3.3 Water: Connecting with the Community

Below is a list of practices for connecting to the land via community. Feel free to jump ahead to whatever practice calls you, as I designed this manual to be used like a cookbook. Find the practices that work for you and move on. Press Ctrl+F and type the number and title of the section to jump to the section that interests you.

Practices for Connecting with the Community

1. Befriending Neighbors
2. Volunteering
3. Ancestral and Local Holidays
4. Sabbath Feasts
5. Keeping and Sharing Stories

1. Befriending Neighbors

Ask expats what they miss the most back home, and I’m confident 99% of them will say the same thing: the people. Their mother. Their younger sister. Their childhood friend. More than anything else, people make the home.

A few centuries ago in Ireland, one’s home stretched over the hills, the gullies, the cliffs off the Atlantic, and the homes huddled together along the coast. When they woke in the morning, strolled to their pastures, and returned home, they were home. Now, home has been reduced to a few hundred square meters of one’s property or a cell in an apartment block.

Our ignorance and disconnect from nature only partially explain this alienation. Another major factor is our alienation from each other. In that ancient Irish fishing town, you’d know the owner of each inch of land. That plot was Liam’s. That big piece was Eamon’s. Over there was Kieran’s. These weren’t empty names. You’d have attended their weddings and got drunk with them during Samhain. You scuffled with a few of Eamon’s lads years back and had a tryst with Kieran’s daughter. The land lived not only because of its beauty but also because it was interwoven in the lives of your friends, your ancestors, your people.

This is largely lost. My best friend lived in a house for years and didn’t know the name of a single neighbor. My sister-in-law has lived in condos all her adult life without saying more than a hurred “hi” to those living next door. Modern city dwellers live in history's most densely populated cities, yet loneliness and depression run rampant. Local communities have unraveled, and in their place, homelessness, feeling as if they’re always strangers in their own land. It needn’t be this way, but modern attitudes and lifestyles have made it so.

The drivers of these social changes are complex and entrenched, but I want to linger on one of the main culprits: a misunderstanding of connection. Ostensibly, the modern notion is that connection’s about shared interests and values. It seems harmless, but the reality’s far from it.

In the dating field, I’ve seen relationships end for the most asinine reasons. He had a weird laugh. She’d read my texts but replied hours later. I don’t think he wanted it bad enough. He likes Star Wars too much. Her job is lame. He had dirt underneath his fingernails, and it drove me crazy. I don’t think we could go hiking together. He supports gun rights, and that’s just wrong. You can witness this ultra-narrow bandwidth approach in action on this now viral TikTok video:

It’s a consumerist framework that sees love as they see shopping for a computer or a car. Either these exact specifications or get out.

The problem is that this doesn’t work. First, people change. The perfect man who’s full of joy might be in the dumps for years after his mother dies and he loses a fortune on a dud investment. Someone whose political allegiances align with yours might change their mind five years later. Second, you change. Having a nice smile and a golden-retriever personality might’ve been number one, but after a few harrowing tragedies and financial struggles, that might not make the list. Instead, you now just want someone composed and financially secure. You might have been a rabid atheist for years but suddenly found God after a brush with death. Finally, qualities like trust, love, sacrifice, honor, justice, and loyalty trump these lesser considerations.

I love my parents more than anyone else in the world, yet we’re wildly different on paper. I’m a hard-right libertarian; they’re progressives. I’m a philosophical type who ponders the big questions; they’re focused on paying the bills and ensuring their garden’s stunning. I love adventure and chaos; they’re addicted to order and routine. And yet, there’s hardly anyone else in the world that I’d rather spend the weekend with than them.

Connection is not a result of matching interests and superficial values but because of the work both parties have put into the relationship over years, because of the commitment, honor, and love both have shown for each other, because of the knowledge and intimacy forged in the fire of tragedy and hardship, because of the basic humanity both share. Behind the accidentals of loving hiking or supporting a woman’s right to choose, we are far more alike than unlike. We all want to love and be loved. We all seek success and to support those we care about. We all long for meaning and purpose. We all desire excellence and recognition. We all want to take pride in who we are and what we’ve done. We all try to do what’s right. We’re all humans, and the deepest relationships are built not because both enjoy kayaking but because each recognizes and honors one another's dignity.

Instead of bonding over shared humanity, many have embraced the narrow-bandwidth approach, seeking out fellow Libertarian Hellenic Red-pilled Shamans or Progressive Irish Pagan Recostructionist RadFem Witches. Some cut off family and break friendships because they dare to not check off 90% of their boxes. Covid killed many such relationships because of such narrow-mindedness. As a result, many such individuals find themselves isolated, alienated, homeless, and wondering why they can’t connect to others. Their neighborhoods feel as desolate and empty as they do within. It needn’t be this way.

Change starts by seeing relationships not as a product of perfectly aligned politics, hobbies, and ideologies but as a product of work, time, and virtue. The next step for those longing to feel at home in their own land is to make friends with its occupants. More than land, spirits, and views, people make the home.

Start by getting to know your neighbors. Be curious about their life. Invite them over for coffee. Make friends with people whose houses you can walk to or who can come over for dinner or a game of basketball on a few minutes' notice. Feel that this land isn’t full of strangers but of friends. Turn it from an alien desolate place into a place you proudly call home.

Here are some ways to do just that:

A. Bring Gifts.

In my home in rural Thailand, giving gifts to your neighbors is customary. Whether it's returning from a long trip, baking sweets, or harvesting produce from the garden, my wife and I set aside a little something for the people down the street. They do the same for us. These gifts are more than kind gestures; they’re springboards for conversation and connection. A jar of cookies turns into an opportunity to check in, see what’s going on, chit-chat, ask for small favors, and make a friend.

B. Walk around.

My parents know most people in their neighborhood by the name of their dogs. Seriously. Sometimes, they even address people as “Stacy’s owner” - fortunately, they haven’t reached “Stacy’s dad” levels yet. But because they’ve been dog owners for 20 years and religiously walk their four-legged children twice a day, they know just about every jogger, walker, and dog owner in the neighborhood.

For those who can, owning a dog is one of the best ways to meet your neighbors. The four-legged scoundrels make for cute and approachable icebreakers.

For those whoh can’t, there are other options. Walk around or jog daily, and you’ll start seeing people and saying hi. After you’ve said hi a few times, it’s easy to break the ice with easy questions. See someone out pruning their roses every Tuesday? Go over and compliment them on their garden and ask them about their flowers. See a man out there fixing up his antique car on Sundays? Say hi and ask him about the model. It takes a bit of courage, but it’s an easy in to befriending your neighbors.

C. Join or start a neighborhood group.

There are likely hundreds of niche groups in your area. Bird watchers. Gardeners. Car fanatics. Basketball players. D&D players. Find a group that’s nearby and you’re interested in. Don’t see the group you’re looking for? Start it. This is one of the best ways to make friends, as the members will mostly be from your neighborhood, share your interests, and the focus is on doing stuff together rather than small-talk.

D. Participate in local events.

There are local concerts, football tournaments, potlucks, trivia nights, and a myriad of other activities going on in every town and city. Local bulletin boards at businesses, parks, or churches are a great place to find events.

E. Join localized online networks.

As a reaction to social media platforms dispersing social networks, new platforms have emerged to reconnect locals. NextDoor is one of the more popular apps, and there you can find local events, comment on news items, and join groups.

F. Join a local pagan group.

Because there’s such an eclectic mix within the pagan community, such as Heathenism, Hellenism, Celtic paganism, and Kemetism, combined with already low numbers, consider being more accommodating when on the lookout. Being a Celtic pagan who worships with Heathens, for example, might prove more rewarding than going it alone. Although the specifics of your practices, myths, and beliefs might differ, you’ll likely find far more in common with Heathans than with other groups, and you’ll have a community of like-minded folks who can inspire and support you. Research shows that belonging to a religious group generally¹ offers huge benefits across the board: longer life, more consistent practice, more commitment, more political activism, and improved mental health. The modest research done on pagan communities confirms this.² If you can, find a group rather than go solo.

2. Generosity

In every office job I’ve had, I’ve worked two positions: 1) the one I put on my CV after I quit and 2) as the unofficial office therapist. While #2 can be burdensome and tricky, it also made work more satisfying. Each day was a puzzle, a test, and an opportunity to uplift those around me. I relished it.

To show why generosity is essential to setting roots, allow me to share a story from my own life.

I used to work at a private secondary school in Thailand as an English and Thinking Skills teacher. Shortly after I arrived, the English department brought on another teacher: Fongfong (not his real name). He was smart, dedicated, and friendly, but he also had a darkness to him. He’d blurt out, “I like anime!” during a meeting about student projects. Conversations felt forced and awkward. After asking me a question, he’d sometimes walk away mid-conversation without explanation. Some days, he showed up disheveled and dark-eyed. He slept a lot at his desk. A lot. A pall hung over him.

As we became better friends, he opened up about his demons. Not wanting to wake up most days. Helplessly binging on Korean series all night. Trying one desperate solution after another to get his mind back together. Obsessing over his shortcomings. Drinking too much. Longing for death.

He felt isolated at this remote school in the countryside. The friendship pool was small, and with his darkness, keeping the friends he could find was next to impossible. Misery haunted him. He foundered. I was one of his few life rafts during this bleak time.

At work, I checked in with him every day and made it a point to get him to laugh or smile at least once. I invited him to play badminton or football together after school. We chatted over lunch. At times, it was tough. I had to sacrifice a few hours every week as he bawled over the same problems he refused to do much about. I gritted my teeth in frustration as he asked for advice over and over again, yet ignored most of it. I called the paramedics to pick him up at midnight when he called me incomprehensible and desperate. His body had shut down due to severe panic attacks, and I spent most of the night at the hospital dealing with staff and trying to calm him down. At times, he was thankful and respectful, but at others, he was cruel. It was hard work, but it eventually paid off.

Over the next two years, he slowly turned his life around. It was a group effort. Besides his own actions, it was his mom, myself, and another friend who kept pulling for him. Through his determination, a healthy lifestyle, quieting that brutal inner critic, and the support of friends, he finally emerged from a darkness that had consumed him for years.

Things didn't end well, though. The school took a risk on him and offered a long-term contract. He was a promising teacher, but it would take time to smooth out the edges. He agreed, even after we pointedly told him we worried about his commitment. “Don’t worry, this is my calling. I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured us. And then he left halfway through, violating his word and his contract.

I was angry and scolded him for his selfishness, dishonesty, and lack of commitment. He gave his word, we took a risk, and he left us hanging. When he finally left, I felt proud at how far he had come but also bitter over his dishonesty. After all the shit we put up with and sacrifices we made, he still betrayed us.

Despite the bad blood, I appreciated how meaningful helping him was. First, I possibly saved his life. I still wonder what would’ve come of him if I wasn’t there. Maybe he would've found someone else. Maybe his mom would’ve been enough. Or perhaps a maid would have found him blue, bloated, and dead in his room. When I say I saved his life, I also mean it in another sense: the fire for life was reignited in him. He could enjoy walking through the woods without feeling a noose tightening around his neck. He could go out on a date with a cute girl without a knot of misery in his chest and a devil on his shoulder whispering how ugly and unworthy he is. He could live.

Second, knowing I was a part of that filled me with pride and honor. At this point, I’ve helped save the lives of many humans and animals. It’s really, really hard work. Frustrating. Draining. Hopeless. Expensive. Time consuming. Even after trying my best, I don’t always succeed. It’s still worth it. When I lie in a hospice awaiting my death, I won’t be wondering about how well I managed my assets; I’ll be thinking about how honorably I served my family and friends, how I raised my children to be noble and strong, and how I now leave this world slightly bettered by my presence.

Third, it made me feel at home. There’s a lot of cynicism and resentment directed at businesses. That’s fine, but don’t direct that venom at your fellow teammates slugging away in the trenches next to you or your team head (utter assholes being exempted). Such an attitude will make the workplace a meaningless desert where you clock in, turn off, and clock out. That’s no way to spend 40 hours a week.

Instead, treat them as humans. Act dutifully and honorably. Ask them how they’re doing. Be generous with your time and energy. Care. Love. Challenge yourself. Learn to be strong, courageous, and composed in the face of bullshit, drama, and misery. Uplift and inspire those around you. You’ll likely perform better, be adored and admired by your colleagues and bosses (with some jealousy and politics thrown in there), and find your time at work fulfilling and meaningful.

This is the power of generosity. It sets down roots into your land and your community, twining you together in the chthonic depths. It turns a wasteland into a home.

As the story above shows, generosity isn’t just sending off a monthly donation to UNICEF; it’s about honoring and appreciating the people around you. Giving money is one form. Volunteering at an organization is another, but it needn’t be in such conventional ways.

Living at and caring for your brother’s house while he’s hospitalized for weeks is generosity. Talking to a friend at work who seems out of sorts is generosity. Staying up all night hashing out a friend’s marriage difficulties is generosity. Picking up trash around your neighborhood while out on your morning walk is generosity. It’s messy and rough, but that’s also what makes it all the more needed and worthwhile. March into the darkness. Dare to bear a torch.

Here are some general points to consider for those eager to give back and root into their local community:

A. Pick a niche and own it.

NPC Slacktivism is all the rage - global warming in 2017, BLM in 2020, Ukraine in 2022. It’s tempting. Major news outlets saturate their platforms with the content. Reactionary forces then pick it up and attack it. Debates ensue. Lines are drawn. You’re either in or out. The problem is that these catastrophe cycles amount to little positive change save for securing hive-mind support for causes. For those that bandwagon onto the issue, they rarely commit in any significant way, are uninformed on the topic, and don’t stick around long enough to see things through.

Real change usually happens at a fungal pace. It seeps into the substratum of the culture, works quietly and persistently for decades, changing detritus into fertile soil, and gradually builds something new. It’s about showing up and putting in the work day after day for decades.

Here’s one global crisis you hardly hear about in the news: human trafficking. The chart above maps out the scale of the problem, with the orange areas representing where people are trafficked to and green where they’re trafficked from. Another quiet disaster: the rampant sexual abuse of women in South Asia. You can’t possibly understand and combat every disaster in the world right now. There are countless ongoing wars, deprivations, and injustices, while mainstream media and culture distract and dissipate public energy on fad crises.

Instead, focus on a niche topic that you care deeply about. Free speech. Women’s rights. National parks. Fire safety. Dive into it. Take action. Make friends who care about it. Join an organization pushing for change. Give them money. And then stick to it. This approach will be far more meaningful than changing crises every few years according to the whims of the media.

B. Pay attention and be courageous.

As the story I began with shows, there are people in need around us all the time. The old man with Parkinson’s who lives down the street. A quiet co-worker who’s slowly crumbling before your eyes. The homeless man living under the bridge you walk past each morning. When you start to appreciate and pay attention to the world around you, you’ll start to see how much suffering there is and all the opportunities you have to give back.

Go knock on that old man’s door, give him some brownies, and check in to see how everything’s going. Maybe he has a sister who lives a few miles away and comes on the weekends, but he would appreciate having someone to call if there’s something small that he needs help with, like moving a few boxes or screwing in a new door handle. Maybe he's fine, but you won't know until you find out. Paying attention and stepping up makes communities thrive; that work starts with us.

C. There are many forms of generosity.

Generosity includes sharing knowledge by tutoring kids or offering legal advice to a friend for free. It includes checking in with the cleaning staff at work or writing an About Me section for your friend’s website. While doing concrete things is the most rewarding, money’s also crucial. Organizations need to hire staff, pay for rent, and buy equipment for their services. Good staff and leaders are the most important resource in any charity, but finding and keeping good people requires paying well. Whatever your station in life or ability level, there’s always some way to give back.

D. Be effective.

In response to the devastating Ethiopian famine (1983-85), aid poured into the country to alleviate the rampant hunger, sickness, and death. Tonnes of goods, especially foodstuffs, were sent there, much to the delight of its residents. But there was one problem: the overabundance of aid wrecked the economy.

With an oversaturated market, local farmers couldn’t sell their produce. Chicken farmers, unable to pay for animal feed, were forced to cull hundreds of thousands of birds. Vast swathes of fields were left overgrown. The collapse of farms took the logistic and transportation networks with them. Once the aid dried up, the agricultural sector spun out of control. Farmers lacked the capital to restart their businesses. Prices shot up as shortages wrecked the country. Years of instability plagued Ethiopia before the economy could finally self-correct.

Being generous isn't always a net positive. Sometimes, it can actually harm people or communities. When it's in the black, not all organizations or actions are equally effective. Some eat away a large percentage of donations on unnecessary administration and overhead. Some pursue ineffective solutions. Others are sleek and productive. Since you have limited resources, be prudent in how you spend your time, money, and skills. Support organizations with proven track records and follow-up to see that it's making real changes.

E. Keep it in the crow’s range.

If you want to feel at home in your own land, focus on local projects and your local community. This might sound selfish, but it’s also practical. It’s difficult to know how the money you give to UNICEF is being spent and what's needed in a community without skin in the game.

When you support local causes, oversight is easier and satisfaction is higher. You can see the community farm you helped pay for go up. You can see if it’s being neglected and the workshops promised are happening or not. You can directly speak with leaders to course correct or find more promising avenues. The result is more effective, meaningful programs that fully embed you in the local community.

F. Support Celtic organizations.

For Celts living abroad, one important way to stay connected to your ancestral roots is by supporting organizations working in your ancestral homeland. Volunteering in person is impossible, but you can make regular donations, stay abreast of developments, and check in every few years when you return home.

G. Give 10%.

This standard draws on an ethos baked into every major religion: regularly giving back a portion of your wealth. Many Christians and Jews practice tithing, supporting both the clergy and the poor. Muslims practice Zakat, annually donating 2.5% of their asset wealth. Dana, or generosity, is also a foundational practice in Hinduism and Buddhism and likewise divides itself between support for the clergy and the poor.

10% can seem like a lot with bills piling up and many purchases feeling out of reach, but everyone can give something every month, even if it’s just $10 or $20. Buy one less cup of coffee a week or skip going out once a month, and you’ll find space in your budget to give back.

3. Ancestral and Local Holidays

Celtic pagans love their natural holidays. Samhain. Lughansadh. Beltaine. When these days come around, get ready for a flood of bonfire and altar pics captioned, “Happy Samhain!” I love it, as these celebrations reinvigorate our collective connection to nature, spirit, and community.

However, those holidays are not ancestrally focused. Sure, for the Celts, the line between ancestor, land, and god is blurry. Many lineages traced themselves back to Celtic gods. In my home of Thailand, great kings and military heroes have ascended to deity-like proportions. The holidays themselves celebrate Celtic heritage, but their content usually focuses on the turning of the seasons and the gods' role in Celtic pagans’ lives

Ancestral and local holidays offer an opportunity to pause, celebrate, and recollect your ancestors. The American calendar is replete with them: Abraham Lincoln Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, Veterans Day, Martin Luther King Day, and so on. Yet for so many, these days aren’t periods of introspection, of celebrating the courage of those who fought and bled to make our life what it is today, but excuses to get drunk or go for a hike. What a wasted opportunity.

What makes our homes home is connection. Intimacy turns a regular track house in the suburbs into a home whose myths are etched in marks on the wall and embodied in a faded old chair, which moistens a grown man’s eyes as memories and feelings flood him, which turns an old carpet beneath his feet into a blessing, a reminder, a prayer: you are home.

I wish that we feel at home not just in the confines of our cells but in the cafe down the road, while out on a walk with a friend, and while playing football at the park. This land is our home, and feeling it's so, our birthright.

Understanding, remembering, and honoring the struggles and victories of your ancestors, ethnic and local, does just that. It connects you to the stories from centuries and continents ago that brought you here. It reminds you that the roads laid, the electricity that turns on with a flick, the abundance and opportunities you enjoy, the knowledge and valor you have in your heart are not to be taken for granted nor taken as one’s own. It was made possible by the heroes who came before you. Celebrate them. Honor them.

For practicals, it’s difficult to give much precise direction because each culture has its own unique way of celebrating its events and heroes. Here are a few tips, though, to better integrate honoring your ancestors:

A. Include local and ancestral holidays.

As you uncover more about your ancestral and local roots, note important dates and figures and consider including them in your yearly holiday cycle. Some of these dates might overlap with national holidays, like celebrating George Washington’s birthday, the Fourth of July, the commemoration of the Great Famine, and Abraham Lincoln Day. Others might be more obscure and personal, such as the day your grandparents immigrated to New Zealand and Yeats’ birthday.

B. Integrate land, blood, spirit, and view into celebrations.

Use these days as opportunities to recollect, honor, and reflect on your ancestors, their sacrifices, and your own life as their torch bearer. Consider ways of integrating all Four Developments in the celebrations. Invite friends over to your house for a feast. Cook traditional dishes, prepare plenty of good liquor, and spruce the place up. Over wine and good food, share stories, and discuss pertinent ideas. Include a ritual to open and set the mood and close on a high note. Keep it accessible, simple, sweet, and uplifting.

C. Celebrating doesn't require a party.

You can also celebrate privately. For Yeats’ birthday, I take the afternoon off and go to a local park with just a blanket and a book of poems. Parked beneath a tree, I spend the day savoring his verse and recollecting his life. When the mood strikes me, I pray for the health, happiness, and success of his ancestors. The day is a quiet toast to his life and how he lives now in and through me.

D. Join in local celebrations.

Many communities host banquets, marches, or performances on important national holidays. For Irish living abroad, most major cities have an Irish Association of some sort, and you can be certain they’ll host something on major Irish holidays.

E. Create a calendar.

An easy way to ensure you honor these holidays is by putting them down in your calendar and checking it frequently. I create my next year’s calendar over the month of December and include all of the big dates for the year. Doing this forces me to think about what days I want to honor, how to space them out, and which ones I’ll pass on. Once it’s set, staying abreast of the holidays and keeping the monotony of everyday life at bay becomes easy.

4. Sabbath Feasts

When scientists began tracking the health of 268 Harvard sophomores in 1938, little did they know that they’d launch one of the longest and most important studies on human well-being. After decades of keeping tabs on participants and parsing out the data, the results surprised the researchers:

Close relationships, more than money or fame, are what keep people happy throughout their lives, the study revealed. Those ties protect people from life’s discontents, help to delay mental and physical decline, and are better predictors of long and happy lives than social class, IQ, or even genes.³

Intrigued, researchers began studying a wider range of people to see if these findings held up, and they did indeed. Good community matters. A lot.

Having regular, amicable meals with family and friends is one of the best ways to keep those relationships alive. Traditional cultures have known this, and it’s why they’ve given such importance to eating together. In the last 50 years, this practice has eroded. Now, couples eat in separate rooms while scrolling on their phones or listening to a podcast. Kids return to their rooms and watch MrBeast videos as they scarf down pasta. Employees take lunch at their desks while watching Grey's Anatomy. After studying these new trends, the results have been alarming. People who don’t eat together regularly are at a higher risk of addiction, obesity, diabetes, depression, loneliness, suicide, and much more. Breaking bread with friends could save your life.

In addition to taking regular time to share meals with loved ones, make time for feasts. Cultures typically set aside one day a week for members to set aside their duties, unwind, and reconnect with community and spirit. This day of rest, known more commonly as Sabbath, usually includes visiting temples, studying scripture, worshiping, enjoying the arts, and a feast among friends.

Here are a few examples of Sabbath feasts in different religious cultures:

• Thai Buddhism: Lay people visit the neighborhood temple on the lunar holy days (full, half, and new moons), offer food to the monks, listen to discourses, and then spend a few hours eating, chatting, and helping out around the temple.
• Celtic Christianity: On Sunday morning, parishioners attend their local church to sing hymns, participate in religious rituals, and listen to homilies. Following the service, they usually have a Sunday feast with family and friends.
• Nordic Paganism: Although the exact details of the blót, or blood sacrifice, is lost to history, from the scant records available, it was similar to the days of religious observance and feasting found elsewhere. There was an animal sacrifice, invocations to the gods, feasting, music, and plenty of ale.
• Hellenism: Religious feasts were commonplace in ancient Greece and set the model for the Catholic tradition of feast days. These feasts included ritual processions, sacrifices, athletic and artistic competitions, ecstatic dance and song, and lots and lots of food and wine. Some were more austere and contemplative in nature, but such feasts were rare.
• Celtic Paganism: The feast was critical for ancient Celtic pagan culture. During these events, guests sacrificed to the gods, bards sang epics, stories were told, music played, and food and ale flowed.

Feasts have been the cornerstone of communities since time immemorial, yet they’ve largely vanished from the Western landscape save for a few stubborn religious communities. It’s a shame. In the feast’s atmosphere of sanctity, abundance, and abandon, guests can let go and connect to each other unfettered by hurry or distraction. Communities strengthen and heal. Ideas are refined and challenged. The weft of land, blood, and spirit is reaffirmed. Home is made whole.

The 21st century’s multicultural and fractured communities challenge this ancient practice. Gone are the days when you, your friends, your family, and your neighbors all go to the same church, know the same liturgies, sing the same songs, and share the same beliefs. For me, the modern Sabbath feast is primarily to bring my community closer together, including family and friends, regardless of religious or political affiliation. To accommodate them, I avoid explicit religious associations and focus on ensuring all my guests can come, feel welcome, get a little crazy, and enjoy each other’s company. I leave the religious stuff for Samhain or another time in the day.

To revive the practice of the Sabbath feast, here are a few points to consider:

A. Invite the family and the gang.

Having a cadre of friends who can finish each other’s sentences, make allusions no one else could ever understand, and give you a couch to sleep on and a few thousand dollars if things ever really go south is one of the greatest treasures a man can have. Even for hermits like me, it's good to have the boys who have your back. If you don’t have one, the feast is a great starting point. Invite your scattered friends and introduce them to each other. See the chemistry, watch the bonds form, and begin the brotherhood.

That said, include family if possible - obviously, give the psychos a hard pass. Family and friends are the two most important groups in making your land your home. As social creatures, being without a clan and gang is tantamount to death. The research also bears it out - lonely people live shorter and more miserable lives.⁴

I know that the modern reaction by some to joining the gang with the family sounds like eating pizza with peanut butter, but it’s not. This has been the norm throughout history. This hard division between family and friends is a symptom of backward, broken communities, not wisdom. Bring these two worlds together again. It might seem like an awkward fit, but it'll work if you have decent friends and family.

B. Keep it diverse.

Host guests from a wide array of backgrounds, so long as you love one another and are courteous and honorable. Mix together family and friends. Allow +1s without much fuss.

Over wine and long conversation, the filters soften, defenses fall, and honest connection and dialogue begin. Younger generations can appreciate the struggles of their elders, soak in their wisdom, and see their world through old eyes, and elders likewise. Political and religious rivals can discuss disagreements. New thoughts and experiences are given the time for relish and consideration. New futures by unlikely allies can be imagined and planned.

When you have a bunch of humans gathered together, though, drama is sure to follow. There will be arguments, feelings hurt, gossip spread, rivalries spawned. Social life is, in part, intrinsically uncomfortable and disruptive, but these ruptures are an opportunity for both parties to learn and refine. Also, everything carries costs and risks. The question is whether the alternative - eating cold pasta alone while watching Attack on Titan, is better.

C. Include themes and activities.

It’s fine to keep things light, natural, and spontaneous, but setting themes and running activities can keep things more interesting and on point. I’ve been to several Jewish feasts that start with a talk from a community member followed by questions and debate. After time’s up, the wine and food flows, and the opening talk makes for the perfect ice-breaker and fodder for conversation. Alternatively, set up a few small football nets and kick the ball around, or get out a basketball and shoot some hoops.

D. Showcase talent.

Once you have a solid feast crew, you’ll find that many of them have real talents. A few might be in bands. Another’s an amazing potter. Another has divine baking skills. Use their talent while taking care not to overburden them. This might seem like an odd suggestion, but one of the traditional purposes of feasts was to honor community members. Giving friends the chance to showcase their skills allows them to receive recognition and encourages others to pursue excellence.

E. Give it time.

A feast isn’t a 6-7pm kind of thing. It’s a sprawling and chaotic affair. Time is the most oppressive and destructive force in the universe, and we made it an absolute tyrant when we put a watch on every phone, oven, and microwave, and in every train station, car, office, home, and gym. The Sabbath is a day of rest. Put the watch down for a while and let things unfold in their own time. Your mind, body, and spirit will thank you.

5. Keeping and Sharing Stories

To begin this section, I’d like to invite you on a journey back in time with me. Imagine a rustic hall in a Gaelic chieftain's rath (ringfort). Torches flicker against the wattle-and-daub walls; the hall glows in amber. Peat smoke fills the air and blends with the scents of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. In one corner, a musician tunes his harp, the notes lingering in the smoke.

A crowd begins to settle as a figure steps into the center of the room. This is the seanachí, distinguished by his flowing cloak and the ornate brooch clasping it. His eyes are bright. His voice sings like an old tree.

He begins by thanking King Cormac for his hospitality and the onlookers for their time. He pauses a moment before the crowd. His breath stills. The nearby musician stops. Notes vanish into silence.

Without breaking stillness, he whispers the day’s tale: the tragic love story of King Fergus and Queen Deirdre. The former, the grandfather of King Cormac and much-beloved hero of the clan. The seanachí begins at a slow and rolling pace, like honey dripping from a jar. As the tale advances, the conflicts heighten, the action quickens, and he thunders to life. He flays wildly during a charge. He crumples over in grief at the loss of a champion. He pauses right before Deirdre and Cormac's long-awaited kiss, lets the crowd simmer in expectation and the tension build higher and higher and higher until at last - the kiss. The children sit wide-eyed and entranced; the adults shout out with exhilaration.

As the night deepens and the story nears its end, the crowd draws closer. His words, magic that paints the ether. Deirdre marries a southern king to save Cormac from a war he cannot win. She never tells him the truth, though, fearful that the headstrong Cormac would try to win her back. Instead, she breaks his heart and shatters all hope of union. Cormac shuts himself in his chamber, fasts, and mourns for a single day before duty forces him to bury his loss and return to the business of the throne.

With the seanachí’s tale nearing its end, he weaves in a closing moral and ends with blessings and well-wishes for the clan. The children beg for more, certain that a sunnier ending is near. It’s not. The adults know what awaits the great King Cormac: betrayal, the loss of his kingdom, and years of exile in the mountains before finally reclaiming his throne.

The seanachí's role is more than just entertainment. Through his tales, he strengthens the community, passing down wisdom, history, and a shared culture to the next generation. As the crowd disperses, heading back home under the starlit sky, they carry those stories with them.

The above story is fictional, but the character and their role in Irish and Scottish society was real. The seanachies were the Celts’ oral historians and storytellers. With the advent of written records and the decline of the Gaelic social structures, the role of the seanachies waned. However, in modern times, there's been a resurgence of interest in traditional storytelling in Ireland, with many contemporary storytellers identifying with the seanachí tradition and reviving the art.

The perennial importance of story and myth explains this renewed interest. Despite all the post-Enlightenment posturing of being creatures of reason who just follow the facts, we’re not. We’re tribal creatures obsessed with what our friends think, beholden to social pressures, and craving acceptance and prestige; we’re mythic creatures who long for a meaning, purpose, and magic that science cannot provide. Stories give us that.

Keeping and sharing stories needn’t be as formal as being a seanachí, a role that required years of training and a near-flawless memory of vast texts. You can share stories over dinner or a long conversation with a friend. You can tell them over feasts or during Christmas. You can gather them from neighbors and strangers at the cafe, adding them to your own repertoire. In so doing, you weave your lives together across past, present, and future. In that matrix of myth, friendship, and fact, your home awaits.

The art of telling stories, though, has largely been lost. Revive it. Learn to tell great stories, to make people cry and laugh, to make their eyes glow wide with rapture. The word spell comes from the Old High German spel, meaning a “report, discourse, tale, fable, myth.”⁵ Its origin betrays its truth: stories are magic. They paint worlds from words, make us feel heartbreak and ecstasy, and tear down the illusory barriers between you and I to reveal the we. Bring back not the tales of Hogwarts or Game of Thrones but of your grandparents' harrowing journey across the Atlantic, your mother's struggles as she completed her mathematics degree with a garbage boyfriend dragging her down, your best friend's recovery from addiction, your neighbor who fled from Iran without a word of English and a dollar to his name.

Here are some tips on how to do just that:

A. Slow down.

If you want to share good stories, the first step is to slow down. Social interactions have gone the way of Twitter and Instagram - either a list of rapid-fire opinions before changing topics or a 10-second clip before moving onto something else. You can’t tell the type of story that weaves together souls and makes eyes light up with wonder in 30 seconds. A good story takes time.

This fact doesn’t mean every time you meet up with a friend or speak to your local butcher that you must set aside an hour. However, if you want to get a good story, it needs time to unfold. Invite a friend over for coffee and talk for hours. Host a feast at your house. Go out to dinner and have no plans afterward. When you’re both unhurried, myth can emerge.

B. Listen and question well.

The ability to tell and appreciate a good tale has withered beyond recognition, but you can easily revive it. When speaking with others, don’t let them elide over major events. When your brother tells you about the wedding he went to in Mexico last weekend and says, “Yea, it was fun,” push him a bit. Where was it? What was the water like? What were some of the highlights? How were the speeches? Although you should be careful of being overbearing, most enjoy the opportunity to elaborate. With proper coaxing, even laconic friends can wow you with their tales.

C. Keep your ancestors alive through story.

Although family and friends might have died already, they live on in the lives and stories of their loved ones. Retell their tales to revive them in your life and honor all they gave to you.

This practice is essential for keeping the ancestors' blood strong. It's one thing to see pictures of your grandmother and have vague memories of her from when you were a child. It's another if you've heard dozens of stories of her exploits and struggles from the mouths of those who knew and loved her. These stories bring Grandma to life; they remind you that life doesn't just begin at birth and end at death but is a continuum of blood, love, and duty going back centuries.

D. Use your poetic license.

Precisely remembering when you accidentally stole something from the grocery store when you were 7 is likely next to impossible. You might have the basic details down, but the rest is a blur. Did your mom find out when you got home or when you were in the car? Was it a pack of gum or a chocolate bar? What exactly did she say? Stumbling over yourself saying, “Uhhh…I don’t really remember” or “I’m not quite sure - maybe it was a pack of gum? I don’t know” makes for bad storytelling. My suggestion: make it up.

I usually preface such stories by saying something like, “I’m telling this with some poetic license.” That takes the pressure away from ensuring that every detail is accurate and gives me the flexibility to craft an addictive story. Probably don’t have Thor rescuing you off a cliff, but have fun. Play with that line between story and myth, truth and poetry. As Campbell said, myths are true lies. Lie beautifully.

E. Repeats are good.

Seanachies frequently retold stories to their audiences like we now would re-watch a favorite movie. Repetition is one of myths’ most potent weapons. Hearing the same message again and again reinforces its contents and embeds it deeper into the psyche. The story becomes so intimate to its listeners that it is no longer something that happened out there long ago to someone else but is as immanent as our hearts, the rush of our blood, the bones in our hands. It becomes us. We become the myth.

Not every story is worthy of mythic status, but those that are deserve retelling. My wife and I frequently recall our first date, the day I proposed to her, and our wedding ceremony. Another classic from my teen years was when my best friends and I smoked weed using a three-foot bong in the middle of a park in the middle of the night. Miraculously, we weren’t caught. Over time, these tales have become myths of love, friendship, and transformation from childhood to manhood. With each retelling, we relive and reaffirm them.

F. Build your memory.

Seanachies required extraordinary memories to perform their job and spent years perfecting their ability to accurately recall stories. When folklorists worked to preserve the fading Gaelic ballad traditions in the 19th and 20th centuries, many recorded songs came from illiterate minstrels who could hear a song once and remember it flawlessly years later. Now, most people can hardly remember your name two minutes after you tell them. We all have the capacity for amazing memory, but it needs training.

Memory is crucial for story for a variety of reasons. First, it allows for vivid retellings. Second, it allows for you to weave disparate elements together into a cohesive whole through allusion and parallel. Finally, it allows the resonances of the past to echo in the present, for us to live in a world where history, blood, and myth run miles deep. If you’re not already, consider taking up some activities that can improve memory, like learning a language, playing a musical instrument, or reciting poetry.

G. Learn to tell a tale.

The art of storytelling was part of aristocratic and folk-education since time immemorial. In the absence of YouTube and TikTok, people had the impossible task of entertaining themselves. Storytelling was one of the main past times; through it, they honored their ancestors and participated in local myths. As we drift further and further from each other and alternative forms of entertainment take the place of friends and family, this skill has vanished. With some practice and effort, though, it can easily be revived. Thanks to the seanachies revival and a growing awareness of storytelling’s importance, there are many programs that can teach you how to do it with style. If you can’t be bothered, you can learn it like the peasants did: lots of practice.

References:

1. "Religion’s Relationship to Happiness, Civic Engagement and Health Around the World." Pew Research. August 26, 2023. https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2019/01/31/religions-relationship-to-happiness-civic-engagement-and-health-around-the-world/.
2. Berger, Helen. Solitary Pagans Contemporary Witches, Wiccans, and Others Who Practice Alone. Columbia: South Carilona Press, 2019.
3. Mineo, Liz. "Good genes are nice, but joy is better." Harvard Gazette. August 26, 2023. https://news.harvard.edu/gazette/story/2017/04/over-nearly-80-years-harvard-study-has-been-showing-how-to-live-a-healthy-and-happy-life/.
4. Wang, F., Gao, Y., Han, Z. et al. "A systematic review and meta-analysis of 90 cohort studies of social isolation, loneliness and mortality." Nat Hum Behav7, 1307–1319 (2023). https://doi.org/10.1038/s41562-023-01617-6.
5. "Spell." Etymonline. August 26, 2023. https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=spell.