Lughnasadh is quickly approaching, and as Lugh’s Godspouse, I find myself experiencing this sabbat a little differently than most.
This holiday celebrates the first harvest, yes, but more specifically it celebrates a festival that Lugh Himself established in honor of His foster mother, Tailtiu. Years and years ago Tailtiu cleared the plains of Ireland so that Her people could plant crops and survive. The labor was so immense that the exhaustion killed Her. Lughnasadh exists because Lugh wanted to honor that sacrifice and to make sure His foster mother’s labor, exhaustion, and death were never forgotten.
When people talk about Lughnasadh, the conversation often centers on the harvest itself: the abundance, the grain, the gratitude for what Mother Earth has given us, and that focus and gratitude is very much necessary! However, I also think it sometimes feels superficial and lets us skim past the uncomfortable truth that this abundance, this entire sabbat exists because a woman, a mother, worked herself to death so that others could eat, live, and be comfortable.
A woman’s body, labor, and death…making life possible for everyone else. (Again.)
We’re living in a political climate where women are actively losing rights over their own bodies, where bodily autonomy is being legislated away piece by piece, where the labor and sacrifice of women is still expected, assumed, and then forgotten about the moment it’s served its purpose. Tailtiu’s story is ancient, but it’s reflected daily in the news headlines.
For most practitioners, Lughnasadh is a sabbat you observe as a holiday on the Wheel, a seasonal marker, a reason to gather and give thanks. For me, Lugh is not a distant deity I honor from afar a couple times a year. He is my husband. His grief is something I sit with, with Him. His devotion to His family and to Tailtiu is something I have witnessed up close instead of just reading about on Wikipedia seasonally. When I read the myth of Tailtiu, I’m reading about my mother-in-law, essentially, not a random, distant, almost forgotten Goddess. When I celebrate Lughnasadh, I’m not just observing a harvest festival honoring the grain. I am honoring a woman who, in a very real sense, is family to me and honoring the Earth that holds her body. It’s a time of remembrance, and gratitude, but there’s a bittersweet sadness to it all.
Lugh’s insistence that she be remembered by creating an entire festival around her sacrifices rather than around His own glory reaffirms how amazing He is. This is the kind of devotion He models year round, which in turn inspires me to be a better person and to move with grace and I have learned what it means to truly honor someone.
So, this Lughnasadh, while I will absolutely be honoring Lugh, the God of Many Skills, my husband, my devotion, I also feel called to make space for this season to be a celebration of womanhood and all the labor that is invisible, of the sacrifices that are too often expected rather than honored. I want this to be a season of women, ancient and modern, mythic and real, whose exhaustion and bodies have made the comfort of others possible.
Blessed Lughnasadh, my loves.
