Moving through the Darkness-Samhain Ritual Recollections on the Approach to Yule

It is grey and often cold, though any temperature above 45 seems springlike.
Snow is in the futurecast and the days are so short.

I remember the spark of the Hallowe'en full moon and of the passing of our ancestors
at this past summer's end.
I know I had put out suppers every night for a month.
In this unbalanced time of ever increasing daily death tolls, fear and loathing, misguided anger and rage,
our gratitude and love and care is especially necessary.

All those humans now gone, like summer,
but never forgotten.

It is good that we can still gather together outside around a fire.
We have become accustomed to the distance. 

I remember the fear of the impending election, like a collective holding of the breath,
Briefly exhaled at ritual, burning hate, letting go of anger,
as if that could be permanent.

Praying for good health and safety.
Each day finding ways to keep on, to push through into the unknown,
as if anything was ever known.

Our intimate spontaneous ritual on Hallowe'en,
just Bryan & I & the full Moon,
a much needed grounding after the first hard frost.
Just to be and to pray and to offer simple sacrifice
and love.

This current time of disassociated time
and space
makes then seem so long ago and also like a dream.
As if the time that was is the same as the time to be,
memory and reverie.

Since I am often writing this as the season ends,
I am often already ahead of myself
while attempting to look back.

We have been through more adjustments and re-calibrations than we would have liked,
but still moving forward.
Finishing anything whenever the weather allowed,
walking more, conscious breathing,
mindful news consumption,
appropriate boundaries,
drinking tea.

Over
whelmed
but still moving forward.

This apartness and isolation
settling or unsettling.
Making sure we have enough,
we will have enough,
we are enough.

As if we ever knew the future, as if there was ever anything more than now.
Rejoicing in each moment as best we can,
still moving forward
in this magnificent life spiral.

Notes and pics with notes from then:

10/31/20

 a fire of all the sacred woods in a cauldron

dance

worlds

light

11/8/20

the fire here
lit with a receipt
fed with dead
echinacea stems
and dried seed heads and elecampane leaves
adding more sticks from the recently filled pile.

Elizabeth arrives, YAY!
Actual hugs, masked but full.
Katrina & Eric and Muji the dog
bring cocktails for all, Freedom Cocktails!
Banging on pot lids and making joyful noise.
Feasting together safely apart.
Ann and Wally the dog!
More feasting and talking,
joyfully free.
Then surprise arrivals, Nicci & Sophie!

This evolution of family, growing up, expanding, filling out, combining and recombining
hopefully gives peace to our ancestors and meaning to this life.

We are here to honor the Gods and the Not-Gods.

Solid calming meditation-sacred safe space
smokey fire

 

special oils for Bridget & Mananan
moldy cheese sought after by dogs for the outsiders
kind words for directions
beer for the Earth Mother
Mother of us all
everyone making gentle offerings
meat substitutes

 

lift up our voice loud and in relief
much work to be done
but moving forward
once again
it seems.

Thanks to all the Ancestors
those we know and those we don't know.

Alex Trebec.
Elizabeth's cat.
Out with what we no longer need.

Our Omens:

Clusters of runes in the different worlds,
Hagal, Sowelu, Dagaz, Isa, Berkanu, Laguz, Uruz.
There was a lot to it and it rang true,
though the words explaining the meanings are forgotten.

burning hate

 
Even more sacrifice, one more big fire, we can't offer enough
to those who have gone on before.

 

The sound of one door closing,
the new doors opening,
not slamming closed but gently released.
So much smoke, tears pouring.

Talking loud.
Breathing.
Burning flowers, the last of the flowers.

So much gratitude
we would not be here without the work
of our Honored Dead.

 

Liquid spicy mustard and bbq sauce,
salt and peppers 

as thanks.

 

Frozen marigolds.
Banging on the well.
Good Feelings.

Coals from our sacred fire
light the next fire
as night falls

old cured pork
as flaming log
in the dark

Make a wish

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.