The relationship between the primordial and the divine is showcased in the Fomori perhaps more intensely than in the other mythologies I focus on. Certainly, the Jotnar are intermingled with the Aesir and Vanir, but there's a sense of immediacy there; most of the mingling that's focused on is portrayed as present-tense (and granted, the concept of chronological archetypes and the Odinic Paradox technically makes nearly everything present-tense). With the Fomori and Tuatha de Danann, the intermingling is multi-generational. There exist figures like Neit, who is both one of the Tuatha and the grandfather of Balor, one of the better known Fomori in Irish myth, and is married to Fae and either Nemain or Babd, depending on the version you're reading. Other examples are plentiful, to say the least, so I'll leave that bit to independent research. On to the meat of this matter in my spirit-work...
Working with the Fomori is different for me than working with the Jotnar, and there's a very clear and precise reason for that: I've yet to encounter a Fomori in my spirit-work that I freely identify with the way that I have with Angrboda's children. It's not that I haven't made a connection with them as a group, because they very clearly have shown themselves to me in my spirit-work, they just haven't really sent out any forerunners. I know that a number of them are present as robed individuals when the Morrigan holds court during meditations on the high festivals, and that Neit will provide knowledge when I am able to continue refining my swordplay, but none have really jumped out and said "Work with me, for we are kin".
That being said, I've encountered more spirits that I would estimate are Fomori in nature than Jotnar. I would theorize that this is because when I undertake spirit-work with Fenrir and his siblings, I'm meditating on a very specific place in my mind/spirit/Otherworld, and that place being the personal domain of that entity. The Fomori on the other hand are everywhere. If I'm meditating just to clear my thoughts, I find myself drawn to a very calm, pastoral landscape with megaliths scattered across fields and forests or craggy hills on all of the borders. No one lays claim to this space, and it seems any spirit that I work with that is mobile tends to show up there if they have reason to. There are those who stay on the edges, of course, and those who lend a hand to whatever mental task I'm taking on at the time as well, but not many make much of an effort to be "sociable". They're kind of like me in that regard, I suppose.
The thing about the Fomori is that their energy is very distinct from that of the other as-yet unnamed spirits I encounter during meditations. I regularly encounter the Fair Folk, and they always feel frenetic and unpredictable, but somehow restrained by their bans and oaths. The Jotnar feel static and ponderous, slow to act and slow to change. The Fomori are different. There is a sense of wildness to them, a potential for savagery and destructiveness, and yet much like nature itself, there is also a certain gentleness and sense of providence from them. If the Jotnar are the spirits of the elements, then the Fomori are the spirits of the plants and animals and living things.
This is almost certainly why the Fomori haven't really sent any spiritual envoys out to me. I'm a lousy druid when it comes to dealing with plants and animals in spirit-work; I get along well with animals and respect plants, especially in natural settings, but I just don't connect with them. I tend to be more interested in the strength of stone, the warmth of a flame, the movement of shifting winds, or the sound of running water. The elemental I understand on an intrinsic level, but the rest is just... impersonal. It's still important, and it's still ever-present, but it stays at arms' length.
As a result, the few recurring Fomori that I've encountered in my spirit-work are known by title, rather than name, which I'm sure will change in time as my focus changes from internal (which is currently more important for various sanity reasons) to external (can't focus on helping others when I'm distracted by my own frustrations). The two most frequent beings are the Houndsman and the Treetender. The Houndsman fits the typical description of the Fomori; taller than the typical spirit, muscular to the point of being grotesque, with a head covered in shaggy hair and a thick beard. He almost always has crude leather armor on his forearms and legs, and a wide kidney belt that carries various bags and tools. His purpose, befitting his title, is to tend to a pack of wolf-like hounds that roam my spirit-work and typically cooperate with me in will-working as well. He's a very quiet, gentle fellow; we don't interact much, but I appreciate what he does.
The Treetender is a bit more unusual. He's about the same height as the Houndsman, but his skin is green and mossy, and his hair is matted and run through with twigs, leaves, and other forest debris. He's not very big, despite his height, more reedy and wiry, and favors a simple kilt of dark brown wool. He's also considerably more distant, in that he spends all of his time in the forests carefully removing dead branches from the trees and ensuring that the forests can grow strong and dense to support the wildlife within. I've only heard him speak a few times, and he's got such a thickly dialectic accent that even though it's the same spirit-speak that I can normally understand during meditations quite well, it all seems garbled. Likely an aspect of plants being further removed from me, spiritually, than animals; I'm hoping that when I turn my attention toward plant meditations that this will break the language barrier, because I'm sure there's a lot to learn from the Treetender.
There are others, but they've shown less of a visible significance. I'm sure that once I'm less preoccupied with what the Jotnar can teach me, I'll be able to do more Fomori-centric work in the near future. One step at a time, like anything else worth doing.
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