IMBOLC

Sunday January 31st , 2010 – Gathering for Brunch & Ritual
In honor of the GODDESS BRIDGET

11am
greeting & gathering & pre-ritual briefing & first brunch & toasting
NOON
Ritual preparation (get ready for ritual, layer up, do what you’ve got to do)

Ritual begins
Process to Bridget's Well
Lustration of our Hands or face
Then Cozy up back at the fire

Sacred space & time
Offerings to the Earth Mother
A Guided Meditation
Directions
Center
Offerings to Manannan/fire–well-tree/Opening of the Gates
Offering to outsiders
Offering for insider Bridget
Sacrifice for our Kindred Spirits
Our Honored dead
Our spirit Allies
Our Gods & Goddesses
Special Praise offerings for Bridget as the Herald of the Coming Spring-Bring on the Beat
Prayer of sacrifice
Seeking and reading omens
Hallowing and sharing of The Waters
Special Magicwerking –Blessing of our Tools and Passing through Bridget’s Belt
Oh Yay Bridget! Thanks
Thank you Gods! Thanks Spirits! Thank you Honored Dead!
Give Thanks again Bridget
Thanks Manannan/Close the Gates
Thank you Earth Mother
Invite and Welcome Bridget into the hearth & home

The ritual is over and 2nd Brunch begins!

THE LONGEST NIGHT

The day before we prepared for the blizzard that wasn’t- hauling wood, sticks, clearing the deck- battening down the hatches.
Figuring that maybe the only way we’d have the fire pit in the morning was if we started the fire before the snow came, Bryan gathered dry wood and set to burn through the packed ice. It looked like it might only be us- me, Bryan and Hudson- so formalities and cleaning were dropped for more wood gathering, cooking and dancing.
The late afternoon air was crisp and the quality of light was exquisite but the fire smoldered with little flame. Smoldering pine needles and pine cones. I went inside to get paper to burn and came out to the magic of the fire in full flame. The sun was beginning to go down, shining straight through the house. We waited for snow and worked at staying warm.

Feeding the fires. Cooking in the oven. Feeling family.

After dinner and before bed Bryan rolled a massive Yule log into the cache of hot embers. It caught and smoldered and the wind roared and kept the fire alive. All night I got up and saw the flames. Blown by the fiercest winds but not out of control, the giant Yule log burned steady.

So the next day we had had only a dusting of snow and the fire was still there. The logs ringing the fire were crowned with white circles, 24 in the half ring, 4 more as gates and 4 more that bridge to the rocks that frame the fire.



We gathered more wood and offerings and cleaned and rested. Though we didn’t start at exactly 3:33, we layered up and were outside by 4ish, the sun was still up and the sky was luminous, pinks, golds and whites.

Everything was quiet. The deep quiet of snow, the quiet of just family, the quiet hiss of the fire burning for a whole day- the shortest day, longest night. Things I remember from ritual are circles and sounds. Pouring cider for the Earth Mother half way around the circle and then wine around the other half because she is not our mother for only half the year but always. Our good fire, our well, our very old Yule tree. Dear Mananan and Bridget, whose altars form the edges of a triangle with our fire, were welcomed with gratitude. Each praise accepted with a sizzle and flame burst, and each of us in turn asking for acceptance of our sacrifice. Bryan began to speak about the outsiders and to open our pickle jar offering when suddenly a bird, perhaps a wren, sang its song- loud and clear and long. We laughed; it was easy to feel the presence of our Kindred.

Wine and pine cones and our kitchen cauldron of dried flowers and grasses for consumable sacrifice.

The round orange halves of a tangerine full of seeds, full of juice, full of light. Cold juice for each of us and for the spirits as well, visions of summer shining.

Hudson placed on the fire his gingerbread house as thanks for and wishes for creating spiral flame.

The final seasonal sacrifice of a large basket- long used as detritus storage collecting dust by my bed, now used for renewal. Bryan placed the basket right side up on the fire, which was sort of precarious and sort of balancing. It seemed to momentarily smother the flames until, imperceptibly, the smoke caught to fire and then a vortex of flame roared to life. We all quickly stepped back behind the ring of logs and still the fire grew. We were howling and Hudson yelled that it was the awesomest thing ever and really it was. The flame was alive, rolling and circling and strong. It went on and on and grew and was bright for a long time.

I am still enveloped in the circle of that fire, may its strength keep us strong, warm and safe all winter.

Bryan brought out the runes and Hudson went forward to pick them-

From the Ancestors: Daguz- day or vantage point- like high noon and sometimes it is a paradox -like you see things from a much different vantage point, sometimes like seeing things from both sides

From the Spirits of Nature and Place: Othala or Odul- sacred enclosure or inheritance, kind of like what you protect and treasure and keep safe

From the Gods & Goddesses: Fehu- the fee what things cost- and fe fi fo fum and fa lalala

For the Season:Sowelu or the Sun.

Well done.

We draw these same runes in different combinations often- they seem sometimes like grove runes.

Silently, I had been hoping to draw an omen, though Hudson did a great job and I was satisfied with the blessings. But just as I had stepped one foot over the logs and halfway back into the circle Bryan asked if I would pull an Ogham, it was Gort -generally thought of as ivy, but translated it means a cultivated garden or a plowed field. Ivy is a grass that is suitable for the herd when the grasses fail, in the winter icy can still feed the livestock. Lovely. And then we hallowed and took in those icy waters, crisp, snowy and a bit sooty too. Drinking in crystals and light and spirit and flame, my eyes poured tears from smoke from the fire. It seems that at each ritual these days my eyes cry buckets and in that smoke and water I am taken away and transformed and brought back cleared.

Joyful and refreshed we offered all our thanks. Then with darkness approaching, the snow blue and the first stars coming out we returned to our warm house for dinner. The fire burned well into the night.

Winter Solstice

Sunday 12/20/09

3:33pm

bring pies, puddings, cookies -savory or sweet

fill the air with warmth and glad tidings

the light returns- welcome the Oak King!

my new favorite poem - please take to heart:

in these dark days of December

we are nearer to Spring

than we were in September

please RSVP to susan@urtharts.com

Stillness of Winter

Day After: The sun shines brightly on the frost and the only sounds are the rush of the stream, the dropping of leaves from the forsythia – still green but now frost worn- and one or two birds. The silence is heavy like a blanket of snow and a harbinger of the total silence of deep snows and dark days. Everything is different today.

2 weeks after: The sun was out today- rising flaming red close to due south. The peach tree still holds her leaves and the willow is reluctantly turning yellow. The land was full of turkeys today – more than 2 dozen, perhaps attracted by Elizabeth’s acorns. A warm day is now in the 40’s° and morning frost is a given. There is still kale but the garden has been put to bed and it is dark by 5.

As always the Samhain season is wyrrd and long. We spent a week before Halloween putting out dumb suppers and lighting candles in carved pumpkins. Then there was the hoopla of Halloween proper with warm rain and hard gentle winds and leaves and zombies and candy and parties missed with time bending to the moon.

So by the time we got to our ritual preparations the leaves were mostly down from a week of strange winds and we were ready to put the season to bed. I had wanted a journey -thinking of Samhains past transforming as you passed thru the veil to the underworlds and out the other side. After the Johnny Appleseed journey of transformation and picking so many apples and the darkness and the need to move beyond it seemed natural. Hudson was a bit under the weather the Friday of our ritual and so he and Bryan stayed home making schedules easy and allowing Bryan to spend the day setting up places. We had talked about where and how we would walk about and knew we needed to be led by light. We had decided to start at the small house fire circle and process perhaps to Mananan, perhaps to Bridget and then to the 5 circle fire pit for ritual before closing again at the home fire.

By the time I came home from work, worn but happy, the boy was resting and Bryan and I got to walk the path he laid out. From the home fire to the hollow tree, seasonal altar previously with a Belanos sun image now replaced with a purple candle. Then to the may pole hole, uncovered and filled with Uncle Magoo’s hurricane lamp with the red candle. Then to Mananan lit with 3 candles and then across the whole field past the garden to Bridget surrounded by votives and a hurricane candle glowing in front of her. The central fire was smoking and with a small breath came to life.

The land felt good and things seemed set though still in that time bending Samhain way. Not even thinking really of if we had offerings; I had seen Bryan come downstairs with his runes and magics and not really thought about much. I gathered the last of the flowers, a last rose, and some herbs. Everything green and damp. Not yet dark but no longer day. Elizabeth came with baskets of flowers and libations as always and filled the house with her spirit- like fire and water together. We snacked on the chicken soup to be dinner later and opened her cyser, creating warmth. We toasted each other and our Whole grove and the season and moved from the kitchen to the fire. Susan and Gwen came -more glasses and celebration. Then Judith arrived, the kitchen filled with food and people and we all toasted once more. Finally Bill and Nina came with even more food and we finished the cyser and began. Hudson needed to sleep and I carried his spirit with me thru ritual, always looking up to the bright house where he rested.

Bryan led with the flashing red light through the dark to the portals of fire glowing in the dark.
We journeyed through from the house fire pit -spirits and shooting star; to the altar for the season in the trunk of the hollow tree; to the red candle burning like a heart deep in the center of the field in the hole; to the Mananan altar with 3 lights like the circling legs; all the way across the land past the garden to Brigit, shrouded in dark lit by a stream of lights; and onto the 5-circle fire pit in our center.

We gathered and separated to regroup, find our offerings, get warm, get light and begin again.

Coming together we found our way in the black dark to our spaces by the fire.
We were centering, trying to bring the fire to life, stepping all over each other, pushing back and making space. Bryan opened the gates and speaks to the outsiders. Our friend Anna and her son arrive- black figures through the smoke back lit by the motion activated light- like shadows appearing, strangely glowing – her smile beaming as they drew near the fire, the smoke of their breath mixing with that of our fire.
As always the glow and the smoke. All the offerings, had we gathered them- was it a dream- did we actually have anything to offer? The dried grasses fed already for warmth and brightness, but we had flowers, what I know now were the last of the flowers. Our dead, our dear dead, so many again this year. Long breath, a sigh, waiting for the New Year to begin. Spiraling into the smoke, almost hard to breathe, tears of smoke pouring out of my eyes; it was like passing into other realms. Bryan changes everything as he takes out a crystal ball for scrying and the world of that shimmered and came alive and disappeared and was huge and small at the same time. Getting lost in spheres and smoke and flames and prayers.
Our omens for the season-
For the ancestors: Ehwaz- the horse, how we travel -the partnership between horse and rider
From the Spirits: Jera or year or harvest or the cycle of a year
From the Gods & Goddesses: Daguz- day or vantage point
For the Season: Thurisaz- Thorn
We have gotten many of these omen before, we need to pay attention.
I look up at all the smiling faces lit by the fire now alive with our sacrifice. So much thanks. The house lit up brightly calls us into its warmth.

5 weeks after: The snow has been on the ground solid for more than a week. The frosts have gone and only the patches of land where water bubbles still have green. Winter is here and we won’t see the ground again really until spring. The days grow rapidly dark. The sun rises slowly, due south and bright red.

The color of autumn- our equinox

It is always in the preparation that ritual begins. Shopping lists and gathering of flower petals and standing on the earth contemplating balance.

This day we were to celebrate at Elizabeth’s house, which though it means travel (a challenge especially to my home-body son), it means less cleaning and clearing. But of course getting out of the house is harder, one more bunch of flowers, one more packet of dried grasses, one more offering.
Driving down the roads of this beautiful place that we live I was struck by this particular light of September. Before the leaves become ablaze with color they have a tint, a hue of brown –yellow or orange-gold and with the angle of the equinox sun path there is a cast of light that is only in September. It is the back to school light, the new notebooks light, the light of the side yard from the memory of the month when the boy was newborn and we sat in bed and watched that autumn light – brilliant but not hot, cool but not icy. The sky is so blue and clear but deep with the knowledge of the oncoming winter. By October everything is reds and oranges and bright yellows and deep browns, and by November the color is windswept and barren and brown and grey, but now it is deep golden like the taste of an apple.

So we arrive at Elizabeth’s, down crazy winding roads (we are always amazed by the variety of neighborhoods all over this county), dogs a-barking, hugs and acorns. Lots of acorns, to roll up with the cool acorn sweeper- a whole tub full in no time at all. Bryan and Ted talk chain saw and fire wood while the neighbor cuts down a tree. We talk harvest (or lack thereof). Amber arrives with cookies which we need to sample with real good tea and magic talk- the interconnecting circles of what makes this magic- unity and awareness and personal knowledge and more. But noon passes and let’s get it together, the present is here and the future of other commitments comes too swiftly. We are here to honor the Gods who give meaning to this life.

Processing down the stone steps and wood staircase leading to the fire by the pond with the koi and the flat lands backed by the rock cliffs of Elizabeth & Ted’s lower property. Hudson always loves the hand pump, kids have to pump the water – it is like a magnet every time we are there. Birds are always singing there. The sun shines brightly and it is hot, yes noon is direct and socks and sweaters come off.

Elizabeth builds a fire and Bryan lights sweet grass from our garden and goes around the circle with the smoke clearing and creating space. I offer petals from every type of the many flowers growing in my garden to the Earth Mother, starting in the east and walking around the circle -2 whole times around before the petals are all used. It has been a good flower year.
We all settle down- feeling comfortable on our Mother, feeling her solid supporting us, letting us balance our weight comfortably on her- Elizabeth and Ted in the East, Bryan in the South, Amber in the West, me in the North and Hudson in the shade.
We feel the darkness of the earth below and the brightness of the sky above. We look up to the sky-shining blue with blinding sun streaming into us and touch the solid deepness of the dark cool earth below us rising up into us and feel these energies mix within us. Breathing in and out and feeling this hot shining sun and this cool dark earth; the fire is small but it is in the center and it is a gate. Calling upon Mannanan Mac Lier, walker of the ways between the worlds, gatekeeper; offering magic potion of syrup from a bottle corked with a branch and strands of sweet grass; and opening the gates. Though there were trees and a large pond we focused on only this one gate- this central fire.

I was struck by the silence of this ritual, only Bryan talked (except for our individual praise offerings); no one offered responses (“let the gates be open” etc.)only birds replied to all his words. This has happened at rituals here before, the birds – many different ones- talk at different times and participate.
Making offerings to the outsiders, just past Hudson in the hedgerow- boundaries defined by potion. Bryan called upon Bridget, grove matron and Goddess of eloquence: asking for our words to be true, our thoughts communicated and our voices heard. More magic syrup and the rest of the sweet grass. Elizabeth’s fire always burns.
Most Honored Dead, our teachers and families and friends- it seems there has been lots of passings lately (a reminder of the coming of Samhain)-so many people to honor- the burning of rose petals, so quickly consumed and faintly fragrant and just a bit of syrup. All these respected people- remembered because of what they have left behind, what they have shared with us, what we carry of them inside us today.
The Spirits of Nature, of this place, where we are now, this land we live on, the insects and birds, all the creatures and the rocks, the grasses and trees- sacrifice of rose petals and barely a drop of the potion falls.
Gods and Goddesses, all of them –who are yours- the eclectic pantheon of the modern age- Kaun Yin and the Celtic River Gods from Elizabeth’s bathroom wall, the Green man with his autumn face, the Moon Grandmother, Mercury, and the grey bearded old man of my grandmother’s God. Everyone appreciates rose petals.
This season of Fall, the harvest and this balance of equinox, silence and presence- lots of magic syrup suddenly pours out with the rest of the roses.
Elizabeth offers gratitude for the easing of the rain, purple asters and small pumpkin and tomatoes – especially rare in this season of scant harvest. She offers a story of her dog Grace waiting for her in the driveway, out of the fence for who knows how long, with dog tags pulled but not choked, safely escaped- and in doggie gratitude burns old dog toys. And finally a basket that has seen many harvests, many gathering of beans and more, catching circular fire and burning through holes.
I offer sage for this year of many things and a full sunflower head, not yet eaten by birds, intact with its mesmerizing helix of seeds in deep gratitude for the many flowers, and, looking forward to new seeds for next year and for next year’s harvest to come. I offer a new pink rose for the deep beauty all around us. And I place a dollar to burn in the fire in gratitude for having a roof over our heads and for the bills to once again be paid and for the balance and sustainability without fear of money in our lives.

And as Elizabeth says: The amphibians joined us for ritual! Before I built the fire, a wee Leopard Frog hopped across the fire pit. The tiny Red Eft was a nice guest, isn't there some association between fire and Salamanders? I was thinking the ritual fire smoke was beguiling. The wind kept changing directions and it kept spiralling, slowly, counter clockwise, and it swirled around Bryan because it was happy to find him there. It wreathed around Bryan and smudged us all, and never stopped changing direction. Lively! The offerings were sweet and generous. There is a Birch clump very close to the fire pit, and one of the omens was for the Birch. That is Bridget's tree and also my birth month tree..a tree I hang offerings on.That spot near the little footbridge is where I have long thought that the Sidhe/Shee hang out

Once again we are silent and Bryan places the good corn all around the edges of the fire. He slowly builds the fire up as our offerings burn and then he pulls our omens.
From the Ancestors – Daguz- day, vantage point, noon
From the Spirits – Wunjo – Joy
From the Gods & Goddesses – Berkana – beginning
And for the season- Kinwaz- the torch

He also, for the first time in our ritual, pulls an Ogham (a stick from the Celtic tree oracle) and it is Oak. – well of course- it is the druid tree and a symbol of standing up straight and also associated with royalty- but let’s not forget all those acorns.

Are we ready to take in those waters of life? What is it that we know of the continuum of life – the waters of life and from whence do they come? Elizabeth & I look at each other and say together- from the bosom of the Earth Mother! The ever changing all mother. She brings out this incredible round blue glass pitcher which sparkles with the sun and Bryan holds it up –it looks bigger than him, like a big shining blue sun. Bless these waters; give us comfort, Knowledge & blessing.

The water is usually cold but this was sun-temperature and autumn flavored. I drank deeply, it seemed like there was an abundance of water.

Ah, giving thanks. There was more food, bits from our whole feast to be, given in gratitude. And then a container of Elizabeth’s cyser, that seemed never ending, as thanks to all of the Kindred and seasonal gods and Bridget and Mananan and the Earth Mother. The birds sang. We processed back to the house.

We feasted and filled Elizabeth's house with flavors. We brewed our equinox cyser of fresh pressed apple cider and pounds of honey and yeast. We did it rite, like Bryan said. You should see the bucket of Cyser! This morning I took off the lid to stir it and it had a layer of foamy suds on top that looked like a bubble bath. It is happy and churning away, and smells so delicious. It is definitely ALIVE! Wow!

September has such an autumn feel

Leaves are starting, losing first their deep green and some already brilliant with red or orange. What a strange summer.

The garden hardly except for the flowers and tall grasses and slugs.

Some food to process if only there was the time.

Cool sunny days, finally our first whole week with no rain. The few tomatoes begin to ripen.

The equinox fast approaches. Soon it will be the last mowing and the time of piling leaves.

Autumn Equinox Celebration: Sunday September 20 Noontime

in Esopus at Elizabeth's house.

We honor the harvest, the balance, the coming season of short days, and the brewing process of life.

We will be offering a Cyser brewing workshop as part of our Equinox Ritual Celebration. Cyser is a bit like mead but made with (local) apple cider and the fermentation only takes 6 months as opposed to 2-3 years. Any of you who have been to rituals have probably tasted Elizabeth's delicious and potent brews; she has offered to share this magic with us. Depending on how many people sign up, you will get either get a full or a half gallon at the Spring Equinox (yes Spring will come again and that Cyser will, like ourselves, be ready to go because of the long winter ferment.) There will be a $10 charge for the workshop to cover materials (all local!), and the workshop will start around 2:30pm.

You can come to the ritual and stay for the workshop or come to either. Please RSVP to susan@urtharts.com .

Rain, Tired of Rain and Tired

Coming up the road
this rainy morning, a shaft
of smoke curls upward.

Making fire in the steady rain, Bryan coming in soaked, drying his shirt by the kitchen fire.

The constant rain forcing one to submit to a gentleness, a simple movement and the sense of being present. What else can you do, it is raining again.

The Art of making Sacred Space, creating a devotional focus.

How constant was the rain and also the curl of smoke from the central fire, burning and waiting.

Gathering herbs for tea, I noticed that it was barely raining.

Mint, Chamomile, Lemon Balm, Dill: some were to be hot some cooled.

The sky lightened and clouds almost lifted.

The center fire pit had a double mown ring with bands of wild wildflowers and weeds, and at the center the 5 circle firepit with smoldering logs and embers deep below. Gates are cut though the flower bands so you can pass through the concentric rings of grass. Needed more wood, more dry combustibles. I found a stick and bark and egg cartons in the studio. Bark curls and sticks burn and egg cartons flame. Having brought out more nice dry firewood, we built a spiraling tower of logs, some hand cut and some just carried.

Drinking tea and marveling at the weather we gathered.
Elizabeth, Hudson, Bryan, me and then Susan sitting inside with cherries and cookies.

The axis of Imbolc and Lughnasa, Bridget and Lugh and the light spot in the dark and the dark spot in the light.

The blinded eye and lightening and here comes the Thunder. Harvesting and preparing for winter.
Lugh and his foster mother Tliatu. Lugh like Mercury, Odin like Mercury for the Romans, and Epona and the fairs and clearing the land and horses and the County Fair and taking a chance.

Pie contests and harvest festivals and fruit and rain.
Are we ready and is it time?
Is it going to rain?

Gathering the waters, the offerings, cups and corn. Gathering ourselves.
Hudson falling on the slick deck. Awkward fussiness. Who’s on first and rushing towards where?

Being in the present and what happens when we are elsewhere in our minds.

Gonging out the broken skull, gonging silently and then finally to honor the gods who give meaning to life.

Processing to the circle, Elizabeth playing banjo.
Finding space. Where are we supposed to be?

Bryan scattering to the Earth all around the circle and to the center.
Feeling the earth. Energy rising from the earth through my feet, legs, hips, belly, heart, head and also from the sky down. Squatting like a frog on the earth, wiggly boy at my side, cracking ice and fidgeting.

Small offerings to the fire, our center- glow within us; the well, deep and full and strong- flow within us; and the tree, larger than it used to be- grow within us.

And then Mananan opening the gates and where were all our offerings? Bryan using what was at hand, corn silk or small grasses-do we have enough? My bundles of bark and sage carefully prepared could be used for welcome or thanks but not both; were we ready?

Outsiders offering offered and I remembered special outsiders offerings still in the fridge,

would they accept what we had here?

Suddenly time to honor the ancestors.

Yesterday we had spoken at great length as to who are our ancestors- not just deceased relatives-our grandparents and great grandparents- but any person who was alive and is now dead and who influenced us especially. Kissing the boy’s head, I thought about great artists and writers and those who I have studied and wished I could have known and also those of our line who have gone before.

Bryan made offerings to the Spirits of Nature- thinking about the grasses and turtles and rocks and pets and all those animals and plants and fungi thriving in this dampness, the dampness itself.

Then to the gods and goddesses (like Thor I say to Hudson) and thinking about Mercury and Lugh and Bridget and KwanYin and Odin and Zeus and Thunder and Rain.

And then the season, this season of county fairs and chance and horses and harvest and storms and being here.

The rushing stream was louder than us all, louder than all the sacrifices, than all the words, than all the thoughts, louder than the boy being silly or disinterested, louder than us.

Offering Gratitude for just being here for being present in this place now, letting go of toxicity and of what I don’t need, letting go of the past and future and racing in between both.
Flowers in flames as our sacrifices were swallowed by the fire and by the water.
Final sacrifice of last year’s dried vervain, strait like a slender tree.

All the while the stream roaring.

Our omens:
From the Ancestors: Thuriz or thorn or hammer- protection or stance of defense-either being protected by or protecting our ancestors.
From the Spirits of Nature & Place: Daguz or day, High Noon, the vantage point, seeing it all and as if from a new angle.
From the Gods & Goddesses: Uruz or the primordial ox, the urge to create, the unstoppable movement forward
For the Season: Eihwaz or the horse- the relationship or partnership between horse and rider, the County Fair!

The waters of life in the green jug hallowed with only the voice and the damp air and poured into blue cups. Were we ready for these waters?
Almost sweet tasting, the waters are always needed and always good. We had full glasses and the boy did his fake gulping. Sigh.

Thanks to all, the individual silks and husks from the corn, some for each of the season’s spirits.

All the offerings used and the rite over. Already said the boy? Let the feasting begin.

And before I could parade and dance to Elizabeth’s banjo out of the circle and back home, Bryan already had a chicken leg in his hand. The sun was almost out. The boy was sweet again like the waters.

We were here now.