For two years I have turned the wheel of the year with a wonderful group of witches. Last night, in an early Beltane frolic, we turned together for the last time.
It came as a shock, but this is the organic reality of Wicca. When the elders tire or change their focus, circles dissolve.
There's talk of keeping in touch, but much depends on bringing vague promises to reality.
For me, it's time to question what brought me to the group in the first place, decide if the need has been satisfied, and figure out where to go from here. But first I must draft a heartfelt letter of thanks to the elders who have led the circle.
No, that's second. FIrst, I feel like spending time in the healing, cleansing waters.
- Mood:pensive
This is the shortest night of the year, Midsummer Eve. Tomorrow, Midsummer Day, is the longest day of the year.
Like the full moon is the monthly time to stand on the hilltop and take stock of where things are going, correct your course, and jump forward, tumbling downhill to a breathless finish, this is the solar time, the annual time, to do the same thing. Presumably with a higher hill, a longer jump, and a faster tumble.
Although I join other witches in celebrating the solar year, and use it to mark long passages of time, it is the monthly progression of moon from new, to full, to dark, that guides my everyday life.
A year is a long time.
I am disinclined to look back, because the hill was very steep, and I flung myself from rock to rock, taking the only path I knew. I left behind tatters of my mantle of grief, like a snakeskin painfully shed. I'd rather stand here and look to tomorrow. I"m wrapped in a better mantle right now, layers of satisfaction, accomplishment, promise and silence. Fancy threads. I must have picked them up without thought, to cover the raw nakedness of being. They suit me well.
I will pause briefly and look at the present. This is my fifth anniversary as priestess. The rhythm of the lunar calendar is now as natural to me as breathing. The solar calendar of sabbats is becoming familiar. Tonight, as the sun passes behind the western hills, I will light the sacred fire in my cauldron.
I am ready to look to the future, to chart the course that brings me back to the stillness of midwinter. I have The Project™, the challenge of doing something that I've never done before. I am bound to silence on this one, and the pent up desire to speak about it may be what propels it to completion.
I also have to make a decision by Mabon. Will I return to the Temple of Ara circle for another year?
Sunrise will find me sitting on the rocky headland, overlooking the Sound. There are answers where the water meets the sky.
Like the full moon is the monthly time to stand on the hilltop and take stock of where things are going, correct your course, and jump forward, tumbling downhill to a breathless finish, this is the solar time, the annual time, to do the same thing. Presumably with a higher hill, a longer jump, and a faster tumble.
Although I join other witches in celebrating the solar year, and use it to mark long passages of time, it is the monthly progression of moon from new, to full, to dark, that guides my everyday life.
A year is a long time.
I am disinclined to look back, because the hill was very steep, and I flung myself from rock to rock, taking the only path I knew. I left behind tatters of my mantle of grief, like a snakeskin painfully shed. I'd rather stand here and look to tomorrow. I"m wrapped in a better mantle right now, layers of satisfaction, accomplishment, promise and silence. Fancy threads. I must have picked them up without thought, to cover the raw nakedness of being. They suit me well.
I will pause briefly and look at the present. This is my fifth anniversary as priestess. The rhythm of the lunar calendar is now as natural to me as breathing. The solar calendar of sabbats is becoming familiar. Tonight, as the sun passes behind the western hills, I will light the sacred fire in my cauldron.
I am ready to look to the future, to chart the course that brings me back to the stillness of midwinter. I have The Project™, the challenge of doing something that I've never done before. I am bound to silence on this one, and the pent up desire to speak about it may be what propels it to completion.
I also have to make a decision by Mabon. Will I return to the Temple of Ara circle for another year?
Sunrise will find me sitting on the rocky headland, overlooking the Sound. There are answers where the water meets the sky.
I spent May Eve with my favorite bunch of witches, dancing out the season in Central Park. We met on a particular hilltop deep within the park, a place where the city is a distant memory. This is old land, gently tended and rich with stillness.
Ribbons and hopes fluttered in the wind. The High Priestess and High Priest knelt at the base of the Maypole, embodiement of Goddess and God, and we circled around them, We danced, weaving our magic and creating the fabric of community. Chants rose up spontaneously, acknowledging life, passion and the Divine. Ribbons grew short, and we ran, circling sun-wise around the Maypole. We tumbled into a heap at the base of the pole and set our energy free, watching the sky still spinning above us. Passion and joy are simple. You just live them. There is no breath for asking questions, only for chanting, laughing, and experiencing joy.
How different from last Beltane when I was a sad stranger at an uncomfortably formal ritual. I'm happier now, and found a spiritual home in the more spontaneous ritual of the Ara tradition
Beltane day was time for quiet joy. I arose and washed my face in the dew, and then walked the bounds of our land, greeting familiar trees and plants, and picking a few violets from the lawn. Later, at my altar, I thanked Goddess for getting me to a point where I could feel joy and passion again, and reaffirmed my gratitude for all that blooms in spring.
Then, into the city again to meet G. We walked around in SoHo, where they are filming Julie and Julia, with Meryl Streep. Talked about Julia Child, whom I had met in Cambridge some years ago. Drinks in our favorite bar, looking out at the film crew packing up for the evening. Dinner at our favorite restaurant, followed by a walk in the rain. Mmmmm.
Ribbons and hopes fluttered in the wind. The High Priestess and High Priest knelt at the base of the Maypole, embodiement of Goddess and God, and we circled around them, We danced, weaving our magic and creating the fabric of community. Chants rose up spontaneously, acknowledging life, passion and the Divine. Ribbons grew short, and we ran, circling sun-wise around the Maypole. We tumbled into a heap at the base of the pole and set our energy free, watching the sky still spinning above us. Passion and joy are simple. You just live them. There is no breath for asking questions, only for chanting, laughing, and experiencing joy.
How different from last Beltane when I was a sad stranger at an uncomfortably formal ritual. I'm happier now, and found a spiritual home in the more spontaneous ritual of the Ara tradition
Beltane day was time for quiet joy. I arose and washed my face in the dew, and then walked the bounds of our land, greeting familiar trees and plants, and picking a few violets from the lawn. Later, at my altar, I thanked Goddess for getting me to a point where I could feel joy and passion again, and reaffirmed my gratitude for all that blooms in spring.
Then, into the city again to meet G. We walked around in SoHo, where they are filming Julie and Julia, with Meryl Streep. Talked about Julia Child, whom I had met in Cambridge some years ago. Drinks in our favorite bar, looking out at the film crew packing up for the evening. Dinner at our favorite restaurant, followed by a walk in the rain. Mmmmm.
The spring equinox, Ostara, is my favorite time of year. This was my chance to go insane at the flower market, bringing home tulips, hyacinths, carnations, forsythia branches, everything and anything to turn the Aerie into a bower.
Out came the boxes of pysanky, decorated with curious symbols of the season and of fertility.
Out came a change of clothing, soft beiges replacing my usual black.
Wednesday night, thirteen of us gathered in the city to make ritual, to travel the ancient pathways to commune with She Who Awakens the Earth. Thirteen chanted and danced to turn the wheel of the year.
Then we dined, and planned a brighter future for the temple. Seeds were sown, fragile young ideas to be nurtured and tended.
Midnight found me walking alone through the city (really, it's safe where I was), still taking in the wonder of a perfect spring evening, breathing in the gentle dampness and somehow rising above pain and fatigue. I caught the last train home and tumbled into bed in the wee hours of Thursday morning.
Thursday, I napped on the couch most of the day, but arose at sundown to make the traditional dinner of tender salad greens with flower petals, seeded bread and cheese, and potato salad with hard cooked eggs. All foods of the season. After dinner, more ritual at my personal altar. Impromptu ritual. Spoken out loud, with gesture and presence. All the things that this once reluctant priestess has come to love. Silly but reverent times with the Divine, leaving me knowing how a spring bulb BUSTS OUT(to be said with a shout) and knowing how to tickle the wind as it blows past my leaves. I mean my up-reaching hands.
Can't you feel springtime in all that? How has the season touched you?
Out came the boxes of pysanky, decorated with curious symbols of the season and of fertility.
Out came a change of clothing, soft beiges replacing my usual black.
Wednesday night, thirteen of us gathered in the city to make ritual, to travel the ancient pathways to commune with She Who Awakens the Earth. Thirteen chanted and danced to turn the wheel of the year.
Then we dined, and planned a brighter future for the temple. Seeds were sown, fragile young ideas to be nurtured and tended.
Midnight found me walking alone through the city (really, it's safe where I was), still taking in the wonder of a perfect spring evening, breathing in the gentle dampness and somehow rising above pain and fatigue. I caught the last train home and tumbled into bed in the wee hours of Thursday morning.
Thursday, I napped on the couch most of the day, but arose at sundown to make the traditional dinner of tender salad greens with flower petals, seeded bread and cheese, and potato salad with hard cooked eggs. All foods of the season. After dinner, more ritual at my personal altar. Impromptu ritual. Spoken out loud, with gesture and presence. All the things that this once reluctant priestess has come to love. Silly but reverent times with the Divine, leaving me knowing how a spring bulb BUSTS OUT(to be said with a shout) and knowing how to tickle the wind as it blows past my leaves. I mean my up-reaching hands.
Can't you feel springtime in all that? How has the season touched you?
- Mood:giddy
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