The seed lies dormant in the soil; it lays waiting, countless years pass. Then one day it stirs. Rain falls upon the earth, seeping through the soil, through the rocks and silt, through the pebbles and clay, layer upon layer of times past, until finally this life giving force touches the seed. Who knows why, a shift in the land, a change in the surface; the fall of a great tree whatever, the seed hears and feels the touch of the life giving moisture. It senses the embrace, this life force, whether it could be the deep memory of water herself, the seed calls out and in its calling bursts forth from its protective shell. A root tapping down into the darkness, feeling its way for the life giving fluid that caused it to stir in that moment in time. It sings back, “I hear you”. Its shoots crave the light as much as the roots crave the darkness. Its tentative shoots begin the journey, one of manifestation, of witness, of being. For these roots and shoots hear the call. The shoots instinctively reach for the light having lain dormant for so long in this place of darkness. The shoots break out into the open, vulnerable at first, into the vast unknown, tentatively reaching upward to the sky, the tender shoots outstretched to absorb the light. Many eons have passed since it was shed from the great forest. Lost in the mists of time one day this shoot will stand tall and strong as a forest of oneness; Art-s-Wath, The Mother, the eternal Grove of the Deep and Dark and Green, Doir’-choille Sìor-bheo.
Our tradition, Sagh’ic-Tire Dhream, whose soul, eons ago were known as the kindred of the wolf, were lost and like the seed lay dormant in the darkness. Until one day, as the waters of life seeped through the layers of time and touched the soul of this lost people, they heard the calling song. The song of The Fiad-aic-he Dor-cear the Dark Hunter, who’s own wolf blood called out into the mists, their call reached out and touched the soul of the Wolf clan, a clan that once was; the Clan of the Wolf People.
The lost clan sensing the embrace of this life giving essence, who’s being had been long since forgotten by man reached out, sensing a calling, a recognition that lay deep and dormant within the blood of the Hunter. He himself called out. And in its recognition burst forth from its hidden place within the mists of time. Like a root tapping down into the darkness, it reaches out in that moment of time. It sings back “I hear you”. Its soul craves the light as much as the sub consciousness craves the darkness. Its tentative shoots begin the journey, one of manifestation, of witness, of being as a song that flows in the blood of The Fiad-aic-he Dor-cear, the Dark Hunter. The soul of this lost tribe instinctively reaches for the light having lain dormant for so long in this place of darkness. The clan reaches out, its own virtue streaming down upon the Dark Hunter, Fiad-aic-he Dor-cear, who embraces this virtue as the clan would their own.
The Dark Hunter is the spirit Fetch; the conduit between the Egregore and the Holder of The Virtue. In essence it is a spiritual vehicle between the Ancestral stories and the tribe; the Seanachais of the Elders.
The term follows the definition of the male half of Tei Sar, the ‘Hunter’, that is sent or called to discover and entrap, thus returning to the tribe with the resources of survival. The term ‘Dark’ refers to the shadows into which the stories have been lost.
The Dark Hunter is not a leader per se, rather a guide and dispenser of the wisdom/virtue of the Ancestral Spirits; and is the Interpreter of that Virtue.
The Tradition is clear that there were and are tribal leaders, male and female, whereas the Anima (male spirit) of the Tradition was guided or overseen by the Elders as a unified council as Animus (female pirit), in concordance with the Egregore.
The Dark Hunter spirit is passed through bloodlines or blood of intent to maintain the manifest Egregore for and amongst the Elders of the Tradition.
Traditionally the bloodline or blood of intent was father to son, however should the Dark Hunter pass through blood to a female descendant, that female is instructed and guided in the Fetch relationship with the maleness of the spirit. Following the Tradition of bloodline or blood of intent, a mother would pass to her son unless again the bloodline only produces a daughter.
The Wolf, dead and buried beneath Yrgriddia, The Great Mother Tree wept upon hearing the song of recognition and knowing, for He had been heard. He reached His paws out to this Dark Hunter, for He was calling to the soul of His people and in this coming together of souls He touches the Hunters heart. The Wolven Path bursts out into the light. For the Wolf was both indeed touched and blessed to hear the Fiad-aic-he Dor-cear’s heart beat. The Great Wolf holder of His peoples’ soul began to bestow upon the Dark Hunter the life force of His people, the people of the wolf. For Virtue is a gift of the spirits upon another. Virtue streams down connecting Fiad-aic-he Dor-cear to the soul of the Wolf. For without this blessed connection there can be no Wolven Path. We each carry personal virtue but only Fiad-aic-he Dor-cear and their descendants carry the Clan’s Virtue, the People of the Wolf.
For those long lost tribes and clans, their clan souls never die, they live on as an Egregore. Every people, tribe, clan community that ever was has a soul, a consciousness that remains even when the people are no more. The soul consciousness of a people, a tradition, a clan never dies they just slip into the mists of time. A tradition’s Egregore will lie dormant until awakened and yet it is not passive in its waiting. Like the Grandmother’s great Song, Mora-oa-Creon, she sings throughout Her daughter, Art-s-Wath, the Forest waiting to be heard. She sang to our ancestors as they watched the forest and her animals, the sky and the stars, the turning of the seasons and in the wolves that surrounded them.
At the heart of the Tribal Knowledge is the song of the Grandmother that called the Lightning, and at the moment of creation and birth of all things, that Lightning, that First Fire, sings a song of love within the hearts of all things.
My Heart Forgot
But I am here
The ancestors of the people of the Wolf saw the community and family of the forest and all its inhabitants and watched and learned as the song of these taught them the safety and containment of the family. So it is with the Wolven Path, a people that revered the wolf called by the maternal forest, who honoured the wolf pack returned.
All practice, rites, songs, stories, rituals and ceremonies are done in direct intimate relationship and interaction with the Ancient Ones, The Old Ones and the Ancestors, through the use of song, dance, plant spirits, and at times blood ritual.