Athena · Grey

And so the Wheel of the Year has turned to Yule. Although the candles blazed in a riot of light, I am slow to turn away from the center and begin the spiral back out into the light. Don't wait for me. I'll be there by Imbolc. I promise.

I won't deny that this Yule is a strange one. Some traditions were imperative, like baking Jannie-esque ritual cakes and decorating the hearth. Others, like the dozens of small delicacies for the Yule Eve feast, didn't make sense for an evening spent alone.

One old tradition that I welcomed back was going out on the bluffs to watch the sunrise over Long Island Sound. It wasn't a dramatic sunrise. The sky changed slowly from iron to pewter to dull silver. The tide was rising near high, and the water pounded the rocks below me. A bitter wind from the east kept blowing my hood off and threatened to send my blanket aloft like a kite. An octet of ducks floated like corks in one of the more sheltered inlets.

Last night's tarot reading reminded me that this IS the bottom point. I've been here before, and I recognize the landmarks. This is the point where you realize that the fall didn't kill you and that you have solid rock beneath your ass. This is where you survey the damage and begin to put things back together. This is a point that is filled with hope.

The blessing from the reading was The Lovers. This card represents choice more often than it represents love. To be blessed by choice is a good thing, especially because other parts of the reading indicate that I have the wit to recognize which choice is right for me. It's not the one that the world would expect me to choose, either. *wink*

So, I wish you the blessings of this season, and remind you that it IS Saturnalia.

Dancing the Sun back home

Last minute rehearsal of holiday chants and songs at the piano. I love that in cold weather, Temple of Ara holds its rituals in a cosy and well-appointed dance studio. The founding High Priestess teased me that the ritual cakes were 'so L.A.' I suppose the were. Humble disks of butter cookie, brushed with orange marmalade and gilded in 23 ct. gold leaf. Jannie's love of creating rich and exotic pastry lives on in me.

ToA has a very loose framework for rituals, and you never quite know how they are going to unfold, except that reverent mirth is a big part of the tradition.

As I sit writing this, a beautiful raven is perched in the Aerie's maple tree. He has come to absorb the last bit of solstice darkness and hold it in his gleaming black feathers until we need it again at midsummer.

The tiny altar was beautiful, encircled by a HUGE evergreen wreath and then by a ring of white candles. Unlit. Waiting.
( read on for the memory of a beautiful Yule celebration... )
Be Blessed this Yule!

While I'm quietly wrapped up in my dark spiral of contemplation, there are battles being fought in public squares and city halls across the nation. As far as I can tell, there are three armies engaged in combat for what gets to be displayed at the holiday season:

Army of the SELF-righteous (with full emphasis on self) These are the people who want their own religious display front and center, and nothing else is to be permitted at all. Look, folks, we'll be setting up classes on remedial constitutional law next week. Please come.

Army of the Bah HumbugThese are the people who probably teach the remedial constitutional law classes. Their agenda is to have no holiday decorations in public places at all. It's fair. It's legal. It's also heartless to spoil the celebrations of others. Auditions for the part of Tin Man begin next week.

Army of Inclusivity These are the people who smile, wave and offer to help you put up your holiday display. They are willing to scrunch everthing closer together to make room for one more. I'm not totally sure how legal it is, but it is very fair and lots of fun. If I actually felt that my holiday needed a display in the public square, I'd join this army.

This year in Green Bay, WI and Olean, NY, pentacles were put on display to celebrate the season. As a witch, I support their efforts. And, yet, as a witch, I was initially puzzled that the pentacle was chosen as the symbol of the season. It is the symbol of the Wiccan religion, so that places it on par with the star of david or cross. It doesn't place it on par with a menorah or nativity. If I had to chose a seasonal symbol, it would be the yule log.

The humble yule log has a few problems with marketing and brand recognition. Unless blazing, it is not particularly attractive, lying there like a bump on a log. It also has been co-opted, name and all, as part of other holiday celebrations, so it doesn't promote brand recognition. And afer the long and successful campaign to embarass the Veterans Administration into permitting the pentacle on veterans' grave markers, the pentacle is our most recognized symbol.

I was a bit late placing my order for winter provisions, what my grandmother called her 'staples' order. Sacks of flour and rice, enough soap and paper goods to last the season. Root vegetables. I should have done this in the harvest season, not waited until the first snow was on the ground. It was delivered this morning, and I spent some happy minutes checking off the items against the list and stocking my cupboards groaningly full of the simple comforts of life.

This is largely symbolic for me. I live in walking distance of a market and a chemist/pharmacy.

The Aerie feels much more content with its cupboards full. So do I. My harvest is complete.

White is also a color of this season, and we are going to see some today.

One of my life's way stations was in New England, in a small city nestled in the Berkshire hills. I saw a lot of snow in the twenty years I spent there. I used to hate every flake of it. Snow got in the way of things I wanted to do, and snow slowed me down.

I didn't get it. I was working against the snow.

Snow is supposed to slow you down and knock you out of your routine. It teaches you that you are part of this glorious world of nature, and not its master. It teaches you patience.

Later today, I'm going out to play in the snow. I want to feel the flakes melting on my face and maybe I can make a few snowballs, not to throw at you, but to bring indoors and use as tea-light holders for a brief ritual in celebration of the weather.

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All I can promise is to try and write at least one word each day, or smear a bit of paint that expresses my feelings of the day. I can do that. I can.

I saw snowflakes
I heard the gentle crunch of the snow under my feet
I smelled wood smoke from the hearth that awaited my return
I tasted hot chocolate that warmed me for this expedition outside
I felt the gentle padding of my warm coat

I knew (with my sixth sense) that Mother Earth slept.

I am content to sit in stillness today. The day is gloomy and I spent too much of the night working when I should have been sleeping. With the daylight hours so short, I end up working in the dark of evening anyway, so I lose sight of the boundary that sunset should mean a stop to work.

I am listening in the stillness, and enjoying the rich scent of the wet earth outside. It's only a few more weeks of this darkness, and then the brittle cold brilliance of an icy winter will both enthrall and chill me.

The colors of now are brown and green. Soft colors. Comforting blankets of earth. Windswept branches against a pale grey sky.

I call this the time of listening. It is not a time of watchfulness, even for a visual person like me. My eyes take in the misty landscape, but they see it in soft strokes of watercolor. It is the sounds that stand out, because only in stillness do I really hear them.

First, there is the soft sound of my own breath.

Then, the gentle purr of my drowsy cat. She knows how to embrace the stillness of the season.

The Aerie makes its own sounds, the creaks and pops of a mature building flexing its joints. I almost called it an elderly building, because in human terms it is. Eight decades isn't long in stone and stucco years. It is just a whisper of time in the earth's years. I must learn to think in earth time.

Outside, the wind is becoming insistant, whistling and pounding on the Aerie's windows, sweeping out of the West and muttering threats of rain and snow.

I can hear the distant hum of passing traffic, beyond the gatehouse. Out There. Not in my space. At this time of year, I dread going Out There. The majority of people are working against the season, bustling and self-important. Consuming rather than being consumed. I fled the city yesterday because there were no pine cones and no people who would comprehend my immediate need to hold one. Some things are better left unspoken, or whispered to the wind.

Polishing brass is a good thing to do during the dark evenings before the solstice. So is setting up the hope that the light will return. So many candles await, and such darkness envelops.

The city is making me very restless today. I want to bring something of the season into my office. A bowl of pine cones would be ideal.

There's no place nearby that I can collect some.

There are no shops in the neighborhood that sell them. The winter holidays are all about electric lights, tinsel and plastic here.

What am I doing in this paved and forsaken corner of the world? I am but a short train ride from home, but I am working in another world, on a foreign island. I know in my heart that I can't stay here forever, but can I make it through a few more years?

On more than one occasion, I have joked that being a witch entails a lot of housecleaning. It seems that each Sabbat, as my family observed it, begins with a period of cleaning and renewal. Yule is no different.

This is the dark time of the year, the Dreamtime, the time of quiet contemplation of the things that lie deeply within the heart. For me, it is still a time for grieving, of turning of the wheel of the year without Jannie's steady hand to guide me. I'm on my own now, not quite a crone in my own right, but growing into my wisdom. This is where the path grows steeper, where I must stop and catch my breath while the impetuous ones run ahead.

And so at home in the Aerie, I am conscious of the dark time, and very grateful for what it entails. As a witch, I am not caught up in the frenzy of Christmas. I have my own traditions to follow, and sometimes they cross paths with the mainstream, before diverging into something more organic and calm.

I have been polishing brass and scrubbing the hearth. This is how I prepare for Yule, which I celebrate at the hearth. This is the time for poking into the dark corners and clearing cobwebs. This is the time for sitting on the floor in the dark, looking at the tree branches buffeting back and forth in the wind. The spiral has wrapped tightly inward and I must listen--listen--listen.

I haven't felt this calm in a long time. The last years of Jannie's life drained my energy. I had to be strong, and I had to be in charge. I was pulled in so many directions at once, and I knew that no matter what I did, she would still die. It was a question of how well she could live during that time. I did all that I could and I regret none of it. NOT ONE THING. In these past eight months, I have been learning to relax, learning to indulge myself again, and learning how to fill the days that are both blisfully undemanding and sometimes terrifyingly empty.

Soon, the pine cones that grace my mantle will be joined by a garland of evergreen, and the figure of the old Holly King will be unwrapped and placed on display.

Soon, I will come to rest in a clean and orderly Aerie, pausing in the darkness.

Soon, the hammered copper Sun will hold in his hands the first light of Yule, and then I will begin unwinding the spiral gently into the light.

I wish you days of peaceful contemplation.

Witches Weekly asks, what tools do you feel are essential when performing rituals?

Intent is the only requirement for ritual. Anything else is nice to have, but not essential. I appreciate the visual aid of a well-appointed altar, but I have also closed my eyes and done some intense work without any visual forms.

That said, here's what you are likely to find on my altar:

A white linen floor length altar cloth. I don't like the table legs on my altar, so I cover them. Sometimes a cat tail appears to be attached to the altar, but in fact it belongs to the cat in cosy repose under the altar. She likes sleeping there.

A colored altar cloth over that. Color chosen to suit the work at hand.
A vase of cut flowers. My gift to the Lady.
Symbols of the elements: bowl of water, boat of salt, wand, candle.
A statue representing the Goddess. I am primarily Goddess-centric in my worship.
Supplies for the work at hand, either things that will be charged with energy in the ritual, or supplies for creating ritual art.
More candles so that I can see.

There hasn't been a good Witches Weekly question in a while, so I'll ask and answer one of my own: How has your path evolved over the years?

When I first came to the craft, in my late teens, I really didn't look much beyond the hands-on folk-witchery aspects of the craft. I wasn't ready to meditate or have any meaningful discourse with the Deities.

When I returned from the spiritual wasteland that made up most of my adult years, I found I had more stillness, more openness, and far fewer pretensions. I still am attracted to creating beautiful altars, of using art as my primary spiritual practice, and of the simple folk ways, but it is far less about me and more about connecting to the Goddess immanent in all things.

My focus on the Goddess has evolved over time, as well. I have been terribly ecclectic, and that's beginning to give me discomfort. Bast, Athena, Kwan Yin, Brigid. How can I know Them all?

I do not want to be a reconstructionist, trespassing on some ancient path that is not mine. Recently I am drawn toward the Celtic tradition, but not to write poetry in the few words of Gaelic that I know, nor to insist that ritual is done exactly as it was done centuries ago. I can write in a respectable Uncial hand and draw knotwork and spirals, but they are juxtaposed with contemporary imagery. I have no disrespect for those who follow the reconstructionist path, but it is not for me. Nor is my path that of my foremothers, Lithuanian pagans who held back the tide of Christianity for many long centuries. Maybe sometime, but not now.

Athena has guided me well through the past year. Kwan Yin interceeded to show me to both give and receive compassion. Bast will always be honored in our house, for every cat has her goddess as well.

Brigid, O, Brigid. Where will your smith-fires lead me?

This week's question on Witches' Weekly: How do you feel about animal or blood sacrifices? In terms I’m speaking about using your own blood as a sacred object during a spiritual working, and using all parts of an animal (hunting deer for meat/pelts) rather than solely for ritual sacrifice. Though if you want to speak about plain animal sacrifice, by all means.

No animal sacrifice. Plain and simple. I am a vegetarian, so there is no honorable form of animal sacrifice for me. You may do as you please, as long as you do it with honor and eat or use what you hunt to sustain you. I understand the concept, but I prefer not to practice it.

I hold moon blood to be sacred, but the blood in my veins is just a part of me, no more filled with energy than the other bits that make be a living being. When I raise energy, I transmit it through my hands after it has coursed through my entire being, not just through my blood, but through my nerves and through my breath.

The sacrifice on my altar is a vase of cut flowers, some fruit or seasonal produce.

Over the years, there have been a few occasions where prosperity magick seemed necessary. Most times, when the spending begins to outrun the income, I work a simple spell with bergamot oil, annointing each bill in my wallet while chanting, "Bergamot, bergamot, money tree. Send this money back to me!" That seems to take care of everyday prosperity.

I am blessed by the Goddess with the prosperity I have in life. I never really complain about everyday money because I have all the material things I want and some to spare. Most times I can reach into my pocket and share half with someone in need, and never feel the lack.

Back in the early 1970's, Jannie and I, a couple of newly minted witches, went deep into the Enchanted Forest at midnight under a new moon, and buried a shilling at the crossroads. At the next full moon, we returned and dug it up. That was the beginning of this deeper prosperity that manifests itself in having just enough and a little to spare, and in having realistic wants.

The Enchanted Forest was a stretch of deep, old woods in the New England community where we lived. It had a stillness that was deeper than any other place we knew, and the forest had a mostly benevolent but watchful energy. It was a very old place, and it was filled with power.

When I moved here, a random drive took me down a road that shouldn't really exist, running parallel to a perfectly good other road, nestled deep within earthen banks, and filled with the same primal energy of the other Enchanted Forest. If you believe the signposts, this road is seven miles from anywhere.

The question of the week at Witches WeeklyWhat method do you use to plan through rituals or spellwork? (such as a ritual outline, etc) Give a brief rundown of how a particular ritual for you goes. I'm not big on method, or very formal when it comes to ritual, but this is the general approach I take to our household rituals.

For the sabbats, I spend some time reviewing and researching until some aspect of the celebration leaps off the page and grabs me. This becomes the focal point of the ritual, and everything else evolves from there. We don't usually do spell-work at the sabbats. They are pure celebration.

I made these notes as I prepared for Lammas:
-bread holiday
-decorated wells
-thank Goddess for harvest
-thank elements for their contribution to harvest
-celebrate in early afternoon
-wheat and sunflowers decor
-ale
-John Barleycorn song

Created floral arrangements for the front door (sunflowers and wheat) and for the altar (just wheat)

It was too hot to spend time at the altar on Lammas eve, and we ate a light feast of bread, cheese and ale at the small table in the studio, close by the A/C. Thanked the Goddess for the harvest and set aside a libation. I think we brought the vase of wheat in with us, and just visualized the altar in the hot, sunny room.

By Lammas morning, I figured out that we were going to have brief outdoor ritual focusing on the libations and thanks for the harvest. We would circle around the well in the center of our formal garden (not a working modern well, but the original farmhouse well. It has been capped, but still has the stone basin and wrought iron fittings. Most of our outdoor rituals take place there. So, we picked up the bowl of bread, the mug of ale, and we each took a stalk of wheat.

On the way downstairs and into the garden, I was free associating on the harvest and the elements. I was going to offer bread and ale at each direction, and offer the wheat to the Goddess at the center.

And that is how I plan a ritual.

I didn't write down the actual words I said, but this passage from my Journal

Praise for the grain

We broke bread and poured a libation of ale...

In the NORTH, to honor the soil that nourishes the crops.
In the EAST, to honor the air that sweeps across the fields.
In the SOUTH, to honor the sunlight that causes crops to grow.
In the WEST, to honor the summer storms that sweep across the fields.

We came to the well in the center of the circle, and offered stalks of wheat to the Lady.

Blessed be the harvest!

Ritual was simple, sincere and short today because of the HOT weather.
We broke bread and poured a libation of ale...
In the NORTH, to honor the soil that nourishes the crops.
In the EAST, to honor the air that sweeps across the fields.
In the SOUTH, to honor the sunlight that causes crops to grow.
In the WEST, to honor the summer storms that sweep across the fields.
We came to the well in the center of the circle, and offered stalks of wheat to the Lady.

Blessed be the harvest!

A journal prompt from Witches Weekly:
Describe your preferred symbol of spirituality (pentacle, celtic cross, triquerta, etc). Explain what it means to you.
My outward symbol of my spiritual path is a small pentacle held aloft by Goddess. The pentacle honors the Elements and Spirit, and speaks to the disparate forces that make up the center. The Goddess image honors the One at the center of all, the Source as I know Her.
I also have a symbol of my personal journey on the path, and it has changed and evolved over time, reflecting the changes in my life experience. It's present image is an indigo spiral, and it represents the inward path that I see ahead of me as I grow older and seek deeper wisdom.

It seems like we have cloudy or rainy weather every esbat. I can’t remember how long it has been since we honored the moon by gazing upon Her serene and glowing orb.

I’m going to keep track of this and see if it really is as frequent as I think.

This is the first--the Grass Moon of May--cloudy.

I just put a listing of all my pagan books up on LibraryThing. Here’s my catalog.

The reason I’m not writing about Beltane yet is that I need to put some thought into it. It was a very different sabbat, and it’s energy is still very strong within me.