Devoting to Your Destiny

On life's calling in the Irish tradition

A Chairde,

I open my writing to you today with a reminder for those whose soul strings are vibrating with possibility: there are still a few days left to apply for Aisling Áes Dána—Dreaming Your Dán with the Otherworld. This women’s creative retreat will take place in the sacred Boyne Valley this autumn, hosted by myself and the wondrous Aoife Lowden.

Aoife and I at the beginning of May on the Hill of Uisneach, welcoming in the season of Bealtaine with Goddess Ériu who gifted Ireland her name at Bealtaine-time thousands of years ago.

A Gift from the Universe, A Gift Given Back to the Universe

The Old Irish word, Dán can signify poetic endowment, artistic skill, a calling, destiny, or fate—a soul’s unique gift. What I find most fascinating about our dán is that it is described both as a gift bestowed upon us by the gods and as a gift that we offer back to the gods. It’s a reciprocal soul exchange. To use contemporary language, our soul is endowed with a calling by the Universe, and when we live into this calling, we give back to the Universe.

And so, we have a responsibility to answer this call even amidst the squall of modern life. For our ancestors, this was about co-creation, about working harmoniously with the gods. If you recall, I shared in the myth of Fedelm the Prophetess, how no one was permitted to enter the royal capital of the Tuatha Dé Danann at Tara unless they were devoted to their dán. When the god Lugh arrives at the kingdom, the gatekeeper says,

“What art do you practice? For no one without an art enters Tara.”

The Greeks called the art of bringing our dán into being, poiesis, the mother of the word ‘poetry’. It means ‘to make’ or ‘to bring forth’ the creativity that pulses within us. This concept was so vital that the Greeks prescribed poetry as a form of medicine, a practice also endorsed by the ancient Irish, who believed no healing could occur without incantation. The soul must be invoked. Modern science reveals that poetry transcends language, stimulating areas of the brain associated with meaning-making, reward, and inner peace.¹ Translating this back to the concept of dán, it’s not a far stretch to imagine how answering our soul’s call through our creativity—whatever form it may take—could enhance our brain’s well-being.

Devoting to our Dán

In the swirl of summer, Aoife and I have been making acts of devotion to our dáns. Aoife recently converted a van into a campervan emblazoned with the roaming spirit of the horse goddess, Macha. Aoife has been travelling around Ireland, tending to the soul of the land, and being in community with magical people and places. Like Turlough O’Carolan, the last of the great travelling Celtic harpers, the harp and traditional Irish music pluck into life the rhythm of Aoife’s dán. Hearing her play is like being spirited away to another world.

I captured this photo of Aoife playing her ceol, her soul’s music, beside the Sheela na Gig at the Hill of Tara—an ancient kingdom where as I mentioned above, in Irish mythology, only those committed to following their soul’s call could enter. This was the day we launched our retreat, holding a ceremony together at the Sheela, the site where the dán inauguration ritual for the women on our retreat will take place. This ceremony marked the opening of our sacred container.

This summer, I have devoted myself to my dán through writing. I am finalising my book proposal, which explores what Irish mythology can teach us about our creativity (no surprises there!). Almost two years ago, at sunrise on the Autumn Equinox, I stood on Sliabh na Calliagh, the ‘Witch’s Mountain’ at Loughcrew. I was at Cairn T, the ‘Hag’s Cairn,’ aligned with the equinox sunrise, which floods the tomb-womb of the Cailleach with new light rousing the great ancestors from their slumber. I whispered into the Cailleach’s womb, “I will write you a book”, little did I know what this would entail.

Photos I took that sacred sunrise at the Cailleach's tomb-womb.

I had been formulating an idea for a book for about a year then, and so following my promise to the great goddess, I began to write with fervour. You don’t commit to the Cailleach and down tools! I wrote for a year and a half only to discover that I was writing the ‘wrong’ book. The process took me on a descent, a battering of my psyche—a necessary orchestration by the Cailleach—that I am only emerging from now, writing a new book, the book I was always meant to write. The book-writing process changed me and brought me, or more like hurled me, over the wall into the fertile soil of my true dán.

It might seem like we need the luxury of time to dance with devotion, but time is something I struggle with. With two small children who have particular needs and a host of other responsibilities, my life is unpredictable. What helps me is to imagine, like Fedelm the Prophetess, that I have a weaver’s beam to puncture time, creating small pockets of potential where I can be devoted to my dán. For me, that is good enough because everything—my little ones and all—feeds my dán. There’s no separation.

Leaping Over the Wall

Following our dán is bloody tough, especially in societies that seem to conspire against our souls. But the rewards—the inner riches it brings—are worth every bead of sweet sweat. In these polarised times, the more of us who live into our souls, the more change we can bring. There has never been such a crucial time (in my lifetime anyway) to embrace our soul’s gift from the Universe and give back to the Universe by living into it.

It is with this intention, that Aoife and I are curating Aisling Áes Dána. You can apply here.

Wishing you and your shining soul a beaut of a weekend.

Croí isteach,

Jen x

1. Susan Magsamen and Ivy Ross, Your Brain on Art: How the Arts Transform Us