Shine on, Harvest Moon

The garden is dying back. Tomato plants, spent yet trying to turn out one last crop of wee tomatoes, hang limp and yellowing on their supports. Their leaves curling and crunching, slumping beneath the weight of tired stems while below them, the first tendrils of Winter peas are emerging from the soft dirt. We will get one final harvest of Summer's bounty before the Winter crops take over.

The urge to open wide all the windows and invite in the comfortable Autumn breezes yesterday was overwhelming. I had a headache thumping away in my skull and after my visit to my garden, I took a long, soothing nap in my bed. Warmed by the golden rays of the afternoon sun, kept cool by the breezes rustling the tulle on the bed frame. The scents of warm roses and rosemary mingling with that of the decaying leaves littering the Earth. A much needed respite from aches and pains and technology.

There were big plans for yesterday afternoon; being a full moon under a strong sign on a lucky day, it seemed the best possible day to work on cleansing and re-warding. To invite in the good and really shoo away the bad. But, even the best laid plans can be waylaid by feeling unwell and in my workings, intention is so very key that results can be achieved without a lot of pomp and circumstance. Simple tasks done with intention replaced the all out scrubbing I had originally planned.

When night fell, offerings of spiced rum, sweet cider and tokens of the harvest were set on the altar. Candles were lit to the Gods and to honor the Moon herself. Incense smoke drifted lazily over the space. I lit a candle to send my full moon wishes up to the starry sky and began to shuffle the cards for guidance in this moon cycle. As I shuffled, there were jumpers - cards that leap from the deck to get your attention - and I laid them on the altar in the order in which they fell.

The thief alerts one to stolen time, to missed opportunity - he takes things to teach us to value and appreciate, to help us move on from a sticking point. The Blessing teaches us to begin each journey, each new day, each new step forward with a blessing. As she is shrouded in darkness, but holding a blessing aloft she instructs us to uncover the value and blessings hidden in struggle. The juggler is a card I've been pulling quite a bit lately and one I feel identifies myself right now, in my current state. The juggler has a bad habit of taking on too many things at once and it's only a matter of time until he misses one of those glass balls and it falls, shattering, to the ground. The juggler's attention is scattered and all over the place and this fae is a call to wake up, re-evaluate your priorities and to reassess things. The Lady of Faith tells us to shield our bodies, to shield our heads, but to never, ever shield our hearts. She looks deep within herself to find answers, she has a deep trust in love and compassion and her faith in herself, in her heart are unwavering.

The four here, work together to weave a tale of time (and humor) being stolen (a blessing in disguise) to alert one to their role as juggler and their need to re-prioritize before the things they are juggling come crashing down around them. The Lady of Faith reminds us that in our quest to lay things down gently, to reassess and regain what was stolen, that we must have faith in ourselves, in our hearts and in the love that surrounds us. We must not shield ourselves entirely if we are to succeed in our quest.

Given the thoughts in my head, the feelings in my heart and the small steps I've started to take lately to regain some of my own time and happiness, to regroup and reconnect with the person inside of me who doesn't take on everyone else's problems, doesn't waste tons of time online, is healthy, active and most importantly isn't so damn serious but is joyful and carefree... I'd say the Fae's message is one of hope and encouragement. I'm on the right path, I just need to keep going.

I can't pinpoint exactly when in the past few months I got lost, when my sense of humor slipped out the back door, but I'm tired of letting stress and the ho-hums and negativity and misery of others and the world at large drag me down and suck the life out of me. And in this time of in-betweens, in the season of Death and Rebirth, I will cut those things from my life with the sharpest of scythes and lay them to burn on the woodpile. And while I'm feeling the urge to Hermit myself away to deal with all of this, I will take caution not to shut up my heart, for therein, I'm sure, lies the key.

The First Harvest

Over the years, Lughnasadh has become one of my favorite Sabbats; I love it nearly as much as I love Samhain. I could go in to the mythology behind the Sabbat, tell you all about Lugh and his mother and why this festival was founded, but there are many other writers that do a very good job of that.

Instead, I'd like to share what this festival means to me. Sabbats, as with holidays both secular and of other faiths, hold different meanings to each person. While for the most part we start out in the same place when it comes to celebrating (learning the Mythology, associations, traditional rituals, etc.) as we become more in tune with our individual spiritual path, forge our own unique connections with deity and become comfortable with the cycles of Earth and Heavens in our own geographical location; our ways of observing and celebrating as well as our reasons why, may change. Evolving, if you will, into something more personal and therefore, more meaningful for the individual practitioner.

The harvest season here in the South starts a bit earlier than it does further North, typically with the first harvest happening closer to the Summer Solstice. When I lived in the Northern states, I celebrated Lughnasadh as an agricultural holiday, as well as a day dedicated to the god Lugh. You can imagine then, that my first harvest here was a bit of an adjustment; I'd already been pulling in the bounty for weeks - now what was I supposed to celebrate? Did I just go on with harvesting things as a way to celebrate?

Sure, but there was more than just pulling in goodies from the gardens to this Sabbat. The First Harvest Festival marks the start of the darker half of the year for me; heralding the start of the dying season. I've always been much more comfortable and content, on both physical and spiritual levels, with the part of the year that falls between August and March. This is the time of the year that I really get in to my element and get things done, this is the time of the year where my creativity typically peaks.

As a Harvest Festival, it is also a time of abundance - a time to reap what we have sown in the Spring time. Every Spring I do a cleaning and abundance ritual and so it is that I repeat that ritual once more at Lughnasadh. I clean house, clear out the energies, recharge wards and most importantly, evaluate where I am and how far I've come since Spring. If there's something holding me back or ties that no longer serve me, I use the powerful energy of this day to cut away the cords with an emotional scythe. Reaping and Harvesting isn't all just about bringing in the good stuff, after all. As I'm one to work with balance in mind, I realize that a cutting and burning like this leaves a gap that needs to be filled and so my final act, aside from the card pull I do at every Sabbat and Esbat, is to make an offering up to Lugh - in the form of art that I burn in my cauldron - and ask him to bless my creative practice and call forth what I need in my life.

Today I will celebrate the aspect of the God; Lughnasadh has always been a very masculine day for me - much like Imbolc is a very feminine one. For me, this isn't just a time to celebrate Lugh, but to also honor the Horned One and the God of the Wildwoods. There will be good ale in cold pints, fresh bread and hearty laughter. I will take offers to the edge of the property, where the trees and brambles grow thick between our yard and the next obscuring view and sheltering critters of both fur and feather.

May your Lughnasadh be merry, your blessings bountiful. May you reap that which you most desire and your creative fires be abundant. Happy Sabbat!

P.S. Edited to add photos. Feeling under the weather so celebrated and observed far earlier than usual.

Scots, Shrubs and Foxes - Oh My!

We had quite the busy holiday weekend over here. I'm back at work today, sitting at my desk, wishing I could have a weekend to recover from my weekend. My muscles are sore, my feet are achy but it's the sort of sore and achy that makes you smile despite the discomfort, because you know the aches were well worth it.

Except the itchy sunburn. The itchy sunburn totally sucks and was not worth the 2 minutes it would have taken me to slather on some damn sunscreen. But, I digress.

The weekend kicked off with sighting the Super Full Moon on the horizon on our evening stroll with Luna. Under her bright light, I collected fresh roses from the garden and offered up rum and wine, smoke and flowers at my altar. Feeling moved to hum a melody in deep, vibrational tones, I relaxed by candle and moon light and let my mind empty itself of burden, obligation and thought for several minutes while I hummed. When I felt ready, I opened my eyes and lit my candles for the evening's work: a white one to honor the moon and a brown one for grounding and burying. As they burned down, I sipped my wine and pulled the oracle cards that will guide me this moon cycle.

Saturday morning saw us waking up early to head to the annual Highland games at a local university. This is the second time we've gone and the first time we've been able to make it in time for the opening ceremonies and they were spectacular! As if hundreds of pipers and drummers weren't enough to get me excited about a bunch of people chucking heavy objects all day long, members of the military parachuted in with flags from Scotland and the US to begin the second half of the ceremony. After the presentation of the flags, the singing of the national anthems, a 21 gun salute from the Marines and the playing of Taps by a lone bugleman, a single piper began Amazing Grace.

Bagpipes make me cry. I don't know why, there's just something about them that makes my eyes well up whenever I hear them. Amazing Grace on the pipes makes me bawl. I was holding it together pretty well, biting the inside of my cheek while the single piper played... and then the rest of them joined. Hundreds of pipers playing at once. There was no stopping the waterworks. I just stood there on the edge of the field and sobbed until they were done and the chucking of heavy objects began, the falconry exhibition began and the Scottish inspired rock music came flowing forth from the beer tent.

We spent nearly 6 hours there, strolling through the tents, watching events and exhibits and listening to music but it only felt like 2. Until we got in the car to come home and realized how much being in the sun had drained us and conked out on the couch when we got home. There's little I love more than a nice afternoon nap!

The rest of the weekend was spent doing work around the house, tie dying with my lady friends, seeing the new Star Trek, laying under the stars in the hammock (I saw a shooting star!) and grilling out. We're getting ready to paint the house for the first time since we moved in two years ago, but before we can do that we needed to clean up the shrubs (and weeds) that have sort of, kind of, taken over one entire side of the place. I'm not sure what the previous owners were thinking when they did some of their planting (I think this pretty frequently when I work in any of the gardens save the veggie patch) but some of the things they planted are WAY too big or WAY too invasive for the areas they put them in and it's taken a lot of work to even get just the first half of the stuff cleaned out.

Yesterday we were able to say goodbye to some of the shabby shrubs, prune off a lot of branches on the crabapple and bradford pear trees and begin the arduous task of tearing out ivy, kudzu and Gods only know what else that's been growing under the shade of those awful bushes. It required the truck and we sacrificed a few straps in the process but we removed all but one incredibly tenacious azalea bush, which is crazy because it's half dead from lack of sun. That bastard is getting chainsawed and pick axed out.

Eventually, the plan is to plant a small cottage inspired garden in the front corner of the house with foxgloves, hollyhocks and lilies. Then I'm hoping to tuck some of those variously colored hostas along the shady side of the house for interest and to keep some of the weeds down. Slowly but surely we're making our little house our own.

The perfect end to the weekend? Sitting on a friend's patio, sipping cold beverages when a fox wandered out of the bushes. Honest to Gods, I've never seen a wild fox before. It's the little things, really.

Beltane, Birthdays and Breathing

How in the blazes did it get to be the 9th already? Where has this month gone? I suppose it's been sucked up by all the things we've been up to lately.

My Beltane wasn't all that I had planned, since it turned rainy, cold and windy before I made it home from work. But I made the most of it all the same, with food and drink and offerings at the altar. With laughter, love and candle fire. I burned away things I wished to be rid of and sent my wishes skyward on smoke and ash, just on a smaller scale than the bonfire I had hoped for.

Joe's birthday came on Ocho de Mayo but we celebrated on the 4th, after a visit to our local comic book shop for Free Comic Book Day.

May the Fourth be with you!


Snippets from the party. The rain refused to let up all week and so our luau/fiesta was forced inside and under umbrellas.


The birthday boy and I on his actual birthday. 

I finally had a few moments to take a breath this afternoon and sit down with my animal guide in SouLodge for the month of May, Hummingbird. I'll be honest, while the Lodge and the tribe has worked with the medicines of several different animal guides and done various exercises in the North and East quadrants of the Medicine Wheel, I've stayed wrapped up with Grandmother Bear this whole time. I also worked with Buffalo a little bit, but Bear was where I felt I needed to stay for a while. To do the deep work. And I trusted her to let me go when the time was right, I trusted myself and my intuition to lead me down this path in the manner which best suits me. And this month, before I even opened the prompt, I've seen a few beautiful hummingbirds in my yard and felt the tug of energy, of vitality. Like Spring had blown her warm breath deep into my center and warmed and awoken me from the inside out. And Bear let me go, to awaken and soar with hummingbird; to be reborn and to do the energetic healing that comes after the deepest wounds have been faced and the hardest inner battles won.

This connection with the flying rainbow may very well explain my recent draw towards all things intensely vibrant and colorful lately. We'll see. I bet most of you had even forgotten I was doing SouLodge, since it's been ages since I've posted about it. But, if the only lessons I take from this year long journey are to ruthlessly trust myself and my feelings and to know that I am exactly where I need to be (especially in regards to being attuned with the seasons) then that is more than enough. Anything else is a blessed bonus.

Full Snow Moon

The full moon in my birth month is always a very powerful one for me. No matter where I am or what I'm doing, she pulls at me and tugs at my spirit - calling me to dance beneath her gaze or get in to big workings. Last night's was no exception.

I know I've talked a little bit over the past few months about feeling a disconnect from my path, especially during the "Great Apathy" as I'm now calling that bleak 6 month period at the end of 2012. I was so occupied clinging to whatever straws of joy I could grasp in an effort to keep myself from sinking from apathy to depression that my spiritual practices fell by the wayside. My altar went unchanged between Samhain and Yuletide nor between Yuletide and present, I didn't observe moon phases with anything more than a skyward glance and my conversation and connection to Hermes dwindled in a painfully significant way. My own light had waned to such a dreadful degree that raising energy was a joke. I'd sit or lay down and try and try and felt just the faintest of hums, if anything at all. 

It hadn't been so bad since the days of grand depression in my late teens. I tried to come back from it with the start of the calendar's new year. I began to observe things in nature more vigilantly, went barefoot more often on the cold hard ground and started to feel more like myself again but something was still holding me back. Despite the lifting of the apathy and a return to my true emotional nature, there was still a block somewhere. And as the full moon came ever closer, I felt like I needed to grab my mental sledgehammer and break that fucker down. 

And so, last night, I did just that. I tore down my altar space, taking every.single.item off of it and getting it back to it's bare wood state. No cloths, no decor, no bullshit. I started from scratch in the space; giving it a deep cleansing and re-dedicating it under the watchful gaze of mother moon. This alone took a few hours. Once I was satisfied with it, I fed the spiritual space with sweet smoke and began to cleanse and re-dedicate every item I put in to the space. It is very stripped back compared to what it was when I began, there are no extraneous pieces on it - no cloth, no cauldron, no extra candle sticks. Everything on there was for use in last night's workings or are vessels for the spirits and deities with whom I work. 

And it felt so very, very good. So very, very right. This stripped back, bare bones approach to my worship and workings. It felt as if I'd advanced through a veil and in to a deeper place in the woods of my path. One where I no longer need pomp and circumstance to get in the mood, as it were, because after the darkness I have more faith in myself and my own personal power. 

The energies flowed easily and readily, seemingly ravenous for release. And big things happened at my altar late in to the night; workings not just for myself but for others as well. Jewelry, stones and items for charms were fed, cleansed and blessed. I pulled my cards for the first time in too long and the fae seemed to nod their agreement; I'm on the right path. In the right space. 

Right here, right now. 

Honoring Something Different This Samhain

It was with a heavy heart that I sat before my altar last night, with images of my beloved New Jersey torn asunder sitting firmly in my mind. While my loved ones are all safe and accounted for (thank the gods), places where so many memories were made were washed out to sea, never to be the same. The places where I spent summers in shore towns, my only family vacation to my beloved beautiful asbury park, the weekends spent in shitty motels right out of high school, birthday weekends, my first fledgling attempts at photography, that damned belly button piercing, trips to Atlanic City with my mom when I was younger, the place I threw a bottle into the ocean with a note to the man I love, with a note of sentiment for the sea to carry to him while he was in another country sorting himself out. Heartbroken, I remembered the places that had cleansed my soul, healed my heart and brought calm and joy to my life numerous times. I felt torn, useless for not being there and not being able to do anything from so far away but donate blood and money.

I very nearly walked away from my altar, candles unlit and nothing said. But I didn't, I couldn't. I turned and lit my candles despite the heaviness in my heart, welcomed the elements and praised Hecate and Hermes. As I did, I felt more energized than I had in days - prickles of pins and needles traveled from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. I lit another candle for my homeland, for the memories that are now gone, for the people who lost so much and I let some of it go; left some of it at the end of the Wheel's last cycle and took a step, a little lighter in to the new one. What I have to offer, right now, all that I can do to help - is enough.

Being one who celebrates the people who have passed on in my life on Dia de Los Muertos, I chose to honor the history, dreams, memories and lives lost to that hateful storm. I thanked the far off crippled shoreline for all it had done for me with the last remnants of the water I gathered there under the full moon on my third anniversary. My usual Samhain workings came after. Though tired, I lit a black candle and burned away the things I wish to leave behind in the old year and a white candle to attract the things I wish to call to me in the new one. Finally, I sat with my faerie oracle deck for a while, pulling three cards. I didn't pull a full wheel of the year reading as I normally do; I was too drained to focus well.

Seems I need to be wary of what I hear this coming year; of gossip and messages mangled and mixed. Or is this wee Fae simply bearing my messenger god's greetings to me? Either way, the beginning of this new turn will be heralding in a shift in several of my perspectives, a lot of introspection and deep work and hopefully - an arrival to a place of true renewal and healing.

Blessed Samhain, lovelies.

Candles for Sandy

All day I have been looking at images coming out of New Jersey as Sandy drew closer to the shore and all day I have been sick to my stomach with worry. Having grown up there, most of my friends and my entire family - save my brother - live there. A good portion of my friends and loved ones live in the surrounding areas of Maryland, Pennsylvania and New York as well. I've seen images of my summer vacation spots torn asunder by waves, places and spaces I've visited and loved ravaged by water and I've been feeling helpless, because I'm down here and not with everyone. If I said I haven't cried, I'd be lying.

She's made landfall in South Jersey and I am keeping the entire area in my thoughts and prayers. The night will be long, dark and cold for many but I hold a light, warmth and love for you. I will be rotating candles off my altar all night as they burn down in vigil. Please protect yourselves - hunker down and don't venture out. You are all in my thoughts and prayers, may the Gods hold you close and keep you safe.

Please keep everyone in the storm's path in your thoughts and your prayers.

Staying the Path Part 2: Ritual and Altar

First, I want to thank everyone for their honest and thoughtful comments and posts regarding Staying the Path Part 1: Deities. I'm always fascinated by both the parallels and divides found between people's individual paths as well as how different people relate to what they consider to be divinity. If you haven't shared your thoughts and would like to, please do so!

As I mentioned in my previous posting, I find that I am able to stay my spiritual path because it is flexible and changeable. I don't need to cling to outdated ideas and methods that no longer serve me, I can transition and my path will wend and wind differently to open up new avenues to me. This has been the case with my relationship to Deity and it has been even more so true when it comes to my approach to ritual.

When I first put a title to the feelings I've carried, unnamed, since youth I threw myself into book after book in the library's 'New Age' section. I devoured any and every text I could lay hands on, which admittedly, was sort of slim pickings mostly revolving around Wicca and Astral Projection. Having always been a bookworm and having long been enchanted by fairy tales, folk lore and mythology I had some vague sense of what I was looking for but none of that was mirrored in these books. Somehow, and I think it was the excitement of having even some of my feelings validated, I didn't let that get to me.

And so, I let that innate knowledge I'd gathered from my other readings slip away and began to do things by the book. As a solitary and the only pagan I knew of, I had no one to turn to for advice or teaching. We were still in the stone ages of dial-up internet and sparkly personal Geocities web pages. Those tangible bound pages were all I had to learn from and so, I did my level best to follow their tutelage.

I can remember being vaguely paranoid at the time that my parents would find out I was practicing 'the craft' and would flip the fuck out on me and played all manner of other terrible, scary scenarios in my teenaged brain. Thinking back, I don't think some of the books helped with this paranoia as many of them had passages on people finding Wicca to be scary and others had chapters devoted to keeping it a big secret. In any event, this paranoia made me incapable of leaving up a permanent altar or looking for what I needed to create one openly. I gathered what I could, a small knife, a ceramic cauldron that I'm sure was from Hallowe'en, candles, incense, a small bell, a fancy book to write in and kept it all in my underwear drawer. Where else do you hide things from the world when you're a teen and you live at home?

When I did set up my altar, on full moons, new moons and sabbats, it was set up exactly like the diagram in the book. Dead center of my bedroom on a little table, elemental candles in their proper places, things related to the God on his side and things related to the Goddess on the other. I lit my candles, walked around that circle several times with my salt water, incense and sword. I can remember twinges of doubt that I didn't have the right stuff, that my tools weren't elaborate enough, that I didn't have statues and that all I had to pour into the chalice at the time for cakes and ale was a wine cooler - probably pina colada flavored, since again I was an uninformed teenager and when the book said wine I wasn't about to swap it out for spiced rum! (Yes, I had booze stashed in my drawer with my ritual tools, there wasn't much room for underwear for a bit!)

I did everything as I was told, read the words that were written, made the proper gestures and got the offerings as close as I could and.... I waited to feel something. Anything. But I never did. And I'm not going to lie, it was sort of brutal as far as let downs go. All I had done before to feel connected was pray and talk to the Gods but now that I was following the elaborate rituals in the books to honor them they were silent afterwards. Even my beloved Artemis and Hermes were mum. Those twinges of doubt became full blown feelings of failure and after a year of nothing, I packed everything away and felt spiritually lost once more. If what I felt in my heart was similar to the things written in these books, then why wasn't I able to connect or feel maybe just a little something? Ritual left me feeling a bit tense, a bit drained and honestly? I didn't really enjoy doing it as much as I had expected to. And admitting that made me feel terrible. Like I had forsaken the Gods who had brought me through childhood into Adulthood.

I gave up everything when I packed that stuff away. No more card reading, no more calling on the Olympians, no more calling myself a pagan. In a fit of depression and anger, I locked my spirituality up and pretended it didn't exist. This lasted a few years and brought me into my early 20's. The age of good internet connection speeds, the online blogging explosion via Livejournal and bookstores popping up like mushrooms after a solid rain.

Through an afternoon's perusing of Borders, I found that the 'New Age' section had grown up. Now it included all manner of books not just based in Wicca, but in Witchcraft, Polytheism, Shamanism and things I had never even heard of before. I immediately began going there on my lunch breaks to read books at the cafe tables. As a poor college student I couldn't afford to buy them but I could pick up some good points in an hour's time to take home and research online. Again, there were the heavily choreographed rituals with their very specific layouts but there was also something new interwoven amidst all that; the notion to follow your gut and not to do something if it doesn't connect you to your higher power or if you just plain don't like it. I was floored and honestly, a little pissed off that I had let go of my intuitive nature years before. Here was the freedom I needed, the validation that in not enjoying ceremonial ritual there was nothing wrong with me. Immediately I wanted to smack myself upside my own head for being so fucking stupid and when I looked up from the book on the table, for the first time in 4 years, there was Hermes smirking at me across the table.

Now my altar is set up however I want it to be set up and it changes not just seasonally, but whenever I feel called to do so. I don't crowd things on there that mean nothing to me, no heaps of tumbled stones, no fancy knives or expensive cauldrons that I would feel horror at burning something in. It houses my practical tools; the old cast iron cauldron, the wand I made from a stick my husband brought home because he thought I'd like it(I did), a shell and a bull's horn, keys, feathers, bones, coins and sometimes artwork depicting the deities I'm working with or honoring at that time. I work and worship at this altar, it isn't just a display of pretty objects to be dusted on occasion. And most importantly, it no longer hides in my underwear drawer! It now permanently resides in my bedroom, where it is the first thing I see upon waking and the last thing I see before sleeping.

When it comes to ritual now, I've let go of keeping it scripted and choreographed. The biggest difference for me these days is that I almost never cast a circle now and when I do, it is almost nothing like the ones I used to. For me, ritual can be as simple as saying a few words of praise or gratitude under the light of the moon or over a candle or as elaborate as setting up the altar, lighting candles, burning incense and making it a bit more ceremonious. I go with my gut and I no longer force myself to do things just for the sake of doing them; the Gods and Spirits won't be offended if I go to bed with a headache on the night of a sabbat rather than half assing a ritual that my heart isn't behind. Whatever I do and whatever words I say though, come directly from my own heart and spirit, not from a book. On the rare occasion that I do find a ritual that speaks to me, that I love and feel called to perform, I will tweak it to make it my own - whether that be through timing, offerings, magic work done during or the wording of it.

These days, ritual is a very personal and very heartfelt thing and it connects me to those I work with and worship in a stronger fashion than I've ever experienced before. When I finish, I find myself relaxed, tired, tingly and most importantly, I have felt something.

So lovelies, to continue our conversation, let's discuss your take on ritual and altars. Do you have an altar? Let's hear about it/them and how you use it! Do you perform rituals and if so, how do you do so? Do you prefer the ceremonial approach or do you fly by the seat of your pants? Or, do you fall somewhere in the middle? How have your feelings towards these things changed as you've walked your path?

Just a quick note to add, I don't find anything wrong with Wicca, or ceremonial ritual and I hope that in recounting my own experiences I haven't given off that impression. While I know that it works extremely well for some people, the opposite is true for me. And while some of you may scoff at my wild witch ways, they work extremely well for me.

As this post has gotten very, very long, I will touch on magic in yet another post. I hope you'll come back and weigh in on that one as well!

Spring Blessings

My wee tomato seeds are lying in eggshells and like an expectant momma I cluck and fuss over them while they sit in the windowsill.

On this beautiful Spring morning, I find that I don't have time for much more than a shower and some coffee and a book in the early sunlight before I have to head off to work. Which makes me a wee bit sad, but I know that once I'm home I'll have plenty of daylight left with which to get outside and do my annual Equinox seed planting.

The heads from two of last years Equinox flowers have waited through the Winter for this day and I will be planting their seeds this evening. With each seed will go a wish for something that I wish to grow within myself and my life this season, along with a blessing for good growth and many, many seeds. There's something so magical about keeping the annual planting alive through saving seeds.

While I typically don't create an indoor altar for the Spring, preferring to just get outside and get my hands dirty, this year I felt moved to do so. The seeds that I put on the altar at Imbolc rest there, waiting patiently for us to finish preparing the vegetable beds so we can sow them. The tools for planting and pruning wait to be cleansed and blessed for the season.

Earth and Sun who lend their strength and blessing to the growing things are represented in the bird candle holders and one of the Spring tulips who seemingly bloomed over night is offered up in thanks for the beauty of this season. Milk and honey will find their way to the altar to join the herbs this evening.

May all the seeds you plant this Equinox flourish and grow beyond your expectations and may you be truly touched by the renewing energy of this season. Happy, Happy Spring!

Yuletide Night

We had a great midwinter here. There was beef stew, chocolate/banana trifle, fresh beer bread and wassail to feast upon and while it was relatively warm, we went ahead and lit the fire anyway. We exchanged a single simple gift and then I went off to sit by the candle light of my altar for a while.

I lit my white candle and welcomed back the reborn sun. I gave thanks to the darkness for holding me close and allowing me to see things unseen by the harsh bright light and asked that it continue to teach me, for it would always be welcome.

I lit the red candle and bid farewell to the fallen King of Holly and lit green to welcome the King of Oak. Then I sat in quiet contemplation of what I would like to see happen in the next 12 months; as Yule is a celebration of rebirth I like to think of the things I'd change in order to be 'reborn' myself. I lit the candles to seal my resolutions and shared some wine with the spirits and kings. I left the candles burning and went outside beneath the cloudy night to leave my offerings to the woods and the spirits.

Still being fairly early by Yule standards, we sat down to watch some of our favorite Christmas movies and I fell asleep on the couch, curled up with my love and the kitties.

The Beltane Altar

Despite all of the things that make our house feel like home, I felt like I wasn't spiritually home until my altar was set up. Seeing it in my bedroom when I wake and before I go to bed each night helps me to feel a bit more grounded. With the greens of spring adorning it, my altar is set for the season.

My beloved bee rests at the center, between the cauldron and my heart stone.

At the back of my altar, raised up, sit Brighid (painted by myself) and the Horned God (a gift from my beloved witch sister, Anathemum). Before them rests my copper plate, where I often place offerings.

A large seasonal offering of fresh flowers and herbs reside in my stag head dish. Tomorrow evening, this will be given to the forest along with fresh fruits, honey and wine.

The batik fabric that everything rests upon is a recent acquisition. The greens and browns reminded me of the awakening Earth and the Sun patterns call to mind that its strength has returned. The oak leaves were torn from my tree and scattered in the yard during the storms earlier this week and upon finding them, I felt the need to place them here.

For the first time ever, I will be able to celebrate Beltane outside, around a toasty fire. My brother and I dug a fire pit in the back yard this afternoon and the lovely and I have been collecting large stones to surround it as we find them. I intend to practice jumping it, as I'm a terrible jumper with awful balance and may have made it a hair larger then intended. I've gotten the meade and plan to make merry until sometime the following morning.

What do you have planned this Beltane?

Midwinter

Here at Midwinter, the sun grows ever stronger. Brighid wakes and the world waits for Spring to follow in her steps. The days grow longer as the darkness of Winter loses its grasp, retreating as The Cailleach turns to stone.

Imbolc is a transitory period as all living things begins to stir from hibernation, ready for the abundance and beauty of the warmer months. It is a time for renewal, rebirth and purification. A festival of fire.

May Brighid bless your home with abundance, health and love. May the growing strength of the sun and the hints of Springs return rekindle the fire in your soul. Blessed Imbolc, dear friends.

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My Imbolc Altar

A simple layout juxtaposing the icy blues of Winter and the vibrant greens of Spring. A painting done by a friend of a fire goddess is the focus, flanked by a yellow candle to represent the sun and a green one to represent the coming growing season. Before her rests a candle and an offering of spring herbs and flowers.

A Seasonal First

I recently discussed in a post about the holiday season that this time of year and I have had a sordid past. Typically while others are having an overblown case of the holly jollies, I'm having a case of the Grinchy grumps. This year, for the very first time, I've felt compelled to dress my altar for Yule. In years past the Samhain decorations and trapping have stayed up until the pumpkins and gourds begin to look a bit soggy, but not this year.

For your perusal, here are some photos of my first ever Yule altar, a sure sign that the relationship between myself and Winter is on the mend.

You can see my seasonal tapers are lit, illuminating Lugh in the background. Yellow chime candles await the Solstice, ready to welcome the Sun.


My heart stone sits, collecting and storing healing energy, next to my labradorite sphere and stag head offering dish.

Do any of you set up Yule altars? If so, please share! I'd love to see them.

On the Second, Third and Fourth Days of Halloween...

I went to an Oktoberfest and had some seasonal brews:

And set up my altar for Samhain. If you look closely, you'll spot a few items from the pagan swaps on Craftster, as well as items from Carioca Witch and Anathemum on Etsy. I added the baby pumpkin and gourd on the fourth day after stopping at a stand to grab a few.

The list of Hallowe'en revelers is growing each day and it's not too late to join in on the fun! Click the button below to visit the party post.