Patricius Magonus Sucatus – Was He A Hero Or.....

Once upon a time in a land that existed deep within layers of the mysts of time, there dwelt a people who were both Spiritual and Ancient. Having been born of the immortals, their sense of time and space was like nothing anyone else had ever known, making them a most Magickal kind. They were a happy people, split into many separate tribes, with one High King who ruled over all of them. They lived, loved, and died together and, as in any family, they had periodic squabbles, but these were always brought to an end by the Driuds, who were the leaders and teachers of their Spirituality. Happy they were in their myst and their bogs, delighting in their every day chores and dancing in their every night rests. Ritual was a way of life, along with feasting and an abundance of joyfulness.

One day, there came into their midst a stranger, someone with a ‘new’ and untried ‘spirituality’. His name was Patricius Magonus Sucatus, a Roman from a village called Bannavem Taberniae which was located on one of the neighboring islands. He told the King that he had come in ‘gods’ name, that the ‘Gods’ the King worshiped were ‘evil’, and that for the people of the land to be ‘saved’, they would have to abolish the Old Ways, drive the Druids from the land, and accept the ‘new’ ways of Patricius’ ‘god’.

The King now had a perplexing dilemma. First of all, could he accept the ‘new’ ways? Then, how would he go about changing the Spirituality of his people from that which they had always practiced? What would he tell his Druids, and furthermore, how would he tell them they would have to leave the island? It was not long after this that the great feast day of Oidhche Bhealtaine arrived, with the ritual lighting of the next years fire set to take place. All fires in the land were extinguished on this day, with torches bearing the sacred flamed carried by the people to each village and home for the coming year.

Patricius, misguided soul that he was, along with a handful of followers, made his way to Ferta fer Feic, from whence he could observe the ritual. Dusk began to fall, and he could see from afar the comings and goings of many people on the distant hill. He was ready, having prepared a great heap of wood and leaves earlier. He boldly lit what is known to this day as the first Paschal Fire in Ireland. In direct defiance of the King and his Druids, Patricius stood by the flaming pit of fire, his eyes fixed on the hill afar. He observed scurrying and panic. The people did not know what to do, and the King fell into a deep despair.

Throughout the many centuries to follow, the ownership of the land changed hands many times. It was bartered like so many loaves of bread, or perhaps even a stone or so. Foreigners ruled in place of the beloved High Kings. Families were torn asunder, land was divided, famines and deaths were rampant. Entire villages were laid to waste by this enormous blunder of one man, Patricius Magonus Sucatus. His followers moved like vermin throughout the island, and beyond. They spread the word of the new ‘god’, enticing the innocent people with the promise of ‘everlasting life’. Everything was different, life took on a whole new meaning of confusion. Terror was known by all, hunger and death. For all intents and purposes, these good people felt that life as they knew it was over, and they bent themselves to the will of their new masters, as well as the ‘new god’.

Times changed, the Druids took shelter deep in the forests, far away from the people that they loved. The High Kings gave way to the ‘new’ religion, the ‘new’ ‘god’. Further and further away from the past, the Ancient Ones, the Ancestors, with the creeping, insidious philosophy of Patricius taking hold on the land. Strangers from afar landed on their shores, staking claim to that which was not rightfully theirs. The families crumbled, no longer able to withstand the onslaught of these bold and terrible warriors, and desecration of what was once Sacred and Holy was rampant. No longer would the Old Ones remain, rather choosing to descend into the Other World to await the time of awakening, when the Old Ways would once again reign.

More years passed, and the people died by the droves. Forced out of their homes and villages, they tried to survive on blades of grass, a stolen turnip, and rotting potatoes, with a hunger in their bellies that burned like the old fires of Oidhche Bhealtaine. Thousands fled the island for other lands, hoping to find salvation far away from the sod and the moor of the island of their hearts.

There were a few who adhered to the Old Ways, the same ones who had hidden themselves from the ‘new god’ and his followers. These were the ones who by oral tradition taught the people the truth about this life and beyond. Ritual and words were passed down, a weaving that was necessary, a tracing of the Ancient Ones, an enlightenment for all of the ages and all of the people. A few of these adherents would appear in public from time to time, causing legend and myth to spring up from the sightings. As the years passed, they continued to teach those who had open hearts and ears, knowing that in the great eventuality of time the truth would be triumphant. A few of them infiltrated the ‘new religion’, thereby bringing a slant to the thought or philosophy that Patricius had so flagrantly presented as truth. It is through them that Magick still exists, and through us that the Magick is carried out.

What of the Old Ones? They await the moment of awakening, and know that the moment is close at hand…..

Text created by Susan Isabella Sheehan
“Art Is The Perception Of An Altered Reality©”
Copyright 2008 Surreal Digital Artist™

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Patricius Magonus Sucatus – Was He A Hero Or.....

Susan Isabella  Sheehan

SANTA CLARA, United States

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A re-telling of the misadventures of Patrick.

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