Equinox

Egg dripping dripping dripping

No longer are there sounds at night- birds, bugs are silent. only the winds, the winter winds begin.
We wake and it is barely light. The long night beckons.

Setting up all day on the actual equinox, at the exact time balancing our egg and doing a small family gathering- just the 3 of us (and Max the cat)- balanced first in the kitchen and then together just going to the nemeton, just to look and to be and to offer and feel our balance together.

      

the sound of a single raven flying.

all day setting up, clearing the way, gathering sacrifice. burning candles of gratitude and prosperity all day.

and when the rains came just before dark they still burned.
walking outside just in time to see the last flash of flaring flame of gratitude before it extinguished as a leaf slowly drifted down. the money flame, protected by glass, rose and fell for a long time in the drenching storm.
I watched protected by our new entranceway, art crafted as is the rest of our home from branches and reclaimed wood and stones and graced with an ancient horseshoe gifted by our friend.
This candle fought the rain and the pool of wax, opening like a flower or our hearts, fed it with splashes of fuel. Finally the flame went but glowed like an ember beyond me moving inside.

Equinox as opening and closing doors. Allowing all that you need.

On the morning of our ritual I woke rested for the first time in a while, put the oven on, did yoga, and vacuumed. Cleaned the bathroom even before coffee.
Hosting ritual is so much more than our intent, than our sacrifices for the Kindreds. Sometimes more than the time we spend the day before and after. Sometimes the hosting is a daily practice or a yearning or a constant worry.
But always it is the cleaning, sweeping the threshold so all who arrive feel welcome and honored.

 

Carrying baskets of stuff out through the woods to the nemeton. The iris reeds grabbed by the birch branches and scattered. Shaking the seeds of flowers everywhere.

“Thanks, this is my purpose.”

inside and outside
the warmth of the sun pulling that in.

What does the harvest mean?
A gathering of friends? of community?
Being able to go to your neighbor’s garden, when she is not even there, to pick vegetables to fill out a salad?
Making pesto off the cuff in a group?
Expanding kitchen.

Our group came at extended times- first Kevin, who often seems like a spirit gifted directly from the gods; then Susan, herself a goddess of calm, healing and joy; then phone calls of ‘we are on our way’ from Jill and Raf, friends of both generations of our family and each with an intensity of creative spirit; and Mj, our brother from another mother. The day was fine as was the pumpkin bread which lasted throughout the fine discussion of the season which lasted until all arrived.

Why are we here and now?
Bryan brought out paintings as illustrations of our discussion- the feedback loops. What do we choose? How do we define our balance?
When is positive just another negative?

Talking and hearing, listening to what is around us.
Taking time to tour the gardens or what is left of them, tasting the last fruits, admiring autumn blooming.

We are here to honor the gods, gods who give meaning to life.

ringing the gong from both sides.

processing in a vague meandering line to the woods.

blue jays and crows caw.

gifted feathers for our directions.
motherwort vinegar for our Earth mother
turkey neck, skin hanging in strips for the Outsiders
garlic for our healing Bridget
wine and food for our Kindred,
with the ‘pope’s nose’ prize fat for the Gods

 

Sitting on a rock
balancing on 2 warm rocks
feel yourself here now.

the cat going right through the portals, checking out the fire, the waters, the sacrifice
fearless and open

A balancing point, the stillness of just about.
The fulcrum of now and the simple noise of not yet winter but no longer summer.

Joy from our Ancestors
Hail from the spirits-destruction for something new
Self from the Gods & Goddesses-feeling the Gods inside us
The Sun from the season
Straif –the Black Thorn as our Ogham. the traditional Shillelagh wood- defense or protection or force 

Cascading water as final sacrifice in case there was any forgotten

feel your ability to draw up from the earth and to draw down from the sun.
feel the air on your skin, feel the earth against your body, in your body.

the Hospitality of the Body
the Fertility of the Mind
the Moderation of the Spirit

  

Processing back through the dappled light of the woods. 
Linda showing up just in time for feasting.
Intermingling of people already friends without knowing it. Lots of apple pies.
Yoga on the land.

And at the end, sitting by the warming fire with the turtle eggs while Bryan was in the nemeton burning everything that was left.

Autumn

The leaves started to fall the day after the equinox. Not only here, but several friends mentioned it as well. At times furiously coming down in great haste, other times imperceptibly drifting down like dandelion heads.
Now when it is not warm or you are not in the sun it is Cold and we have already used the woodstove.
The garden is, as always, not yet put to bed (though we did get to plant and mulch garlic) but, other than kale, some herbs and vines, the harvest is over.

It is impossible to catch this autumn light in the lens of a camera, the orange cast in the air disappears. Today is the first day of sun in a week- some days were raining hard, some pleasant grey and some shrouded in mist.
The sun moves ever more due South.
We need to collect branches and sticks.

Samhain approaches fast. The spirits of Wyrrd gather. Last night the moon, already North of the equinox sunrise, hung strangely in the trees looking like a light bulb or eyeball. Pools of condensation everywhere.

the Whole is more than the sum of its parts

It always rains at Lughnasa.
Garden full of bending down flowers.
We talk about the season, just back from the ocean.

    

Giant blue heron circling twice so we would see it. Torrential rain. Skittish cat. Slowly setting up the Nemeton. the verdant glowing moss. the mushrooms unseen on the way there but visible on the way back. the slow rumble of thunder just as they arrive. Sitting among the raindrops. going off under the carport. Hudson finding us awkwardly. Re-setting up for ritual under there, him attached to me. Bringing the bilé to the art table, our basket of sacrifice, the runes, a candle, flowers.

 

Rain blowing hard, them waiting patiently, staying dry. 
My skirt soaked, my shoes soaked, water pouring in a stream off my hat, all of it feeling great. air clear.
Us 3 circling as family around the 5 circle fire pit looking to the sky trying to judge clearing. if it stops by the time we get to them we will go back to the nemeton. but the thunder rumbles more.
the family together going to the nemeton for the waters, set up at the waterfall, entry to our circular stream. the nemeton so lovely and the woods protected from the rain. the offerings which had already been meant to be given there, we left. Sacrifice given. ritual starts at the beginning, in our preparation we give and offer gratitude as sacred as any other.   we are here to honor the gods.

The meditation of running water from the hand wash bag into a large metal bowl. everything punctuated by the thunder and then some rain. filling the well with that meditation water, then the tree then the fire always hard work especially a candle in the wind. Building the bilé as our centering not the directions only the dry and not dry and strait to the gates and Mananan opening them and then the outsiders, we can deal with you another time but trouble us not now, and then our honored dead and the beer as sacrifice into the bowl and also the course salt and then the spirits of nature and place, our companions, more beer and rolling peppercorns like a rainstick into our well, and then the gods and goddesses more beer and froth and a whole jar of oil.
and then for the season any praise?
and the hearts of the chicken from our hearts for the season forgotten and placed and then from me a bouquet of spent flowers, flowers gone to all important seed, the seed of next year, of new beginnings into the well, and then each of our friends offer quiet prayers of edible seed and then all the sacrifice goes one by one into our caldron, our giant bowl of whole, like a world, all the grains and the fragrant smoke from white sage and our sweetgrass and all in the bowl, all together the sum total wholeness. and the boy hugging me, wanting to move and the runes:

from the ancestors: Perth or luck
from the spirits: Daguz or day or vantage point
from the gods & goddesses: Hagal or HAIL as the thunder rumbles a reminder while the rain moves on 
for the season: Odul or Othala or sacred enclosure.

think about what you want to put away and get lucky with
If we want to receive these blessings lets take the waters, where do they come from and have they given forth, has she given of her bounty? Water melted of ice, tasting of melted ice, pitcher sweating on the table, easy to pour glasses lined up on the table, don’t be afraid to drinking it all in,take it in, pouring it cold on my head down my back,  taking it in and on.
thank yous of water and special offering of thanks for Bridget and covered with the grey smoke, grounding through the smoke, the pebbles underfoot, letting all excess energy down into the earth, to the earth mother who can handle it, picking our heads up. the rite is over.
  

The rains stopped and the air orange-pink.

We ate cheeses and salad and next-door neighbor tomatoes and cukes and crackers and chicken.
And over the top dessert and good strong coffee.
Reading cards until late focusing on true love.

The next day clear and blue.
Magically the bowl, our well, was undisturbed by critters and Bryan brought it to the nemeton. Pouring the earth mother’s milk crystalizing around the well’s edge, the portal to the below, place of waters where sometimes frogs live.
All sacrifice given. Beauty, joy, love, water.