Lughnasadh (pronounced LOO-nuh-suh), falls on August 7 this year, midway between the Summer Solstice and Autumn Equinox. Eight nodes of the year give us our cyclical rhythm: the two solstices, the two equinoxes, and the four cross quarter days. My ancestors celebrated the cross quarter days above the others, with Samhain being the most important. These 8 days are the heartbeat of an ancient world.

As Brigid brings the first inklings of Spring at Imbolc and the Cailleagh thrives during the Winter Solstice, Tailtiu embodies the first harvest of Lughnasadh. Lughnasadh likely means “Lugh’s gathering” or “Lugh’s funeral” for his foster mother, Tailtiu. Tailtiu was the last Queen of the Fir Bolg.

After the Tuatha de Dannan conquered her people and killed her husband, they tasked Tailtiu with raising one of their own high-born children, Lugh. This common fostering practice among the nobility of competing tribes ensured alliance between them. Like the Earth, Tailtiu is known for nourishing. She exposed Lugh to the substantial and varied training he would need to become known as the Ildanach (many linked skills).

Truly, his skill gets into everything. He represents the best of his father’s line. Brilliant makers, wordsmiths, and wizards, the Tuatha de Dannan dazzled the island with godlike status. They came from “the north” and “above.” Lugh alchemizes the prowess of his mother’s side, the Fomorians, who came from beneath the sea or ground, and had a reputation for war. People called him Lugh Lámhfada (of the Long Arm) because of his proficiency with a spear, and perhaps also because of his far-reaching talent. Humor is a gift, too, and Lugh was filled with mischief.

The ancient Irish literature (Lebor Gabala) tells us that after Tailtiu’s first husband died, she married Duach the Dark, who built the Mound of Hostages at Tara. They settled nearby, along the River Blackwater between Navan and Kells, now known as Telltown. As Tailtiu realized she was nearing death, she asked her husband to clear away the wood so people could gather around her grave. He called all the men of Ireland to cut down the forest with wide-bladed knives ad bill-hooks and hatchets. Within a month, they'd downed the whole wood.

Tailtiu wanted her grave to be a place that fed her people, literally, through agriculture. (I have a lot more to say about agriculture.) The Lebor Gabala goes on to tell us that Lugh buried Tailtiu in the plain of Meath, and raised a mound over her. He ordered fires to be lit, keening to be made, and games and sports to be held in the summer of every year out of respect to her. The place they were held, Telltown, got its name from her. Today, Telltown still hosts the games of Lughnasadh. People offer the first cut of grain to Tailtiu, then light bonfires and compete in feats of skill, strength, and speed. (Back in the day, horse racing was the highlight.)

The agrarian aspect of Tailtiu’s grave speaks of the direct link between the passage mounds and agriculture. The Neolithic monument builders brought knowledge of the fertility of the land from Anatolia and the Mediterranean. They cleared the forests to grow food, raise cattle, and build the megalithic ritual centers.

The indigenous tribes of Ireland consciously curated the land that they were an expression of. The move from Mesolithic to Neolithic changed the face of this symbiosis, bringing unprecedented access to food in one place. This encouraged more permanent settlements than would have been practical for the hunter-gathering Mesolithic and Paleolithic people.

Auspicious areas in the landscape have always drawn life toward them. All of our ancestors recognized places of power. The pre-Gaelic tribes cultivated these landscapes to harmonize worlds. Today some people call this geomancy, which means entering a conversation with the land.

[Side note: This way of listening is why I became an acupuncturist. I have always known I would use my training to work with the land. This year, I built a stone circle in my backyard with the rocks I inherited from my grandfather. Building a stone circle is very similar to working with the body. A conversation arises between beings; mutual listening and presence invite collaborative art. The Neolithic passage mounds are high art. My acupuncture practice, Ancestral Acupuncture, focuses on time, the seasonal almanac (and the dead) because the passage mounds possess me. My logo is the entrance to a passage mound. Truly, they are my reason for being. I owe a lot to the traditions of East Asia. They have fostered me as I make my way back to the culture of my blood.]

Many of the Neolithic mounds function as calendars. (The word calendar diminishes these places, but that's another story.) A deep understanding of the seasons and eclipse cycles helped people plan their lives. Of course marking the planting cycle would be important, but so would participating in the rhythms that keep harmony between the worlds. These rhythms would have informed daily life in myriad ways, as they continue to do. The passage mounds help people become seamless with the seasons.

I am made of these sites, but live apart from them. The tension of this distance used distress me, but now it fuels my fire. Every day I wake up inspired and curious about the unfolding of our diasporic kinship. I dream of stewarding the sites more regularly, and have utmost respect for those who continuously caretake, such as Lar Dooley who tends, protects, and advocates for Sliabh na Calliagh. I bow to all of the women I don’t know who tend these places quietly, as the voices of the land. I am thrilled for those who dream intimately with the landscape, who know just how the ancient places connect, and can show you where Tailtiu was buried.

I have so much to say that I mostly remain silent. It’s hard to transmit a world in words. It’s easier with song. I’ve started singing in Gaelic. My voice feels like a red thread, breathing culture into my kids at night with lullabies. I’ve also written pages and pages about all of this—I don’t know what to call it—since I got back from Ireland. I am determined to let some of the stories out.

Anyone can read an article about Tailtiu. It’s not about the information. It’s about the ancient reality waiting for us. It's about inhabiting the world that holds us. We can animate a reality that cultivates indigeneity rather than erasing it. If culture is the art of the land, let us be art. Our ancient ancestors, the Earth, and what lies beyond them never leave us; we only leave them. We can talk to Tailtiu. She is not a theory. She is alive, and so are we, and so is the world. We are all alive, and I think that’s what I wanted to say. Happy Lughnasadh.