Every March 17, the familiar dichotomy of Patrick versus the snakes raises its controversial head. Some people enjoy the holiday's reverie with a simple appreciation for Irish heritage (or a simple desire to have fun), while others believe that St. Patrick's Day condones colonization and drinking to excess. Of course, each view contains truth. A day that used to elicit division and dogma in me now inspires openness and enjoyment. In my opinion, we have a lot to celebrate on St. Patrick's Day.
Several years ago, I met with Irish elder Kevin O'Kelly over a couple of late-night discussions at Newgrange Lodge in County Meath. He was the first person who suggested to me that perhaps the Christian teachings of St. Patrick dovetailed quite nicely with the Celtic animistic worldview. Paul does not identify himself as Christian. In fact, he leads pilgrimages to the Neolithic sites of Ireland (and preferably on foot, he adds). He knows how to make offerings, and why not to take rocks from sacred sites. He seemed to me a living archive of the land, knowing every inch and all the lore, with respect and sensitivity to the aliveness of it all. Gracefully, he bridges two perspectives I believed were distinct.
Ireland is one of the only Christian places where people revere the land in a spiritual sense. Never was Patrick able to subdue the snakes to the extent that holy wells are not associated with goddesses, that hills are not embodiments of hags or "paps," that standing stones are not phalluses [sic]. The landscape lives, right along side Christian ways. This is not a problem. In the words of Patricia Monaghan, "In Ireland, Christianity arrived without lions and gladiators, survived without autos-de-fe and Inquisitions. The old ways were seamlessly bonded to the new, so that ancient rituals continued, ancient divinities became saints, ancient holy sites were maintained just as they had been for generations and generations."
I do not condone imposing beliefs on other people, no matter the scale. I take this statement to heart. Please don't believe what I say; investigate your own hearts, dig into the Celtic sagas, consult your dreams. If the controversy surrounding St. Patrick's day exists because we are attempting to honor our indigenous ancestors, then perhaps we need to examine our methodology. Our anger is an irony, an "us" against "them," a continuity of colonial karma. Anger and dogma do nothing to serve the ways we seek to honor and evoke. Facing my own feelings waives my ability to blame, and frees me up for sincere, inspired offerings. This, I believe, is so helpful in the movement of human-beingness. Not only are we more likely to listen to each other, but we are more likely to inhabit our hearts, which is essential to remembering who we are.
To overlook the colonizer in ourselves is to deny a painful part of our human experience, akin to how many of our own ancestors wanted to forget about the pain of their respective "old countries" as they emigrated to America, or other parts of the world. I understand the refusal to discuss a painful past with our progeny, as I am less likely to talk about my personal trespasses and traumas than I am other experiences. However, denial does nothing to preserve the continuity of our stories as a human race, which I feel is so important to a rooted understanding of self.
To deny St. Patrick's Day is also to deny my history, including the positive impact that Christianity has had on my family. My mother's family is Catholic, and my father's is Southern Baptist, and I respect and value that. But even indigenous customs have survived through hundreds of years of suppression to make their way into St. Patrick's Day festivities. This may sound like a paradox, but hear me out.
First and foremost, our ancestors loved to celebrate. I am certain that the Earth, which cued our causes for celebration, became used to humanity's rhythmic galas. I imagine our ancestors longing to sing, dance, eat, and drink through us, together in community. "When's the next party?" I hear them ask.
In the investigation of my own heritage, I have found some correspondences between the ways of the indigenous Irish and the modern manifestation of March 17. (There are bound to be some anyway, as many modern people carry the same blood as those who lived in Ireland before Patrick.)
One can claim that drinking is a recent substitute for "actual culture," or a modern symptom of colonization (and this wouldn't be false). However, when we read the Celtic sagas, we find that drinking plays a big role in social life even in ancient times. Men and women alike are drunk to the point of belligerent absurdity in the satire of Bricriu's Feast. Many other tales describe similar drunken exploits. Indeed, having to drink water was considered a last resort. (I myself am not a drinker. I'm just telling you what I've found.)
And of course, the color green can be traced back to old Eire as having special significance. We need look no further than Ireland's moniker "Emerald Isle." Ancient Celts also knew that green was the preferred color of faeries, so many people would actually avoid wearing it out of fear or respect for the "Good People," especially among the tribes of Scotland.
In the oral and subsequently written tradition, we find that humans with green hair possess some sort of gift. The Tain Bo Culainge describes Cuchulain, fiercest warrior in all Ireland, as having green hair when he enters his "warp spasm," or battle fury. In the Destruction of Da Derga's hostel, we meet a well-loved seven year-old boy, "the infant son of Conare, Le Fer Flaith," with tri-colored hair--green, yellow-crimson, and gold--denoting his sensitivity and special nature.
The music and dancing that we find on St. Patrick's Day require less historic justification. Yesterday, someone who came to see me dance asked, "How did you get into such a thing as Irish dancing?!" Over the course of the night, I began to wonder how he had gotten "out of" the custom of folk dancing, which we have practiced forever as a people.
Since millennia of sanctioned singing, story-telling, dancing, and yes, drinking, are condensed into 24 hours every 365 days, it's no wonder the day gets rowdy. Yet I know of no other time when the community at large gathers together in celebration of my ethnic heritage. I choose to embrace the unique opportunity to celebrate with my friends and ancestors, and not without consideration. But having considered these things and more, I feel able to fully relax into the innocent joy that arises when I begin to dance the High Caul Cap, for all of us.
