BELTANE THROUGH THE LENS OF AN OLDER WOMAN 

I am in my 50s now, and I've been working my Craft for over 30 years.  Some of that was tradition-based, much of it was with a coven.  In recent years, I've been solitary, semi-retired from "public pagandom" and that mostly because I feel like the version of the Craft I knew, that I love, is not what is around today.

What the Craft has morphed into is something different than what I had come to understand and know...and while that isn't denoting judgement of it as a good or bad thing, it is and acknowledgement that it IS a very different thing these days, and I'm not convinced this iteration is something to which I feel belong.  

And I'm ok with that for the most part. 

Perhaps this is why some have said a 'woman of a certain age' is supposed to step down from the HPS role and go do her groovy thing elsewhere.  Less to do with fertility maybe, and more to do with not relating to the role in quite the same way given the modern views and modalities.

Certainly seems to be enough history to support the idea of little old ladies going off to live alone and on  her own, away from the larger community, just growing her weird herb garden and talking to cats and forest animals as if they'd answer her back.  Seems about right to me!

Which brings me 'round again to Beltane.  As a single, older woman who is both sans coven and sans spouse, I'm having a bit of a negotiation with the Lord and Lady about how this celebration fits into my current situation and what I can bring to Them as proper offering of love, respect and gratitude in my given circumstances.  

What does Beltane even mean to me in my perimenopausal life?  What does it mean that my mood swings and fluctuating hormones and trying to age semi-gracefully make me nearly invisible in this world, both IRL and in modern pagandom?  

Do I tell the 'Wicca influencers' on Snapchat and IG to get their crystal balls of my lawn?  Do I spend my time trying to figure out why everybody is so damn triggered by the version of Craft that I once knew to the point of making it cancel-cultured pariah?  

Lately I feel like my private meditations with Cosmic Mom and Dad are more like I am in session with my therapist, trying to talk-through why it feels like the gradient of everything has stolen the specialness of it all.  

So I look at the old photographs of maypole dancers, of the colored ribbons and the smiling dancers who you just know were going to steal off to into the woods, two-by-two, to conjure the summer in.  And I feel whistful.  Not just because I am without a partner, but because I also often feel like I am without the joyousness and carefree FUN of what it meant to celebrate in such a way.

Now, we have to worry about who will be upset by the idea of what Beltane is about, how fertility  works, what words are OK to use in describing such things and reenacting them in token or in truth...all of which may be unintentionally triggering to somebody. 

So where does this leave us in our modern Beltane eve?  Is any sort of light-hearted flirtation acceptable or is it all considered a dance down the path toward offense now?  

This is why I am solitary.  I am far too jaded and sick of trying to figure out how to redress things to meet with today's parameters.  I'm from the school where a ribald joke, a risque double entendre and a bit of a wicked grin were part of the Beltane fun.  Verbal foreplay before the obvious figurative descent of the May Queen's flowered crown came sliding down the pole.  I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, y'all.  Just sayin'.

So here's a health to you, how every you do or don't celebrate.  May your May Wine be sweet with woodruff and berries, may your eyes alight on those whom you love and may the year ahead be fertile and wild and bountiful of blessings.

And may your Beltane night bring you much ecstasy and merriment as your palate and social conscience will allow you! 

Silly skeptics, Springtime is for everybody!

I am an avid fan of having my home reflect the change of seasons.  Totally dig on bringing bits of the outdoors in by way of branch and flower, or when the Chicago climate is lagging behind where I want it to be --namely being sooooo over this whole winter business until November-- I find myself wandering the aisles of Michael's, JoAnn's, and HomeGoods to supplement with silk and paper florals.

So it was that I was perusing some things over this past weekend, to witness the explosion of pastel colors and foil-wrapped eggs and bunnies* at one establishment, whereby I saw something that made me a little squicky.  A farmhouse-style sign that said "Silly rabbit, Easter is for JESUS!"

Um, well....not exactly there, hun.  
It's in the name...EASTER, isn't it though?

Sparing the usual tirade about the co-opting of former pagan holidays by Christians, this momentary reflection at my shopping cart gave me to wondering about this notable push for Christian sentiment to coerce the mainstream to the flopsy-lopsy cotton-tailed misunderstanding about holidays by leaning them in their religious favor in the public sector.

Now don't get me wrong.  I don't begrudge anybody their belief system around celebrating their heritage, their chosen spiritual associations for timely seasonal activities.

What I take private umbrage with is the idea that theirs is the "reason for the season" and any other associations are diminished or should be jettisoned altogether.

This is an underlying theme of this presidency in particular I'm afraid.  That if you're not on the MAGA bandwagon with their rather self-righteous and limited views of a whole host of agendas, then you're just to be viewed as the enemy of all that is good, safe, sane and clockwork orangey.

To my point then, this little promotion which Christians will see as a win, to 'take back our holidays from the liberals!!' is just another way of saying there's is the only agenda, the Only One Way. 

For if there had simply been some goods displayed about the resurrection of Jesus, for Passover, for Holi, for Eid Al-Adha, and yes, Easter/Eostre/Ostara... we would be all good.  The inclusion of one spirituality should not negate the rest, ever, IMHO. 

There's room at the springtime celebration table for everybody to welcome the thoughts of renewal and rebirth and the hopefulness of seeing things turning green and fresh again.

*And besides, it isn't a bunny or a rabbit....it's a March Hare! 

 

Hovering on the fulcrum

Today's the equinox; autumnal for us northerners, vernal for the southerners.

All about that breathless moment of pause, of hold...hold....hollllllldddddd (ahem, Braveheart reference anybody?).....whereby everything sits in momentary equilibrium and balance.  The fulcrum and also the point of change.

Speaking as a northerner, and thus one who is experiencing the autumnal variety here, this feels like the release after holding my breath.  The pursed-lipped exhale that brings tension relief and now I can look to the spiral gracefully and gently going inward.

Little old introverted me loves this stuff.

Gives me license to tinker and putter and wrap up those outward expenditures of show and expanse, with happy thoughts about drawing in and collecting my dragon's horde of projects for the cooler, more homespun months ahead.

My first witchy teacher was constantly telling us "look at what Nature is doing" and in this case She is having her wicked way with the temperatures.  Full of hot flashes and night sweats, then surprisingly cool breezes that carry the scent of wood smoke and apple cider.

Farmers in my area haven't yet started their final culling of the soybean fields and corn, but oh you can tell it is not far off.  Their farmstands have changed over from towers of tomatoes to pyramids of pumpkins and gourds.  They too are pushing on these dog days of waning sunshine that your circadian monkey-brain already feels is calling up dusk earlier each day.

I cannot wait for the color show in the next few weeks. Am anticipating the crunch of leaves underfoot and that way that only autumn wind seems to like to tangle my hair into well-appointed knots that the fae have tied for me, no doubt.

Something about autumn brings up pangs of witchiness, doesn't it?  Sure there's the anticipation of Hallowe'en and all that commercialized green-faced silliness.  But maybe it is the innate call of the Wild Hunt too, peering out through the shiny black branches and multicolored leaves that stirs something deeper, darker inside.

When the balance topples over into the first WHOOSH!! of reaping, calling back and bringing home again the rewards of what was sown, gathering and finding treasures in the astral nets...better than a fun size Snickers any day.

You CAN go home again

So what the hell happened?  The short answer?  The PA/NJ thing didn't pan out.  For a lot of reasons... 

In all seriousness, I found myself fighting through a severe depression/panic attack around mid November and decided that enough was enough.  Time to pack it in and go back home, trying to keep some dignity, some sanity...and having chosen the lesser evil of being mortified to be on unemployment during the holidays rather than exacerbating an untreated ulcer and having a full-on breakdown.

Tough life lesson there.  Learning that, sometimes, the smarter thing to do is to give up the present fight and live to fight another day.

So I'm back in Chicago.  Still working with my headhunter and interviewing a few times a week.  In many cases, I've "got the job" except that the employers know that the economy is in their favor so they can offer ridiculously low salaries and get desperate folks like me on sale.

The last two places I spoke with would have me work at the same rate I made in 1994...for an amount about one-half what I'd been making for the past 9 years.

Yeah, yeah.  I know that at some point I'm going to have to suck up my pride in order to eat and not default on my debts.  I really, really, really didn't want to be one of those divorcees who has to move back home with her folks until some knight in shining paycheck can come in and offer to pay half the rent and utility bills.

Damn proud Irish-Polish-German gal that I am, I wanna save myself.  Damn proud witch that I am, that's exactly what I'm gonna do, using every means at my disposal to get my energy and efforts flowing the right direction to get that to happen.  So. Mote. It. Be.

On the brightside, I do have the support of my covenmates and local witchy community pals.  Lots of generous folks who have offered to lend their own time and energies to helping me get my footing back on the path and my collective shit together in my head.

Ah, dear old life experience....am I still willing to suffer to learn?  Heck yes. YES!

But I'm about over the suffering for no good reason business.  Am ready to be productive and better able to use this low-point of my life as a jumping off point to something better.

For now, I'm focused on Solstice spiritual endeavors and Yuletide awareness.  Put up my tree, am taking my hikes in the woods to see what nature is up to, and am enjoying having my family and friends nearby to celebrate all that is good in this life.

And isn't that the whole point?  The belief and the trust that there is a new beginning around the corner.  Even though it may not be visible, it may not yet be tangible...but good things, new life, new growth....it is happening even now, behind the scenes.  We have to trust the process, the movement of the Wheel.

During the esbat last week, I got a thump on my noggin from Goddess-Mom and God-Dad. 
((internal dialogue in gently reprimanding and chuckling voiceover))

        Oh ye of little faith, daughter.  You know these better.

        These notions of Perfect Love and Perfect Trust...they are a constant in the world

        and they are what move the universe.  You have to stop trying to force what will not move,

        stop trying to figure out what isn't yours to discern or rectify. 

       Just open up, stop fighting everything that is presented to you and just trust, know,

       believe that there are things moving that you cannot see, actions taking place that you

      can neither control nor influence. 

      These are OURS to handle and you, daughter, have done your part.

      Trust that We love you and will do Ours.  We will help to get you where you need to be next.

Guess I needed that.  Needed that reminder.  And the funny thing is that the same message seems to be everywhere at this time of year and I just never saw/heard it properly until now  All this time, it has been echoed right in my face, and still I'd missed the obvious, Their message: 

    You've got to believe to receive.

Rosy Palms - not what you're thinking!!

Just a quick public service announcement...

If you are planning to create a John Barleycorn effigy/corn dolly for Lammastide, and follow the usual instructions that suggesting that you soak the wheat and rye sheaves in water for about 40-60 minutes to make them more pliable before you bend, twist and weave them....make sure that the stalks you purchase from the craft supply store or roadside farmstand have not been dyed.

Not only will you save yourself oodles of time scrubbing the droplets sprayed all over your countertops, cabinets and floor...you will save yourself the mighty embarrassment of having to explain why your palms look like you've taken up henna fingerpainting as a new hobby.

But still, my JB was pretty damn cool, if I do say so m'self.  HAPPY LAMMAS!!

John Barleycorn must die...and I have to write about it!

Ok, so as absentee custodian of this blog, it is my duty to report that I've finally completed my move into my new apartment and am mostly unpacked now.  At the very least, I'm back online and able to write more frequently. 

Starting now! 

So here we are at the crux of another holiday....Lughnasadh/ Lammas/ Loaf Mass / gee ain't it hot out!  Today is also a full moon, so I'm going to keep this pithy and relatively short.

For most of the big holidays, a few of the local traditionalist groups in Chicago metro and their various pagany pals and retinues gather together to celebrate the sabbat together, feast, make merry, gossip about each other and the "pagan community at large" and just have a general good time.  Some of us are a few decades or more into the Craft, so we have that tongue-in-cheek sense of humor about things, which makes rituals fun and mostly light-hearted.

As we hail from different trads, we do a round-robin thing with a different HPS hostessing the rite and sharing a watered-down (read:  not oathbound) version of how their group would normally celebrate the seasonal rite. 

This time, it is my turn to wear the pointy shoes and striped tights (well, since we're not doing the Gardy thing, I have to wear something y'know!)

And I'm really quite excited to write a little ditty for this particular festival.  I like the harvest festivals.  Something about the winding down of Summertime's extreme exertions of heat and growth and production of bursting fruit...the coming to term...the ripening...the culmination of all that abundance, by way of making the outcomes into something nourishing, sustaining...the PURPOSE of it that potent energy to yield a tangible result that you can now hold in your hands, take a big bite out of and pronounce it YUMMY, FILLING and GOOD!

I like the healthy WHOOSH! of the scythe in the field --- or in this modern age, to see the combine rolling all that grain and corn through the blades, shooting it in a magnificent arc into the waiting bin trailing along behind. 

Yeah, and I really like the clever old English poem about Mr. Barleycorn.  You've probably heard it set to music by Steeleye Span or maybe Traffic....yummy!  The tale of the seed, growing to shoot through the soil, gracefully reaching upward toward the sun, turning golden with the Midsummer heat and then ol' John Barleycorn's eventual demise at the hands of the reapers, the miller and finally being partially ingested and partially reseeded so that he would return again the following year.

Gotta love a story with an adventuresome plot.  First, the rise of our gentle hero in who is faced with dangerous odds.  Then there's his struggle to prepare himself for battle, followed by a wild chase and a climactic moment when our hero recognizes that the situation calls for making a "personal" sacrifice for the greater good.  He offers himself up, and in a twist of fate, finds that his choice offers him rewards beyond imagining.  He becomes a legend, a symbol and blessing to others.  Nourishment for the spirit.

Sharing bounty among family, friends, community.  Labor and hope made manifest.  Real.  Tangible and yet ephemeral.  Breaking bread.  Warm barley cakes drizzled with clover honey...and whisky aged in barrels that offer a heat which warms from inside when you take a sip.

Gratitude for work, for toil which yields plenty.