Time Out

frost every morning since ritual and we wait now for the first winter storm. The snowstorm after the hurricane
wind storm. And then the weather should be warm again.

Evenings are dark early this end of daylight time, time after Samhain, timeless time, time of darkness, time of silence.
Until the wind blows.


No snow for us this storm either but downstate is once again hammered. People are cold and without power.
Electrical power.

There has been much heart flutters and twitching muscles for what seems like weeks or maybe a season.
Electrical impulses, press and release, fear and wait. Power.
Electoral cycles, earth cycles, life cycles.
    
Winter is clearly here, summer has ended
and I rarely want to leave the house.
Energy conservation and hibernation.

When yesterday was today it was the day after and we all breathed.
We clapped and danced by the wood stove
our main energy source
in the center under the pyramid.

Taking out the last food sacrifice,
closing a week of dumb suppers
offered to passing dead
to comfort their travels,
its bioactive hissss a promise of beginning:
fermentation.

Powerless until we had power,
covering and planning for dark or light,
We cooked some food and wandered, slightly lost,
once again normal with electricity.
Finally the first sunny day in forever, or at least from the time of days filled with hurricane from anticipation to aftermath, dawned earlier through the end of daylight savings, though there is rarely any extra sleep anymore.

Rising easily prepared to clean,
now with no worry of running out,
we plan for no other people, but
Electronically communicating we find ways to connect.

Crafting the fire, with many leaves to control, we set up ritual space.
Sun shines strong, but far in the south at what would have been noon the day before.

Boy outside half-hidden in the branches of bare shrubs and our friend arrives wearing sweaters and coat and gloves and hat and boots and 2 pairs of pants and a scarf.
Bryan is barefoot.
We all get barefoot.
The earth is actually warm-ish.

Forgetting things we get ready and get ready more, we eat our dessert first, and make more coffee.
Powered up.



We are already here, in sacred space with the fire. Begin.

Be- with our feet feeling the earth and roots going down holding firm to the ground and the sun streaming into our heads going up and the in-between.
Birds sing.

A whole jar of milk for our Earth Mother, the cream removed from the top as sacrifice for our dear Bridget.
Pomegranate quarters for the directions. The East- the new day and that energy of light and power but not where the sun rises now in these ever wintering days; the South- where the sun is now at midday, the flowing energy of our emotions and caring, our environmental lessons (hello Hurricane Sandy); the West- place of our neighbors, the direction of the setting sun, that introspection and death, the brown bear and our hibernation, the peach tree; and the North- oh winter, place of winds and of healing and nor’easters and the white and purple and quiet.
and the above and the below and the center.

That which goes down and is the place of gathering below, where the waters all go to, that well.
The vertical and that which goes up,
flexible like our spine, sacred tree.
And the center, our fire, place of transformation and consuming energy.

Beer for Mananan, thanks for keeping the gates,
for guiding those between the worlds.
Cream and dried herbs from our garden for Bridget,
our concord grapes for our Kindred.
And some extra beer for our honored dead,
ancestors we are here because of you.
Thank you.

Each of us two women making our offerings cycling through the gates
from fire to well to tree
from tree to well to fire.

Final thanks and sacrifice of the rest of our concords and all the spent seeds, package by package, their pictures of flowers or veggies slowly consumed by the flame as the grapes swelled and shined with heat.

      

Taking pictures & taking omens & the corn popping out
of the fire. What we see and what we don’t see.
Hidden images and messages dancing above and through the gates. As the veil is thinnest. Pay attention.

     

  Runes & Ogham & Virtue Cards, especially at this season.

  
   


But also the scrying, the light through the orb.
There is no real way to capture that spirit, that energy;
in the same way that I cannot recreate the moment of ritual in words moments or days or weeks later.
But we try anyway.
the East
the South
the West
the North

There was really only light and life in the north/south axis, the east/west has harder to see.
And between the South and the West, more people arrived, a friend and her 7 year old daughter who immediately took off her shoes at the circle and walked in the stream to our sacred well.
The augury of barefeet, of light, of power and energy.

our omens
from our Ancestors-Eihwaz, the death’s crook, the spindle, often the yew tree, the axis on which everything turns
from the Spirits of Nature & Place-Perthro, the lottery cup or chance, luck
from the Gods & Godesses-Ehwaz, the horse, the partnership and the ability to do, horsepower, vehicle
for the Season-Raido, communications and travel, traveling of a circuit

the Ogham was Saille or Willow, our sacred tree, the only one still with leaves, still alive and flexible through the storms

for the Body the virtue is PIETY
for the Spirit the virtue is COURAGE
for the Mind the virtue is INTEGRITY

Hallowing and sharing our waters,
mothers sharing glasses with their children,
always joyous and refreshing.

Thanks with a jar of coffee and can of beer.
Hugs all around.

Too many women in the kitchen for the guys who cycled through the snacks whenever possible for brief interludes. We ate our cheeses and chutney and apple crisp together.