Galatîbessus – 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

Why We Follow the Gaulish Invocation Formula (Adgarion) | Bessus Nouiogalation

Written by Branos Carnutodrûidion/Urādos – Gutuatir of BNG

Our Gaulish Invocation Formula

One might ask why we follow a set formula for invocations — or Adgarion, as we say in Gaulish.

The formula itself is not unique to us alone. It is an ancient agent of connection — a pattern found throughout many cultures and ages. From the hymns of the Greeks to the invocations of Rome, Egypt, and the Near East, humanity has always used structured speech to commune with the sacred. This is not mere repetition or dogma; it is participation in an ancient art of divine language. Form brings order to intent, and order is what allows our words to bridge the realms. We bring structure to our intentions and weave them into the pattern of the cosmos. Ensuring harmony between our intent, our words, and the powers we call.

In the our tradition, the formula reflects the principle of Samos — light, harmony, and intelligibility — yet it always moves within the mystery of Giamos, the unseen and transformative. Speech becomes the meeting of these two: the clear articulation of Samos carried on the breath of Giamos. When we raise our voices to the Dêuoi, we enter the realm of Ogmios, the god of eloquence and sacred speech. He binds the hearts of listeners with golden chains of words — and so too do we, through our invocations, bind ourselves to the divine through word and will.

Our words are not mere sounds. They are acts of creation — living forces that shape reality, carry offerings, and open the way for the divine to move within our world. To speak with clarity, confidence, and reverence is to perform a magical act. This structure aids not only ritual coherence but also memory and confidence. When you stand at your altar, beneath a tree, or by a river, this rhythm becomes second nature. You may not have a set invocation memorized — nor do you need to. You may create freely within the pattern, shaping your words to the moment and the presence you feel.

The structure becomes the scaffold of inspiration — a way to keep your focus flowing, your voice sure, and your intent clear. Even when improvising, you are still walking the path of the formula: grounded in order, open to the breath of creation. Thus, the Adgarion is both an art and a discipline — the meeting of breath, voice, and spirit in sacred alignment.

My Reflection on our Gaulish Invocation Formula

Calling on the Recipient – opens the way and invites presence.
This is the moment of opening, where your voice reaches across the veil.
To call upon a Deuos, ancestor, or spirit is to awaken the relationship.
It is not a demand, but a recognition — an honoring of their presence and nature. Here, confidence and clarity are key. Speak their name with respect, and the space becomes charged with their awareness.

Offering to the Recipient – establishes balance and reciprocity.
The act of giving creates balance. Through offering, we express gratitude and reciprocity — the heartbeat of BNG’s gifting cycle. What we offer need not be grand; what matters is sincerity and alignment. Bread, drink, incense, or words — all carry weight when given with true heart.
In giving, we open ourselves to receive.

Arcimâs (Requests) – focuses intent and centers the will.
Though optional, this is where one may voice what is desired. But requests should come from humility, not entitlement. To ask is to align one’s will with the flow of the cosmos — not to bend it. Sometimes, no request is needed; the act of devotion itself is enough.

Argument – express purpose and desire.
This is where reason meets reverence. Here, we state why we are calling — the cause that shapes the rite. It need not be long; even a few words said with truth are powerful. This is the grounding of the act, the anchor that holds it in purpose.

Petition
The heart’s voice speaks here. This is the prayer, the direct appeal, the human reaching for the divine. It is not merely asking for aid — it is the meeting point where hope, trust, and divine will touch. The Petition is where the ritual becomes personal, and intention takes form in the unseen.

Closing – seals the rite, restoring harmony between the worlds.
All things must return to stillness. The Closing gives thanks, honors what has transpired, and seals the work. Here we complete the cycle of giving and receiving, returning the space to balance and peace. It is both farewell and fulfillment — the moment where the sacred and the ordinary part ways in mutual respect.

The Adgarion is not a mechanical sequence; it is a rhythm — a song of intention, voice, and divine exchange. When followed with mindfulness, it shapes the rite into an act of harmony with the order of things —where every word becomes both offering and spell, and every silence holds the echo of the Dêuoi.

This rhythmic order mirrors cosmic order (Couīrion). Creation began with the dance of fire and water, giving birth to breath and life. By following the formula, we reenact that sacred beginning — each invocation becoming a small cosmos in itself. Through this, we take part in Assus, the harmony of right order, and in Dedmis, the proper ways gifted by the Gods.
The Adgarion is not merely words spoken — it is how we help speak the world into being anew.

Note:
There are many ways to create and speak invocations, and each carries its own beauty and truth. We do not claim greater understanding or authority over any other path. Within BNG, we follow this older formula in honor of the ancestors — preserving the rhythm and order they once knew. This is simply the way BNG does it —a reflection of our tradition’s reverence for structure, voice, and a living connection to the sacred.

Creating Your Own Rites for BNG — A Guide to Gaulish Ritual Crafting

Written by Branos Carnutodrûidion/Urādos – Gutuatir of BNG

In the Bessus Nouiogalation (BNG), rites are not only expressions of devotion—they are tools for shaping intention, interacting with the divine, and bringing balance and clarity into your life. While the Hearth‑rite (Adaddus Aidoniâs) provides the foundation, practitioners may wish to create their own rites for boundaries, healing, praise, or other purposes.

This guide is designed to help you understand the structure of BNG rites and provide a flexible template for crafting your own. By following the simple framework of Opening → (Main Work) → Closing, you can create rituals that are clear, intentional, and in harmony with the tradition.

Whether you are performing rites alone or within a group, this guide will give you the tools to format, organize, and execute your rites in a way that respects the sacred space, your intention, and the flow of energy within the BNG practice.

Opening

This is where you prepare the space, yourself, and the energy for the rite. In BNG, this includes:

Glanosâgon (Purification) – clearing mind, body, and spirit.
- Begin by washing your hands and saying: “Glanolamâs” (“Clean hands”).
- Then, swipe your forehead saying: “Glanobritus” (“Clean mind”).
- Then, swipe your face with both hands: “Glananation” (“Clean soul”).
- Optional: You might also cleanse your space if it’s new or if you feel it needs a refresh.
Louceton (Lighting) – bringing light into the sacred space and establishing your nemeton.
- Light the candle(s) (Dagilâ) or hearth‐flame.
- Say: “Dauiûmî aidun sondon Aidoniâs” (“I light this flame of Aidonâ”).
- Perform the boundary demarcation: circumambulate around the flame/altar three times, or trace the boundary: “sun‑wise circle motion… three times” for the three realms of Drus (Albios, Bitus, Dubnos). Using Ponem (Mugwort) that you lit from the fire. We use Mugwort to facilitate a connection to Drus, as it helps with cycles and purifies, and it is a powerful calming herb for connection.
  - As you do this, say:
    Albios ux nos, Bitus ambi nos, Dumnos uo anse, exugriûmî in sindon mediolanon do legiû nemeti mou. Aidona aidus tou berait teððin eti leucetun, ac cei butâ tou anauâit comadberon anson.
    I give you this offering
    
    “Albios above us, Bitus around us, and Dumnos below us, I enter into this sacred center to establish my nemeton. Aidonâ may your light bring warmth and illumination, and may your presence enrich our communion.
    datiûmî addatun sindon tei”
- Offer some dried herbs, etc, to Aidona
Gatekeeper (Optional) – inviting Carnonos to your rite if you feel called to. If your rite involves liminality, boundary crossing, transitions, then you might invoke Carnonos.
- Adgariomos/Adgariūmī Carnonon
  Ancorios mantalon
  Agios matos alami
  Arxiomos/Arxiumi agnî eri adaððun sondon
  Uêdiâs anson/imon cluâontor
  Rodâmos/Rodâmî addatus etic bratun tê
  
  “We/I call upon Carnonos
  Opener of the ways
  Wise guide of the herd
  We/I ask for your guidance during this rite
  May our/my prayers be heard
  We/I give offering and thanks to you”

The opening is about setting intention, hallowing the space, and grounding yourself. It creates a container for whatever comes next.

The Rite (Main Work)

This is the core of your ritual — the heart of your rite where your intent takes form. Whether you are performing a rite of protection, boundaries, healing, praise, holidays, or any other purpose, this is where the work is done.

You would state your purpose clearly, naming your intent and reason for the rite. Then Invoke the relevant deities, ancestors, or spirits. Perform symbolic acts or offerings that align with your goal — such as lighting candles, giving drink or food, marking a boundary, or speaking words of power. Engage in reflection or communion, taking a quiet moment to connect with the powers you’ve called.

In BNG, invocations follow a simple formula:

Calling on the Recipient (Invocation/Adgarion) – Address and invite the deity or spirit.
Offering to the Recipient – Present your gifts in gratitude and reverence.
Items are given as part of the gifting cycle — as they give, so we give.
Arcimâs (Requests) – Optional. You may ask for blessings, guidance, or aid.
- Argument – The reason or purpose for calling upon them.
- Petition – A direct and heartfelt request for their assistance, if desired.
Closing – Words of thanks, praise, and dismissal offered with respect.

Think of this as the meat of the rite, where the spiritual work is done. Everything in this section flows from the clarity and sacred space established in the opening. Have fun here, ritual crafting is an art form in itself and can be very rewarding. So let your creativity flow.

Note: When creating a rite in the Bessus Nouiogalation (BNG), it is essential to focus on the tradition’s gnosis, not personal interpretations or outside frameworks. Each Deoui is understood within the BNG cosmology with particular roles, attributes, and functions. Now, if you are creating a rite for your Tegobessus, anything goes.

Below is an example using Sucellos for a Boundary Rite from my house Tegos Carnution.

Intent

We/I gather here today to call upon Sucellos, To help create a boundary around my home, land, space, or person. As he is like the wolf circling the edges, And the vines that entangle and hold fast, May his presence guard all that lies within, Keeping harm without and peace within.

Calling on the Recipient (Invocation/Adgarion)

We invoke Sucellos,
The Good Striker,
Lord of boundaries and the vines,
Shaper of the land and its gifts,
You who walk between field and forest,
Between home and horizon.
Stand with us now,
Bless and defend all that lies within.

(Walk the boundary or stand at the threshold. Tap the ground or posts lightly with a staff, branch, or hammer to mark the space. As you move, speak words of strength and peace.)

Offering (Addatus)

We give offering and thanks to you, Sucellos.
May this drink, this bread, and the smoke of our incense
Be pleasing to you.

(Pour the libation or place the offering at the boundary marker, door, or edge of your space. You may light candles or incense at each corner or doorway, saying as you do: “May no darkness pass this flame.”)

Requests (Arcimâs)

If it pleases you, Sucellos,
Grant strength to these bounds,
And peace to all who dwell within.

(As you speak, visualize grape vines encircling your home or sacred space — a barrier of calm and balance.)

Argument

We call upon you,
For you guard what is sacred and safe.

(You may strike the ground once with your hand, sealing your words with intent.)

Petition

Let these boundaries be strong,
And all ill turned away.

(Imagine the grape vines around your space growing. Feel the peace settle within.)

Closing

Cheer to you, Sucellos,
Thanks to you, Guardian of Boundaries.
We praise you, Good Striker,
We go in peace, and peace abides within.

(Conclude by striking the earth once more or placing your hand over your heart, affirming the harmony and strength of the boundary.)

Remember that our words are not the only part of communicating with the Deuoi. Our position—how we hold ourselves — helps us communicate with the Deuoi; it also allows us to focus our thoughts, which affects our emotions.
Standing with elbows close to your side, your hand outstretched, and your palms up.

Closing

After the main work is complete:

Perform Incoron (Closing) to formally close the rite.
- You may add any closing words specific to your rite: e.g., “May the boundary remain firm until I release it”; “May health flow until the ailment is gone”; “May praise ascend until the Deity’s glory fills us”.
  - Say:
    Albios ux nos, Bitus ambi nos, Dumnos uo anse, nu adgabiûmî / adgabiomosnîs mediolanon sindon. brâton tei, Aidona, are teððun etic leuceton. brâton tei, Carnone, are ancoriaton mantalonon. molâiûr / molâmor te. exiâiûmî / exiâmos tancû.
    eðði senâtun.
    
    “Albios above us, Bitus around us, and Dumnos below us, We/I now leave this sacred center. Thanks to you Aidonâ for warmth and light. Thanks to you Carnonos for opening the ways. I/We praise you. I/We go in peace.
    It is done.”
As you say the above, circle the flame three times again, then put out the flame by covering or pinching it. Then take a moment of silence.
Extinguish candles, tidy your altar, and allow yourself a moment of silent reflection.

The closing grounds the work, honors the sacred, and returns you to the ordinary world with intention intact.

Note: BNG likes to keep Invocations short, as this helps with memory and translation into Gaulish.

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 →

Battle of Alesia: Reflection and Rite

Written by Branos Carnutodrûidion/Urādos – Gutuatir of BNG

At the edge of the village, as dusk drapes the land in violet shadow, a farmer casts a bronze wheel into the spring. His whisper rides the water — a prayer for rain, for fertile soil, for balance — even as the drums of war beat faintly on the horizon, carrying the shadow of Alesia.
Behind him, the hearth burns bright; his wife tends the flames, murmuring blessings, while their child fingers a small amber amulet at the neck, a talisman against fate.
In the moonlit woods nearby, a healer stoops, cutting herbs with her left hand, honoring the old ways in solemn silence.
And on the morrow, a warrior will claim the champion’s cut of meat at the feast, raising his right hand — the sacred hand — in oath before the gods, steel and spirit intertwined, ready to meet the tide of battle at Alesia.

This is a praise story, reflecting the everyday life of the Gaul on the eve of the fall of Alesia — a moment to honor the ordinary acts, the quiet rituals, and the courage woven into daily life. As we move towards October 4th, which is a time to honor those at Alesia, let’s all light a candle to remember and honor those Senistrei.

The Rite: This is using our Molātocridiū and inspiration from our Gaulish brother D’ian.

Cleanse: This prepares you physically and spiritually for ritual.

Wash hands and say: Glanolamâs “Clean hands”
Swipe your forehead and say: Glanobritus “Clean mind”
Swipe down the face with both hands and say: Glananation “Clean soul” (This is based on the idea of the soul residing in the head.)

Light Candles: Light a candle or candles in honor of the ancestors. (if you can keep the candle burning do so (unless you have cats lol)

Turn Left: Begin by turning to the left once. This shifts your orientation toward the ancestral realm.

Invoke the Ancestors (while lighting incense):

Gaulish: Senomaterês etic Senaterês . Senoueniâs

English: Old mothers and old fathers . Old families

Libation: Pour a small amount of your drink onto the ground or in cups as an offering, then take a sip yourself.

Right-Hand Kiss: Kiss your right hand and place it on the ground in honor of your ancestors.

Turn Right: Turn to the right to symbolically leave the otherworld. This ensures a safe return from the ancestral realm.

Sit in silence, allowing a sacred silence to fall. Listen for omens and the voices of the ancestors.

Offer praise and acknowledgment to the ancestors.

Gaulish: Molâmî Senistrei

English Translation: I praise you, Ancestors.

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!