Money was tight and December was rushed this year, which paradoxically meant that Solstice was very nice -- just family, quiet, darkness and fire. We are in our back-woods house with no internet or TV. I made a big fire in my newly rebuilt firepit. It is great to be able to have a real, big fire, burning actual logs instead of bits of branches!
The blazing fire of peachwood from our old house and aged oak from our new house was beautiful on the cold night, and drew out Athena and the kids to sit around and talk, and roast marshmallows. Too much mist and scattered clouds for stargazing, but a gorgeous almost-full moon sporting a huge ring - at least 35 degrees wide, fat and silvery, lasting most of the evening.
Athena sat with me a while, then Aurora came out and talked with me and we shared stories about shamanic journeys. We played some with the bells and drums, Cercatore and Aurora made smores, and we all sat out for a long time talking and enjoying the fire.
Later, after the others went in, I sat by the fire and beat a steady rhythm with the bells Athena had bought, and drifted into non-ordinary reality. As I listened to the bells jingle, I started to hear other bells, like harness bells approaching and jingling across the fire. I could very clearly hear them come close and settle near the fire. The visitors felt like travelling Sidhe, riding some kind of antlered steeds, attracted by my fire. I welcomed them to share the fire, and put out some of my snacks and offered them freely to share. I offered, as my part of the nights tale-telling, for them to watch the spirit journey I was about to undertake.
I took a journey to find a spirit animal to help me in the coming year. The seaside was dark and cold, but the sea looked like clear glass and reflected the flames of my fire; as I walked into the woods I could still feel the warmth of the fire. As I passed the ring of trees and entered the meadow, I could see the sun and moon above bathing everything in light of mingled silver and gold. Oak and I embraced, and I thanked him for his support and strength. Spider met me and I thanked her for her gifts and aid in the past year, and I greeted and thanked Barn Swallow. Then I walked on to the crystalline, tumbling stream and sat beside it, looking across to the edge of the woods beyond, and waited for someone/something to emerge.
After a bit, I could feel something hesitating just beyond sight, unsure if it should appear - apparently because it was not sure I would believe it it. To try and lure it out, I tried asking it what it was, and tried a number of animals without getting a firm response - some recognition at snake and bird, but still not quite right. Next I asked about its element; definitely not earth or air, positive response on both water and fire.
It finally crept out from the trees into the stream, and let me see it - it was a water-drake, a small dragon; a creature of fire and water, very snakelike, standing about 3-4 feet on two hind legs. It said that Water had been a good friend to me and helped me a lot this last year with adaptability and acceptance of change as I moved and started a new job, but that for the challenges in front of me now I will need to add Fire to my gifts. I thanked it, and admired its beauty; it was sometimes transparent, disappearing into the water, sometimes blue and white, curling its neck. I could tell it could also breath flame when it needs to!
I look forward to learning more from Water-Drake, and learning to use its gifts. What a surprising patron!
After returning to my fire, my visitors had moved on. I doused the fire with many thanks, and left my food as a free gift to any that passed that way, and went inside.
Showing posts with label holy day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holy day. Show all posts
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Go Tell the Stars
A Winter Solstice song, inspired by David Carter's Go Tell the Fox
Go tell the stars,
Shining in the night;
Go tell the squirrel,
With his eyes so bright;
Go tell the mice,
Hiding in the corn;
Go tell the farmer,
That the Oak Lord's born
Again!
Go tell the rabbit,
Creeping through the wild;
Go tell the doe,
Curled 'round her sleeping child;
Go tell the moth,
Beating on the lantern;
Go tell the cricket,
That the wheel has turned
Again!
Go tell the spring,
That makes the river flow;
Go tell the trees,
With their feet beneath the snow;
Go tell the fox,
Underneath the pine;
Go tell the people,
That the sun will shine
Again!
Go tell the stars,
Shining in the night;
Go tell the squirrel,
With his eyes so bright;
Go tell the mice,
Hiding in the corn;
Go tell the farmer,
That the Oak Lord's born
Again!
Go tell the rabbit,
Creeping through the wild;
Go tell the doe,
Curled 'round her sleeping child;
Go tell the moth,
Beating on the lantern;
Go tell the cricket,
That the wheel has turned
Again!
Go tell the spring,
That makes the river flow;
Go tell the trees,
With their feet beneath the snow;
Go tell the fox,
Underneath the pine;
Go tell the people,
That the sun will shine
Again!
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Solstice fire, with visitors
A fraught and frantic December, and I was coming down with a bit of a head cold, but I felt the need to make some observance for the solstice. It is to me the most deep, numinous, and bone-felt of the holy days, when the world shudders in the grip of dark and cold.
I built a fire in the firepit on back porch out of oak leaves dropped by my friend in the front yard. I knew the fire would only last for a while, so I put a candle by ready to catch the last flames and hold them for the night. I sat down by the fire and stared into it, communing with the flames and letting the rest of the world fade away. I didn't think about anything in particular, just let my mind quiet and let the rustle of the wind and the flowing of the flames fill me.
After a time staring at the flames, and seeing the circle of the firepit flare orange, I became aware of others sitting with me around the fire. On my right hand was the Indian man, Teacher of Boys-to-Men, who had danced with me earlier in the year. Beside him was a large man dressed in furs and boots, who I knew to be a Dane, but with no helmet, armor, or weapons. On my left had sat a very old Indian woman with her gray hair pulled back and weaving in her hands, who laughed and smiled at the fire. There were many others, elders, warriors, folk of many races, who gathered with us around the fire.
No one spoke, we all just shared the fire and each other's presence. I felt the immense depths of time; all these wise folk had in their lives honored Winter and sat vigil by the fire on the longest night of the year, each in their own time and place, and me among them. At the solstice fire, time thins and we all share, all sensing each other's presence and support in the silence. I knew that these were all ancient ancestors and elders who had felt the mystery of the darkness and the hope of the fire, and had sat alone, just as I, to feel the turning of the year. I knew that some here were my many-times-grandchildren also, that the thread of mystery and reverence continues. Just as I have been supported and guided by many spirits and ancestors, so I will take my turn eventually to aid and guide those who come after me.
As the fire faded, my companions faded from my awareness also. I caught the last flicker of the oak flames securely on the wick of my candle, which I nestled safely in the firepit to light our path to the next year, and went in to bed.
After a time staring at the flames, and seeing the circle of the firepit flare orange, I became aware of others sitting with me around the fire. On my right hand was the Indian man, Teacher of Boys-to-Men, who had danced with me earlier in the year. Beside him was a large man dressed in furs and boots, who I knew to be a Dane, but with no helmet, armor, or weapons. On my left had sat a very old Indian woman with her gray hair pulled back and weaving in her hands, who laughed and smiled at the fire. There were many others, elders, warriors, folk of many races, who gathered with us around the fire.
No one spoke, we all just shared the fire and each other's presence. I felt the immense depths of time; all these wise folk had in their lives honored Winter and sat vigil by the fire on the longest night of the year, each in their own time and place, and me among them. At the solstice fire, time thins and we all share, all sensing each other's presence and support in the silence. I knew that these were all ancient ancestors and elders who had felt the mystery of the darkness and the hope of the fire, and had sat alone, just as I, to feel the turning of the year. I knew that some here were my many-times-grandchildren also, that the thread of mystery and reverence continues. Just as I have been supported and guided by many spirits and ancestors, so I will take my turn eventually to aid and guide those who come after me.
As the fire faded, my companions faded from my awareness also. I caught the last flicker of the oak flames securely on the wick of my candle, which I nestled safely in the firepit to light our path to the next year, and went in to bed.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Thresholds
Well, we have once again successfully crossed the treacherous threshold, and passed from the hands of the Oak King safely into the hands of the Holly King. The night after Halloween I had many dreams of gateways, doors, and thresholds, and woke with a feeling of relief that the state of suspension and tension that seemed to characterize September and October had passed and life was once more on track and following the stately turn of the wheel. The Holly King's embrace can be chilly, but it is dependable and secure, and he guards the world for us. It is just at the time of turning, when warmth and light are fading, but winter has not settled in, that seems fragile. The walls between the worlds seem thin. Chaotic forces strive to enter our lives; the dark gate for a time opens both ways; all things seem to be wearing masks -- nothing is quite what it seems, for good or ill. We dance and celebrate our dark natures, and hide behind our own masks, hoping to pass through the passage safely and find our feet again. By the grace of the Moon, and the goodwill of Oak, Holly, and all strong things, we have done so again, and we are safe.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
The Linchpins of My Year
Many pagans honor the old holidays (Beltane, Imbolc, Lammas, Samhain) and the solstices and equinoxes to celebrate the turning of the year. Most of these don't really resonate for me. So I thought I would set down the times of the year that stand out personally for me, when I really become aware of the turn of the wheel and the cycles of life. These are the seasons that structure my personal year.
Winter solstice. I am a creature of the sun, I can really feel it when the days shorten and darkeness gains ascendency over the day. I can feel the ancient fear as the days shorten, the plants and animals sleep, and one cannot but help wonder what would happen if the sun kept retreating and never came back. On the day that the darkness turns, and day begins once again to advance against night, I feel a powerful and holy sense of the fragility of life and the grace of redemption by which we all live.
Spring wildflower blooms. As the year brightens, I look forward to the appearance of the tiny bright wildflowers in the dry sere fields. When they all suddenly start to appear, flaring up and spreading like flames of blue, scarlet, gold, white, purple, my heart is always lifted. Most people walk by or over these tiny gems of color without even noticing them; or thnk only of spraying weedkiller. But they always are a source of joy and wonder to me, every spring. They are so exuberant and full of vigorous life, their colors so subtle and rich, their shapes so graceful and complex, that I can lay in the grass and stare at them for hours. If, in dry, dead, abandoned lots and fields such wild beauty can burst forth, what can we not acomplish if we will only strive for it?
Fall leaf turning. I love the fall. The weather is cooling and becoming wonderful to be outside again. The trees that I love and talk to are turning from rich green to a thousand shades of red, gold, and brown, as their leaves die and seem to celebrate their own death. The colors are miraculous and vivid, I have wished since childhood to have some way to hold onto those lucious colors but they fade so quickly and are gone. I finally realized that this swift fading is part of their beauty. It is a gift, to be lived and enjoyed, and then let go. This is a season of melancholy, but also of exaultation; as once again nature dies around me, blazing in fleeting beauty, I can feel the heart of nature drawing inward and preparing for its own joyous rebirth.
Winter solstice. I am a creature of the sun, I can really feel it when the days shorten and darkeness gains ascendency over the day. I can feel the ancient fear as the days shorten, the plants and animals sleep, and one cannot but help wonder what would happen if the sun kept retreating and never came back. On the day that the darkness turns, and day begins once again to advance against night, I feel a powerful and holy sense of the fragility of life and the grace of redemption by which we all live.
Spring wildflower blooms. As the year brightens, I look forward to the appearance of the tiny bright wildflowers in the dry sere fields. When they all suddenly start to appear, flaring up and spreading like flames of blue, scarlet, gold, white, purple, my heart is always lifted. Most people walk by or over these tiny gems of color without even noticing them; or thnk only of spraying weedkiller. But they always are a source of joy and wonder to me, every spring. They are so exuberant and full of vigorous life, their colors so subtle and rich, their shapes so graceful and complex, that I can lay in the grass and stare at them for hours. If, in dry, dead, abandoned lots and fields such wild beauty can burst forth, what can we not acomplish if we will only strive for it?
Fall leaf turning. I love the fall. The weather is cooling and becoming wonderful to be outside again. The trees that I love and talk to are turning from rich green to a thousand shades of red, gold, and brown, as their leaves die and seem to celebrate their own death. The colors are miraculous and vivid, I have wished since childhood to have some way to hold onto those lucious colors but they fade so quickly and are gone. I finally realized that this swift fading is part of their beauty. It is a gift, to be lived and enjoyed, and then let go. This is a season of melancholy, but also of exaultation; as once again nature dies around me, blazing in fleeting beauty, I can feel the heart of nature drawing inward and preparing for its own joyous rebirth.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Nor is aught that goes on two legs...
Christmas morning, I stopped at the oak tree in my front yard, put my hand on the trunk, and wished it Merry Christmas. It rattled its leaves cheerfully at me and wish me the blessings of the season. :) I remarked on the unusually warm day, and it said yes, but it won't last! The next morning it was freezing cold. Trees are not omnicient, but what they know, they know!
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Christmas
Well, Christmas has passed, and everyone had a good time. We stuffed ourselves with turkey & dressing, the kids got the toys they wanted, and Athena and I even had enough money to get each other a few much-appreciated gifts.
I love Christmas, even though I am not a Christian. It is such a season of happiness and fun. Stressful, too, but worth it for me. The whole season is layered with so many centuries of tradition and belief, stretching back beyond memory. I love the wonderful secular mythology of Santa created by the Rankin-Bass stop-action animated movies (Santa Claus is Coming to Town, Rudolph, etc). It is only the latest layer of mythology added to this mountain; on top of the Christian festival of the birth of the savior, pre-Christian German tree worship, the winter solstice, the Yule Log, and on and on.
When much of our city lost power, (our neighborhood was out for 5 days), I became intensly aware of the precariousness of human life in the grip of Winter. There are no streetlights, no microwave, no radio or TV. Food spoils in a few days. You are cut off from everone except your close neighbors. The nights are absolutely black, and freezing cold. You can see nothing at all. Without fire, you could not survive a single night. And all through December, the nights are getting longer and longer, colder and colder. There is a real primeval fear: what it it keeps getting colder? How long will our fuel last? How long will our food last? We must always live on a knife's edge of survival: if in the fall we did not stock enough food and fuel for the entire winter, we will die. There is no forgiveness, no second chance.
Suddenly, there is a miraculous change. The night, which seemed to be engulfing the world, relents. There is a little more daylight than there was yesterday. Tomorrow, there is a little more. We are saved! The grip of winter has been broken, and the sun is returning! We still have months to go before spring, but the tide has turned. At last, we can look forward with hope instead of fear.
Truly this is the season when hope is born, when the sun (son?) who will save us and gift us with life is reborn. Once again, in the stately turning of the world, we have been forgiven, and all undeserving we are promised new life.
I love Christmas, even though I am not a Christian. It is such a season of happiness and fun. Stressful, too, but worth it for me. The whole season is layered with so many centuries of tradition and belief, stretching back beyond memory. I love the wonderful secular mythology of Santa created by the Rankin-Bass stop-action animated movies (Santa Claus is Coming to Town, Rudolph, etc). It is only the latest layer of mythology added to this mountain; on top of the Christian festival of the birth of the savior, pre-Christian German tree worship, the winter solstice, the Yule Log, and on and on.
When much of our city lost power, (our neighborhood was out for 5 days), I became intensly aware of the precariousness of human life in the grip of Winter. There are no streetlights, no microwave, no radio or TV. Food spoils in a few days. You are cut off from everone except your close neighbors. The nights are absolutely black, and freezing cold. You can see nothing at all. Without fire, you could not survive a single night. And all through December, the nights are getting longer and longer, colder and colder. There is a real primeval fear: what it it keeps getting colder? How long will our fuel last? How long will our food last? We must always live on a knife's edge of survival: if in the fall we did not stock enough food and fuel for the entire winter, we will die. There is no forgiveness, no second chance.
Suddenly, there is a miraculous change. The night, which seemed to be engulfing the world, relents. There is a little more daylight than there was yesterday. Tomorrow, there is a little more. We are saved! The grip of winter has been broken, and the sun is returning! We still have months to go before spring, but the tide has turned. At last, we can look forward with hope instead of fear.
Truly this is the season when hope is born, when the sun (son?) who will save us and gift us with life is reborn. Once again, in the stately turning of the world, we have been forgiven, and all undeserving we are promised new life.
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