Yule

 

Samhain

 

Once again, the season of the witch.

Autumn Equinox

 

It's OK if you want to call it Mabon. 

Lammas

 

Lammas? Lughnasadh? August Eve? First Harvest? Yes.

Midsummer

 

Midsummer Eve, Edward Robert Hughes (1908)

Festival Season and the Plague Years

The daystar burns brightly above and the midsummer sabbat (1) fast approaches: festival season is upon us. Whether that means big multitrad pagan festivals, tradition-specific gatherings, or single-day events like Pagan Pride Day, from now until after Halloween there will be a multitude of activities wherein one can meet other paganfolk, reconnect with old friends, spend time in nature, etc. I even had intention this year of attending one or two such events; but you know what they say about the best-laid plans. Between rising gas (and everything else) prices and the ongoing threat of coronavirus (now with special guest star monkeypox for an opening act), my partner and I have had to bow out of two so far, and there may be other events down the road that we end up opting out of this year. Risk-aversion still seems the safest course.

It's been years since I/we have attended any trad-specific gatherings. They can be fraught with Issues. In the past, we've personally stayed away from an event when told by organizers that one of our initiates was unwelcome because there were people who had Issues with him. In another case, we were told that we ourselves were unwelcome because someone the organizer liked wouldn't come if we did! In an ideal world, a trad-specific festival would be open to any verifiable members of that trad, and interpersonal issues would be dealt with, like goddamn adults, between the parties involved; but this is not that world, and most such events are and have always been invitation-only. I can understand that, I suppose: if you're trying to minimize drama, and keep away people that you or someone close to you thinks is an asshole, then controlling attendance is a feasible way to go. I'd love to live in a world where verified members of a tradition could all attend a grand festival, regardless of what horrible rumors follow them (2), and sort themselves out while there, behaving like "adults" and simply not engaging with people they were at odds with--but then, I have a lot of impossible dreams. People are people, and they rarely get along, and they like to stir shit and spread gossip and engage in all the kinds of activities that usually have me running for the exit like the former bullied kid that I am. I'm pretty sure somewhere in Gardner's writings there's something about covens not knowing where any other covens are, and that was probably sound advice. As the great Terry Pratchett once put it, 

The natural size of a coven is one. Witches only get together when they can't avoid it.

 In any case, we've had to bail on two events, which is unfortunate, because despite my general introversion and mistrustful nature, I was looking forward to both of them. For the most part, my memories of previous such events are good ones, though it's likely that the haze of nostalgia has much to do with that. I'm not a fan of camping, though I can stand it for a night or two (so long as adequate sanitation facilities are nearby), but there's something enjoyable about setting up one's little camp site, and having a little cabin to stay in is even better than a tent. Nature hikes and campfires and big rituals with lots of other people who know the rite being performed and can fall into it all together--well, there's nothing else really like that, and it makes for a singular experience. But the truth is, we're not out of the plague years yet; the rona is still out there, and it's still making people sick, and making some of those sick people die or have complications that will follow them for years to come. That's not a gamble I'm willing to take, not with my own life and not with the lives of anyone I love. 

So it's back to the shadows, back to being among Her hidden children, and that's probably not even a bad thing. Trouble does seem to follow when too many witches try to mingle. Too many opinions and perceptions and egos running into each other. One of the trads I work is purposefully small; we're far-flung, but we all know each other, and even when we disagree or butt heads, it's easier, somehow. In the bigger trad, it seems like things get out of hand and become schismatic fairly regularly. Not surprising in the least, but still depressing to see. I have no reason to think the smaller trad won't go the same way eventually; it's the nature of witches, apparently.

It will be a small solstice celebration this year, with several of our people scattered for summer adventures, and the looming threats of financial collapse and continuing pandemic. To those who choose to gather at various festivals, good luck to you; to those others who scale back and tend their own hearth instead, I wish you good fortune as well. We'll be together again one day (3).

(1) Fuck it, it's fine, we can call it Litha like everyone else does.

(2) I mean, unless it's someone with a verifiable criminal record. Unverified rumors are bullshit, but a rape/murder/burglary conviction is a matter of record.

(3) Assuming we're invited, of course.

Beltane

 

Some day I might even write something about the sabbats.

Times Like These

A week ago today I got up, sat down at the computer, and learned that the drummer from one of my favorite bands had died unexpectedly. I was stunned, initial numbness blooming slowly, inexorably into a sadness that surprised me in its depth. While I was never a Foo Fighters superfan, they'd been a constant of my life for nearly half of it, a beloved part of my personal soundscape, bringing their own unique blend of catharsis, comfort, and joy. As the week went on, and I saw the outpouring of love and remembrance from scores of friends, fans, and colleagues, my sorrow revealed its own nuances: nostalgia for the years of great music driven by that mesmerizing backbeat, grief for a future in which that heartbeat was stilled and the joy it brought to the world was gone along with it. An aching empathy for Dave Grohl, who'd lost his bandmate/brother (and having recently read his autobiography, that feeling was magnified horribly) and quite likely his band as well. The whole situation was, and is, heartbreaking, devastating. It's clinically fascinating to see how this sort of parasocial relationship can impact fans, but it's equally fascinating to discover how bereft you can feel over the loss of someone you'd never met but who had nonetheless made an impact on your life. The grief felt by the man's real-life friends and family must be fathomless.

In the wake of such a tragedy, the loss of someone who was apparently almost universally loved and respected, someone who was apparently kind, funny, generous, and humble, the mind invariably slides into the old just world fallacy and starts to balk. How, we ask, could this lovely soul be gone, while the vilest of human monsters continue to roam the earth, flourishing while befouling everything they touch? How the fuck is that possible? Can't we trade some hamberder-muching monomaniac for the sweet drummer who used to hang out at Guitar Center and buy gear for strangers? Maybe the forces would be appeased by taking, say, some shitgibbon who invades a peaceful sovereign nation instead of a cheery musician dude who liked hanging with his BFF and making goofy videos with the band? How, we ask, is this fair? How, we ask, do we proceed with living when the balance is so obviously askew? We feel askew, off balance, in the contemplation of the magnitude of the injustice of it all. Our footing slips, we feel unmoored, vertiginous. 

People turn to their religion when they feel like this, turn to their clergypeople to seek answers to impossible questions; but what about those clergypersons themselves? We have the same questions, the same anger, the same frustration; and just like everyone else, we lack concrete answers (well, we do if we're honest). We anguish, we rage, we sorrow, we cry, and we carry on. I've done all of those things this past week, and I've done all of those things this morning as I wrote this post. The only damned thing I can think of to do in the wake of evidence to the monstrous indifference and unfairness of the universe is to keep going, to try to shine just that little bit brighter to compensate for the light that just went out, all the while knowing that that extinguished light will still radiate for years to come, just as the starlight we see comes from celestial bodies extinguished eons ago. The light remains. It always does. 

Rest easy, Taylor. If the sky is a neighborhood, you're among good company. 

Spring Equinox

 

Seeking and Finding

Meeting new people can be an awkward thing in any circumstance, but even more so when you're essentially interviewing (or being interviewed by) someone for potential entry into a training group. Like a job interview, or even a date, things can seemingly go very well, only for one or the other person to decide that the fit just wasn't right. Sometimes they'll tell you, other times you'll never hear from them again; and either way, you're left to wonder why (unless, of course, they tell you--a rarity, though not an impossibility). 

There are many ways to approach bringing people in to the craft. Not everyone runs a training group or Outer Court; I've heard of groups that simply meet socially with prospects for however long it takes all parties to determine whether the person will be brought in or not. I recall someone once saying (I'm paraphrasing here) that their task was to throw out all the reasons why someone wouldn't want to be initiated, while another said they would rebuff an inquiry two or three times just to test the petitioner's determination. I personally like the idea of chance meetings that turn to friendship and a gradual interest in joining the coven, but perhaps that's just my romantic side. We have had chance meetings lead to initiations before, and that's generally worked well, but we've also had people who sought us and were interviewed who came to be long-term coveners, so I can't say for certain which way is best. The roads which lead people to a particular group are just as varied and convoluted as those that sometimes lead them away to another coven, another tradition, another spiritual path entirely. 

So many factors figure in to making a good magickal working relationship possible. Some are social: most people tend to gravitate toward their own demographic cohorts, and away from anything too far outside those parameters. Some are personal: similar personality types, senses of humor, even political leanings and sexual/relational preferences can come into play. And then there are the intangibles, what you might call energy or chemistry or synergy: it's impossible to wholly define them, but they exist, and when they're off, you know it, and you ignore it to your peril. (Ask me how I know.)

I pulled a card before meeting the most recent seeker who approached us; the meeting went well, lasted a good while, seemed productive and positive, and ended with an email saying they didn't think it would be a good fit. While it didn't break my heart, it was disappointing, but I'll take upfront disappointment any day over the alternative of spending months working with someone only to have them depart, particularly if the departure is acrimonious. It's all part of the very glamorous job of coven leader, one among the many things you sign on for all unawares while upholding that promise you made to keep the craft alive. One of the first things we learn is that this particular path isn't for everyone; maybe sometimes my job really is to help people determine what it is they don't want.

Imbolc