Help From Across The Pond?

In relation to this project, as inspired by a surprise presence, I’ve been reading through some of the Irish quasi-historical narratives. I say quasi-historical, as they are generally older oral narratives that were later recorded (and changed) by persons holding a colonized, Abrahamic worldview.

I’m studying these texts, despite their questionable provenance, because the UPG I received suggested that the ancient Irish possessed a form of the spiritual technology necessary to address (or at least begin to address) the Texas Problem.

Furthermore, I got the impression that this method was pretty darn fast-acting and that echoes of it had survived in “the lore” even beyond the depredations of Patrick and Cromwell.

To that end, I’m looking for examples of ceremonial actions related to the establishment of working relationships between a group of invaders and the local land deities (and by extension, spirits). We have lots of partial records of Gaulish, Irish, and Welsh kingmaking ceremonies (the Wiccan “Great Rite” is based on these), but I’m pretty darn sure that’s not what I’m looking for. Similarly, there are other purported rituals that I’m certain I can discount- these display their authors’ obvious biases and are typically wildly impractical and/or highly illegal.

On the other hand, there are hints of other rituals that are less well recorded and which were likely no longer in use well before these stories were recorded. While the kingmaking ceremonies were in use in historical times and occasionally commented on by outside observers, the techniques I’m looking for would have been used very early in the Celtic conquest of an area.

That’s the key difference, in my mind. The later kingmaking ceremonies appear to have been undertaken after an area was settled- i.e., by generations following the conquest. By contrast, when the Celts first entered an area, they had to establish diplomatic relations with the local land deity (or deities) and spirits. Doing that of course required establishing a mode of communications- which is normally a job for shamans (which is to say, not me).

But in the case of conquest, it meant doing so over the objections of (and esoteric sabotage by) the indigenous people. It meant esoterically “blowing up” or “burning down” those other peoples’ connection to the land and figuratively sticking a giant “this is mine” flag into the crater.

Yeah, that sounds pretty brutal.

My modern, Westernized mind recoils from it, but it’s clear that humans worldwide seem to have known how to do this from ancient times. By the early Middle Ages, though, Europeans appear to have lost this knowledge- at least on a conscious level.

By the 1800s, European-Americans in Texas almost certainly did not even know they needed that capability, let alone have the knowledge of how to do it. Why are certain parts of the United States more “awake” than Texas, despite Anglos’ lack of land-bonding technology? I have a theory about that, but it’s much too long to deal with here.

Back to the Irish.

Here is an example of the sort of thing I’m looking for, in this case from the Lebor Gabála Érenn (“The Book of the Takings of Ireland” – Book of Leinster version) as translated by R. A. S. Macalister:

§74. As he set his right foot upon Ireland, Amorgen Glúingel s. Míl spoke this poem—

I am Wind on Sea,
I am Ocean-wave,
I am Roar of Sea,
I am Bull of Seven Fights,
I am Vulture on Cliff,
I am Dewdrop,
I am Fairest of Flowers,
I am Boar for Boldness,
I am Salmon in Pool,
I am Lake on Plain,
I am a Mountain in a Man,
I am a Word of Skill,
I am the Point of a Weapon (that poureth forth combat),
I am God who fashioneth Fire for a Head.
Who smootheth the ruggedness of a mountain?
Who is He who announceth the ages of the Moon?
And who, the place where falleth the sunset?
Who calleth the cattle from the House of Tethys?
On whom do the cattle of Tethys smile?
Who is the troop, who the god who fashioneth edges
in a fortress of gangrene?
Enchantments about a spear? Enchantments of Wind?

This is implied by the text to be a powerful, ritual poem related in some way to the Milesians laying claim to Ireland. It’s essentially a fancy and esoterically potent version of “We claim this land for Spain”. Side note- the Milesians are said to have been Iberocelts (or Celtiberians)… Celts from Spain.

Clearly, the translation is corrupted. The name “Tethys”, for instance, refers to the Hellenic titan Goddess of fresh water- not an Irish deity at all. It’s possible that this is the result of a poor transcription of the translation, or a messy translation. Either way, it’s unclear.

Going back to the Irish, we see:

Ic tabairt a choisse dessi i nHerind asbert Amairgen Glúngel mac Miled in laídseo sís.

Am gáeth i mmuir. ar domni.

Am tond trethan i tír.
Am fúaim mara.
Am dam secht ndírend.
Am séig i n-aill.
Am dér gréne.g

Am caín.
Am torc ar gail.
Am hé i llind.
Am loch i mmaig
Am briandai.

Am bri danae.
Am gai i fodb. feras feochtu.
Am dé delbas do chind codnu.
Coiche nod gleith clochur slébe.
Cia on cotagair aesa éscai

Cia dú i llaig funiud grene.
Cia beir búar o thig Temrach.
Cia buar Tethrach. tibi.
Cia dain.
Cia dé delbas faebru. a ndind ailsiu.

Cáinté im gaí cainte gaithe. Am.

Here, the same name is written as “Temrach” or “Tethrach”. While neither of these terms has an easy translation provided by Dr. Google, there are a couple of interesting hints.

Firstly, Temrach appears to be a poetic reference to Tara, the seat of the High Kings of Ireland- a central point of esoteric significance. Tethrach, on the other hand, appears to be a possessive or adjectival form of words that can mean “crow”, “champion”, or “sea”. In some versions I’ve found, “Tethrach” appears on both lines.

In other words, either way, we are likely dealing with a poetic name for Someone or someone. In all likelihood, many of the lines refer to a specific deity, person, or entity.

On the surface this appears to be part of an invocation to the ruling deities of Ireland, the Túatha Dé Danann. Unfortunately, much of the rest of the account deals with Amorgen and the Milesians fighting the Túatha Dé Danann for control of the island. So, is this an invocation in pursuit of a blessing, or a mockery intended to provoke conflict?

Is the source even useful to my search, or am I chasing down the rabbit hole of a cargo cult? The entire story could be purely a medieval fantasy with no ancient basis at all.

There is a lot more to go through, and it is not exactly stimulating reading.

-In Deos Confidimus

The Waco Site & Its People

From some earlier point through sometime in the 1830s, a particular site along the Brazos river near the mouth of the Bosque was home to a group of people who spoke a dialect of the Wichita language.

The Spanish recorded two villages in the vicinity, El Quiscat and Felchazos, both assumed to be Tawakoni (another Wichita dialect). El Quiscat was named after a leader- Quiscat, who met with the Spanish at San Antonio in 1772. His village was said to sit west of the Brazos atop a bluff near springs and to house some 750 people.

This village is recorded again in 1779, in 1786, and in 1795.

In 1824, official reports to and by Stephen F. Austin claim a village  some 40 acres in size of between 33 and 60 grass houses enclosed by a defensive earthwork and farming an estimated 200-400 acres of fenced cornfield. The earthwork was recorded again in 1829 and was apparently visible to Anglo colonists for many years after they settled in the area.

This number of houses was echoed by Jean Berlandier around 1830, who added that the Waco ranged widely on bison hunts in the cooler months.

There is some suggestion that the Waco, Wichita, and Tawakoni were themselves invaders to Texas, based on Coronado’s account of a Wichita city in Kansas that he called Quivira. Here’s the thing, though- Wichita is a Caddoan language, meaning that these people were linguistically tied to the Caddo, who we know lived in in Arkansas, Louisiana, and eastern Texas for hundreds of years before Coronado.

Furthermore, Coronado describes the people of Quivira as having settled towns with substantial populations and large-scale agriculture. This is in contrast to their western neighbors, the Apache and Teyas, whom he claimed lived in wandering bands and ate raw meat.

That’s because the Caddoan peoples, including the Wichita, Tawakoni, etc. were connected to the Mississippian Empire. This was a multicultural, hierarchical society that ruled the central Mississippi basin for more than half a millenium. Amongst its distinctive features were massive earthworks, social hierarchy, intensive maize (corn) agriculture, widespread trade networks, and certain pottery techniques.

While it’s not clear if the Caddo were subjects of Cahokia or not, they were clearly connected with the Mississippian culture, as they began building complex earthworks in a similar style. This was actually true of native peoples from the Great Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico and as far east as North Carolina (Cherokee country, if you’re keeping track).

What all of this tells us is that while the Caddoan peoples did move around, they displayed a preference for establishing long-term bases of operations. Bases of operations with earthworks. Earthworks that sometimes took centuries to construct. Earthworks that were tied into a complex set of spiritual technologies of which we have no written record.

Earthworks like the one at Waco.

Sure, the Waco wall wasn’t very big by Mississippian standards- but 40 acres is nothing to sneeze at. Even if the wall surrounded only part of the village, say a ceremonial center or fortified granary- we’re still talking about a village that planned to stay put.

Nor do we find accounts of earthworks at all of the sites associated with Wichita, Tawakoni, Waco, or other Caddoan villages. There are accounts of settlements here, there, and everywhere- almost as far south as San Antonio. Yet, in Central Texas, I’ve only found an account of the village at Waco having earthworks.

And this is nearly two centuries after the Mississippian Empire collapsed. However, the post-contact Kadohadache (a major Caddoan tribe somewhere around the Oklahoma/Arkansas border) appear to have maintained the hub-and-spoke village organization of the Mississippian culture.

What does that tell us about the Waco people? Chances are they are, as many claim, an offshoot of the Tawakoni. It appears that by the late 1700s, one of those villages (probably “El Quiscat”) was important and influential enough to become the hub of its own group of satellite villages, including one along the Guadalupe River near New Braunfels.

The ancestors of the Waco tribe probably lived in Central Texas for centuries before that, but on a more mobile basis. However, by the early 1800s, they’d invested substantial effort into establishing a permanent, fortified stronghold in the style of their downstream cousins- the Caddo.

During this same period, massive change was going on in other parts of North America. The Spanish were invading from the south and west. Anglo-Americans were pushing eastern native nations west. The Mississippian culture’s core had collapsed, but certain traditions continued on along the former empire’s frontier. Finally, plains tribes like the Apache, Comanche, Osage, and others were pressing down from the north- many on horseback.

The result seems to be that sometime around 1820, Waco became one of the last strongholds of the beseiged Caddoan peoples. The eastern groups, such as the Kichai and Hasinai were swamped with refugees from displaced Caddo villages in Louisiana and Arkansas- as well as members of other nations.

The Texians debated war with the Wacos for much of that decade, but generally prefered to negotiate because of the tribe’s perceived strength and agricultural nature. Alliances between settlers, tribes, and nations seem to have waxed and waned at the drop of a hat, with Tonkawas, Apaches, Comanches, Caddos, Tawakoni, Karankawas, and about fifty other groups all alternately offering to fight each other and the Wacos.

Suddenly, but unsurprisingly- things went sideways. At some point between 1829 and 1839 (possibly 1837),  the primary Waco village was sacked by Comanches, Cherokees, or perhaps even a joint force. Within a short span of years, the Wichita-speaking peoples in Central Texas relocated much further upstream, in the vicinity of the Wichita River. The river got that name from the ill-fated Sante Fe Expedition which marked the location of a “Waco village” along the river in 1841.

History, by which I mean Americans, were not kind to the Wichita peoples thereafter. Even after moving west, conflicts between settlers and tribes continued to escalate, and by the late 1800s the natives had pretty much all been forced onto reservations in Oklahoma.

So here’s the question- what happened at Waco between 1829 and 1839?

Was it simply a violent attack and the locals decided to leave for greener pastures after years of escalating tensions?

Possibly.

Or did someone do something at Waco that seriously messed up the surrounding region on a spiritual level?

If so, we’re talking some extremely powerful working(s) to affect an area hundreds of miles across. At the same time, it wouldn’t be the first case in history of someone “salting the earth” to deny land to their enemies.

Is it possible that the Waco, finding their position untenable, self-destructed the spiritual framework that allowed people to bind to that land? Could the Cherokee (who likely also understood Mississippian spiritual technology) have blown it up to drive out the Waco- only to themselves have been forced out by Anglo-Americans before they could rebuild it?

Why am I blaming the natives?

Well, to be clear- I’m not. I’m speculating- casting about for answers in a sea of questions.

On the other hand, while the Spanish missionaries likely had, via Catholicism, the spiritual tech to blow up said framework- we don’t have a lot of evidence that they did tried to do so in Central Texas north of San Antonio. So, while Spanish missionaries are likely a contributing factor, the damage they did was probably secondary to (or a compounding factor to) the primary cause.

Protestants of the time, which most of the Anglo-Americans were, tended to reject spiritual technology altogether. They almost certainly did not possess the mojo to do something esoteric on this scale.

Which leaves either:

  • A purely natural or divine event in which humans had no agency beyond their own foibles; or,
  • A deliberate or accidental act by some organized and spirit-technologically-advanced group of people.

While I suspect some divinities were involved in what transpired, I believe that humans catalyzed it.

If I’m correct, the question now becomes- exactly what actually happened and how do we repair the damage?

-In Deos Confidimus

The Waco Problem

About two years after moving to the Central Texas, I took a random day trip up to the city of Waco with a friend. Whilst travelling west along N. Valley Mills Dr., I suddenly found it difficult to breathe. I felt intense pressure and at the same time, the air seemed to contain less oxygen.

Conversely, my friend suddenly relaxed. She commented on how fresh the air felt- like a sea breeze. As we came over a rise, Lake Waco came into view. Normally, near a lake I’d have a similar reaction to my friend’s. Not this time.

After a few minutes, I was able to breathe normally again, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was seriously OFF in the area. Even at Quabbin, I hadn’t had that level of physical response.

As we moved away from the lake, I saw fog ahead, despite it being a clear, sunny day. Saying nothing about the fog, I asked my friend to turn left off of Lake Shore Dr. onto Airport Rd.. I noticed fog in a depression ahead there, too.

This time I commented on it to my friend. She’d seen no fog or mist, and as we approached, it vanished from my sight as well. However, my friend had an inkling and we headed back towards the city.

As we drove into a series of connected parks along the Brazos River, where the Bosque pours in, we encountered a distinctly awakened landscape- very different from our usual experience of Central Texas. There are certain tricks of light and shadow, certain meldings of form and perspective that suggest the presence of the Good Neighbors.

That park was swarming with such indicators.

In New England, that’s not highly unusual- though places like Quabbin took that to extremes. In Central Texas? Very uncommon. As I mentioned in The Texas Problem, the region has almost an asphalt sea of mundanity overlaying it.

As we left the park and travelled around town, my friend began to confirm her inkling that the entire city seemed to be under an enormous glamour. Where I saw decay and decadence, she saw the veneer of it.

This was Massachusetts level weird.

“West of Arkham the hills rise wild, and there are valleys with deep woods that no axe has ever cut. There are dark narrow glens where the trees slope fantastically, and where thin brooklets trickle without ever having caught the glint of sunlight. … The old folk have gone away, and foreigners do not like to live there. … The place is not good for imagination, and does not bring restful dreams at night… Weeds and briars reigned, and furtive wild things rustled in the undergrowth. Upon everything was a haze of restlessness and oppression; a touch of the unreal and the grotesque, as if some vital element of perspective or chiaroscuro were awry. I did not wonder that the foreigners would not stay, for this was no region to sleep in. It was too much like a landscape of Salvator Rosa; too much like some forbidden woodcut in a tale of terror.”

H.P. Lovecraft “The Colour Out Of Space”

While Lovecraft’s fiction is just that- fiction, parts of his work describe something deeper underlying the New England most people think they know. The recent film The Witch captured some of this same sense. On the surface, the weird events are Satanic. Beneath the surface though, it’s not- it’s the result of humans carrying their own crap into an area that is “not good for imagination, and does not bring restful dreams at night”.

Waco has this problem. In a region seemingly drained of magic, we have a pocket of hyper-weirdness. (Sorry, Austin- you don’t actually know weird.)

Yes, that is an old schoolhouse door standing all by itself in the middle of a fenced-off field.

Don’t believe me? Who could forget the Branch Davidians? While their standoff happened a few miles east of town, they were an offshoot of the Davidians, whose main compound is not far from where I first had the breathing attack.

The mass hysteria problem is much older, though. One of the most gruesome mob lynchings in the south, known informally as the “Waco Horror“, was perpetrated in the main courthouse square in 1916. The sheer monstrousness of Jesse Washington’s torture and public roasting to death affected attitudes across the country and around the world.

That’s another thing about Waco, though- ideas flow out of it and through it. The two “national soft drinks” of Texas- Dr. Pepper and Big Red, were both invented in Waco.

Waco is a small city outsized in its impact on Texas and the United States in general.

In 1870, the Waco Suspension Bridge became the main crossing for the Chisholm Trail, which was still a significant cattle drive route. Texas Christian University came there from Fort Worth and later returned after their main building in Waco burned down. Baylor University is still there even after its athletic department’s sexual assault scandal – a watershed in the current climate of exposing institutional sexual abuse.

In 1953, the generally tornado-free city was also at the heart of what was likely the deadliest tornado outbreak in Texas history. A massive F5 tornado flattened the downtown area, roughly around the site of the native Waco village from which the city took its name.

Which gets us to a possible root of what might be going on in Waco, and in Central Texas more generally.

More on that later.

-In Deos Confidimus