February Lovers 1: Tristan & Iseult (Isolde)

This week's tale stems from a Arthurian legend.  It's the tale of Tristan & Iseult.  It's another cautionary tale of course and a fascinating one. I heard first when I was little and I haven't stopped loving it since.  It's the Celtic Romeo & Juliet before Shakespeare was even a thought.

Herbert Draper 1863-1920

Isolde was a golden haired  Irish Princess, who healed the orphan Tristan of a serious side wound, a lingering ailment similar ot the one affecting the "Maimed King" in the story of the Grail.  In these times a maimed man could not rule as King, so when Tristan was to be named his heir by his uncle King Mark of Cornwall, his advisers protested.  King Mark gave in, and decided he would marry the woman whose hair had fallen from the swallow's beak.

Sire Tristan recognizing the hair as belonging to Isolde, decided to champion his Uncles' cause for her hand.  When he reached Ireland he discovered her home being terrorized by a dragon.  Knowing the best way to get her hand for his uncle was to get rid of the beast, Tristan tracked it home & fought it. It was a hard battle and Tristan was greatly wounded, being knocked out by the beast's poisonous breath as it died.

While he was out another man attempted to claim the victory but Isolde & her mother sensed that there was something wrong with his story & went seeking the true hero & found Tristan   While nursing him back to health Isolde realized that Tristan's sword was missing a piece, a piece that matched exactly the metal found in the head of Morholt, Ireland's champion. Furious, Isolde attempted to kill him, but found that her heart wouldn't let her kill him.  It came as a shock, when recovered Sir Tristan asked for her hand on his Uncle Mark's behalf & her father agreed as a way to heal the wound between Ireland & Cornwall. Iseult however was still upset at this. Knowing her daughter would need a happy marriage, her mother made a love philtre meant for Iseult & King Mark to drink & gave it to her maid Brangaine.  If the potion was drank on their wedding night it would make the couple love each other forever.  All would have been well if Tristan hadn't accidentally drank some & shared the goblet with Iseult on the journey to Cornwall.

John Duncan's Tristan & Isolde canvas, 1912

Although Iseult married the King, on the wedding night, under the cover of darkness Brangaine took her place in the royal bed so the he would suspect nothing.  For a while the lovers managed to maintain their affair before they were discovered.  King Mark found the lovers asleep with Tristian's sword lying between them, he decided not to slay them then & there, but exchanged his sword for Tristian's.

When Tristan woke he was stunned & overcome by the mercy shown by his uncle, Tristan persuaded Isolde to return to her husband & he volunteered himself for exile in Brittany.  There in Brittany, he married but it was not a happy marriage, because the bride Iseult of the White Hands, loved her husband more than he could love her.  Several times in secret he would sneak back to Cornwall and met with Isolde in secret, but the war in Brittany kept him too busy to return often. During a battle Tristan was severely wounded & sent for Isolde.  He asked his friend & fellow Knight to sail back with her under a specific set of sails.

Their code was for Isolde to sail under a white flag when she was close. If the Knight was returning without Isolde to sail beneath a black sail.  Jealous & angry at the imminent reunion of the lovers, Tristian's Bretton wife Iseult of the White Hands, told him that the ship was sailing beneath a black flag.  Losing his will to live, Tristan threw himself on his sword & died before Isolde could reach him.  Heartbroken, Isolde followed him into death not much later.

When they were buried, a hazel tree and a honeysuckle bush sprung up & grew together.  Three times King Mark had the branches cut back to separate them and each time they grew back together. Eventually he left them alone.

The End.

@Britannia Travel website

The Tristan stone: on the Britannia travel site gives a great tourist guide to the stone & places from the legend.

"The Tristan Stone (from Wikipedia)  Known as The Tristan Stone, or The Longstone (Cornish: Menhir, meaninglong stone), is a 2.7 m tall granite pillar near Fowey in Cornwall. The stone has a mid 6th century AD two line inscription which has been interpreted as reading DRVSTANVS HIC IACIT CVNOWORI FILIV’S (‘Drustan lies here, of Cunomorus the son’). A now missing third line was described by the 16th century antiquarian John Leland as reading CVM DOMINA OUSILLA (‘with the lady Ousilla’). Ousilla is a Latinisation of the Cornish female name Eselt, otherwise known as Isolde. The disappearance of this third line may be as a result of the stone being moved several times over the past three centuries."

A bittersweet romance. Have you heard the tale before?? I personally didn't like the Hollywood remake, what did you think?? They changed way too much for me, adding in people and taking out many others, It wasn't close to the legend at all. Have any favorite stories? Share in the comments please.

 Happy Monday

Double Double Toil and Trouble!!! It's Samhain

A Tale for Samhain night curtesy of the Scottish Bard: Robert burns "Halloween"

Upon that night, when fairies light
On Cassilis Downans dance,
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze,
On sprightly coursers prance;
Or for Colean the rout is ta’en,
Beneath the moon’s pale beams;
There, up the Cove,to stray an’ rove,
Amang the rocks and streams
To sport that night;

Amang the bonie winding banks,
Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear;
Where Bruc ance rul’d the martial ranks,
An’ shook his Carrick spear;
Some merry, friendly, countra-folks
Together did convene,
To burn their nits, an’ pou their stocks,
An’ haud their Halloween
Fu’ bly the that night.

The lasses feat, an’ cleanly neat,
Mair braw than when they’re fine;
Their faces blythe, fu’ sweetly kythe,
Hearts leal, an’ warm, an’ kin’:
The lads sae trig, wi’ wooer-babs
Weel-knotted on their garten;
Some unco blate, an’ some wi’ gabs

Gar lasses’ hearts gang startin
Whiles fast at night.

Then, first an’ foremost, thro’ the kail,
Their stocks maun a’ be sought ance;
They steek their een, and grape an’ wale
For muckle anes, an’ straught anes.
Poor hav’rel Will fell aff the drift,

An’ wandered thro’ the bow-kail,
An’ pou’t for want o’ better shift
A runt was like a sow-tail
Sae bow’t that night.

Then, straught or crooked, yird or nane,
They roar an’ cry a’ throu’ther;
The vera wee-things, toddlin, rin,
Wi’ stocks out owre their shouther:
An’ gif the custock’s sweet or sou
Wi’ joctelegs they taste them;

Syne coziely, aboon the door,

Wi’ cannie care, they’ve plac’d them

To lie that night.

The lassies staw frae ’mang them a’,
To pou their stalks o’ corn;
But Rab slips out, an’ jinks about,
Behint the muckle thorn:
He grippit Nelly hard and fast:
Loud skirl’d a’ the lasses;
But her tap-pickle maist was lost,
Whan kiutlin in the fause-house
Wi’ him that night.

The auld guid-wife’s weel-hoordit nits
Are round an’ round dividend,
An’ mony lads an’ lasses’ fates
Are there that night decided:
Some kindle couthie side by side,
And burn thegither trimly;
Some start awa wi’ saucy pride,
An’ jump out owre the chimlie
Fu’ high that night.
Jean slips in twa, wi’ tentie e’e;
Wha ’twas, she wadna tell;
But this is Jock, an’ this is me,

She says in to hersel’:

He bleez’d owre her, an’ she owre him,
As they wad never mair part:
Till fuff! he started up the lum,
An’ Jean had e’en a sair heart
To see’t that night.
Poor Willie, wi’ his bow-kail runt,
Was brunt wi’ primsie Mallie;
An’ Mary, nae doubt, took the drunt,

To be compar’d to Willie:
Mall’s nit lap out, wi’ pridefu’ fling,
An’ her ain fit, it brunt it;
While Willie lap, and swore by jing,

’Twas just the way he wanted
To be that night.
Nell had the fause-house in her min’,
She pits hersel an’ Rob in;
In loving bleeze they sweetly join,
Till white in ase they’re sobbin:

Nell’s heart was dancin at the view;

She whisper’d Rob to leuk for’t:

Rob, stownlins, prie’d her bonie mou’,

Fu’ cozie in the neuk for’t,

Unseen that night.

But Merran sat behint their backs,
Her thoughts on Andrew Bell:
She lea’es them gashin at their cracks,
An’ slips out-by hersel’;
She thro’ the yard the nearest taks,

An’ for the kiln she goes then,

An’ darklins grapit for the bauks,

And in the blue-clue throws then,

Right fear’t that night.

An’ ay she win’t, an’ ay she swat—

I wat she made nae jaukin;

Till something held within the pat,

Good L—d! but she was quaukin!

But whether ’twas the deil himsel,

Or whether ’twas a bauk-en’,

Or whether it was Andrew Bell,

She did na wait on talkin

To spier that night.

Wee Jenny to her graunie says,

“Will ye go wi’ me, graunie?

I’ll eat the apple at the glass,

I gat frae uncle Johnie”:

She fuff’t her pipe wi’ sic a lunt,

In wrath she was sae vap’rin,

She notic’t na an aizle brunt

Her braw, new, worset apron

Out thro’ that night.

“Ye little skelpie-limmer’s face!

I daur you try sic sportin,

As seek the foul thief ony place,

For him to spae your fortune:

Nae doubt but ye may get a sight!

Great cause ye hae to fear it;

For mony a ane has gotten a fright,

An’ liv’d an’ died deleerit,

On sic a night.

“Ae hairst afore the Sherra-moor,

I mind’t as weel’s yestreen—

I was a gilpey then, I’m sure

I was na past fyfteen:

The simmer had been cauld an’ wat,

An’ stuff was unco green;

An’ eye a rantin kirn we gat,

An’ just on Halloween

It fell that night.

“Our stibble-rig was Rab M’Graen,

A clever, sturdy fallow;

His sin gat Eppie Sim wi’ wean,

That lived in Achmacalla:

He gat hemp-seed, I mind it weel,

An’he made unco light o’t;

But mony a day was by himsel’,

He was sae sairly frighted
That vera night.”

Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck,
An’ he swoor by his conscience,
That he could saw hemp-seed a peck;
For it was a’ but nonsense:
The auld guidman raught down the pock,
An’ out a handfu’ gied him;
Syne bad him slip frae’ mang the folk,

Sometime when nae ane see’d him,
An’ try’t that night.
He marches thro’ amang the stacks,
Tho’ he was something sturtin;
The graip he for a harrow taks,
An’ haurls at his curpin:
And ev’ry now an’ then, he says,

“Hemp-seed I saw thee,
An’ her that is to be my lass

Come after me, an’ draw thee
As fast this night.”
He wistl’d up Lord Lennox’ March
To keep his courage cherry;

Altho’ his hair began to arch,
He was sae fley’d an’ eerie:
Till presently he hears a squeak,
An’ then a grane an’ gruntle;
He by his shouther gae a keek,
An’ tumbled wi’ a wintle
Out-owre that night.
He roar’d a horrid murder-shout,
In dreadfu’ desperation!
An’ young an’ auld come rinnin out,
An’ hear the sad narration:
He swoor ’twas hilchin Jean M’Craw,
Or crouchie Merran Humphie—
Till stop! she trotted thro’ them a’;
And wha was it but grumphie
Asteer that night!

Meg fain wad to the barn gaen,
To winn three wechts o’ naething
But for to meet the deil her lane,
She pat but little faith in:
She gies the herd a pickle nits,
An’ twa red cheekit apples,
To watch, while for the barn she sets,
In hopes to see Tam Kipples

That vera night.
She turns the key wi’ cannie thraw,
An’owre the threshold ventures;
But first on Sawnie gies a ca’,
Syne baudly in she enters:
A ratton rattl’d up the wa’,
An’ she cry’d Lord preserve her!
An’ ran thro’ midden-hole an’ a’
An’ pray’d wi’ zeal and fervour,
Fu’ fast that night.
They hoy’t out Will, wi’ sair advice;
They hecht him some fine braw ane;

It chanc’d the stack he faddom’t thrice
Was timmer-propt for thrawin:
He taks a swirlie auld moss-oak
For some black, grousome carlin;
An’ loot a winze, an’ drew a stroke,
Till skin in blypes cam haurlin
Aff’s nieves that night.
A wanton widow Leezie was,
As cantie as a kittlen;
But och! that night, amang the shaws,
She gat a fearfu’ settlin!
She thro’ the whins, an’ by the cairn,
An’ owre the hill gaed scrievin;
Whare three lairds’ lan’s met at a burn,
To dip her left sark-sleeve in,
Was bent that night.
Whiles owre a linn the burnie plays,
As thro’ the glen it wimpl’t;
Whiles round a rocky scar it strays,
Whiles in a wiel it dimpl’t;
Whiles glitter’d to the nightly rays,
Wi’ bickerin’, dancin’ dazzle;
Whiles cookit undeneath the braes,

Below the spreading hazel
Unseen that night.
Amang the brachens, on the brae,
Between her an’ the moon,
The deil, or else an outler quey,
Gat up an’ ga’e a croon:
Poor Leezie’s heart maist lap the hool;
Near lav’rock-height she jumpit,
But mist a fit, an’ in the pool
Out-owre the lugs she plumpit,
Wi’ a plunge that night.

In order, on the clean hearth-stane,
The luggies three are ranged;
An’ ev’ry time great care is ta’en
To see them duly changed:
Auld uncle John, wha wedlock’s joys
Sin’ Mar’s-year did desire,
Because he gat the toom dish thrice,
He heav’d them on the fire
In wrath that night.

Wi’ merry sangs, an’ friendly cracks,
I wat they did na weary;
And unco tales, an’ funnie jokes—
Their sports were cheap an’ cheery:
Till butter’d sowens, wi’ fragrant lunt,
Set a’ their gabs a-steerin;
Syne, wi’ a social glass o’ strunt,
They parted aff careerin
Fu’ blythe that night.

Here's two Scottish poets reading the poem on Youtube
Happy Blessed Samhain to all my pagan friends, and Happy New Year to my Druid friends, as today is the last day of the Celtic New Year, November 1st being the first of the Celtic New Year. Have a safe fun, bonfire night my loves!!

Divinity Series: 1

The inspiration for this series came about when I was watching a comedian, who was discussing his faith, one of the things he mentioned was the story of Jesus and the "greatest fish fry ever".  Now for those of you aren't familiar with the story, it's about Jesus feeding the crowd of thousands with only 5 loaves and 2 fish.  As soon as I heard the story I began to think about the different tales of Gods and their different marks of power. One of these marks is the ability to provide for their followers.

Wikipedia gives the definition of the cornucopia as being " a symbolic, hollow horn filled with the inexhaustible gifts of celebratory fruits". One of the reasons people follow certain faiths is the belief that the God or Gods can provide for and take care of them, or even help them take care of themselves. 

There are many tales from many different cultures which speak to the commonality of the belief that the Gods provide. Many of these tales include information about the God's special gift of food, after all how can people be expected to worship you if they are starving and can't think beyond the search of basic comforts?  In many of the tales of the horns of plenty, the gift shows the strength of the magic of the conjurer, it shows the ability of the magician to provide, to lead and how blessed and favorable their magic is.  this ability to conjure such magic made them different, made them something more than human, but the ability for abundance alone didn't make on a God, it did however show up often as one of the marks of Divinity.

Within the Greek myths there is the tale of the battle between Athena and Poseidon on who would be named Patron of Athens, when Athena provides the olive tree, her gift beat out Poseidon's gift of water, because the water couldn't be drunk, it was in fact salt water.  the olive tree provided many different functions,from oil to cook with, to wood to be burned, to fruit that could provide. Athena's gift was a gift of inexhaustible uses, and she became Patron of the City. Although not a horn per say, her gift was a way to provide for her people and this showed her Divinity because she took care of those who would depend on her, it also showed her leadership, and cunning to win against Poseidon.

One of my favorite stories as a child growing up was about Broda Anansi, now I have mentioned before that he is the trickster God of the Yoruba tradition, his tales are told in the Caribbean often passed from parent to child sharing different life lessons along the way.

Now there is a story of Broda (brother) Anansi who was married and had several children, who he couldn't feed. One day Anansi was in the woods looking for food and cried out to the heavens asking for help, a man appeared and gave him a dutch pot (imagine a cauldron) and was told to follow certain instructions, which as long as he did he would never want for anything again.  He was never to wash the pot, and he was to share the bounty. Every evening Anansi would pull out the pot, put it on the fire, and dance and sing as he chanted about what he wanted, the pot would cook up his favorite meals, he would share these meals with his wife and children, who was curious to know how he was doing it. But Anansi was greedy and decided to keep the pot's secret to himself.


Anansi's friend Dog was also hungry and would see Anansi's family eating these lavish meals and wanted to know how Anansi was doing it, but Anansi wouldn't tell him, so one night he followed Anansi and saw the ritual, he got jealous and confronted Anansi who wouldn't share with him and reminded Anansi that he too had a hungry family, but Anansi just laughed and left with the pot. Dog decided he would tell Anansi's wife what he heard, when Anansi was dancing he sang about how he would never wash the pot, so Dog decided to tell the Mrs. that Anansi asked him to tell her to wash the pot for him so he could make some food. Anasi's wife didn't know where he left the pot so she never got to wash it, and decided not to say anything to her husband just in case, one day Anansi's wife saw him put the pot beneath the kitchen cabinet and leave. Mrs. Anansi thinking that Broda Anansi just didn't want to wash the pot, took it out and gave it a good scrub. When Anasi came home he discovered what she did and started crying, when asked what happened he explained that he was told never to wash the pot, but to always share the food, now the pot didn't work and they were back to being poor and without food.

There are two morals in this story, one being greedy eventually doesn't pay, and you must be honest with your family, had he been honest with his wife, Anansi wouldn't have lost the pot of plenty.
As you can see here the pot of plenty was meant to be shared, it was given to one to give to the people but he decided to hide it instead, and eventually lost the gift.  In many of the tales, the Cauldrons, horns, and even baskets of plenty would only work when the magic was shared, it can't be kept to oneself.

Another tale of the Horns of Plenty is linked to Zeus. Excert from the Wikipedia site on Cornocopia.

One of the best known involves the birth and nurturance of the infant Zeus, who had to be hidden from his devouring father Cronus. In a cave on Mount Ida on the island of Crete, baby Zeus was cared for and protected by a number of divine attendants, including the goat Amalthea("Nourishing Goddess"), who fed him with her milk. The suckling future king of the gods had unusual abilities and strength, and in playing with his nursemaid accidentally broke off one of her horns, which then had the divine power to provide unending nourishment, as the foster mother had to the god.

In another myth, the cornucopia was created when Heracles (RomanHercules) wrestled with the river god Achelous and wrenched off one of his horns; river gods were sometimes depicted as horned.^[1]The cornucopia became the attribute of several Greek and Roman deities, particularly those associated with the harvest, prosperity, or spiritual abundance, such as personifications of Earth (Gaia or Terra); the nymphMaia; Fortuna, the goddess of luck, who had the power to grant prosperity; and abstract Roman deities who played a role in Roman Imperial cult as fostering peace (pax Romana) and prosperity, such as Abundantia, "Abundance" personified, and Annona, goddess of the grain supply to the city of Rome. The cornucopia was one of the attributes of Pluto, the classical ruler of the underworld in the mystery religions, who was a giver of agricultural, mineral and spiritual wealth, distinguished from the gloomier Hades, who holds a drinking horn instead

Taken from the tales of Taliesin, there is a quote of the Dagda's Cauldron of Plenty called the Undry, which is one of the sacred Cauldron in the Celtic myths, as well as being one of the four Sacred Hallows brought to Ireland with the Tuatha De Danann

"I am renowned, resplendant is my song that was heard.

In the four-cornered fort, four sided,

my poetry was uttered from the cauldron.

By the breath of nine maidens it was kindled.

t was the cauldron of the Chief of Annwn that was sought -

a ridge of pearls around its brim.

It does not boil a coward's food: it was not destined (to do so)."

adapted from Koch & Carey, The Celtic Heroic Age

The Dagda's Cauldron of Plenty would feed those who were courageous, hence the comment about 'not a coward's food', this cauldron would feed thousands and the next day would replenish itself, it needed no fire or ingredients to complete this deed. The Cauldron was a source of abundance and healing. It is and represents an abundance that man can't provide, this abundance comes from the high magics of the Gods, it shows their deeper connections to the magics and to the earth, as many of the Gods would die annually to replenish the earth for the next season of growth. 

In the Christian version of the horn of plenty, Jesus feeds 5000 followers with the donation of 5 loaves and 2 fish, he feed everyone there, even when his followers doubted they would be able to do so.  Thereby creating a new miracle to be attributed to him. This showed his connection to the Higher Power and made him more than 'man' to his followers.

One could connect the Cauldrons, and horns to the Earth itself, as the King's connection to the Earth was seen by the abundance brought forth, when a King was seen as exhausting or displeasing the Earth(Goddess), he would be sacrificed so that the people could once again know prosperity and abundance. 

Modern adaptions of the horns of plenty have seen them especially in the North as decorations taken out during the fall. It is usually seen on the Samhain altars as it is a symbol of fertility, fortune and abundance.

Even within the Christian religion, the horn of plenty is seen at harvest time and is usually filled with the 'harvest' of the church as a way to thank God for what he has helped to sow in their lives in the Spring and Summer.

You can search into other myths to find that many of the god,and Goddesses provide for the people either in the Otherworld or in the living world. this gift of abundance is renewable the way the earth itself is renewable with proper care. As in the tale of Anansi, when the cauldron and it's magics were disregarded or disrespected they would stop working, this was seen as a decline in the magics of the Gods, as the abundance that flowed was linked to their ability to conjure the necessary magic.  When their ability to provide properly was called into question many became sacrifices to help their people. 

And that brings us to next weeks topic: the Sacrifices that made them Gods!
Qoute for Taliesin taken from Here, Dagda's Cauldron image from Bing search.

Hope this helped in showing one of the 'marks of power'

Oh to be a Bard

I come from a long line of story tellers, when I was younger, I would be left with my Great Grandmother, who always without fail even when we seemed to have ‘surprised’ her, (she was never surprised, can’t surprise a woman who has deeper connections than can be described) had candy in her pocket (just the one you loved too) and a story to tell. If she had stopped a story when you left she picked right back up as if no time had passed. My Great Grandmother's mother was a house slave who 'educated' the Masters children. Most of the Jamaican slaves are excellent storytellers as this was the way to pass on important information as well as keep the history of the family going.

My aunt is the family historian and can tell you without looking at anything the entire female line of her mothers side then do the same for her father's side of the family. She knows all the marriages, names and deaths of most of the family. I have been recently encouraging her to write them down. many of our family members are fourtunatley buried in the same church plot.  

When I used to go to my dad's farm in the country, he used to share many of the traditional Jamaican stories about Broda Nancy (Brother Anazi) which where tales passed down to him from his Grandmother.

Many of the traditional tales speak of morals, and explain how the sky became the sky, why cat's and dogs don't get along. And they all stem from this one little Spider named Anazi. It's only later in life that I learned that the beloved character was actually a God from the coast of West Africa (where most of the Jamaican slaves came from), this wonderful Spider God was a trickster God who taught many valuable lessons. 

My love of turning a great tale comes from those moments of sitting beside my Great Grandmother, or listening to my dad's baritone mimic the voices of the different characters in the story.

In all the Jamaican tales, we start & end the story with:

" a so mi pick it up as so mi puti down" 

Which basically means this is how you learned the story, you didn't change it, and you passed it on the same way you received it.  This is to make sure the true meaning of the tale gets passed on, and the whole story of Broda Nancy gets passed on and learned by a new generation.

Recently in my studies amd decision to continue on the Druid path, I subscribed to the lessons from the Order of Bards Ovate and Druids. they sent me package of tales to learn. I thought it very fitting considering Druids were required to learn over 1000 tales, and know the cures for 100s of diseases. 

In the most ordered lesson plans, one starts as a bard, learns all the lessons of creating poems, how to tell tales, and learn all the mythology of the people; the next step is the ovate, who knows all the herbs, and the lore behind each herb, then finally advances to druid where all the lessons culminate and allow you to be an excellent druid.
Each phase or stage lasts for seven years, which is light considering in the olden days one would start as a child and only reach druid in their elder years. There are even tales of druids planting their trees as children and gaining their first wand after the tree has matured a certain number of years.  

When I received the packet, I placed it aside for a while and recently came back to it and realized even though I love the Celtic mythology and already know most of it, there is still much I didn't know.  I want to learn it, but I also don't want to lose my heritage, so I am blending the two, both the Bard and the history of my people is an Oral history, a language of tales told from one to the other.  There is something grand about being the one who can turn a phrase and invocate a certain emotion as you tell a tale. 

I can't wait to be able to share with my own children and grandchildren the tales of my youth and the many various tales of the Celtic Gods of my ancestors.

Yes it will be grand to be a Bard.
Year one of seven begins
I will be sharing as many of the tales that I can with you, these will be on Thursday, so if you are looking for tales to share with your kids, that would be the day to stop by and check them out.

Of course if you have any tales to share please let me know and I will swing by your blog as well.

Be Blessed