the Season of letting go

notes from the equinox 2010

The leaves are each day falling more and more furiously even as the ones on the trees become more and more brilliant. The weather is damp and cold and in some places there has been frost.

Not spent enough time in the garden anyway this year and now the dried stalks of dead flowers need harvesting, cabbages and broccoli still thrive along with the rest of the horseradish. Still more wood to stack, the chimney to clean and our septic needs work. Tying up loose ends before Samhain.

The day of our ritual I had gone first to honor the cycles of learning and giving in balance with my teacher of many years. On a brilliant day of first fall we danced the 7 Direction Movement Meditation and meditated on goldenrod, waving delicately almost imperceptibly in the breeze. We talked about the heart and ate my harvested grapes and peaches which came to fruition so abundantly and so late in the season. Then I went to see another teacher, a dear friend, my healing goddess. She was dying, though I was unprepared for the reality of her body, so frail and transparent and battered by her disease. She was a young woman whose illness took her rapidly. I spent the afternoon at times sitting quietly with her, at times talking to the others from her life who passed through to say goodbye. I came home from this for our equinox ritual, to try to celebrate balance.

This was to be our last Our Whole Grove ritual as a whole grove, Elizabeth, who has since now moved to PA., was to attend and Susan and Amber as well, and also Heather who was at Lughnasa. But Elizabeth (who was leaving the next day) couldn’t come and Susan also became unable to attend. Again it was just to be Bryan, Heather, myself & Hudson.

Bryan had gathered bunches of the same goldenrod that earlier I had breathed with, that is a tonic for our hearts and keeps us strong throughout the winter and filled the bilé in the nematon like a giant headdress.

We had set out offerings: milk from the farm for the earth mother, some of our bounteous harvest, pork bone and the last of our portion of our whole cyser, crafted a year before. The fire was roaring in the center of the five circle fire pit before I even came home.

 

Autumn glowed her colors, and the light began to fade. We layered up and processed to the fire.

  

There are always birds, a hawk flying, some one cawing their acknowledgement.

Walking around the circle pouring milk and giving thanks for our mother and for her bounty, for feeding us and for caring for us. Our tree our finally flowing stream and well and our good and warm fire. Our fire was magic, like it was talking to us in spurts and blazes.

   

We had gathered

We sat and talked until almost dark