religious fervor.

That meant instead of going to church once a week for Sunday services, my fanatical father decided he needed to go to church every day, probably to make up for all those years he had not seen the light.  Therefore, he dragged us kids along for the ride.

Whatever he expected from the hyper-Catholic activity, it did not seem to help us in God's favor.  No matter how hard I prayed, I was never going to hit the game winning home run or score a date with the beautiful rich girl.

Unfortunately, my dad's family never got over the traitor, my dad, who would forgo the eternal security of being non-Catholic to switch sides and join the dreaded mackerel snappers.

When we would visit the rest, of the Putnam family, I always searched around for any signs of cross-burning or voodoo dolls, knowing the deep-seated conflict between these surrogate families for the English and Scottish/Irish causes.

Oddly, both sides of the family accepted me, perhaps because I reminded them often of my true Jewish heritage, which thus made me much less of a card carrying Catholic threat.

Now the fact they seemed to accept me thus cast suspicion on my motives by my mother's Campbell side of the family who seemed to think I had been spiritually hijacked by those dastardly Putnam's and was probably already indoctrinated into the Masonic 50th degree secret society.

I did nothing to discourage the rampant rumors and innuendo, choosing to remain silent.  I am a great believer in the Tip O'Neill philosophy about saying little, "it is better people don't know what you know, than to know what you don't know."

On the other hand, I could always strike terror into the hearts of those Putnam's by threatening to join their Moose Club Lodge or Masonic Order, also secret societies I suspected of having a rather negative view of Catholics. They never had the heart to tell me I was ineligible.

Throughout my life, I was a most curious person about everything, which was another of my many demonic virtues according to my mother, and especially according to those priests and nuns.

Speaking of which, in spite of the Putnam pressure against it I actually joined a Catholic secret society, the Knights of the Alter, God's army for Pete's sake.  Okay, okay, so I was just an alter boy, but I was armed to the teeth with bells and smoke bombs, oh yeah incense I mean.

It was during my early Dark Ages, when the memory of my true Rothschild heritage was beginning to slip away in the chaos of growing up.  It was in the latter part of grade school.  At the time, I actually harbored the thought of becoming a priest, which I soon rejected based on observing those of the faith I personally experienced.

Then I figured I should not waste all those pious years of training to be a priest and I decided to be a religious brother, but there were far too many rules for such a simple life.  My idea of saving the world was not learning how to weed a garden.  I was thinking of being more like Thomas Aquinas or St. Augustine, theologians, not gardeners.

Therefore, my last grasp at retaining a link to all that Catholic education and training was to become a religious hermit because by this time having a conversation with me in a cave would be far more intellectually stimulating than remaining in my environment.

What ever happened to those glorious dreams of thinking I could save the world?

A fabulous world of classical literature, ancient Greek mythology, empires, kingdoms, warlords, and dragons drew me in.  So I am stuck with brothers who hated to read and abhorred the very thought of writing.  Intellectual stimulation to them was sticking your finger in a light socket.

By now, I had experienced the mysterious Catholic world of Baptism, First Communion, Confirmation, and Exorcism; I was ready to try something new.  It was time to experience rowing, croquet and polo instead of kick the can, cowboys and Indians.

By the time I reached the end of grade school, it was obvious I had greatly miscalculated my potential and possibilities.  I needed a fresh start.

Pity the child who knows no better, who taught himself everything.  Pity the child in the shadows, who taught himself how to think.  Pity the poor boy you never noticed, nobody really cares.  Pity the child you cannot see, in his world nothing is fair. 

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