My parents raised me Catholic - devoutly and devotedly so. Born and christened Christian Francis, I followed the traditional altar boy path and never questioned my faith. But my faith questioned me.
When I was about twelve or thirteen I began dreaming. Not the usual dreams - these were different. The first time I awoke, sweaty and excited. My heart was racing and my breathing roared in the dark as I lay there, visions of this brilliant white horse still running before my eyes. The dream left me aware that something inside me felt empty. Being a young boy, I naturally forgot all about such things by the morning, although life intruded to remind me later.
That night, I reviewed the dream again and again. Not sure why, but fascinated with it. It burnt in my mind with such clarity. I stand in a field of wheat, listening to it rustle in the faint breeze. Dawn lightens the sky before me, and sends streaks of golden light across the green sea of stalks as they wave. I feel the crisp air snap at my cheeks and burn as I breathe it in. It smells salty, as if I stand by the sea.
A thundering sound approaches from behind. It sounds like a herd of horses and I turn to see a naked woman running towards me. Her skin is pearlescent in the dawn, and her white hair snaps behind her. She almost glides over the wheat.
As she nears me she bends forward and places her hands upon the ground and then rears back, shifting into a white mare. Silver dapples her belly and flanks. And then she leaps forward and canters past me towards the rising sun.
Although she hasn't spoken, I hear her calling me and I run after her.
This was and is my dream. I still have it at times - usually when I have made a significant spiritual decision. Indeed, it acts as a guide to the rightness of my choices. The few times I taken paths I felt to be wrong, not only has my life taken a turn for the worse, but Bubona has not graced my nights. |
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Although it took a number of years before I formally renounced the faith of my parents and declared myself a followed of Bubona, that night marked the start of my journey. The next day my mother took me to visit her brother, a horse farmer. He had recently purchased some new stock and we went to take a look - and discovered that he had picked out an early birthday gift for me.
The sense of disconnection that swept over me as I stood at the rails watching this dainty mare race across the field was incredible. Pale, gleaming white flanks seemed to taunt me as she darted away. I heard that voice calling me again.
As I said, I was a good Catholic boy. I pushed the feelings aside and settled down to enjoy the gift. But Bubona refused my refusal. The next three years she haunted me - probably helped by my love for the horse. Eventually I sought out a trusted teached at school. Rather than confess my heretical dreams, I simply asked if he knew anything about a white horse-woman. He knew enough to point me to the History teacher who, thrilled by my apparent blossoming interest in the Gallic gods, proceded to fill in the blanks. Granted, there wasn't that much to fill in since what we know of the old ones is very scanty to start with. But I now had a name and a place to start.
By this point the realisation that maybe I wasn't such a good Catholic boy had started worming its way through my gut. Not something I welcomed, but Bubona was wearing me down.
My eighteen birthday I celebrated by dedicating myself to her.
The twenty odd years since have been marked by incredible joy and deep sorrow. Yet, even when lost in pain, the security and confidence I find within my path has sustained me. I come out stronger and wiser. I do not know if I would find the same character within myself |
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had I remained Catholic - I like to think so - but the freedom to express my inner self is something that has come from feeling free to follow my faith, not that which was given me by my parents.
They, of course, feel great sorrow and loss at the path I have chosen. But to their credit they have accepted it and did not turn me away. The fact that Shelby and I believe our children should be free to chose offers my parents some small comfort - I know they hope the children will convert.
I of course hope my children will find the path that calls to them in their dreams, the strength to follow it, and the joy in doing so.
Epona from Champoulet
A bronze Epona that seems to be based upon local dress rather than Roman. Most of the Epona fetishes found are garbed in Roman clothing.
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