BNG – Bessus Nouiogalation

A Reflection on Lugus, Ogmios, and Îanolabâ in BNG

Branos Carnutodrûidion. Gaulish Polytheism. Gaulish Paganism

Written by Branos Carnutodrûidion/Urādos – Gutuatir of BNG

In my time walking the Gaulish Path, I’ve noticed that two gods often feel strangely distant: Ogmios and Lugus. Not because they lack importance, but because people aren’t always sure how to approach them. Ogmios carries an intimidating weight — an old god whose eloquence binds hearts. Lugus, vast in his domains, is sometimes reduced to “crafts,” even though his reach extends far beyond that.

Yet these two share a powerful theme at their core, and that is speech — the sacred word, the breath that moves between worlds. Understanding how they differ helps us understand our own voices better.

Îanolabâ — Right Speech as Virtue and Devotion

If we look further back, into the deep roots of Proto-Indo-European thought, we find that speech itself was seen as a cosmic force. Across Indo-European cultures, the spoken word:

upheld truth and cosmic order
carried magical and ritual power
established sovereignty and law
acted as a bridge between humans, gods, and ancestors
preserved memory, identity, and tradition

In other words, the ancients believed that speech didn’t just describe reality — it shaped it.

Understanding speech helps illuminate one of our Îanoi — Îanolabâ, right speech. In light of PIE cosmology, this virtue becomes more than ethics; it becomes a sacred principle that maintains order, honors the gods, and sustains our community. Speech is the foundation of everything we do.
It shapes our relationships, our rites, our teachings, and our shared identity. The other virtues naturally gather around it — flowing from how we speak and the intentions we carry. When we strive for right speech, we’re not only being mindful with our words; we are aligning ourselves with the powers of clarity and eloquence. We learn when to speak with light, and when to speak with resonance. We learn how to communicate truth and how to speak with heart.

This worldview helps us understand why Lugus and Ogmios take on such distinct roles. They are not redundant; they are two essential expressions of the sacred word.

Lugus: The Clarifying Word

Within this broader Indo-European frame, Lugus embodies the ordering and illuminating side of speech. His words teach, clarify, and bring hidden patterns into form. This is the speech of sovereignty — not rulership by force, but rulership by communication, insight, and instruction.

His speech is the cosmic “lamp”: the word that reveals, organizes, and connects.

Lugus is communication.
His power is in how words clarify — teaching, instructing, crafting meaning, and passing knowledge from one mind to another. He is speech as connection, structure, and shared understanding.

Ogmios: The Binding Word

Ogmios, meanwhile, expresses the magical and compelling current of speech. Lucian’s image of golden chains from his tongue to the ears of followers reflects a very old Indo-European idea: that skilled speech has the power to bind, persuade, enchant, and direct the will.

This is the speech of charisma, of spellcraft, of influence.
The word that pulls, moves, and reshapes hearts.

His speech is the “chain”: the word that captivates, persuades, and carries emotional force.

Ogmios is eloquence.
His power is in how words move people — the charm, the persuasion, the emotional pull. He is the art of speaking in a way that binds hearts and compels attention.

When we strive for Îanolabâ, we’re aligning ourselves with both Lugus and Ogmios:

with Lugus, speaking with clarity, honesty, and understanding
with Ogmios, speaking in ways that inspire, encourage, and move the heart

Îanolabâ becomes both a discipline and a devotion — a daily practice shaped by these two divine voices.

The Sacred Word as Lamp and Chain

In the end, both gods show us that speech is more than breath — it is power, connection, and the shaping of our world. Ogmios stands as the Dêuos of Speech, the one whose eloquence binds hearts and moves the soul. Lugus, vast in scope, is the Dêuos of Many Skills, whose clarity, craft, and communication illuminate the path of knowledge and right action. Together they show us that the sacred word has both depth and direction, and that our practice is enriched when we learn to honor that current. To speak with truth and to speak with heart — this is the gift they place in our hands. And perhaps one of our tasks as Galatis is learning how to speak in a way that honors the cosmos around us so we can teach with clarity and to inspire with heart.

Nemtona & the Living Boundaries of the Nemeton | Gaulish Sacred Space (BNG)

Written by Branos Carnutodrûidion/Urādos – Gutuatir of BNG

In the practice of Bessus Nouiogalation, the Sacred Space — the Nemeton — is central. It is the place where the divine and the mundane meet, where reflection, ritual, and communion can occur safely and intentionally. Every Nemeton begins with a first step: choosing the place for worship (Dugiion), clearing the clutter, and preparing yourself to meet the divine. But the moment the space truly becomes sacred, it is not you alone who holds it — Nemtona, the Keeper of the Nemeton, takes her place.

When you first call her, she helps define the boundaries: not just the edges of the circle on the ground, but the edges of intention, of energy, of focus. She sweeps the space clean of what does not belong, drawing a line between the ordinary and the sacred. Without her, a Nemeton may feel like a circle on the earth; with her, it becomes a living, breathing space of communion. Once your Nemeton is set, however, the rhythm of her presence changes. You do not need to call her every day (you can if you would like). The boundaries she has drawn remain, quietly watching over the space (she becomes always present). You may choose to honor her (reestablishing the Nemeton) on solstices or equinox days, holidays, or monthly/weekly intervals — reinforcing the sacredness, but not burdening yourself with repetition for its own sake.

Sometimes, though, a space can feel “stuck.” Perhaps energy has grown heavy, or life has brought disturbance into your Nemeton. In those moments, Nemtona returns as a guide: to clear what clouds the circle, to remind the Nemeton of its purpose, to renew the watch over what is sacred. Calling her here is not about repetition; it is about renewal. A Nemeton watched by Nemtona is alive. It listens, it holds, it protects. Whether you are establishing it for the first time or tending it through the cycles of the year, her presence shows us that the sacred is not only about ceremony — it is about care, attention, and boundaries that honor the space and yourself.

The first call is important. The next calls are intentional and restorative. And when the space feels still or clouded, she is there, ready to watch, clear, and renew.

When to Call Nemtona

When establishing your Nemeton for the first time.
This is her primary moment — she defines, purifies, and blesses the space.
When moving your Nemeton to a new location.
The old boundaries do not transfer; she must be called to mark the new ones.
At seasonal turnings or holy days.
A simple invocation on solstices, equinoxes, or festivals reawakens her watchfulness and refreshes the Nemeton’s energy.
When the space feels heavy or unclear.
Energy stagnation, emotional residue, or tension are signs that Nemtona should be invited to sweep the boundaries clean once more.
After major life changes or disruptions.
Moving homes, emotional upheaval, or even long absences can unsettle sacred space — let her reestablish the sense of peace and protection.
Whenever your intuition nudges you.
Sometimes there is no clear reason, only a feeling. Trust that. Nemtona’s role is to keep your space aligned with both the world and your inner state.

Nemtona is the sacred space; she is not a static circle drawn, she is a relationship. She is both a guardian and a reflection of the care we give to our practice. When we honor her, we reaffirm that the Nemeton is not just a place — it is a living threshold between ourselves and the divine.

For creating a Sacred Space or reestablishing your existing one, see our rite: Nemeton (Sacred Space)

Rite for Prosperity and Nourishment

In times of hardship, when the world feels uncertain and people go without, we return to the heart of our custom — to give so that others may give. This rite is an act of collective care and spiritual solidarity, performed for all those who are without food or security during the ongoing disruption of daily life. It is both a prayer and a promise: that we will not let one another go hungry, neither in body nor in spirit. In Bessus Nouiogalation, we recognize that prosperity flows through relationship — between the divine, the land, and the people. When that flow is disrupted, it is our duty to restore balance through offering, gratitude, and right action. The gods called in this rite embody the sacred triad of sustenance: earth, labor, and nurture — the foundations of all abundance.

Rosmertâ, the giver of bounty, holds the cup that overflows. She represents the unending generosity of the cosmos — the reminder that the universe, when rightly honored, provides more than enough for all.
Sucellos, the good striker, is the spirit of work and cultivation — the one who labors beside humankind to make the land fruitful. His presence calls us to persistence and the dignity of honest effort, even when times are lean.
Nantosueltâ, keeper of the hearth, reminds us that prosperity is not hoarded wealth but shared warmth. She governs the sacred household — where food, compassion, and community come together in harmony.

Together, these Dêuoi represent a cycle of gift, work, and care. This rite renews that cycle, channeling the will of the community toward abundance for all. It is a spiritual act, but also a call to embodied compassion — to feed, to share, to give. When we stand together and lift our voices, we do more than pray. We reweave the flow of life itself.

Reflection on Helping Those in Need

Look around your town. See where hunger touches lives, not just in empty plates but in the strain it brings to every part of life. When someone must spend all they have on food, other necessities — shelter, medicine, warmth — may go wanting.

To aid is to restore balance:

Offer your hands and your time — volunteer where labor meets need.
Volunteer at local food banks, shelters, or community kitchens. Your presence helps distribute resources and lift spirits.
Offer your coin — let your gifts ensure that others do not go hungry while still meeting life’s other demands. Financial support to charities and nonprofits can ensure that families have access to food without sacrificing other essentials like medicine, rent, or utilities.
Offer food or essentials — let your generosity lift the weight from shoulders already bent by hardship. Canned goods, fresh produce, hygiene items, and other supplies provide immediate relief, letting people stretch their limited resources further.

By giving in these ways, you honor the virtue of generosity (Îanoi) and strengthen the bonds of the community. Every small act becomes a thread in the web of life, carrying abundance where it falters, lifting those who have fallen, and renewing hope for all.

“We give so that others may give. We act so that the world may be made stronger.”
Datiestī uta dassant. Uergon adbiuont uta Bitū nertā fiant.

The words within the parentheses provide a general request you may offer, and you are welcome to personalize them by naming specific individuals in need. Let this invocation serve as a vessel for your sincere intentions, sending positive energy and support to those who require it, while honoring their unique circumstances and challenges. The rite’s opening and closing use our Adaððus aidoniâs; if you practice another tradition, you may instead use your own customary openings and closings.

We/I invoke Rosmertâ, Sucellos, and Nantosueltâ.
Our world is in hardship.
Many sit before empty plates, their cupboards bare,
their strength dimmed by want.
We come together not only to ask,
but to remember our shared duty —
to bring balance where it falters,
to lift the fallen,
to renew the promise of plenty for all.

Rosmertâ, generous one, bearer of the overflowing cup
Request:
We ask that you pour out abundance for all who are hungry, that none go without the means to live.
We give offering and thanks to you.

Sucellos, friend of the people, cultivator of the earth
Request:
We ask that you bless the land and those who labor, that food may be plentiful and fairly shared.
We give offering and thanks to you.

Nantosueltâ, nurturer of hearth and home
Request:
We ask that you bring warmth and comfort to every household, that generosity and kindness may rise among the people.
We give offering and thanks to you.

May our deeds carry forth the blessings of our calls.

We/I praise Rosmertâ.
We/I praise Sucellos.
We/I praise Nantosueltâ.
Cheer to you all!
Thanks to you all!
We/I go in peace.
It is done.

adgariomos/adgariû Rosmertan, Sucellon, etic Nantosueltin.
Bitus anson sent inti trougî.
eloi aresedânt clârobi uâstobi, betoclâroi sueiânoi uâstânt, nertos sueiânos dîmanuâsset rinû.
comberomos ne oinû do petâtun,
extos eti do commenuan uâriin bitulêtanin anson –
do atebertin talon ponc brissât,
do ûxamâtun pennisselûs,
do atenouon addanon lanoteri ollobi.

Rosmerta, lamoletana, beron anniâs ûxsrouriâs
Arcimâs:
petâmos io semes lanobitun ollobi nâuinodiobi, io nepoi biuont cena naudon biuiti
Rodâmos/Rodâmî addatus etic bratûn te

Sucelle, carontie toutiâs, arāti Bitous
Arcimâs:
petâmos io textâs aron etic aratiâs,
io betâ buont ratiâ etic daltontor iânû.
Rodâmos/Rodâmî addatus etic bratûn te

Nantosuelta, maxtis aidiâs etic trebiâs
Arcimâs:
petâmos io beres uresson etic subutin trebî ollî, io raton etic caratâcon uorexont enter toutin.
Rodâmos/Rodâmî addatus etic bratûn te

uergâ anson ratâ areuessont gârion anson

Molâmos/Molâmî Rosmertî
Molâmos/Molâmî Sucellû
Molâmos/Molâmî Nantosueltî
Slanon te olloi
Bratûn te olloi
Iâmos/Iâiumî in tancê
Uregar

Dêuoi Olloi — All the Gods of Bessus Nouiogalation | Gaulish Polytheism

Written by Branos Carnutodrûidion/Urādos – Gutuatir of BNG

Within Bessus Nouiogalation, we honor many Dêuoi (Gods) and Dêuâs (Goddesses), Cintuxtoi (The first Ones), and Biuiti (Being, Creatures, Entity), each with their own nature, essence, and presence. On our site, you will find sections dedicated to them. There is much to explore, and it may take some time to navigate and reach the heart of how each one serves within our Bessus.

What I have done here is taken our main write-ups and simplified them, making it easier to get to the point — to offer a clearer understanding of their place and function within our living tradition.

This does not mean that this is the only way to view them, for they are beyond identification and beyond words. Nor does it mean that you yourself might not focus on different aspects of them within your own home or practice. Rather, this list serves as a guide to understanding how they are approached and honored within the framework of our Bessus.

Dêuoi (Gods) and Dêuâs (Goddesses)

Abnobâ – Guardian of the wilderness, guiding us to protect nature, honor the mysteries of the night, and embrace the ever-changing flow of life.

Aidonâ – Hearth Dêuâ, embodying the essence of fire as a source of warmth, spiritual connection, and communal unity.

Aisus – Celestial woodsman and Dêuos of Drus, teaching the care of sacred spaces, the proper execution of ritual, and the maintenance of cosmic order.

Ambicatus – Ancestral king and legendary leader, symbolizing the expansion of the Gauls, guiding the community through auspicious beginnings, and marking the historical and spiritual calendar.

Artiû – Dêuâ of bears and seasonal cycles, offering protection, wisdom, and guidance through the natural world and the hidden realms of dream and subconscious.

Auetâ – Dêuâ of fertility, motherhood, and midwifery, nurturing life, safeguarding children, and sustaining the vital cycles of growth and renewal.

Belinos – Primal Dêuos of cosmic balance, sustaining the Fire in Water beneath the World Tree and guiding prophecy and the unfolding of universal cycles.

Brigindû – Warrior and celestial protectress, safeguarding homes, tribes, and nations while upholding justice, law, and cosmic order.

Carnonos – Dêuos of liminality and thresholds, guiding travelers and souls, mediating between the sacred and ordinary, and navigating the spaces between worlds.

Catuboduâ – Guardian and guide of the fallen, overseeing transitions in death and escorting souls to the afterlife, especially those who meet valorous ends.

Celtînâ – Mother ancestor and partner of Ogmios, embodying strength, valor, and beauty while giving birth to Galatos, the eponymous founder of the Galatis.

Ðironâ – Dêuâ of healing, fertility, and liminal transitions, guiding physical, mental, and mystical restoration through springs, stars, and seasonal cycles.

Eponâ – Multifaceted Dêuâ of the Wild Hunt, fertility, sovereignty, and psychopomp, leading souls, nurturing the land, and ensuring harvests and winter solstice rites.

Gobannos – Divine smith and master craftsman, shaping both material and spiritual worlds while instructing in transformation and the magical art of creation.

Grannos – Solar Dêuos and healer, radiating warmth and illumination, curing ailments, and restoring vitality through sacred waters and far-reaching insight.

Lugus – Multifaceted Dêuos of craftsmanship, war, travel, oaths, and harvest, safeguarding sovereignty, prosperity, and the skills of the community.

Maponos – Youthful Dêuos of music, creativity, and healing, inspiring artistic expression and emotional renewal while connecting us to the Otherworld.

Materês – Cosmic nurturers and protectors of fate, guiding destinies, fostering growth, and maintaining harmony within the unfolding patterns of life.

Morisenon – Shapeshifting Dêuos of the sea and the unknown, guardian of transitions, revelation, and hidden knowledge, guiding those who seek truth through the mysteries of life, death, and the Otherworld.

Nantosueltâ – Dêuâ of prosperity, domesticity, and the cycles of life and death, nurturing both the living and the dead while guiding followers through the eternal rhythms of existence.

Nemetonâ – Guardian Dêuâ of sacred spaces and rituals, embodying the essence of sanctuaries, groves, and ceremonies, ensuring the presence of holiness wherever invoked.

Ogmios – Dêuos of eloquence, persuasion, and binding words, guiding followers in right speech (Îanolabâ) and serving as the ancestral patriarch of the Gauls.

Rosmertâ – Dêuâ of prosperity, harvest, wisdom, and prophecy, nurturing the land and its people while shaping the destiny of those who honor her.

Sucellos – Chthonic Dêuos of the earth, fertility, and boundaries, wielding a mallet to cultivate and protect the land while guiding the living and deceased through Antumnos.

Suleuiâs – Eternal guides and protectors, guarding the sanctity of homes, persons, and the decisions we make in daily life.

Taranis – Celestial father of storms and thunder, upholding cosmic order and bestowing the fundamental virtues (Îanoi) to guide existence.

Toutatis / Galatos – Guardian of the tribe and custodian of the community’s soul, shielding the people from harm and ensuring collective safety.

Cintuxtoi (The First Ones)

Dêiuos – The shining Sky Father, embodiment of Aððus, the Right Order of all things. He watches over the heavens and the turning of the cosmos, teaching the balance and harmony that govern both gods and people.

Litauiâ – The great Earth Mother, foundation of life and the breath of all that grows. She nurtures the soil, the forests, and every living being, holding the cycles of birth, growth, and renewal in her care.

Sonnos – The radiant Sun, whose fire awakens and empowers all life. He brings warmth, clarity, and illumination, guiding the day and energizing the land, the people, and the deeds they undertake.

Lugrâ – The Moon, guide of time, whose phases shape our months, sacred work, and nightly reflection. She rules the ebb and flow of tides, dreams, and the hidden rhythms of life.

Cauaroi – The Giants, primal forces of chaos and disorder. They test boundaries, challenge complacency, and remind all beings of the wild and unpredictable aspects of creation.

Biuiti (Being, Creatures, Entity)

Ueranadoi – Those Above, celestial watchers of the sky. They move unseen, guiding the heavens and lending their light to the paths of the living.

Bituatîs – Land spirits who dwell among the hills, forests, and fields. They whisper to those who listen, offering guidance and presence in the living world.

Abonatîs – Spirits of the rivers and flowing waters. They nurture life, connect the lands, and remind us of the ceaseless movement of time and renewal.

Acaunatîs – Spirits of the stones and rocks. Steadfast and enduring, they teach patience, resilience, and the quiet strength of the earth.

Allatatîs – Spirits of the wilds. They roam the forests and open spaces, untamed and free, reminding us of the beauty and power of nature beyond human order.

Uanderos – Wild centaurs, embodiments of freedom and the untamed spirit of the wilderness. They guide travelers and those who seek courage in the unknown.

Uiduiros – Wood-walkers, guardians of the deep forests. Mysterious and elusive, they teach respect for the wild and the primal rhythms of life.

Blâtuatîs – Spirits of the flowers, blossoms of fleeting beauty. They inspire wonder, gratitude, and the joy of life’s ephemeral moments.

Brigatîs – Spirits of the hills, perched high with watchful eyes. They protect the land and all who dwell upon it, offering stability and oversight.

Caitatîs – Children of the forests, guardians of trees and creatures. They hold the pulse of the woodland and remind us of the harmony between all beings.

Cucullatis – Hooded spirits of hidden knowledge, sometimes healers, sometimes guides. They move in shadows, revealing wisdom to those who seek it with reverence.

Ditrebatîs – Spirits of deserts and barren lands. They endure where life is sparse, teaching resilience, patience, and the ways to survive against all odds.

Gortiatîs – Spirits of gardens and cultivated lands. They nurture the growth of life, teaching care, stewardship, and gratitude for abundance.

Glendatîs – Spirits of riverbanks and shores. Liminal beings, they dwell where land meets water, guiding transitions, journeys, and change.

Locuatîs – Spirits of lakes and reservoirs. Still and deep, they inspire reflection and tranquility, guarding the waters that sustain communities.

Moniiatîs – Spirits of mountains. Towering, enduring, and vigilant, they teach reverence for the heights and patience in facing great challenges.

Moriatîs – Spirits of the sea, vast and unpredictable. They move in tides and storms, reminding us of the power and mystery of the waters.

Nantuatîs – Spirits of the valleys. Nurturing and protective, they support the life within their sheltered lands, teaching the gifts of sustenance and care.

Tegatîs – Spirits of the home, guardians of hearth and family. They bless the living space with comfort, security, and sacred presence.

Uoberatîs – Spirits of springs. They flow with life-giving water, offering purity, healing, and renewal to those who honor them.

Anderoi – Those Below, chthonic beings of the earth. They watch over the hidden realms and the cycles of life and death beneath the surface.

Angos – Dragons of chaos and renewal. Mighty and fearsome, they embody destruction and rebirth, testing courage and teaching transformation.

Corros – Dwarves and smiths of the underworld. Masters of craft and ingenuity, they forge treasures from the earth and guide those who seek skill and artistry.

Croucatîs – Spirits of mounds, keepers of ancestral lands. They preserve the cycles of life and death, ensuring memory and legacy endure.

Antumnatîs – Those of Antumnos, dwellers of the Otherworld. They cross between life and death, guiding the unseen and the liminal.

Dusios – Mischievous and seductive spirits, revelers in the wild. They teach caution, restraint, and the playful yet dangerous side of nature and desire.

Logatîs – Spirits of graveyards and cemeteries. They honor the dead, holding vigil and guiding the living in remembrance.

Uernos – Guardians of the cemetery, vigilant and steadfast. They watch over the resting places, preventing desecration and ensuring sacredness.

Matican – Horned serpents of wilderness thresholds. Ancient and untamed, they mark the boundaries between known and unknown, nature and spirit.

Scaxslos – Phantoms and spectral ancestors. They linger between worlds, offering guidance, warnings, or echoes of the past.

Our Two Ritual Formats — Adaððus Aidoniâs and Molātocridiū in BNG

Written by Branos Carnutodrûidion/Urādos – Gutuatir of BNG

Adaððus Aidoniâs, The Hearth Rite serves as our primary ritual framework. It is designed for solo devotion, communal gatherings, and formal observances, grounding us in communal harmony, focused devotion, and the shared flow of Galā. This rite provides structure, rhythm, and a sacred space for deep connection, forming the foundation for much of our practice.

Molātocridiū, Praise with the Heart, by contrast, is a flexible, daily practice. It is meant to be simple, portable, and adaptable—an offering you can make at any moment, without tools, as you move through your day. Whether greeting the Sun or Moon, acknowledging sacred spaces, or giving silent adoration, this practice allows us to weave ritual into the ordinary flow of life. It can be tailored to the heart and circumstance, honoring both the subtle and profound presence of the divine in every moment.

These two practices are not separate. The Molātocridiū can be incorporated into the Adaððus Aidoniâs, either as a prelude to prepare the heart and mind, or as a closing offering that extends the ritual into the personal and everyday sphere. Together, they form a harmonious rhythm of devotion—Adaððus Aidoniâs grounding us in sacred order, and the Molātocridiū carries that order into every moment of living.

When the Year Was Born — Samonios, the Gaulish New Year, and the Coligny Calendar

Written by Branos Carnutodrûidion/Urādos – Gutuatir of BNG

Among modern Celtic-inspired traditions, Samhain is often seen as the “Celtic New Year,” a festival marking the descent into winter. However, a close reading of the ancient Coligny Calendar it reveals a fundamental contradiction to this popular interpretation. The Gaulish year does not begin in darkness but with Samonios, a month whose name and timing signal warmth, light, and the primacy of vitality at the year’s outset. This challenges widespread views and reframes our understanding of the Gaulish annual cycle.

This observation raises a deeper question, both linguistic and spiritual: how did a word originally associated with summer come to be associated with the beginning of winter?

The Etymology of Samonios

The name Samonios (samon-) is linguistically connected to the Proto-Celtic root samo-, meaning “summer.” Cognates appear across the Celtic languages. Old Irish sam, Welsh haf, Breton heven, and Gaulish samonios all refer to summer or the warm season. This suggests that Samonios was originally the summer month—a fitting beginning for the bright half of the year (Samos). Much of the confusion about its meaning comes from later Irish parallels, particularly Samhain, which marks the descent into Giamos (darkness, winter). Some scholars have suggested that Samonios may mean “end of summer” or even “assembly,” viewing the word from a ritual or social perspective rather than a seasonal one.

To further probe this question, consider that the better key to understanding Samonios lies not in its own ambiguity — but in its counterpart, Giamonios.

It’s hard to say what many Coligny months mean. Most interpretations hinge on Samonios—“summer,” “end of summer,” or “gathering.” Instead, we should start with the less disputed Giamonios. The root giam links directly to Proto-Celtic gīamos, meaning “winter” or “cold.” No one claims Giamonios means “winter’s end.” It clearly denotes the dark, cold season. This would be a poor choice for a summer month. This strongly implies Samonios and Giamonios are true opposites, structuring the calendar with a dual rhythm of light and dark.

Further evidence lies in the infix –on–, common in Gaulish divine and cosmic names (Tarvos Trigaranos, Maponos, Epona). It is often taken to mean “great” or “divine.” Thus, Samonios may carry the sense of “Great Summer” or “Divine Brightness.” Giamonios could mean “Great Winter.” They stand for the two vast halves of the sacred year.

Therefore, the Coligny Calendar begins in the season of light—Samonios. This directly refutes the widespread idea that the Celtic year starts in darkness. Instead, it demonstrates that, contrary to common belief, the ancient Gaulish year starts with vitality rather than decline. The Gauls seemed to have deliberately placed cosmic order at the heart of their calendrical beginning. This choice is mirrored in the Greek Attic calendar and is central to the Gaulish worldview.

From Samonios to Samhain: The Semantic Drift

As Celtic languages and cosmologies evolved, Samonios shifted in meaning toward the winter season. Its descendant, Old Irish Samain (later Samhain), was placed not at the start of summer but at winter’s threshold. This shift illustrates how a word tied to summer was semantically repurposed to signal the onset of winter as the Goidelic world redefined the year’s turning points.

Part of this transformation can be traced to Christianization. As Christianity spread across the Celtic-speaking regions, older seasonal festivals were recontextualized within the Christian liturgical year. The establishment of All Saints’ Day on November 1st directly overlapped with Samhain, strengthening the association of the festival with the descent into winter and with the veneration of the dead. This overlap reoriented both internal and cultural calendars, integrating older seasonal observances into the rhythm of Christian feast days.

Early Irish sources mirror this shift. The Sanas Cormaic lists Gaimain after Samain, fixing Samain in late autumn. Martyrologies like the Félire Óengusso and Annála Connacht also link Samain to winter, cold, darkness, and the beginning of the year’s waning half, in step with All Saints’ Day.

Brythonic languages kept the original meaning: Welsh haf and Breton hañv still mean “summer.” In Gaulish and Brythonic contexts, Samonios’ summer association persisted even as Goidelic traditions reinterpreted it for winter.

Samhain thus marks a deeper transformation than a mere linguistic shift. It embodies a process of semantic drift—where words change meaning over time—reflected in the shift from naming the ‘month of summer’ (Samonios) to marking the onset of winter (Samhain). This drift happened gradually as changing cultural, religious, and social realities redefined the word’s role. Shaped by evolving cosmologies, regional distinctions, and the Christian reinterpretation of indigenous seasonal markers, the term that originally meant the entrance into summer eventually came to signify the beginning of winter. This shift demonstrates how a festival rooted in summer evolved, through reinterpretation, to signal the arrival of winter.

Time, Decolonization, and the Gaulish Perspective

For many who engage with Bessus Nouiogalation (BNG), the most significant distinction is that the year begins in spring or early summer rather than in fall or winter. This fundamental shift alters our cosmological orientation. While the ancient Gauls—our ancestors—held diverse perspectives and were not bound by identical rituals, BNG is rooted in intentionally moving away from Western seasonal and religious frameworks, which typically start with decline rather than growth.

Decolonizing practice is not just rejection—it is reorientation. It means reclaiming the Gaulish view of time: not linear from birth to death, but circular, with light and dark generating one another.

Yet why did the Gauls begin the year in the bright season, when their mythology often highlights night, Antumnos (the Otherworld), and the depths of Dubnos (The lower world)? They started days at nightfall and believed themselves born from the Otherworld—ideas seemingly more in line with winter.

Perhaps because light is born from darkness, to begin the year in light-honored creation. As dawn follows night, Samos rises from Giamos. Seeds buried in the earth reach for light and warmth. The Gaulish year, split into two halves, joins rather than opposes them. The 19-year Metonic cycle reinforces this: time is a great spiral, always returning yet never the same.

Starting the year in Samos was not a denial of darkness—it affirmed that we carry light within despite our origins. The Gaulish calendar encodes a cosmic renewal: birth follows death, and it is light that marks the beginning.

The Flow from Samos to Giamos

Understanding Samonios as the start of the bright half of the year centers BNG’s argument: the Gaulish worldview begins with presence, vitality, and cosmic order, not absence or dissolution. Giamos, associated with darkness and decline, follows Samos in a necessary cycle, but the year’s initial movement is toward light and creation. Stating this principle foregrounds the intended argument: choosing to start the year in light is a deliberate cosmological statement about beginnings.

Reconsidering Trinux Samoni

It’s worth noting that many popular interpretations of the Coligny Calendar differ greatly from what the evidence suggests. As researcher Helen McKay aptly observes:

“Like the idea that Samhain starts the Celtic year – which it doesn’t, or that the Celts counted from the dark times of the day, month, and year – which they don’t, they only counted the day from sunset, just as most of their neighbours did, nothing more. Or that their lunar month started with the full moon, which it doesn’t. Or that the notation TRINUX SAMONI refers to three days of Samhain – which it doesn’t.”
— Helen McKay, “Where Does the Coligny Calendar Sit?”

Trinux Samoni, literally meaning “the three nights of Samonios,” did not signify the start of winter, but instead marked a liminal transition tied to renewal—most likely situated at the boundary of Samos, the bright half of the year. BNG’s approach aligns with this interpretation. When the evidence is considered outside modern seasonal frameworks, it is apparent that the year’s cycle commences with illumination. This does not deny darkness, but acknowledges that light emerges from it; we are born from darkness. Thus, the so-called “three nights of Samonios” represent not an entry into winter but an emergence into renewed vitality—rekindling cosmic order after Giamos. Here, at the beginning of the year, vitality first arises. More details on that holiday here.

Cintugiamos: The Descent and the Ancestral Turning

Within the modern practice of Bessus Nouiogalation (BNG), we still recognize a sacred time for death, descent, and remembrance — a festival called Cintugiamos. Occurring toward the end of autumn and the beginning of winter, it parallels Samhain in function but retains a distinctly Gaulish cosmological frame.

During Cintugiamos, the light of Samos wanes, and the days turn inward toward Giamos — the descent into Dubnos, the deep realm beneath all things. It is a time to look to the Regentiâ — the Ancestors — for guidance, as the veil between the realms thins.

Alongside the honored dead, we turn also to the ancestors of our Bessus: to Ogmios, master of eloquence and the binding power of words, and to Celtînâ, the deep well of wisdom and inspiration. Cintugiamos shows us that as light fades, wisdom deepens — that the turning inward is not an ending, but a communion with the roots that nourish life’s return. You can read more about Cintugiamos here.

References

Duval, P.-M. (1976). Les Celtes. Presses universitaires de France.
Olmsted, G. S. (1992). The Gaulish Calendar: A Reconstruction from the Coligny Calendar.
Lambert, P.-Y. (1994). La langue gauloise: Description linguistique, commentaire d’inscriptions choisies. Errance.
Green, M. (1992). Dictionary of Celtic Myth and Legend. Thames & Hudson.

The Core Toutâdêuoi of BNG — Tribal Gods in Bessus Nouiogalation

Written by Branos Carnutodrûidion/Urādos – Gutuatir of BNG

When I first began walking this path — and helping to create it — I remember how overwhelming it felt to look upon the long list of deities within Gaulish Paganism. There were so many names, so many aspects of life represented, that it raised a natural question: how do we decide which deities to incorporate into Bessus Nouiogalation (BNG)?

I myself am a follower of Sucellos and Nantosuelts, another founding member is devoted to Taranis, and another to Carnonos, and so on. It would have been easy to simply include all of our personal favorites and call that our pantheon. But that approach felt too limited. If we were building a new bessus — a new custom, a new toutâ (tribe) — then it needed to be something with deeper meaning, something that reflected not just our individual devotions, but the spirit of the tribe itself.

And then, out of nowhere, Ogmios called to us. He became the voice of our work — the one who guided our words, our inspiration, and our devotion. From there, we began to think of how the ancient tribes may have related to their gods. Each toutâ likely had its own divine patrons: a Toutatis to guard the people, Materês to give life, Regentiâ the ancestors, and others who represented the shared virtues of the community.

It was from that reflection that our core Toutâdêuoi emerged — those who form the heart of our daily rites.

Ogmios, the first ancestor of the Galatîs, the speaker and guide.
Toutatis, the protector of the tribe.
Suleuiâs, the wise guides and keepers of right.
Materês, the life givers and knowers of fate.
Regentiâ, the honored ancestors.
Celtînâ, the mother of virtue.
Carnonos, the guardian between worlds and guide of many ways.

Many of these gods and goddesses were completely new to me, and to us. I didn’t know their stories, their symbols, or how to connect with them. But as time went on, I began to see that these deities are not far from us at all. They are animistic and symbolic, deeply woven into the rhythms of home, self, tribe, and the paths we walk. They are ancestral in a mythological sense, the living currents that have always been. Of course, our devotion doesn’t end with these few. Within our custom, there are many other Deuoi who hold their own sacred places—gods and goddesses who guide us through the seasons, who stand beside us in moments of magic, who embody the virtues we strive for, and who dwell within the natural forces that surround us.

Some Deuoi belong intimately to the tribe (the list above)—they are the core Toutâdêuoi, those whose presence defines and sustains the identity of Bessus Nouiogalation (BNG). Others, while still part of the tribe’s spiritual life, reach beyond it—they are more cosmic, seasonal, personal, or situational, touching wider aspects of life, nature, and spirit that transcend the boundaries of the tribe itself.

Together they form the living web of our devotion, from the hearth to the horizon.

For all initiated members of BNG, these daily rites form a shared rhythm — a way to remain connected with these tribal deities and with each other. It’s important for each of us to know their names and the invocations that call to them, for they represent the common spiritual ground of our community.

That said, your own household devotions may — and should — grow beyond this list. Over time, you might find other deities from the broader Gaulish pantheon, or from your own cultural and ancestral background, who speak to you. That is the natural flowering of practice. But for the tribe as a whole, these rites to the core Toutâdêuoi serve as our foundation — a place where all of us can meet, no matter where our paths lead.

Through these small daily gestures — the offering, the invocation, the quiet moment of reflection — we strengthen our dêuocariâ (piety), nurture Sumatreiâ (good relationship), and keep the flame of Gala alive within ourselves and our community.

Read the Daily Rites Here →

Scrollmaking

Written By Caromāros – Gutuatir of BNG

A 20 foot long blank lined scroll, approximately 2/3 of the way unrolled. — A 20 foot long blank lined scroll, approximately 2/3 of the way unrolled

I’ve been practicing calligraphy lately and I really wanted to dig into how I should mix that in with a handmade writing medium, plus I needed a new altar tool for my daily practices anyway, so I decided to put down the entire “run” of daily rites for Bessus Nouiogalation, 1 whole week’s worth with a little personal flair.

The grand sum of Dēuoi, or deities, acknowledged in the daily rites throughout a week is 8, counting (in order of appearance on the scroll) Aidonā, Carnonos, Ogmios, the Toutatis Galatos, the Suleuiās, the Materēs, the Regentiā, and Celtinā. I wanted to do the script fully in the Iextis Nouiogalaticos, or tongue of the new galatis, and so I set out to figure out how in the heck to make that a thing.

An early (scrapped) prototype of a Gaulish book of shadows.

Let’s be real with ourselves, I’m a huge freakin’ history nerd, almost to a fault. I rock around in a belted plaid, I carve little wooden figurines for my kids, I make meals and bread based on historical finds – honestly, if I’m gonna try something new, I look for as old a tutorial as I’m capable of finding. I can confidently say that I enjoy a challenge.

I’ll even carve a rock if I’m sufficiently inspired (or bored).

I went as far as to create an entire branch-off from the Lepontic runoi commonly used among Gaulish polytheistic practitioners, and mixed them with uncial calligraphy’s flowing, almost-liquid script. It can even go frontwards and backwards, that’s the sort of rabbit-hole it seems I’ve become used to diving down on a regular weeknight – I don’t mind, honestly! (I’m sure I’ll share this script in a later post, so stay tuned..)

An early work-up of the 18 characters, before I got things dialed in.

I’ll come back from the tangent now, but a challenge is NOT what I would define scrollmaking as!

I see people all over the internet making a Book of Shadows here, a practice journal there, and I must say, it’s always been something that appealed to me, although my practices aren’t quite so complicated as to fill a whole book from cover to cover, and so I wanted to search for other options that resonated with me and reflected the tone of a religion from thousands of years ago. That was when I settled upon scrolls, inspired by the large amount of them scattered across ancient-themed Hollywood sets, and I wanted to know more.

Tough luck, Caromāros, not a snowball’s chance!

The definition of a “scroll” is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. Lame try at humor aside, Oxford Languages describes the noun “scroll” in the context of a writing surface as “a roll of parchment or paper for writing or painting on.”. Notice the lack of any form of “thing” to roll that parchment or paper upon? I sure did.

A scroll found at the Villa of Papyri in Herculaneum.

I then had to look into it more, and Carla Hurt, the writer of this blog post on foundinantiquity.com, brought up some very good points when referencing Roman scrolls, found both in-situ as well as in media depictions. From the layers of volcanic ash that covered the Villa of the Papyri in Herculaneum, enough preservation was granted to give us carbonized scrolls that were written “back in the day”, and none of them have wooden bars in them.

Additionally, Carla points to the Roman marble statue of Sophocles, an ancient copy of a Greek statue from the 4th century B.C.E., which depicts Sophocles (surprise!) with a bag of scrolls (also a shock, I know!). One thing noticeable from this statue that pertains to our topic here is that the scrolls all finish in a flat end and are all the same length, insinuating that there was no rod or bar in these scrolls either.

This is all great work, and it’s super helpful for anyone who genuinely wants to create something right out of history, but I wanted to make something that I would be capable of holding in my own hands, pass around to people, put in my bag and bring with me to different places, all without worrying about it being crushed or bent. I think the reason that all these prop-masters have enforced the idea of a scroll with a bar is the durability that it adds – you simply wrap the paper or parchment tight around the bar, tie it off, and now you’re clear of the risk! It also gives you something to help wrap it up with, as you can turn the knobs on the end of the bar as you would a dial, yet the fancy embellishments are unnecessary if you’re just going for something that will keep your work safe.

The actual creation of the scroll, the reason for this whole post, is probably the simplest thing you can do. Like, I wrote this whole wall of text for gluing paper onto a stick, people. There isn’t much to it, I swear!

I got a roll of paper 9 meters (30 feet) long, and then I figure out how wide I want the whole scroll to be – let’s say a standard paper width of 8.5 inches. I then unroll the paper to a manageable length, because it’s DAMNED long, and mark the paper suitably with a pencil and ruler. You just need to measure up from one end to the desired distance, put a dot on the paper, and then once you’ve reached your desired length off of the roll, go back and connect all the dots. Take your ruler again, put something disposable like an old board underneath where you’re going to make your cut, and get a really sharp knife to make the cut.

That’s it. The paper is in a roll, it naturally wants to roll back up on itself, and going off of the way that scrolls were made historically, you can call it done at this point and walk away with something straight out of a monastery. I figured I’d go further though, so get yourself a piece of hardwood dowel from the big box store, cut it down to 25.5 centimeter (10 inch) long, and then pop some cabinet knobs onto the ends of it with superglue.

One rod with the top knob glued on, pre-sanding, next to another that is yet to be finished.

You’ll find that the cabinet knobs don’t quite match the size of the dowel, they’ll be smaller, so that’s why we went longer on the rod – so that we can sand it down to a smooth transition! Just make sure you mark where the paper will be, and don’t go into that zone, or you’ll have some difficulties when it comes to the next part.

Once your ends are sanded, you’ve applied any finishes or stains that you want, and you’re pleased with the result, take the superglue again and glue down one end of the paper onto the rod. Set it all up so that the rod goes in between the part you’re gluing and the rest of the scroll, which will help the scroll want to roll the right way – if you don’t do this, it’s fine, it just takes more effort to roll it until the paper gets used to the new curve! Get it all rolled up, and now you can do whatever else you’d like.

When you go to write on it, if you want it horizontal, just unroll it with the bar on the right and the paper going out towards the left (unless you’re writing in a left-facing script, in which case flip it so the bar is on the left and the paper goes rightwards.). At this point you can go back through the scroll and mark your pages and your lines with ruler and pencil, and once you’ve written with ink you can erase the pencil from the page, or leave it.

If you’d rather the scroll gets held at the top and goes downward, like the image in the collective mind of what a town crier looked like, then you can forego pages and just mark your lines, the pages are just so you don’t have to unroll 5 feet of paper to finish a single paragraph!

Scroll orientation for top-down writing (can be left-or right-facing).

Now what the heck are you still doing here?! You just read an entire blog post on how to make a scroll, clearly you’re interested! Go roll up some paper and write on it already!

My scroll in use. I’d love to see yours when you finish!

Poetic Reflections on the Virtues of BNG — The Îanoi of Bessus Nouiogalation

Written by Branos Carnutodrûidion/Urādos – Gutuatir of BNG

A short reflection on our virtues.

Dêuocariâ – Piety
It is our sacred breath, offered with every flame.
Luxtiâ – Duty
It is our place on the Wheel — the role we rise to with steady hands.
Uissus – Wisdom / Knowledge
It is the soul’s pursuit, carried through the long journey of becoming..
Îanolabâ – Right Speech
It is the voice that sounds like the Carnux — clear, bold, and meant to be heard with purpose.
Doniocariâ – Compassion
It is the open hand extended in love.
Oigetocâriâ – Hospitality
It is the warm hearth that never turns away a guest.
Raton – Generosity
It is the gift that keeps the wheel unbroken.
Uiridios – Truth
It is the still water that reveals all things, clear and undistorted..
Decos – Honor
It is the quiet torc we wear in the unseen.
Uîrolaniâ – Justice
It is the spear we raise for the silenced.
Galâ – Bravery
It is our inner fire — steady, defiant, and unwavering in the storm.
Ûxelliâ – Pride
It is the banner we carry into the world.

Ogmios Walks Beside Me — How the God of Speech Shaped Bessus Nouiogalation

Written By Branos Carnutodrûidion/Urādos – Gutuatir of BNG

I want to take a moment to share with all of you, whether you’re part of BNG or simply watching our journey unfold.

When BNG was first forming, three of us came together to shape what we hoped would be a living spiritual path rooted in Gaulish polytheism. At that time, we didn’t have a shared framework. Each of us brought our own cosmology, our own devotions, and our own understandings of the Deuoi. We came together with Sucellos, Taranos, Artio—gods who had long stood at the centers of our individual worship. It was a challenge just getting into the same spiritual rhythm.

And then something unexpected happened.

We didn’t summon Ogmios. We weren’t studying him. In fact, none of us had given him much attention at all. But like a quiet figure at the edge of a firelight, he stepped forward. Not loudly. Not in a flash. Just… undeniably. At first, it was disorienting. Ogmios pulled us out of our comfort zones. He demanded precision in speech, integrity in action, and courage in communication. He wasn’t interested in idle devotion or vague platitudes. He wanted us to speak clearly, to live virtuously, and to teach with purpose. And so, without ever formally choosing him, he became the guiding force of BNG. Our symbol became based on him. Our foundational teachings were shaped around his example. And over time, as our prayers took form and our doctrines unfolded, the presence of Ogmios wove itself into every part of what we were becoming. Eventually, the other founders stepped away, each for their own reasons, and I became the last of the original three still walking this path. Others came in to take up the work of the Delgaunoi, the Keepers of the Bessus, but Ogmios remained constant. And somewhere along the way, something even more unexpected happened: he stopped being just the guide of BNG and became the god who reshaped me.

You see, I never loved writing. Language, grammar, the art of shaping thoughts into words—it all felt like a burden to me. I stumbled through it. I avoided it. I didn’t think it mattered as much as action or devotion or feeling. But Ogmios thought otherwise. He became a teacher to me, in the truest sense of the word. Not one who scolded or demanded, but one who held up a mirror and asked, “What do you really mean?” He walked beside me as I tried, failed, rewrote, and slowly—painfully—learned how to find my voice. He didn’t just help me write better. He taught me how to think better. To refine my thoughts, to examine them, and to take responsibility for what I said. Every sentence became an offering. Every carefully chosen word, an act of devotion. Through Ogmios, I came to understand that language is a spiritual tool. It can heal. It can destroy. It can liberate or bind. And the ethics of language—truthfulness, clarity, restraint, kindness—became virtues I had to cultivate. Not just as a writer or a teacher, but as a Druid, as a human being.

In time, Ogmios taught me that the power of speech isn’t about sounding wise or being persuasive. It’s about alignment. It’s about having your words, your actions, and your soul all point in the same direction. He helped me recognize that virtue isn’t just what we do—it’s how we speak, how we teach, how we build and share meaning. And so now, Ogmios stands at the center of BNG—not just as a divine presence, but as the architect of its soul. He shapes our devotion, but also our structure, our ethics, and our discipline. He is the god of the tethered tongue and the unshakable virtue. And he is, without question, my god. I didn’t expect to be his devotee. I didn’t expect him to be mine. But that’s the nature of the gods. We may set out looking for them, but sometimes, they’re the ones who find us.

Through BNG, Ogmios has made me a speaker. Through Ogmios, BNG has become a tradition of voice, virtue, and vision. And through all of it, I have come to realize that we are not just followers of the gods—we are their students.