Much of our Celtic Pagan Wiccan tradition comes from Mediterranean peoples. 
Yule is the exception, originating in the Norse lands.   

The ancient  peoples of what is now Denmark, Scandinavia, Finland and Norway had good reason to celebrate.  While most cultures celebrated the turn of the season in one way or another. to the icebound dwellers of the top of the world the return of the sun meant life itself.   No more would their lives descend into frozen darkness.  The worst was over—though the winter had hardly begun.  With every day a little longer hope could survive and grow. 


The personification of this frosty threat was the Yule Cat, who gave warm woolen presents to the industrious and ate the lazy—much as would the harsh elements.  Here’s a poem about the Yule Cat from the nineteenth century:


You all know the Yule Cat
And that Cat was huge indeed.
People didn't know where he came from
Or where he went.

He opened his glaring eyes wide,
The two of them glowing bright.
It took a really brave man
To look straight into them.

His whiskers, sharp as bristles,
His back arched up high.
And the claws of his hairy paws
Were a terrible sight . . . (more)

The word itself “Yule” is sometimes attributed to a similar Scandinavian word that means “wheel”.  However, this seems unlikely, as the word Yule predates the introduction of the wheel by more than a thousand years.  Still, the association to the wheel of the year is apt. 

To the Celts, arriving late to the northern latitudes, the Winter Solstice was called Alban Arthuan, after the Arthurian legend that placed the birth of King Arthur on the Solstice.   The term means, literally, “Light of Arthur”. 

To celebrate this longest night and the return of the sun, the Celts lit huge fires, as on Beltane and Samhain.  Burning the Yule log comes from this custom.  The ceremony starts by lighting the new log with the remains of last year’s fire—thus confirming the unbroken cycle of the seasons.  If the log burnt for twelve hours it was said to be a good omen for the coming year. 

To the Celts we also owe the custom of decorating the home with evergreen plants, especially the magycal mistletoe, which was another custom derived from the Norse tradition where it was the “plant of peace”.   

Kissing under the mistletoe, though often attributed to the English, comes from the Norse legend of the much loved god Balder and his loving mother Frigga, the goddess of love and beauty.  Frigga worried about the safety of her son and so extracted promises from all the elementals never to harm him.  The one exception was the mistletoe.  Loki, the evil trickster, fashioned an arrow from its wood and tricked Balder’s brother Hoder into using it to kill Balder.  Frigga’s tears then became the white berries of the mistletoe.   

The story has a happy ending when Balder is returns to life.  As a reward, Frigga elevates the mistletoe to be the symbol of love and promises to give a kiss to anyone who passes beneath it. 

And while the English may not have originated the custom of kissing under the mistletoe they may have perfected it.
Here is a passage from Charles Dickens’ The Pickwick Papers:  

         "From the centre of the ceiling of this kitchen, old Wardle had just suspended with his own hands a huge branch of mistletoe, and this same branch of mistletoe instantaneously gave rise to a scene of general and most delightful struggling and confusion; in the midst of which, Mr. Pickwick, with a gallantry that would have done honour to a descendant of Lady Tollimglower herself, took the old lady by the hand, led her beneath the mystic branch, and saluted her in all courtesy and decorum." 

Besides the loving virtues of the mistletoe (also called “allheal”) it is considered a strong herb for healing and protection—though its berries are poisonous and must be kept away from children and pets.   

To this end, the Druids performed a mistletoe ceremony on the fifth day after the new moon following the Winter Solstice. 

We have this from the Roman historian, Pliny: 

“They prepare a ritual sacrifice and feast under the tree and lead up two white bulls whose horns are bound for the first time on the occasion.
A Druid attired in a white vestment ascends the tree and with a golden pruning hook cuts the mistletoe which is caught in a white cloth.”

Pieces of the mistletoe were then cut and given to the people to place in their homes as a safeguard against thunder, lightning and other evils. 

In addition to the ceremonial uses of the mistletoe, the indoor greenery was thought to be a winter home for the fairies.   

When the missionaries arrived on the backs of the Roman invaders they usurped the Pagan holidays and gave them Christian themes.  The winter solstice became the birth of Christ—Christmas--though Christ was most likely born in a warm month since the Romans never called for a census in the winter.   

Later Martin Luther adapted a Pagan custom when he wrote of a silent night when stars shone through the boughs of a fir tree giving him the idea for the Christmas tree.  The practice was already in use a thousands of years before in the Celtic custom of placing small torches in the branches of trees on the night of the solstice.  

Today Christmas, primarily commercial, hangs on by a thread to its spiritual roots.  In celebrating Yule we regain our connection with the seasons of the year and the Wheel of Life.  The shortest day is also the longest night.  Balance and harmony prevail in the realm of our Pagan Gods and Goddesses.    


Finally, if I may, a poem of my own. 

The Winter Solstice 


The feeble sun, barely rising,
promptly sets,
consigning the frozen earth,
and my primeval heart,
into the deepening night
as black as my waiting grave.

The moon rising full
casts raven claw shadows
from the black skeletons
of the wind wracked trees.

A wolf calls
to the blood
in my veins. 

Summon the pack!
Light the ancient fires blazing
high as the flames of my soul
new born once more
to this quintessential night

Run with me
to the scent
of the fearful ewe.
Sink your teeth into
the throat of complacency
and drink the warm blood
of banality,

howl glorious to
this divine night.





















So may it be,



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