Vernal Equinox

 

Let it blossom, let it grow. 

Imbolc

photo http://www.thegypsythread.org

 February Eve has come, bringing with it just enough warmth and rain to wash away the last of January's snow. Now begins the up and down dance of February, cold this day, warm the next, snow here, rain there, the tug of war between winter and spring. Beyond my window the sky is a soft grey-blue, and what was white yesterday is now a soggy greenish brown. If the rains promised for today were to stop long enough to allow me a walk in nature, I might see signs of life just beginning, the tenderest soft shoots of green just barely breaking the surface; those little hints of life are sustenance enough for me, at this time of year.

For years we've joked about how Imbolc is the sabbat that everyone always skips, because the weather is always wretched. It's true enough that my coven isn't meeting for the sabbat this year, but it's less because of the weather (which is, admittedly, fairly wretched per usual) than because of the ongoing pandemic. The virus that has reshaped our world over the past year has also reshaped itself, appearing in some new and more easily transmissible variants; and while vaccines do now exist, not everyone is able to get one yet, as they are being rolled out in phases with the more vulnerable being first to receive them. It could be well into the spring or even summer before I'm eligible, with the same being true of most of my coveners. And so we wait, as the earth waits, for the return of light and life and hope and all those things that are promised by the spring's awakening.

Yuletide

 May the reborn sun bring a little warmth into this world. 

Yule log tutorial

Samhain

 

Classic Halloween Postcard Witchery

I'm a bit late getting started on these this year, so let's get right to it.

This charming young witch, while not traditionally dressed, is nonetheless employing her wand in a traditional and appropriate manner--that is, "to call up and control certain angels and genii to whom it would not be meet to use the sword."

In this case, the entities being conjured are identified as elves, though their appearance is ambiguous enough that they could be any sort of spirit. The witch herself is garbed more like a nature spirit or sprite than a classic witch, which only serves to make me long for Hallowe'ens of old when costumes often took such puckish forms. (It's quite racy, too; look how much leg she's showing!)

She may be conjuring these elves out of the moon, though it's more likely to be a ball of papier-mache or crepe paper; such treat balls were given as party favors and typically filled with candies and small trinkets, wrapped in multiple layers of colorful paper. I can remember finding a display of them in a department store as a child, and how delighted I was by them. I almost didn't want to unwrap mine, it was so cool--though of course, I did. (Mine had a witch face, not that that should come as any surprise.)

Now these guys, on the other hand, are demonstrating an absolutely improper usage for the athame. While Gardner does indicate that the athame can be used to "dominate, subdue, and punish all rebellious spirits and demons," I'm not sure that what's going on here is exactly what he had in mind--and in any case, the athame is generally not to be used for cutting. We use our curfane for that. (They did hold to the old recommendation of using tools that look like common household objects, though, so there's that.)

For today, I'll leave you with this one. Here we have as classic a witch as one could ask, although she's dressed in red rather than the more familiar black. Full moon, bats, owls, cats, jack-o-lanterns, cornstalks, all the most evocative symbols of the season are present. And best of all, there's a simple and effective little charm given:

Softly cross your fingers

At the Witching Hour;

Over Fates and Fortunes

The Moon will give you power.

 

All Hallows Eve

Happy Equinox

clarsach agus claidheamh

My preferred working tool for this season. Warm spring breezes and burgeoning blossoms stir the muse within. Blessings of the equinox to you all!

Dreaming of Imbolc

I awoke this morning in the midst of a dream. In it, we were accosted while out walking by a woman who proceeded to question us as if we were expert witnesses or law enforcement consultants on the occult. She said that a monument at a nearby Catholic college (she called it Trinity something-or-other) had been "defaced," with the remnants of candles and offerings (I have the impression of red candles, though I can't recall if that was specified or not), and wanted to know the possible meaning behind it. I immediately launched into a quite complex lecture on the neo-pagan celebration of Imbolc, explaining the meanings and customs of the holiday and assuring her that there was nothing at all "Satanic" or dangerous about it. I remember being surprised when the woman asked me if the holiday was sometimes also called La Fheile Bride, and my response that it was indeed sometimes called that, in Gaelic, by Druid practitioners. I also assured her that the mysterious offerings might have been left in honor of St. Brigit, who celebrates a feast day at this time. I was awakened before I could finish my lecture.

Appropriately, I had this dream on the day in question, as Imbolc was celebrated on February 2nd in the tradition in which I was trained--despite it's being called "February Eve" in the early writings, which would of course technically require a celebration on January 31st. I celebrated the 31st and the 1st on the road, caravaning my mother-in-law home from Florida, and if I had any deity interactions at all it was with Bast, who sent her small minions to play in the landscaping around the hotel we stayed at in north Georgia. (One of them was the loveliest little thing, snowy white with a large patch of silver and black tabby markings on her back like a draped blanket. Her eyes were a pale luminous green, ringed with black liner that extended slightly out from the corners in a very Egyptian fashion; she gazed at me very seriously, and I gazed right back at her in the same way, having a moment. She would not approach closely, and finally broke the spell to run off chasing under a bush with her solid red tabby sibling. Their mother was prowling the courtyard, which featured what was very nearly a ring of large stones; adjacent to this was a tiny church building, complete with narrow stained glass windows, labeled the "Interfaith Meditation Chapel." Apparently my faith was not included, because I found the building locked.)

In any case, it's Imbolc now--or Oimelc or Candlemas or La Fheile Bride or whatever you'd like to call it. I call it the midpoint of winter, halfway between the Winter Solstice and the Vernal Equinox. It's an odd one, to be sure; the high today should again be in the 60s, which carries on the trend of this being an unusually mild winter. I usually like to celebrate it as a turning point, a time when the days are visibly lengthening, when the first faint hints of growing things can be seen, when we know the worst of winter is generally past us and spring looms on the horizon. This year, there's not much of winter to be seen beyond the still-barren trees, but maybe that's cause for celebration in its own right.