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Tag: cernunnos

the horned serpent

the horned serpent

The horned serpent has fascinated me since I was but a wee pagan, and its associations with Cernunnos, regeneration, and abundance have only helped its image in my eyes. I’ve doodled horned and antlered snakes for well over a decade, and it was only a matter of time before they showed up in my newer forms of art.

The above is a slice of tagua, vegetable ivory, a renewable resource and durable material for jewelry and other uses. The horned (well, antlered) serpent upon it is woodburned, freehand.

There may be an entire series of these to come. :)

PSA: Did you know I’m a commissionable artist? If you’re interested, you can drop me an email at itenumuti at gmail or find me at my Etsy shoppe, Mythic Curios.

PBP Fridays: C is for Cernunnos

PBP Fridays: C is for Cernunnos

Cernunnos is the name usually used to describe the Horned God of Celtic traditions. In terms of artifacts, very little is attested to that name specifically, and even the etymology isn’t entire sussed out. In terms of modern-day pagan worship, Cernunnos is seen as a god of the Wild Hunt, a god of fertility and sexuality, a god of nature and wild animals, and much more.

To me, Cernunnos is

the darkness beneath the trees
hoofprints left in loamy soil
an endless trail to follow
a god so far ahead he’s never seen
signals left on the path
blood pumping through veins
cool air, warm skin
muscles flexing and contracting
sweat
sex
night-time wind
the smell of damp earth and greens
shadows under leaves
stars in the sky
the forerunner of the path I’m on
not a person, only a presence
not a person, only a concept
not a person, only a feeling

April 21, 2010, personal journal:

I hadn’t realized the bedroom window was open. After I took my hot shower, I came back into the bedroom with Vas’s Unbecome playing… and just stopped.

The smell. Cool warmth. Enough moisture in the air to turn shadows into dark, waxy green leaves. The sound of passing cars intimate and grittily real, underlaid with haunting music. The touch of the wind on my warm, bare skin and how it slipped into my lungs like pure oxygen, a prayer of flesh.

I thought of the Horned God; it was His smell, His taste, His touch, His dark forest overlaying my pedestrian reality.

This post brought to you as part of the Pagan Blog Project.