Oweynagat

That little hole at the side of a Roscommon field is one of my favorite places in Ireland. It's called Cave of the Cats (Oweynagat). In many Irish folk tales the cave is an entrance to the Otherworld.

RTE hosts a wonderful article about Oweynagat, with lots of photos and links. The RTE series Almanac of Ireland includes a visit to the cave by Manchán Magan. He enters the cave by himself and without a light, and I sense that he had more of an adventure in there than he lets on.

Since the first time I visited the cave about eight years ago, the nearby Cruachan Aí Rathcroghan heritage center has brought their geological and archaeological research to the public online. In a way, I wish this video were not so good, so that visitors had less of an idea what to expect.

My friend John Willmott of Carrowcrory Cottage hosts a weekly online program about Irish culture and when he invited contributions to a program about Halloween's origins, I was inspired to properly tell my own experience in Oweynagat. Like the story of Nera, it's best read out loud. Nearly every word of it is true.

Oweynagat

I entered the cave of the Corvid Queen.

Her ladies waited in pines, calling “Back Back Back.”

Doughty, I undressed,

Crouched and bent,

My bare feet finding a fissure and a stone. 

They tell me that stone shouts out a man’s name,

But in here women will whisper. 

Down into the dark and wet, sliding and holding,

Deep and in, bare feet finding

Stones and rocks and mud and magic. 

At the bottom lies one sharp rock to lean on.

High above, too far for fingers’ touch: 

The arch, a fornix, a vault, a chamber.

Here I waited in the dark, not to die, not to rot, but speak at last

With the Corvid Queen. 

I entered the cave of the Corvid Queen,

On a young winter’s night when fires burn unbanked

Welcoming home beloved dead. 

I opened my ears and attended her voice,

As clear as you hear my voice right now. 

“Join my people and eat our food. Dance to our music, sleep in our beds.” 

So spoke the Corvid Queen, and I crossed into her cabin.

Not dark, but golden with firelight, and bright with loving eyes. 

Hot meat, warm bread, cold ale. 

I danced with the daughters of the Corvid Queen and sang with her sons. 

They dressed me in plaid woolen shawls and smooth leather boots. 

In one night, I lived a long lifetime, 

Welcomed to the cabin of the Corvid Queen. 

Near dawn my friends fell around me, sleeping and fading from sight. 

I gave gratitude like a good guest, made to leave, and never return.

“Take me with you,” said the Corvid Queen.

“Take me to the western edge of the western island.

Where a palace faces the sun at the bend in the river. 

Bring me where the fires burn and the mountains move. 

Take me to my crow women of tree and sea.”  

Long ago, my teachers taught me: sing and dance, dare even to eat, 

But never make a bargain with the Corvid Queen. 

I took one step in my smooth leather boots, but they dried to dust, my toes stuck in the muck.

No shawl neither, no cabin warm, nor meat nor bread nor ale. 

Just me alone, in a cold cave, my naked skin gray against stones. 

I tore my feet from the clenching mud, and twisted my flesh from the sanctuary shelf. 

I aimed to clamber the rocky slope, toward air and light, and the winter’s evening. 

“Back Back Back,” called the Corvid Queen. 

“Take me with you, Back Back Back.

You danced, you sang, took my meat, bread, and ale.” 

She flew in my face, black wings flashing, 

Her dark cloak soaked in blooded waters. 

My heart in my neck, my knees scraping raw, 

I bolted away from her commanding call.

Halfway up I heaved too high, struck my forehead, and left my blood. 

My unfeeling hands like claws, I dragged onward, and there: light, at last.

“Back Back Back” she called from below, but I left her bereft, in her corvid cave.

On the first of November I returned to my home,

To the western edge of the western island. 

Safe home to my palace facing the sun, at the bend in the river. 

Here I remember the Corvid Queen

And her ladies waiting in pines, calling “Back Back Back.”

This row of pines is what you see when emerging from Owenagat.