Alban Elfed

September 21
Autumn Equinox / Mabon / Alban Elfed. The autumnal equinox occurs when the sun crosses the equator on it’s apparent journey southward, and we experience a day and a night that are of equal duration. This is before before the descent to the dark times. It is a time of balance, but light gives way to increased darkness. This balance in nature presented a powerful time for magic.To the ancients, this was a sacred time. A harvest festival is held, thanking the Goddess for giving us enough sustenance to feed us through the winter. Harvest festivals of many types still occur today in farming country

Since most European peasants were not accomplished at calculating he exact date of the equinox, they celebrated the event on a fixed calendar date, September 25th.

The Irish saw this time of year as the Waning of the Goddess. From the Summer to the Winter Solstice, they would hold festivals for the God ­ who was seen as a dark, threatening being. To the Goidelic Celts, the spring was the time of joy in the rebirth of the Goddess. To Brythonic Celts, however, this was the time of the death of the God (the Sun or the Grain God).

It is the second harvest, and the Goddess mourns her fallen consort, but the emphasis is on the message of rebirth that can be found in the harvest seeds, It is a good time to walk the forests, gathering dried plants for use as altar decorations or herbal magick. Cornbread and cider are good additions to festivities and fall leaves make good altar decorations.”The Light of the Water,” the first day of Autumn, was also called Harvesthome. The Autumnal Equinox was the day when the sun again began to wane, as the dark half of the year drew near.


 Mythically, this is the day of the year when the god of light is defeated by his twin and alter-ego, the god of darkness. It is the time of the year when night conquers day. And as I have recently shown in my seasonal reconstruction of the Welsh myth of Blodeuwedd, the Autumnal Equinox is the only day of the whole year when Llew (light) is vulnerable and it is possible to defeat him. Llew now stands on the balance (Libra/autumnalequinox), with one foot on the cauldron (Cancer/summer solstice) and his other foot on the goat (Capricorn/winter solstice). Thus he is betrayed by Blodeuwedd, the Virgin (Virgo) and transformed into an Eagle (Scorpio).

 Two things are now likely to occur mythically, in rapid succession. Having defeated Llew, Goronwy (darkness) now takes over Llew’s functions, both as
lover to Blodeuwedd, the Goddess, and as King of our own world. Although Goronwy, the Horned King, now sits on Llew’s throne and begins his rule
immediately, his formal coronation will not be for another six weeks, occurring at Samhain (Halloween) or the beginning of Winter, when he becomes the Winter Lord, the Dark King, Lord of Misrule.

Goronwy’s other function has more immediate results, however. He mates with  the virgin goddess, and Blodeuwedd conceives, and will give birth — nine
  months later (at the Summer Solstice) — to Goronwy’s son, who is reallyanother incarnation of himself, the Dark Child.

   Llew’s sacrificial death at Harvest Home also identifies him with John Barleycorn, spirit of the fields. Thus, Llew represents not only the sun’s power, but also the sun’s life trapped and crystallized in the corn. Often this corn spirit was believed to reside most especially in the last sheaf   or shock harvested, which was dressed in fine clothes, or woven into a wicker-like man-shaped form. This effigy was then cut and carried from the   field, and usually burned, amidst much rejoicing.

 So one may see Blodeuwedd and Goronwy in a new guise, not as conspirators who murder their king, but as kindly farmers who harvest the crop which
 they had planted and so lovingly cared for. And yet, anyone who knows the old ballad of John Barleycorn knows that we have not heard the last of him.

   Incidentally, this annual mock sacrifice of a large wicker-work figure  (representing the vegetation spirit) may have been the origin of the misconception that Druids made human sacrifices. This charge was first made  by Julius Caesar (who may not have had the most unbiased of motives), and   has been re-stated many times since. However, as has often been pointed  out, the only historians besides Caesar who make this accusation are those    who have read Caesar. And in fact, upon reading Caesar’s ‘Gallic Wars’  closely, one discovers that Caesar never claims to have actually witnessed  such a sacrifice. Nor does he claim to have talked to anyone else who did.   In fact, there is not one single eyewitness account of a human sacrifice performed by Druids in all of history!

   Nor is there any archeological evidence to support the charge. If, for  example, human sacrifices had been performed at the same ritual sites year  after year, there would be physical traces. Yet there is not a scrap. Nor     is there any native tradition or history which lends support. In fact,   insular tradition seems to point in the opposite direction. The Druid’s    reverence for life was so strict that they refused to lift a sword to   defend themselves when massacred by Roman soldiers on the Isle of Mona.    Irish brehon laws forbade a Druid to touch a weapon, and any soul rash   enough to unsheathe a sword in the presence of a Druid would be executed    for such an outrage! Jesse Weston, in her brilliant study of the Four  Hallows of British myth, ‘From Ritual to Romance’, points out that British   folk tradition is, however, full of MOCK sacrifices. In the case of the     wicker-man, such figures were referred to in very personified terms,    dressed in clothes, addressed by name, etc. In such a religious ritual drama, everybody played along.

   In the medieval miracle-play tradition of the ‘Rise Up, Jock’ variety (performed by troupes of mummers at all the village fairs), a young harlequin-like king always underwent a mock sacrificial death.

  But invariably, the traditional cast of characters included a mysterious  ‘Doctor’ who had learned many secrets while ‘traveling in foreign lands’.   The Doctor reaches into his bag of tricks, plies some magical cure, and  presto! the young king rises up hale and whole again, to the cheers of the   crowd. As Weston so sensibly points out, if the young king were ACTUALLY   killed, he couldn’t very well rise up again, which is the whole point of  the ritual drama! It is an enactment of the death and resurrection of the   vegetation spirit. And what better time to perform it than at the end of the harvest season?

  In the rhythm of the year, Harvest Home marks a time of rest after hard  work. The crops are gathered in, and winter is still a month and a half  away! Although the nights are getting cooler, the days are still warm, and     there is something magical in the sunlight, for it seems silvery and  indirect. As we pursue our gentle hobbies of making corn dollies (those tiny vegetation spirits) and wheat weaving, our attention is suddenly arrested by the sound of baying from the skies (the ‘Hounds of Annwn’  passing?), as lines of geese cut silhouettes across a harvest moon. And we move closer to the hearth, the longer evening hours giving us time to catch up on our reading, munching on popcorn balls and caramel apples and sipping   home-brewed mead or ale. What a wonderful time Harvest Home is! And how  lucky we are to live in a part of the country where the season’s changes are so dramatic and majestic!