Why Ollamh Counselling?
A poet, a witch, a Buddhist, and a King walk into a bar.
I’m A Little Bit Bìyǎnhú & A Little Bit Britta Perry
This profession, counselling, attracts a certain kind of egotism of which I am not immune to. To sit in another’s world, reality, experience, and presume we have some kind of skill to navigate this realm, is to assume much about our own ability to sit with discomfort and our own foibles. I find, as a trainee[1], that the further into this realm of psychology, therapy, and counselling I go, the more I uncover there is a string of egocentrism that aligns itself perfectly with the cause of mental health. In some ways, it would be unavoidable; how can one not fuel the ego, when the entire form our work takes in within the mind.
In November 2019 I became very ill. Up until that year, I had worked myself to the bone as a substitute teacher, thrown into any environment the agencies had available, from pre-school to special needs; offered no resources or support staff, I tried to help one specific student with a host of mental health concerns. Due to lack of resources, I could not manage his behaviour and he was placed back into a system that had spat him out to me those months ago. I remember sitting alone, listening to the other teachers telling me how I must feel so happy I no longer have to deal with such a problematic child; all I could think was how I had failed him. Alongside this, I had taken up various vices — cigarettes, drinking — to try and combat the mounting stress. I became anti-social, unkind, even cruel to people I loved. The combination of my own mental health from within, the precarious, unstable environment I was forced to work within, and my own habits, culminated in my Crohn’s Disease reaching new levels of inflammation. My colon had to be removed, and now I live with a stoma bag. I am the healthiest now I have ever been.
Like anyone who has gone through a health-scare, I decided it was time to investigate my inner life. Sitting in a hospital ward, during COVID-19, my surgery paused for a number of months due to the rising chance of being infected, I had a white wall to stare at. I remembered the story of Bìyǎnhú, a zen Buddhist who found enlightenment by performing no act other than staring at the wall of his cave. By no means am I comparing myself with a pseudo-historical Buddhist figure (I didn’t stare at a wall, silently, neither eating or drinking, for nine years; I was listening to BBC Radio 4, playing Candy Crush on my phone), but this period of immobility gave me the time to meditate and consider what had led me to that moment. And like any good egotistical white man, I discovered magick (with the all important K), and decided to go into therapy.
It seems one of the natural paths, in my experience, that those of us who have been cruel and unjust in the past end up in these psychotherapeutic professions. Like Community’s Britta Perry, we presume our own darkened paths give us a clearer insight into the human condition. Our counselling work becomes a kind of penance for how we behaved before; we long to be able to help others leave their own pits of despair. But, ironically, what is the first lesson a counsellor learns when they begin this new journey? You are not there to fix the client. You are not there to give advice.
Magic comes with a K
Alan Moore famously said[2] that one evening he told all of his friends he was going to become a magician, and that the next morning he realised he had to follow through on this promise. After my own health scare, I too discovered a flair of the magickal, and in much the same embarrassment, it is now a part of my journey regardless of how ridiculous it may sound. However, counselling, along with a certain egotism, comes with a layer of spirituality. It is natural that the mind — where imagination, faith, creativity lie — is a realm associated with the magickal[3] and the spiritual. Too often though, we may rely on magical thinking to help us with our problems, rather than taking a scientific and analytical approach. Psychology has taught us much in terms of how the mind handles trauma, love, anxiety, and excitement, and as a counsellor — especially one like myself who practices a kind of witchcraft — we can’t lose sight of the training we have received as counsellors and replace it with spells that may do more harm than good.
What I needed to accomplish, to better understand my own truth, was find a middle-ground between the academic systems where therapy has sprung, and the radical traditions & experiments of witchery. Carl Jung became an obvious first stepping stone; Jung often uses occultist language in his psychodynamic texts (such as in The Red Book) — but this did not seem enough to justify the path I wished to walk.
Counselling, specifically, is not an advisory service. As counsellors it is not our job to fix the problems presented, guide our clients to specific solutions we think the most beneficial, or give advice we would have liked to hear ourselves during life. Rather, it is the counsellors obligation to navigate the clients world — their reality — through open questions, active listening, and a person-led approach where the client is the focus of all future care. Magick on the other hand, is about forcing your will upon the world around you. Aleister Crowley[4] spoke of a law: “do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law, love under law, love under will”. Many magicians ignore that final section, that indicates that doing whatever you like must come from a place of love — but still, the paradox occurs. A counsellor cannot force their will, opinions, and advice onto a client, as this could cause irreparable harm, but a witch utilises this will to benefit those around them. How can the two come together?
Cunning: it takes a village
We often speak of witches in two distinct ways. The former is that of Hollywood stylings, Eva Green casting spells, Bette Midler being fabulous. And the latter is a comment on the hangings and the injustice served to those witches historically.
We forget, however, even when we speak of these injustices, of the scale of such an atrocity[5]. Over 16,000[6] people across Europe were charged of witchcraft and put to death during the trials, an enormous majority of them women. Even today, witches are persecuted against, especially in countries like America with a large Christian population; witches speak of having to remain in the broom closet out of fear of being ostracised by their own families. I call myself a witch, rather than a wizard or magician, to remind myself of the history of my spirituality.
Historically, witches played an important role in the community. The word pagan originally meant someone who did not live in the community directly; it did not come with the spiritual, or magical, connotations we assume today[7] but merely indicated someone who lived outside the borders of a settlement. As well as a huge etymological shift with such terms, we can begin to see comparisons to our own present-day reality.
Witches[8] lived on the outskirts of a settlement. They provided knowledge of herbs for healing, often performed abortions to women from these settlements, and provided insight both into the mind and soul. At this time, before the arrival of Christian religiosity, such acts would be a normal part of the community. They were, in another sense, small businesses owned ostensibly by matriarchal units, which I suppose in another flair of language, we’d call covens. Their reason for being oppressed and murdered in what can only be described as genocide, was due to their independence. As well as giving autonomy to the bodies of those from the community, they could run their practices as individuals. It is this that needed to be quelled by the Empires that were forming, and not the magick themselves. Ideas that witches kept demons, or summoned Satan, is a form of propaganda. Independent thinking needed to be classified as something unwanted. Frugality, hard-work, and piety were elevated above the community spirit that came from the witches and the people they helped[9].
Although the witch and cunning folk of old were not trained in the styles of therapy that someone like myself is, they served a similar purpose. They existed outside of the community, yet supported it. They guided, but did not advise. They shared knowledge and resources with those around them. As much as the psychotherapeutic community is overrun with capitalistic ideals that are more aligned with the genocidal Christians of old[10], it is evident that the historicity of our work stems from the cunning people of our past, of our lineages. Black communities often speak of ancestor worship in magickal contexts and communities, and this connection to history is vital in how we proceed with radical empathy, a skill evidently required in therapeutic work[11].
Ollamh Érenn
Still, it must be noted at this point during my studies — both counselling oriented and spiritual — that a certain egotism remained. That need to fix, to heal, to — in another language — cast spells to make everything better still held[12] on to me too strongly. Where the egotism reached a peak was where I found the name for my counselling service without looking much further: Wikipedia[13]. I know. I’m sorry.
Ollamh is an Irish term that means “most great.” Irish Mythology is a complex and often contradictory recording of folklore, history, and magical events, due to Christianity erasing most of what would have been the native stories and history of the land. Old Kings were transformed into mythological gods that never existed. Gods were transformed into demons. So it is hard to judge if what is being discussed is merely an elaborated-upon true history, obfuscated with magical language, or if it was part of the storytelling culture of the original inhabitants. Regardless, an ollamh was a rank, with each of the old Kings of Ireland possessing an ollamh of some kind, as a kind of advisor. In true fantasy retellings, Little Finger[14] of Game of Thrones could perhaps be classed as a kind of ollamh.
The ollamh acted as a professor of knowledge, a poet, a bard, and an advisor to the king. They may possess legal knowledge, or insight into how to rule a nation. What intrigued me most about this term is how it shared similarities with the witches and cunning folk I described before. A person, within society, but also removed from it, guiding those around them, but not directly giving solutions to problems. They acted creatively, as a writer, a bard, and a poet, utilising the powers of storytelling and art to help the King realise his potential.
Here I felt was the term that solved the paradox between witchery and counselling. I had seen similar terms in other faiths and religions, but often in black or indigenous communities, and I did not want to steal from cultures my own country had historically oppressed. The Ollamh of Irish Mytho-History aligned as closely as I could find to my own ancestry and background, and allowed space for guidance and witchcraft to share a space.
When I see tarot cards, I think of inspirational cards with emotions written upon them, to open discussion. When I read about sigilisation, I think of techniques in therapy where you ask the client to draw out their concerns. When I read about mantras and chants, I am reminded of positive thinking. Buddhist meditation became mindfulness. And although there is a capitalistic and culturally appropriative thread to some of these lines of inquiry, it is evident that humanity is returning to the old ways of accessing knowledge, of benefiting mental health, and helping the community. As much as the witches of old were a community healer, so are therapists a kind of guide, an ollamh, using all the knowledge at their disposal to help their king — their client — realise their potentials.
Much to learn…
Solve et Coagula is an alchemical term. It means to take apart and put back together again. When I sit with a client, and listen to what they are bringing to the table, we are laying out what is within the clients world so they can see it in a clearer light. We do not tell the client what these things mean, nor do we tell them what to do with this knowledge; we merely shine a light on their successes, failures, woes, and happiness before bringing them back together again.
I called myself a witch to remind myself of the oppressive, genocidal history that women and alternative thinkers have undergone. I call myself ollamh to remind myself of the cultural impact of these things. I am a cishet white man. I am English, historically a truly awful nation towards Ireland. Although there is some discomfort in using a term from Irish history, I could not find a similar term within my own. Historically, England has oppressed and colonised the world, erasing histories, destroying lives. I wanted to remind myself of that, without ignoring the fact I am an Englishman.
This is also why Ollamh Counselling is a decolonial project. I am new to this endeavour[15], of decolonising my way of thinking, of utilising the practices of the world in an inclusive manner that does not erase or appropriate the cultures, societies, and knowledges of others. We presume, often, in our therapeutic work, that the way we are doing it is the right way, the only way, the way unlocked for future generations alone. But often, even though these methodologies can be accurate and beneficial, they are merely Western, white, Eurocentric solutions to problems. The very notion of taking a client into a separate room, confidentiality, and removing them from the outer-world to discuss their mental health before returning them to it — all of this is a Western understanding of mental health, with all the grubby, messy, (sometimes beautiful) history that comes with it. If we look to the communities of “the global south”, we find that community-led practices for mental health are the normative methods, in direct competition with our own in England and Europe. As much as the counsellor and the witch seemed paradoxical, so are the very methods of how we help one another. In some cultures they have no word for depression.
My goal, with Ollamh, is to provide a counselling service. If that takes the form of active listening, Egan’s Model, and person-centred approaches, it will be because this is what the client needs. If it takes the form of community-led activism, radicalising our environments so that the fundamental causes for mental distress are erased, it will be because this is what the client needs. The state apparatus is designed to keep us working hard, fighting one another, for little profit. It is designed to translate your labour into riches for a few, and anxiety for the many. My very own path into therapy will require me to undergo 100 hours of free labour; already we can see how many individuals will be unable to become counsellors, as the financial burden of educating oneself into the profession is just untenable. Class divides. Racism. Homophobia — all prejudice is part of an ongoing colonial project that we, as therapists, have a duty to fight for the benefit of our clients. Ollamh were originally for the King. I don’t believe in kings. But I believe in my clients.
Nathan T. Dean is a writer, artist, trainee counsellor, practicing chaos witch, and founder of Ollamh Counselling.
All these essays are part of an evolving documentation. Ideas the author may have now may shift in the future. This is the lot of the therapist, who must continuously explore their empathy in radical ways as the environment around them shifts. If you find anything in these documents you find offensive, please contact the author at ollamhcounselling@gmail.com. Without discussion, correction, and open discourse, we cannot benefit our clients as effectively as we might.
Footnotes
[1] At time of writing.
[2] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACLnWmZh3OY
[3] We indicate magick here with a K to distinguish it from magic, where the latter is illusions (pulling a rabbit out of a hat) whereas the former is a spiritual system.
[4] An incredibly problematic figure, but one unavoidable in magickal discourse; I will endeavour to explore him in future pieces.
[5] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tmk47kh7fiE
[6] https://www.statista.com/chart/19801/people-tried-and-executed-in-witch-trials-in-europe/
[7] The same can be said of the word villain, which means of the village.
[8] Sometimes called Cunning Folk in British Folklore, bruja in Latin America, rootworker in Hoodoo, et cetera.
[9] We can see similar kinds of discourse happening with radical discussions now. People throwing around terms like “cancel culture” is to vilify people performing acts they are not actually performing. This is the same as saying witches were aligned with Satan, when they were not.
[10] I will clarify here, this is not a comment on Christian people as a whole. Christianity as a faith is as valuable as any other. However the systems in which Christianity is presented, such as Crusaders, or Militant Missionaries, is not laudable, and a dangerous colonial endeavour. The faith is not the system.
[11] Similarly, sharing resources, helping one another, and close-knit communities, align with indigenous philosophies, Marxism, and Communism. And once again, which are the kinds of the philosophies being vilified in the press currently?
[12] I’d argue that I am still working on this, and will probably always be fighting the urge to heal rather than guide. I am happy to sit with this discomfort.
[13] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ollamh_Érenn
[14] Although, I sincerely hope I am not as sinister as that character!
[15] I would suggest following @decolonialcommi, Dr. Charisse Burden-Stelly (@blackleftaf), and Chisomo Kalinga, PhD (@MissChisomo) on Twitter.