The Beltane Fires Blaze

I came running into the month of Beltane with fire in my hands and joy in my heart. Or more precisely Beltane and I went running out together in the high summer sun. It has been a non-stop adventure exhausting and exhilarating. While I see the shadows crossing with my rays of light and fire, I know there is more to come.

For me Beltane has always been a time of holy sacred fire. It is one of my top holy times of the year, and for me it last all the month of May. In the Irish tradition, Beltane or Bealltainn was the start of the summer season, an agricultural festival of blessings and protections. It was the time when the cattle went up to the summer fields to graze, their safety of high import. It was the time to put out the hearth fires, and relight them from the blessed bonfires of the community. Blessing were lain on house and field, rowan tree limbs collected for protection and prosperity. Being the beginning of summer the larders would be bare, and the harvest being planted. It would be a time of possibility and uncertainty. Over on Tairis there is an excellent article on the folk customs of the Irish and Scottish of Bealltainn throughout the centuries.

Add to this historical understanding of the festival, is the knowledge of the season. It is spring, the start of summer. The air is charged with change, will it frost the night and kill the blooms shyly peaking out? Or will the summer winds blow in hot and steamy? Everyday is an unknown. The world is on the edge of a new now, a new standard. The spirits are a buzz with the energy being put out by everything. Things get knocked over, go missing. Tempers are wild, and everyone seems on the edge of absolute joy or a ragged frustration that could end in a brawl or a roll in the bed sheets. The blood begins to pump faster, with more vigor and heat as the sun showers it’s glory upon the world more and more. Now is the time of action. The start of the cattle raiding. Three of the legendary invasions from the Leabhar Gabala happen in the time of Bealltainn. To hunt, to plant, to fuck, to create, to conquer, to woo, to run mad, to laugh.  The veil is thin, the Gods and all those who dwell in the Otherworld draw closer with their mesmerizing golden haze. In a word it is one of my favorite times of year, complete with it’s stress, and maddening mood swings.

Now that we’ve covered the flavor and lens in which Beltane is known around my household you’ll get a much better sense if the emotive and energetic charge of the evens that have transpired over the last few days lol.

The build up began on Friday April 27th, with me facilitating an amazing ritual put on by the lovely Lady Yeshe Rabbit and Thora Azuolas. It was made even more special as we were joined by Guest Priestesses Kris Freewoman and Larissa. It was a ritual in honor of Oshun, as this is the fifth year of Yeshe Rabbit’s dedication to her. It was high energy, dancing extravaganza. Kris Freewoman is an amazing dancer and has such an energetic grace in how she directs the movement of the room. It is a skill that is lacking from our Tribes public working and one I would love to at least tap into. We had a room of 25+ women dancing in naked glory without a care in the world other than how beautiful they were being for Oshun. Not my pantheon but impressive and moving on all accounts. Larissa is an amazing drummer and had brought her talented friends with her, to truly make this a ritual to blow others in the rhythm department. For an hour or so that little yoga studio was transformed into a temple, an open field on the river bed, and a tribal communion ground. And by the end of the night I was bushwacked! lol

But there is not too much rest for the wicked. I was up bright and early on Saturday for a lovely day trip to a flea market with the Lumberjack. It was filled with all kinds of treasures that we wished we had room enough to hoard. In the end I bought some trinkets and a beautiful gold cuff and was contented. A quick stop at our favorite BBQ place for sustenance and it was back to the house to piece together an outfit befitting a Tickster of the May. Three hours later we were satisfied, the house completely destroyed, and hurrying on my way to  get to ritual.

A ritual I only vaguely remember lol. It was a large production befitting Beltane, there was a lot of talking coming out of my mouth. A story weaved in rainbow colors about the Tribes of Love and Fire. How man came to be the fragile forged steel that it is today. A large community passing through the Beltane Fires that leaped high burning with excitiment, many blessings given. A new May Court crowned, and general revelry ensued. Another late night and sore feet, a heel objecting to being used as a bull hoof to drum up people’s attentions. Food hastily eaten in good company, and then to my soft calling bed.

The morning brought some respite but not much lol. Preparations needed to be made! It was Beltane Eve! I cleaned my destroyed house and set about to baking my offerings of honey cakes for the beasties and shining ones. They were damn tasty too.

I had some important spell work to prep and get done on the day. As well as a need to prep my flowers that were given to me by the Lumberjack. They are now drying for future use in incense and other spell work. All and all a busy day around Fort Epic.

And just when I was tidying up the Good God’s kitchen altar, it was time to leave for another adventure! For not only was it Beltane Eve, but the birthday of one of my beloved soul sisters! Tauri women rule, for the record. For this celebration we were off to get a lesson in archery. Something tantalizing but foreign to me. Turned out to be an addicting thing, and to most of our surprise we were not so helpless around the bow and arrow. Indeed I feel the possibility of a new wonderful hobby on the horizon….

With the night still young, and the Beltane blood high we went out to celebrate Tiki style. It was a lot of fun, I’ve never really been to a bar before. And certainly had never gotten drunk at a bar before lol. Good times all the way around. I discovered I have a taste for a drink known as Navy Grog (good thing to know for the future).

The good and happy drunk stumbled her way to bed, in enough of her right mind to have a glass of water and ibuprofen before diving headlong into Morpheus’s sweet arms.  But wait! Sleep was but a sweet passing allusion. Somewhere inbetween the Mai Tai and Navy Grog, smashed between the talk of finding the bones of the dead on the beach, and oogling Elvis on the screen, there was the persuasion that took hold on my drunk little heart and I agreed to go up to the Inspiration point and watch the Morris Dancers and greet the first rays of the sun.

4:30 comes all to soon, and while the Portal turrets played their harmonic opera, the happy drunk stumbled confusedly back out of bed. Finding that those 4 hours alone in the sleeping realm did absolutely nothing for my balance and stability on my boozey feet. But the sunrise beckoned! And in the little marshmallow car the three bleary-eyed bull-women made their way up the hills, through the magic mist to watch that golden coin take it’s royal seat in the sky.

And it was worth it. While the Englishmen danced with their bells and ribbons the Sun began to show hit glimmering glory.

 One moment you are holding your breath in anticipation, the next a sliver of gold, and then a brilliance to bold to look upon. Such is the glory of the Beltane sun. With joy we  washed our hands and face in the morning dew. Gratefully we happened upon some wild Lady’s Mantel. All seemed delightfully right in the world.

The rest of the day past in a Gatorade, sleepy haze. As I worked the day and went home very tired. But certain things still needed to be done. Our Beltane fires needed to be lit, all of the house (including the cats) needed to pass thru for a good healthy year. And then the altar needed to be lit. Once the business was taking care of, and even then I completely forgot to bless the car which led to a different kind of adventure, but most of the business taken care of it was time to rest in the house and the home that I love.

I have to say it was one of the best first of May’s I’ve had in a long time. And the month isn’t even over yet! I realize that this post comes weeks after the event,we are now in the height of May-dom, so many more exciting adventures have transpired. So much more magic has been made. But that’s the thing about busy adventures, you’re too busy experiencing them to blog about them. But don’t fear. I’m taking pictures, and making notes. So as soon as I catch my breath there will be more blog posts to come!

Sacred Places: The Mountain

I don’t know about ya’ll, but its important to me to find sacred places in nature to frequent. Now we can argue that all space is sacred, and I certain believe that to be true to some extent. But when I apply the term “sacred” to a place it usually denotes a place that I make offerings/do ritual/have a relationship with. I’m fairly lucky in cultivating a number of these type places and I thought that I’d do them the honor of putting them on my blog as I visit them.

First and probably rightly so, is The Mountain.

The Mountain is sort of a misleading name. In that it’s not referring to just one mountain, nor really just one place, it’s a large expanse of land and valley that has become very sacred to me. You see the Lumberjack use to live on the Mountain, and when we were first dating he would have to travel a couple hours down the Mountain to see me. And in fact he would drive the couple hours down the Mountain to get me, bring me back up to his Mountain and then down again all in the same day. (What can I say he really is a keeper). So this Mountain has a lot of memories for me. It’s also the place of the Lumberjacks ancestral home, his folks still live in the house his Grandfather built.

It is a spectacular drive to get up there, thru a canyon of just sheer beauty. In the valley the view is just breath-taking. Up on the mountain in the picture is the mysterious and elusive Crystal Lake, a lake on top of a mountain! I’ve been a few times it is always spectacular and magical but that’s for another time, its own Sacred Places page. There are hot springs, and endless trails of forest. There is the road where we go looking and find actual fossils! So many beautiful and beloved camping nooks. All under a sky that is just bedazzled with stars. Really I had not seen the night sky until I had seen it up on the Mountain.

Then there is the Lumberjack’s land. 5 acres of wholesome steadfast goodness.

It’s surrounded by plum trees. All of them playful and giving spirits. Every year they are so over loaded with plums, just brimming, and so pleased to have people come out and harvest them. Every year that I go up for a batch I bring them each a little ginger candy and some rum for all their hard work. Then there are the two ENORMOUS pear trees. Much more mischievous and aloof than the plum, they’ve gotten so big that you can’t even harvest all the pears especially not from the top. The Lumberjack’s mom usually just takes whatever pears fall out of the branches, but the Lumberjack himself will scale the tree in delight and pick out what he chooses. He always comes down grinning from ear to ear, I half expect him to start crowing. Apparently the pear trees use to have bears frequenting their yard often, which I think accounts for  the pear’s rugged spirit. I like to leave some whisky for them. The blackberry brambles protect the west end of the property and run wild trying to over take the road. I give them a little milk to soothe their feral spirit. The two crab-apple trees sit closest to the house and seem to enjoy just being sung to. While the garden on the side is well tended to you, it’s rustic in nature and likes a good hardy slice of bread and milk for the work it’s done. This year there are strawberries, rhubarb, and broccoli growing. Then there’s the creek!

I love this little creek. It’s only about two feet wide, but it runs clean fresh water all year round. It runs right behind the house, they have the most adorable little bridge.  Lots of frogs and little garden snakes enjoy the cool waters. I have to say I love having fresh running water on the property, it just feels right. I usually make something special for the creek, and cast flower petals into it’s clear waters.

This is the place that I held my first vigil for Winter solstice and brought up the sun with a HUGE bonfire. It was glorious. This is where we come for Christmas. This is where I go to just get away, and reset. It’s where I like to do most my wild crafting for my incense. It’s where I like to gather my fruits for offerings, because I can give the trees offerings too. It’s just sort of one of those places that seeps with calm, wild, magical energy.

Like I said, the Mountain encompasses so much more than just that 5 acres of retreat. It’s also the drive up there. And there are so many wonderful little sacred spots on the way up. We don’t always stop at all of them, because sometimes we’re in a hurry. But we did this time, and I love it whenever we do.

This is a little fountain shrine off the side of the road on the way thru the canyon. Now it’s just a drain of water off the mountain with a little slate/cement around it but that extra bit of effort really made a gathering spot for energy. It’s a little spot to sort of take in the harmony that can come when humans and the outdoors meet. I tell the Lumberjack every time that I want things like this on our land, when we buy a home. It’s a perfect place to leave offerings for a safe trip up the Mountain. I usually leave an apple. This time I sprinkled some smoking tobacco on it as well.

And then there was this beauty. A lush fresh ice water fall, guarded by a sage handsome Oak tree. We had never stopped here before, but it all took my breath away. The roots of the oak where crawling out to caress the water. The ground around it was slate, and wonderful bits of slate where everywhere. I really didn’t want to leave. Despite the face that I knew it was freezing I just wanted to bathe in it lol.

This is just a touch of the wild and wondrous nature up there. Really the only thing missing is the sea…

“Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out going to the mountains is going home; that wilderness is a necessity…”
― John Muir

A little bit of Epic

Poor blog, how you languish. Yet life has been coming too fast and hard to sit in front of the wordpress and diatribe about the mystical happenings of my world. It’s ok though little blog, there are posts that will get written and soon. Projects up the pipe-line that will get debuted! So much to look forward to. May is coming! Our favorite month of the year. So sit tight little blog, I’ll pamper and oil you up in the next few days.

In the meantime a little piece of Epic to set the mood for the things to come.

Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh

Taurus by Ruben Ireland

Blood of my blood
Bone of my bone
Flesh of my flesh
Teach my spirit to be strong

[Warning: This entry will be talking very explicitly about body parts, genitals, and body fluids. If that is a trigger for you please utilize self care and go on with your internet browsing in peace] 

I have been meaning to write this entry or an entry like this for some time now. In light of the gender exclusivity/inclusiveness issues that we are once again discussing as a community after PantheaCon, it just seems timely. For those of you who want to get up to speed on the events of this Pantheacon and past that have brought the community at large to, what I think, is a helpful dialog please see: Unity, Diversity, Controversy  and Gender, Transgender, Politics and our Beloved Community. Also keep a weathered eye on the Wild Hunt for more. This entry isn’t actually about the events or the movement that is happening in the pagan community. Overall I think the conversations that are happening this year, the tone, and the direction is all towards the future and is all good. The majority is moving towards inclusiveness and are being very civil. Sadly I don’t have any new insightful points to shine greater light on the events that transpired, or the future of the movement. Most of what I feel and my experience are echoed in these wonderful pieces by:   The Lady Yeshe Rabbit, Devin Hunter, Storm Faerywolf, and here

So then why bother with a post at all? What is this business of blood and flesh and all that jazz? The vast majority of the conversation this year is more civil than the year prior, and the focus being about education and the appropriateness of cisgender-ritual at a public convention. But filtering through my dashboard, facebook, and so on is one sentiment that I would like to bring a different point of view on.

That sentiment is that Dianics, or ciswomen’s rituals, or “women’s mysteries rituals” are supporting the idea that “women” should be defined by their reproductive organs and are thereby making themselves out to be no better than brood-stock. A general tonality of dismissal towards magic and healing focused specifically on shared body experiences. In some cases not just a dismissal but an out and out disdain and mockery of finding power and the divine within the paradigm of the body and it’s rhythms. Now, there may very well be women out there who do believe that a uterus, vulva, and the ability to give birth is the end all be all of the divine. They are not everyone who finds the sacred in these rites and rituals. I also fully understand that to some spirituality is about the mind and soul and has little to do with the body. Which is not an approach I understand completely but isn’t one I’m going to mock either.

Let me bring to the table a different way of approaching rituals designed around uterus, vulva, menstruation, pregnancy, giving birth, menopause, and what they can do for women who have those parts. Let me speak into this cacophony of hurt, fear and frustration, and just lay down my own truth. So often when the tides of change are upon us the voices of extreme filled with emotions are heard above all the rest. In those times many often think, “Where are the rest of us?”. It seems that in order for real growth to happen the rest of us have to sit at the table and hear each other out before the extremes can feel safe to do so. Or maybe they never will, but the important thing is for those who can to do so. This is me sitting down with no real expectation. Before I proceed let me say that I do not believe that all women have the same parts, or have all of those parts, or have those parts that work in the ways expected. I don’t believe genitals and organs make a woman. This is about what rituals about those organs and processes can do for those people who identify as women and have them.

Truth is if you had told me eight years ago that I would be a part of a feminist coven of ciswomen whose rituals honored the cycle of menarche throughout the year, and did so naked. I a) would not have know that the hell you meant by ciswoman and b) I would have taken you to the nearest mental health facility.  Because I have actively worked against being defined by my reproductive organs. I am a person, an independent woman, whose experiences and life are the culmination of spirit, mind and body. I was the only girl in an entire city league of boys baseball. A self identified Tomboy who loved pretty dresses. I was so incredibly lucky, to have grown up pretty much surrounded by people who told me and BELIEVED that I could do anything I wanted to.  Gender hardly played a role. I had supportive, encouraging adults in my life that saw me as a person and let my live that way. I will be eternally grateful to them all my days.

But lets pull the curtain back on that boisterous head strong girl.

We see the girl who was “gifted” with “assets” early in her development. That wanted sooo badly not to grow up that she bound her breasts daily. Wearing 2 or 3 sports bras that were sizes too small, even to bed.  We see a girl who was desperate that no one know she had started menstruating she hid it for a year. Stealing sanitary pads from her mother, and throwing away the stained underwear in the middle of the night. Even when her mother did find out she still didn’t talk about, didn’t want anyone to ever know. We see a girl who reacts violently to anyone who insinuates that her strong emotions are due to her “time of month”. And that’s the key, even though she would have never been able to articulate it then. This girl is a deep emotional being who is loud and opinionated. What happens to such a person when it is found out that they are on their period? They are dismissed. The one cancels out the other. And there is nothing more infuriating and frightening than being dismissed in her world.

So I hated my period. HATED it. It was a curse. It was disgusting and vile, I could barely stand to use the restroom because it would mean that I would have to come face to face with my filth. That’s what it was to me, filth. I begged my mother for years to let me buy tampons so that then I wouldn’t have to see it, it would be more contained. With that change it was so much easier to pretend it wasn’t there. With applicators, I didn’t have to touch the mess. The horrid smell was much less. All I had to do was make sure that I kept up a tough front if I got cramps and no one would be the wiser. That was the reality of my life for a long time.

Granted entering the active sexual world helped me to get over my issues with my breasts, and generally lighten up about my body. But I still couldn’t stand for my partner to know I was bleeding, I couldn’t talk about it. It also turned my period into a bizarre co-dependency. On the one hand nothing had changed, I still hated it, it was still disgusting. I considered myself to be untouchable during that time. On the other I was on the pill now and anxious every time for my period to start, as it meant I was not pregnant. Which is still an issue and a fear of mine. But tabling that for the moment.

How did we get from that girl, to ordained HPS of the Amazon Tribe, facilitator of numerous menarche cycle rituals, and advocate of menstrual blood magic?

Ritual. Connection to the divinity of this body. As with so many important things I don’t remember the why or the how I found myself going to these circles. I suspect it was because someone dear to me asked me to go. Being naked in front of strangers was more than a little weird. From the brief look into my life, I’m sure you can gather that up until this point I did not have a large group of female friends. The few relationships I did have were not the kind where we talked about body things. My mother while not nearly as obsessive about hiding her bodily functions as I, was sensitive to the fact that I did NOT want to talk about it and didn’t press. There I was in a room of naked women, at a ritual that focused around the flashing of a vulva to get a goddess to smile – I was out of my element. Here were women talking about “it”. Some in polite euphemisms, some in straight vernacular. Announcing that they were on their “moon time”, talking about bleeding, diva cups that overflow, about environmentally friendly washable luna pads, about raspberry leaf tea. Sore breasts, aching backs, cravings (of food and otherwise). There were words I had never heard of (what’s a yoni?). But above all it was just being talked about, and talked about without shame. There was no dismissal of thoughts and emotions that happened to coincide with bleeding. Most radically though was the undercurrent and explicit idea that menstruation was powerful.

I learn a lot through osmosis. Weird thing to say but it’s true. I was a Marine Brat, moved around a lot, had to learn to adapt, to fit to my new surroundings. Thus being around things I pick up knowledge, information and skills, without conscious effort. So being surrounded by women talking frankly began to seep into my consciousness. The key I suppose was the frankness. It wasn’t all glitter and bejeweled vulvas (tho I admit there was talk of that too). It was the frustration, the pain, resignation, the nostalgia from those having gone or going through menopause. The bitter and the sweet. It was the natural acceptance of the whole messy process.

I should note and reiterate here, that no one ever told me to be ashamed and hate my period. I wasn’t slapped and told I was dirty as I know some of my sisters experienced. It was never implicitly stated or even implied. It was a reality that grew out of my mind and out of the cultural context of the world around me. It was so core to my being that it blinded me from the direct conflict of such thinking and my own spiritual path and world view.  I have always been an animist at heart, everything that we come into contact with in our life has an energy and a spirit. The closer that I got to the raw elemental nature of things the more I knew that to be true. The more that I connected with those spirits in my life and practice the more powerful they were. It is the cornerstone of my practice. Simple, basic, elemental, primal. That is how I work, that is what works well for me. I’d been using spit for protection sigils for years. My hair is a potent ingredient to any spell and is use with forethought. I’ve never batted an eyelash at pissing in the witches bottle, or around the property itself when needed. There are rites and spells that I spill blood for. Yet I was blinded by my prejudice against my own body to the power of my blood. I’ll say that again, I was PREJUDICE against myself. For no real reason. Because the fact of the matter is I don’t hate my body, I knew it to be a powerful part of my human experience in this life.  That’s not how it is for everyone, but for me becoming aware that my emotions and prejudices where not in line with my overall world view, was shaking.

To be clear it wasn’t a single ritual, or one ah-ha! moment that brought me to this place within myself. It was time spent in sacred space where these rhythms and organs where being honored. It was experiencing the visions of women’s blood flowing down the thighs of a Goddess that was soul moving. It was then going to my own altar, and being in sacred space with my Goddess and her once again flinging wide the doors of my mind that I had kept shut. Revelations, deeper connections, and just facing myself.

What was it about menses that made me become shameful, and hate it? Was I going to continue to allow society and the invisible them to have final say on whether or not my emotions and opinions were valid? In all other aspects of my life I have moved to a place of being open and owning of myself, imperfect and human that I am. Why not this? My shields have always been sparse, and compact in the front of me. Allowing for agility and ease of movement rather than to barricade. Why? Because I can handle myself. Because I am capable, because in the end any hits someone gets in is just going to make me stronger. Yet I was going to let the ignorance and misogyny of the imaginary, or the careless parroted words of others bring me down and make me hide myself? No longer.

So was that it? Was it a simple awakening realization, continue going to rituals and ta-da? Yes, no. Yes, it was an awakening realization, hours of meditation, offerings, petitions, oracles. Yes it was continuing to go to rituals. No, that was not all. It was also working with the rhythms of my body and incorporating that power into my craft. It meant I had to face what I had deemed filth, and look at it in a new light. So it was bleeding and not just letting the tampon absorbed it up and never have to touch it. It was getting that blood and tissue on my hands and reaching out to test and feel if there was any energetic power there. It was realizing that I work with organ meat, butchery, bones, and dead animals. The smell of menstrual blood is not the most foul thing I’ve ever smelled. In fact it just smells like blood. Iron, salt, and mortality. It was owning my body as whole and holy. It was using my blood in a spell, and it fucking working. And in doing this work, at home, at my altar, I became a more confidant and powerful woman, witch and priestess. I could speak candidly with my friends, sisters, partner and not feel ashamed, embarrassed or that it somehow lessened my value. I don’t know any other way to explain it other than to say that I felt the surge of power that comes with walking your walk completely, and owning yourself.

Now, do I think that space and revelation could not have happened if transwomen had been in that space as well? Personally, no. I don’t see that as being an impediment. I see an underlying fear that these vulva, uterus, menstruation rituals will be edged out if the circles are open to all women and not just ciswomen. We don’t have to create that reality. This post was triggered in large part by a lot of posts and comments made by ciswomen who have no interest in having rituals focused on the cycle of menses, it’s not for everyone, it doesn’t need to be. But it is important and sacred for many. My story, is sooo small in comparison to the many other stories of healing, transformation, and power that can be heard about these body focused rituals.

We can keep that sacred space of healing, and open up to more women who may find healing there without changing the focus. That’s what I would like to see. That is what I want to focus on in my own community. The talk on the internet will continue as it always does, PantheaCon will make decisions and changes for their own visions interests as is their right to do. Each group or coven has the same. For me, it is important to speak out and openly about the power and sacredness that I have found within these rituals for whomever wants to hear it. May it do some good in whatever way the powers that be deem fit. And in turn look to my own community to speak, and shape the future.

May everyone find power and the sacred on their path, let all people worship what gods they will.

A Little Bit of Epic in Space!

Because it’s grey outside, and we can all use a little color.

Because the animation is awesome.

Because it’s been a meh couple of days.

Because I would totally watch this show.

I give you Space Stallions!!!

The New Time

Let me set the stage. A magical house, expansive, comfortable, lush. Candles lit on every altar, most every wall. The scents of pasta, cheese, soup, and bread mingle with the chiming of bottles pouring wine. Laughter, throaty deep and beautiful laughter fills the corners and makes the house expand with pride. A dozen stunning bright and vibrant women sit around the food laden table and lounge on floor and chair. Cats scuttle and a baby toddles from smiling aunty to smiling aunty. It is a gathering of the Tribe, the meeting of the minds. Women from different walks of life, different personal practices and professions, bound together in sisterhood. Working to help support one another, working to crave out a space in the world for women to find their spirituality and the mysteries within.

The topic comes up, to something this bunch of techno-savy, social media ladies have all seen and noticed with fervor. More and more stories, horror stories, of the wave of anti-abortion laws being seen throughout the country. These bills that get us closer and closer to the reality of women being criminally charged for loosing a pregnancy. These bills also introduce the gateway for banning birth control. With Presidential candidates like Rick Santorum who has openly come out against birth control : “Many of the Christian faith have said, well, that’s okay, contraception is okay. It’s not okay. It’s a license to do things in a sexual realm that is counter to how things are supposed to be.” But it doesn’t just stop at the political level. We have a rampant blame the rape victim mentality, and the kicker for this discussion; the latest diagnosis of “mass hysteria” in upstate New York. Maybe it’s always been this bad, maybe there is a wave to get women under control. All that mattered in that sacred space was that we ALL noticed, and didn’t like what we saw.

It should be no surprise that a house of witches, decided a ritual was needed, days before the Leo Full Moon. But this would be a different ritual, one shared. Shared as much as possible and to as many as would take it up. The Mother of the New Time was created. Fueled by a desire to make change happen, to have a better world. We made magic the way that we knew how to make magic. But imagine if it went further? Imagine if others look on the Mother of New Time and not just pass it up because it’s not how they do magic. But took up the cause and made their magic? What if those who don’t cast spells, took it up in prayer and petitions? What if groups of all kinds and all paths under this umbrella of Paganism took this as a start and ran with it. Every full moon people of all creeds taking the time and the care to set the intention for a better future for all. The energetic wave would be awe inspiring.

More than that, the chain of events would lead to real change. We set forth with our spiritual intention every full moon to the end of 2012. The moon then becomes a focus and reminder to wake up and take notice. Suddenly that news article you read, reminds you to pay special attention to that issue during the rite. You find yourself paying more attention to the news. You start to look into whether or not your candidates and representatives are supporting those ideals that you care about and pray for. It’s election year, you have a list of what is important to you, how you want the world to change. You can use that to help navigate the candidates , issues, the propositions.  It becomes a part of your working mind, you make choices with your pocket book, with your voice. The ritual then is a wake up to be present in the shaping of the future! That is power. That is how change happens.

Sisters, Brothers, People of the world and internet, if you feel called to this work in anyway, I encourage you to do so.

There is a crispness to the air, a crackling to the sounds, that denotes power. The full and glorious moon softly emanates light dancing in and out of the wispy silken clouds. I have made ready my altar. Washed it’s surfaces and blessed it’s space with love and oil. I make myself ready for the work ahead. Cool clean holy water for my Green Spring, my work is for the betterment of this land. The caress of sweet smoke across my skin, my work is for the future of all. I give rites to my Gods, to watch over me, to watch over this work, to bless it with their wisdom and strength. I give rites to the Ancestors, to hear me, to hear all others who join, to join their voices. I make offering to this land, and to this country. At this nexus of powers, spirits, and time, I dream of the future.

My amazonite stone sits on the pedestal of the serpent. A stone of truth, of justice. A spirit of transformation, of wisdom. Atop the heart of humanity. It is with beating hearts that change will come. I pour libation over the little stone, an offering to it’s spirit to be my ally in this working. I explain to it the purpose, the intent, and it’s part. Careful to be very clear of it’s ultimate fate. With permission and blessing, I take the little stone in my mouth and anoint it with my spit and voice. Cupped and cherished in my hands I let the words wash over it.

I dance at the edge of the world
Like my ancestresses before me
I am a sacred vessel
My blood is indomitable
Cradling the now at my breast
Nurturing the future unfolding
There is nothing to fear
I am a Mother of the New Time

There was more magic to be made that night, more words to be chanted. Till far into the witching hour the candles burned. But in that moment, there started something new.

May it continued to be shaped in love, honor, and truth.

In Honor of Bride

Imbolc has never really been one of my BIG holidays. Usually I note it with leaving out some milk and honey, lighting a candle, saying a prayer and so on. It just always seemed to get overshadowed by Beltane, Lughnasadh, and Samhain. Bride, or Brighid, while someone I acknowledge and pay respect to, never was a deity I had much contact with. There seems to be much…conflicting information about the “date” of Imbolc. I’ve always gone with the information that I found early in my studies of Irish Folk Traditions which coincides with this lovely site: Là Fhèill Brìghde which states that her Saint day is Feb 1st, with traditional celebrations being on the Eve or the 31st. Now…apparently in other paths and traditions Imbolc is set for the 2nd or today.  Frankly I don’t give much credence to our calendar anyway, at least not spiritually.

So I celebrated yesterday, and in much greater style than ever before. You see Bride had done me a great service and honor last year, and continues to do so. If you follow my tumblr you may remember me saying, I”m a plant killer, and the poor little rosemary bush that was not looking so good. Well the refugees didn’t make it very long, but the rosemary bush survived. I prayed, I watered that little beauty with Bride’s well water, fed it eggshells and coffee. Half of it died, may that half rest in peace, but the other lived on. So it’s a little mangled but ALIVE. And lo what did I spy not but a few days ago?…

Bride's rosemary

It’s blooming!! Two beautiful little periwinkle flowers! Oh I was so happy. I was so happy and I knew. “It’s Imbolc.” And so it was that on Feb 1st, I gathered the supplies and went about having a grand feast for the Fiery Arrow who saved my little plant. Well it’s her little plant now, I hope to keep it growing into a large plant. And from hence forth I shall celebrate Imbolc and Bride at the first blooms of her rosemary bush. I’m quite thrilled about it all.

So first up, I went and walked my ass down to the local store to pick up some milk and supplies for the evening. Traditionally Imbolc was about the “milking”, the time with the cattle and sheep came back into their milk from the dry winter. As I have no cows, sheeps, or goats, and we’ve just established up above that for now Imbolc shall be at the first rosemary bloom, the fact that traditionally people wouldn’t have had enough milk to make fresh cheese at this time isn’t going to get in my way of making fresh cheese. If you have never made fresh cheese I HIGHLY suggest you try it out. It’s wonderful, and easy. Well farmer’s cheese is. I have my lovely friend and high priestess Yeshe Rabbit to thank for introducing me to the wonderful practice of farmer’s cheese for Imbolc. It’s a memory that I cherish.

Here is the recipe for the nuts and bolts of what I make.

Pot O' Milk

You start with a pot o’ milk. I bought a full gallon and used about 3/4 of it here in my favorite pot. If you can get your hands on raw milk all the better, sadly that was not going to happen today. Turn the stove on high and wait for that delicious pot of white to start to boil, stirring occasionally. You have to WATCH it. It’s very hard for people like me with no patience. But the reality is that you don’t want you’re milk to scorch or get to a full boil. You just want it to start to bubble a little. It’s gotten to the point where I can hear it. There is a energetic change in the calm cool milk when it’s just about to start boiling. Around the edges is usually where it starts to show first. Just as the tension is high, the bubble beginning to make their way to burst through the surface, some big thing is just around the bend, you can feel it, an explosion, power, something just a bit longer….turn OFF the stove!

And now you add your acid. Could be the juice of a whole lemon, could be apple cider vinegar, could be wine. I’ve done it with all of them. This time I used lemon and apple cider vinegar because my little lemon didn’ t give me enough juice. Stir it around in your warm vat of milk and you should immediately start to see a chemical reaction. Suddenly there will be swaths of yellow watery liquid amoungst clumps of white milk. Keep stirring all is well. Let it sit a bit if needed tell you can clearly see a separation.

The Constitutional Separation of milk and whey

Mmmm curds.

At this point you should have a vat of curds and whey. Yep this is the stuff the Little Miss Muffet ate. Looks tasty no? But wait we aren’t Muffets sitting on our tuffets. We’re here to honor Bride, to offer her some delicious salty creamy white cheese that is flavored with her rosemary and made with love and adoration. So we continue onwards!

Straining the whey from the curd. Now you can use store bought cheesecloth, which…is…well crap to be honest. You’ll have to triple it up if not more to make sure the poorly woven fabric doesn’t lose some precious curd. I’ve heard of people buying the cheapo cloth diapers and using them. I may look into that my self. But for the time being I use a thin loose woven handkerchief that was my grandmothers. I imagine if you could get your hands on handkerchief weight linen or cotton it would be wonderful too. OR if you are a fancy person with lovely different size mesh sieves that works too lol.

Straining with a hanky

Now, I have my colander and such in a bowl, to save the whey. Whey is packed with the nutritional minerals and vitamins, double points for raw milk. I wanted to save it to use in place of the water for my bread recipe and in my cooking, and for an purification bath (it’s great for the skin). Up to you really. I will say that you should not use this whey to water your plants, because it is acid whey (we used acid to separate the milk instead of rennet) and will burn them. If you do want to save it, let me tell you there will be a lot of it!

Ok so, our curds and whey are separated, now what? Now we season! Basically if you want your cheese to be flavored now would be the time.

Almost Cheese

I chopped up some of that lovely rosemary, and salted to taste. Mmmm looking mighty good. Stir it up. Now take the ends of your cloth and pull them together and start twisting the lovely little hobo bag, squeezing out the excess whey.  At this point you have options. You can start eating it now. Leave it as is, and refrigerate it. Or put it in a mold and apply pressure to further solidify the cheese. I went with the latter. Lathered up a regular bowl with a thin coating of lard (you heard that right) and squished that white cheesey goodness in. Covered it with the hanky and weighted it down with the bowl of whey. Put in fridge and by dinner, ta da!

waiting on Cheese

With that setting, I moved on to making bread, cleaning the house, cleaning the altars, sweeping the porches, anointing the doors. Then back into the kitchen for more cooking! It was stewed chipotle beef, mashed taters, and cabbage for the feast. Light the candles, say a petitioning prayer, make offering to the rosemary bush, make offering to Bride, and then sup.

Homemade bread

Bride's plate

Bride's candle on the Altar

The Feast!

All and all it was a lovely day. I felt quite content, and went to bed happy that Bride’s candle would burn throughout the night. Winter barely touched us this year, but I’m hoping Spring will linger and bless us with prosperity. Bright blessings to all!