we were pretty together in this busy time that is summer. giving thanks in the woods, the silent damp walk over the moss, listening, being aware among the ferns.
Lugh, O Lugh of the long arm, O shining one. This half of the year reminding us that winter will come. So in pre-rit we talked about how Bridget lets us know we will survive with the milk of the ewe and Lugh lets us know we have to work hard and to do our best to harvest our crops and cultivate our seeds so that we will survive.
we planned to go to the Nemeton and we did and we planed on the well as our main gate and it was. But we did have a wee fire in the massive rain and the beauty of the space was grounding.
I keep thinking of the green, the rains made them so clear. It rarely works out as planned and that is the trick, not being attached to plans- hard as that is- and then it all works out anyway. But still it is hard not to think, ooh I forgot that, or that sacrifice supposed to be for… Sigh, being in the moment is always the lesson.
setting up, the baskets of everything, all ready and then the rain so gentle at first we ate our lunch sitting on the deck. plan B getting the fire going in the close to the house fire pit. the rain starts really coming down as Bryan gets the fire lit.
Food cooking, all ready and then the heavy downpours start.
Susan arrives and we have our tea and cookies, out of balance, acknowledging it and laughing about it. Shavaun arrives and it is time to begin. Putting away food, more tea and pre-rit stories about Lugh and the pantheon across cultures. I go outside with the arrival of Kevin and build up the fire till it roars in the rain. More tea and cherry tomatoes and the decision to go to the Nemeton. Ok, through the woods in the rain, no cups for the waters only cupped hands and walk lightly on the moss- the processional tour of the sacred gardens Umbrellas, and coats and carrying the sun sacrifice sculpture we go through the fruit trees and grapes and not in circles around the 5 circle fire pit but straight to the woods across the bridge of iron brought up here by me. Past the growing hawthorn, and and the hazels and the witch hazels. We no longer need our umbrellas under the canopy of the trees. Dear trees, woods of strength, we are so grateful for your spirit and your shade.
Lustration from the metal bowl on the rock with no flowers and only the incense carried by Bryan and silence as we pass through the twin trees and the place of deep moss. Through the deep ferns and over the bridge of many grasses and branches and rocks, soft and strong, but making you aware of each step. Bryan set the sun on the giant forked tree at the due East entrance and we circle around and find our place.
our first offering is for our Earth Mother, all mother, who supports us all. always. We have dried herbs for her, and the directions are there as we know them but only offering my voice. Un-centered by the rain, by the wiggly boy, the forgotten sacrifice, the disconnect between the gates and the outside of the circle, I try to locate us. We call upon dear Mananan to open our gates, mixing beer with rain and words. Tossing the third wing as offering to outsiders disappearing in the tall grass sedge, and for insider Bridget the cream and rosemary. Though the rain grows stronger, the candle stays lit and while the fire doesn’t burn much Bryan keeps trying and it always has a small flame.
all our sacrifice is the right sacrifice regardless of the order or the quantity it is the action of gratitude that is the work.
Milk and cheese and apples and fermented mint tea and wet sticks. Each of us offering our prayers and gratitude and words.
Bryan didn’t fall off rocks, balancing his way trying to ignite the flames, to hallow our waters, to honor our kindred.
the smoking gates, the plumes of smoke from the fire in the rain.
our small feast of harvest with talk about government and ways and ways out and the internet and young people and hidden stone circles.
Tea and coffee and sweets and the rain stops.