Lammas

 

(aka Lughnasadh, August Eve, etc.)

I'm spending it at a renaissance faire--somewhat appropriate, perhaps, since it is a place where one can feast and dance and participate in feats of strength--instead of amongst my far-flung covenmates, but it's been a difficult-to-impossible year for getting together. Some things are better while others are not, but that is ever the way of life. What I am personally metaphorically harvesting from this shitfest of a year remains to be considered, but I'm still upright and (mostly) sane and moving onward, so that surely counts for something! To all of you I wish a bountiful harvest as we enter the witchiest months of the year.

Midsummer

 

It's been a long cold lonely... well, year, to be truthful; halfway through and I feel rather like I'm just waking from a nightmare to find that it all really happened, though there is some evidence to suggest that the worst is past and I can maybe-possibly safely breathe again. Still not sure I believe that on a deep level, but it's better (maybe?) than it was. So far I have enjoyed very little of this year, for reasons both micro- and macrocosmic: 1/10 would not recommend. 

But it's summer now, and faire season, and even though we are now in the grip of that obviously-not-caused-by-climate-change-because-climate-change-doesn't-exist portion of the season where daily it's above 90 and the humidity is like a hot soaking wool blanket wrapped around you, at least things are bright and growing and alive. The world within and without provides its horrors, but still life finds a way. I don't know quite what to celebrate this solstice beyond that simple fact. 

Turning A Leaf

 

We can do better.

Sadly, I think I've kind of kept the vibe a little low, the attitude a little negative, around here in the past. I stand by those things, of course, and I'm not saying I'll never turn to the dark side again in the future--Gods know there's plenty of things to be negative about, both in the craft and out of it--but I'm feeling like I need to balance that out a bit. Truth is, I love the craft, otherwise I wouldn't still be doing this after all these years and all this heartache--because there's been a lot of joy involved too, big moments and small. So in the future, I resolve to do better, and to bring some of that light forth as well. In the midst of (gestures vaguely around) , we all need a little light.

Something Happened on the Way to 2025

Nothing like severe, life-altering (and potentially life-ending) illness striking your family to shake up your way of being in the world.

I'm reasonably certain that very few people who suffer two types of stroke simultaneously walk unaided out of the hospital in a week's time, but my partner did. The tale of his recovery, which is ongoing, is not mine to tell; but I will say that from my very close vantage point, it looks a little miraculous, maybe even a bit magickal. I'm reminded of Paul Kantner's recovery from a potentially life-ending cerebral hemorrhage in the early 80s; the odds here were about that grim. How it has and will change my partner's life is also not my story to tell, but I can tell you how I'm faring.

I enter a state of functional shock when bad things happen, and I existed in that state for some time after the event. Miraculously, I managed to keep the bills paid and the household running, which was revelatory. Everything except me, anyway, as I mostly didn't eat for the first month--which had the salutary side-effect of making me drop a good ten pounds with no real effort on my part. Once I realized that, and started to come back to myself a bit in the upswing phase of his recovery, I decided I wanted to keep that momentum, so I kept my altered eating habits (OK, by this time I was starting to actually eat again) and added daily exercise to the mix, and have made it a habit instead of a happenstance. I look and feel better, at any rate.

I learned who I can trust in a crisis, and who cares enough to help us out, and those things were revelatory too. Shockingly, I learned at my great age that I can trust myself, even when I'm stressed beyond my own capacity to even recognize it. I also learned that I can no longer wholly condemn those who leave their partners in the midst of medical crisis, because I can now see how difficult to impossible understanding and supporting and caregiving could be for some. I'm certainly not the ideal person to have around in a medical crisis situation (my fannish identification with Scully doesn't extend to that part of her characterization), but there are surely those even less able to cope than I, so maybe I have a bit more sympathy for people facing that situation than I once would have.

Were the Gods or spirits or something looking out for him? Are there lessons for him to learn from this? Will his (and my?) life change in a rebirth/reawakening, initiatory/revelatory kind of way? Perhaps. Both Imbolc and the equinox have already passed with no significant recognition on either of our parts. I've offered up plenty of thanks to whomever might be listening. Things have calmed, stabilized, though I suspect I'll be metaphorically sleeping with one eye open for a very long time. What is to come I do not know, but I do know that I now have a bit more faith in my ability to meet it and handle it; and that, in itself, seems magick enough for the moment.

Yuletide

 

I was up before the dawn and managed to settle myself long enough to perform a simple solitary rite, which is more than I've managed in quite some time. This country, this world, is in a dark place these days, and finding the light has gotten measurably harder as time rolls on and ever-viler people attain power. Still, we understand that everything is cyclical, and dawn always follows even the deepest darkness. The winter sunlight streaming through my window currently is a golden glow, even though the temperature remains well below freezing, and I take this as a reminder to remember and seek the light in darkness, the glittering moments sparking through the long cold nights. Solstice blessings to you all!

Autumn Equinox

 

It doesn't matter what you personally call it, or what your tradition calls it, or what people on the internet call it, refuse to call it, or sneer at people calling it. The autumn equinox brings its beauty, its balance, and its blessing no matter what name we ascribe to it. Shorter days and longer nights, cool mornings and warmer afternoons, blustery skies dispersed by glorious golden sunlight diffused through rainbows of leaves. The season of the witch is almost upon us; listen for the spirits whispering in the rustle of the trees.

Who Has The Right?

If you put yourself out there in any capacity--as a teacher, a coven leader, an initiate of anything--someone will eventually come popping up seemingly from nowhere to challenge you on it. It does not matter what your bona fides are; you could be the finest witch with the most impeccable lineage imaginable, and some asshole will still appear to question your validity, deny your right to do what you're doing, tell you your upline is illegitimate, or a dozen other things. And the reason why is simple: people suck.

People suck, and a great many of the suckiest among them can be found in religious and spiritual sectors. Why that is, is a topic for another dissertation, but just believe me when I say that it's so. Among the worst people I have known in my adult life, the bulk of them have been other witches, pagans, and occultists. These people have bullied me publicly and privately, harassed me online, denied the validity of my initiates, claimed I did things I didn't do and didn't do things I did do, tried to ruin my coven, break up my marriage, and the list goes on. I'm far from the only one who has experienced this. A dear friend and initiate of mine once told the tale of attending a public pagan gathering and overhearing some complete strangers discussing him, gleefully recounting all the horrible things he'd supposedly done, with him sitting right at their same table completely unknown to them. If it's true that people love gossip, the more salacious and outrageous the better, then it's magnified a thousandfold in the pagan/Wiccan/occult sectors. It would be hilariously stupid if only it didn't cause real harm.

Why does it happen? One reason is because a lot of heavily damaged people find their way to the craft in hopes of fixing that damage; but as the saying goes, hurt people hurt other people, so instead of finding personal healing they seek scapegoats. Instead of addressing their own feelings of illegitimacy they challenge that of others. Some genuinely deserve compassion; others are genuinely nasty people who deserve only contempt, and our best efforts to avoid them and minimize where possible the damage they seek to do. I've found an inordinate number of that second kind over the years.

As the friend I mentioned above once told me, they behave so badly because the stakes are so small. 

I am a part of two Wiccan traditions: the one in which I was originally initiated and trained, and the one which my partner and I developed. I have been questioned and challenged about my place and my rights in both of them at various times, and let me state loudly and clearly that I do not give one single shit whether someone unknown to me, whose opinion means nothing to me, considers me a valid witch or teacher or priestess. And neither, dear reader, should you. The person who starts off with a challenge doesn't want information, they want a fight; they want you on the defensive, want you shaken, want you to doubt yourself. Don't give them what they want. If you're up for a battle, then turn it back on them and question them in turn, but in general it's better to defuse the situation and walk away. Pick your battles carefully or you'll end up with a broken heart and an ulcer, because these people live to drain others dry. Don't open a vein for them.

If someone questions your lineage, tell 'em it's oathbound. Tell them you were brought in by a witch who was brought in by another witch. Tell them you don't have any. Tell them it's none of their godsdamn business. Tell them you made it all up yourself, or you read it in a book, or a wizard in a cave on a high mountaintop passed his wisdom on to you. If you are a member of a tradition and you put yourself out there as such, then you can certainly expect to hear from others of that trad; but there is a big difference between the friendly curiosity of one initiate to another, and the malignant interest of the bully. The sooner you learn to differentiate between the two, and to react appropriately, the better off you'll be. And if you are trying to enter initiate space and need to prove your bona fides, you should already know how to provide a requested vouch. Randos on the internet trying to provoke you or discredit you do not deserve consideration.

Yuletide

 

May Eve

 

Beltane Reunion by Emily Balivet

Walpurgis Night, the time is right,

The ancient powers awake.

So dance and sing, around the ring,

And Beltane magic make.

Walpurgis Night, Walpurgis Night,

Upon the eve of May,

We’ll merry meet, and summer greet,

For ever and a day.

New life we see, in flower and tree,

And summer comes again.

Be free and fair, like earth and air,

The sunshine and the rain.

Walpurgis Night, Walpurgis Night,

Upon the eve of May,

We’ll merry meet, and summer greet,

For ever and a day.

As magic fire be our desire

To tread the pagan way,

And our true will find and fulfil,

As dawns a brighter day.

Walpurgis Night, Walpurgis Night,

Upon the eve of May,

We’ll merry meet, and summer greet,

For ever and a day.

The pagan powers this night be ours,

Let all the world be free,

And sorrows cast into the past,

And future blessed be!

Walpurgis Night, Walpurgis Night,

Upon the eve of May,

We’ll merry meet, and summer greet,

For ever and a day.

© Copyright The Doreen Valiente Foundation

Spring Equinox

 

@ ravenmmonsoracle.com

Spring came early this year, after a blessedly mild winter (in the sense of little snowfall and warmish temperatures overall; I choose to ignore the sub-zero ice-laden Christmas weekend), with things greening and blooming just in time for a one-two punch of below freezing mornings that cost me some shrubberies and other assorted small growing things. Tornadoes (one skipping along a mile or so from me) and wind storms (one took out our power for nearly a day) added to the entertainment--but I'm sure there's no such thing as climate change. This is all perfectly normal. Nothing at all to see here.

Still, the equinox (Ostara if you like) is a cause for celebration, a sigh of relief that the light is strengthening, the green things are rising, the tender first blossoms lifting their little heads to follow the sun. It's a reminder that we've made it through the dark times once more. 

Imbolc

 

Imbolc (known in some traditions as February Eve) marks the midpoint of winter, halfway between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. The daylight hours are visibly longer now, and depending on where you are, the first hints of renewed life are appearing. Snowdrops and crocuses are budding, and daffodils are sending forth the tentative green shoots that will unfurl soon into leaves and blossoms. The world is slowly reawakening.

There is no one coherent myth cycle followed by all pagans or Wiccans; I'm among the many who have tried in vain for years to puzzle one out only to finally give it up and just roll with what appears to be happening in nature for the most part. Some more Celtically inspired folks do celebrate Brighid at this time, Imbolc being the traditional time of her feast day; as a woman of Celtic ancestry and a novice harper, I've begun a rather tentative devotional practice for Brighid as she does have some mythological connection to harps and harpers. The traditional BoS rite for this sabbat is maddeningly vague and has nothing at all to do with a god-and-goddess connection. Ultimately, it's a fire festival, so whatever else you choose to focus upon, make sure you bring the restoration of light and life into your celebration.

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