witchcraft

Reflections of the Dark Moon

She is in the sound of bare feet running across the dirt and stone. The thud of bone hitting earth and making it stronger. She is the song without words but whose depth of truth is unquestioned. The cry of beast and mortal alike. Hear her in your beating heart as the pounding drum. Hear her in your mind as the wailing carnyx. A force of nature. A force pushing you to beyond. Beyond your current limits. Ever striving. Ever changing. Ever thriving.

The Dark Moon. The Full Moon. The Summer. The Winter. She is there.

It is the Samhain season, and there is much to do, but there is also a need to sit back and reflect. The bones have been released on my altar. The Ancestors are getting their daily offerings and prayers. The Morrigan’s Holy day was marked in the dark of night under a fog covered sky in the Oakland hills. Every day is full with work.

Work that brings my household money and stability. Work that keeps my household healthy and feeling supported in the hard times we are currently in. Work to prepare for the new year in the Cauldron and what we wish to offer the community. Work for my household Gods and Spirits, to continue our mutually beneficial relationships and bring them honor. Work to shore up and refresh my wards for the house, my loved ones and myself. Work to become a better person.

Amongst all that work it would be easy to get lost. To focus solely on what is directly in front of me and move forward. But moving forward without knowing where you have come from means that you may not realize where you are going. So I wanted to take a moment to pause. The Great Queen wanted me to take a moment to pause.

Herself has been very present this season. The shadows are more than a little deeper. My emotions are a little stronger. Under the surface bubbles and restless energy, it can be harnessed and focused to accomplish so much, but it also threatens to overwhelm and fantasies of literally running wild are never far away. These are some of the markers of the Great Queen’s presence to me. The feeling of a deep endless chasm within me that will never be filled and never run dry.

Several years ago during a trance ritual with the Morrigan it seemed important for me to start working on some form of divination skills. This was difficult for me. It’s not a skill I am particularly attracted to or one that I feel that I am good at, but there was something in the practice of prophecy that clearly she felt would be good for me. That is the crux of my relationship with the Morrigan. Becoming a better version of me. The better version of me that she sees even when I do not.

So I bought Brian Froud’s Heart of the Faerie Deck and started doing readings and it was remarkably easy to listen to them. Now whether or not they had anything useful to say, is another question entirely. I didn’t bother with a Tarot deck. Something about Tarot has just never appealed to me. There are some truly beautiful cards but it’s just…not for me.

I don’t read for people often or even for myself. When I do people seemed to genuinely get something out of it and I have started giving myself calendar year readings annually. For a while that seemed enough.

Not this year. Time to step it up and branch out lol. It started earlier in the year with the random idea that I would like to have another deck, not just those wilde Faeries, to read with. But as mentioned Tarot still seemed not for me, so then was the somewhat difficult task of finding another Oracle Deck that I could speak with. The timing of finding a possible deck has worked out in that witchy way. My dearest sister, Brenda called my attention to the “With Your Shield or On It” deck by Pam Wishbow on my instagram. It was an insta-buy. Something I don’t do often. They arrived a few days before the Dark Moon and the Morrigan’s Holy Day, and as soon as I had them in my hands I realized that I would need to spend time getting to know them and learn their language. It wasn’t one I could already speak like my Froud deck.

It just seemed correct to do a daily card pull to get to know the deck, to see if it was the right one for me. From Dark Moon to Dark Moon seemed natural. Asking the Morrigan to bless the deck and open my eyes was second nature. We are seven days in and I can now see a little of how good of a practice this is right now.

Life is more than a little full and hectic right now. A family member is in the hospital, my partner is on leave to help in their care. Our “normal” has been packed up for another time. Spending some small minutes in the morning to sit in the quiet. To shuffle the cards. To think about yesterday and wonder about today has been supremely beneficial.

Added to that is the fact that there has been a lot of energetic shifts happening around me. In communities I am apart of, in neighboring communities, and just everywhere I look to be honest. This Dark Moon of the Morrigan’s  I told her and felt the truth that it felt like the long holding pattern I was in for many years is over. I am no longer treading water. I am moving forward. This practice of prophecy, of divination, is one of looking in all directions and listening. When there is so much going on, it is important to listen. To be in closer in connection with her voice, to hear warnings, to see patterns, to know.

For all that I am grateful. To the Great Queen who constantly inspires me and drives me, I am humbly grateful.

To all those seeking, my best advice to you is to listen and act. Don’t let the doubt freeze you into inaction. Start small. Start with something manageable, but doable. A prayer once a week. An offering on the Dark Moons. Deciding to read one of her stories and legends. Listen while you are doing these things and take time to reflect.

May this time of great depth and possibility give you what you need to reach a new personal level. May you continue to thirst for greater understanding and mastery of yourself. May your loved ones be safe and protected. May your household be prosperous and joyful even in times of stress. My the Great Queen bless us.

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Magic. Protection. Safety.

 

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Release the Bones!

Every year at and around the start of October, and the festivities that go with it, I clean my altar and bring up the bones that have been on their crowded shelf in the Underworld. But bringing the Bones up and giving them prominent place on the top altar it is essentially my way of acknowledging that we have now entered into the time of the Dead. The Dead are generally always welcome in my home but now they get a little more attention that usual. This year the 1st went and passed and I didn’t get to it, the 2nd rolled by and still nothing, till it was in fact the 5th of October and for completely sideways reasons the bones were released.

It actually started on October 4th in the evening. Minding my own business having dinner, the Lumberjack complaining about the beer he bought not tasting “pumpkin-y” enough, when  I knew I needed to make beer oat scones for a certain Good God. I don’t really know how else to describe the Other messaging system that gets these things across. One second I’m watching The Invisible Man the next I have a clear image and knowledge of me making these beer oat scones happily while deep laughter rings in the background. It’s just a knowing. That’s the best I can do for you as far as description goes.

Now frankly this doesn’t happen often. Tends to be that my Dead, and house Beasties are the ones who ask for the most. So when one of my deities chimes in I make a point to make it happen, no matter how small.

The next day is the day of The Concert (for those of you who do not know ‘The Concert’ here and thereafter refers to The Florence and the Machine Concert), and my good friend Temple is coming over so we can go and get our holy musical emotive on.  I knew I could rope her into making beer oat scones no problem. I didn’t have a recipe, but I knew I wanted to use all oats. So oat flour and then some whole oats. I figured with the beer and oats that brown sugar would be the way to go and a lot of butter.  We looked up a oat scone recipe for some basic portions and went from there. Here is what we came up with:

Ooo Oat flour

  Good God’s Beer Oat Scones

1 1/2 cups Oat Flour*
2 cups Oats
1/4 cup Brown Sugar
4 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
2 eggs
1/2 cup melted better
1/2 cup Beer of choice

* To make Oat Flour, put the amount of Oats (in this case 1 1/2 cups) in a food processor and blend till fine.

  1. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F (220 degrees C). Lightly grease a baking sheet.
  2. In a large bowl, mix the flour, oats, sugar, baking powder, salt, and currants. Make a well in the center. In a small bowl, beat egg until frothy, and stir in melted butter and milk. Pour into the well, and mix to create a soft dough.
  3. I used a 1/4 cup measuring cup to scoop out the dough and place on a parchment paper lined cookie sheet. This recipe made 10 of such scones.
  4. Bake 15 minutes in the preheated oven, until risen and browned.

Offering to a Good God. Oats, beer and honey, life is good.

They turned out marvelously! Looked absolutely scrumptious, smelled like good old yum. But then the twist. Where to put the offering?

Generally food offerings are made on my main altar, as the Good God’s kitchen altar is just too small for more than a cup of beer (which he gets regularly). But the main altar was….not fit. It had an old spell that needed to be broken down, all the deities candles had been burned down. But most importantly of all the thing was in limbo because the Bones desperately needed to come out.

After spinning for several minutes, shaking my fist, and getting laughed at by Temple. It was clearly evident that my task could wait no longer, the altar needed to be cleaned and the Bones released, NOW.

So we did. Took everything off the cluttered thing, tore down the spell, dusted everything, and then lovingly brought out the bones and oo’d and aw’d over everyone, cuddled them a bit, and chose their place up above.

And when all was done, I still had more chores to do, but the altar was happy, the Bones were happy, he was happy, and we were happy.

And in the end that’s all that matters.

The “Pagan Community”

“…there is no such thing as the ‘Pagan Community'”

“a Pagan is someone who believes (xyz).”

“The pagan community is full of haters and people spewing negativity.”

“The pagan community is full of fluffy bunnies and ignorant New Agers.”

These notions and notions similar are being played on continuous loop around me these day. There is just a few things I would like to clear up, in respect to this blog, my tumblr, and really any sort of interaction you may have with me. Because I do talk about “the Pagan Community” here and elsewhere. So evidently I do believe that there is such a creature. More than that I have a lot of investment and care for the Pagan Community, it is the main ingredient in my public priestessing. Without it I would not be a priestess. I mean sure, I’d still do what I do, and honor my gods, and honor the spirits and ungods, and work my craft, and live my life. But the pagan community, and the needs it has is in part what keeps me to being a public priestess. I will attempt to show you what I mean when I say “the Pagan Community” and what I think of when I hear it.

Recently my High Priestess pondered aloud to me whether or not “Pagan” was the right label, as it is such a mixed bag of cats. And really as an umbrella term it really doesn’t describe anything, since those who fall under it are not of the same religion. I agree with this, and I think is the first step towards the community actually becoming more useful to itself. The definition of “pagan” in the “Pagan Community”, really only is: that you are someone who identifies as a pagan, usually a follower of a minority faith or secular path that falls outside of the identified acceptable norm. It doesn’t really signify anything else. There is no inherent doctrine tied into the word, and to date even the notion that it is a religion that is not Judeo-Christian or Abrahamic is outdated and un-useful.   I know. Now we are wandering into the land where words can grow past their origin and finite dictionary meanings, but that’s how things work for me.

So if the ‘pagan’ in Pagan Community is so broad and without boundaries, where no one believes the same thing then what is the ‘community’? The community is one of interfaith. It is countless different paths, traditions, religions, faiths, individual people, who all believe different things, but who all willing identify with one another in order to help move forward in the Judea-Christian religious dominated society that we live in. Minorities within a minority choosing to help each other out and dare I say, possibly learn something from one another. Not for any dogmatic code of spreading “the good word”. Just out of the shared experience of purposefully choosing one of the paths least traveled and all the complications that come with that.

That’s it. That’s all. That’s the entirety of it for me. It is all that I need to understand to want to put my shoulder under this yoke and help plow the field for a new cultural shift. It is the simple connection that allows me to speak to so many people who may not even know what they believe but want information and be able to point them in various different directions to the amazing people that I have the privilege to call friend, to call community.

Ultimately, the Pagan Community is a diverse and unboxable as the American community. There will never be able to be a story that full captures all the opinions and sides, never a quote that covers the immensity of it. There will never be enough “leaders” or “elders” to speak on it’s behalf (and that’s a good thing). It is a community where participation guides it’s direction. Where homogeneity is never going to be the answer or the goal. Where understandings have to be met from different playing fields. And above all where respect for fellow man is needed.

Are there still going to be people who adamantly refuse the label “pagan”? Of course, and that is their right. There will still be people who think it’s a bad idea, and that there is no room for them. The thing about the Pagan Community, is that you get to identify with it or not. We’ll still be doing the same work (even when none of us are doing the same thing at all) and I pray that it will make a positive impact on the cultural of our society for everyone. Even those who want nothing to do with it.

-A Pagan American Gaelic Polytheist witch

It was time

 

Time to return to the sea. It had been a growing need. The thundering of hooves in the mind blending with the rhythmic clash of the waves on the rocks. The soul centering balance of being at the place where all three worlds meet. Bad luck had been at my heels all winter, it all cried out for the cleansing waters of brine. There would be no stopping this pilgrimage. There would be offerings made, there would be fire, there would be water, no matter how cold.

The tide was high, and while the land surrounding this beloved slice of sea is going through much upheaval and change (a “reconstruction of the water table” that I am unconvinced is for the benefit of the land itself…) the beach and the sea remained as it ever was. The sky shone out cerulean blue from between its wisps of gray and the sun sparkled on the sea with tantalizing warmth. The evocative call of the sea and it’s jeweled adventures. Beautiful, deadly, a delightful trap if ever there was one.

The Corvid brothers wheeled in the sky and preened on the beach. Eager, and anxious for what was to follow, if a little reproachful at the long absences. But amends would be made.

With my own two hands I gathered the stones, carrying, rolling, pulling from the sand. Piecing together a pit where there was none. With stones you build. And it felt good. Good to stretch the muscles, good to have grit under my nails, good to take those beautiful stones of the beach and honor them with fire and libation. Once gathered, our fire starter set to work, and the food was laid out and all was good.

 

After eating our fill, laughing, turning our faces up to the sun and feeling its warmth. It was time. Time to throw the past on the fire, to drink to our Ancestors whose time of high power was drawing to a close, to ask for their blessings. I gave the flames the holly, cedar and pine that had been gathered for the great Ancestral Feast. Giving the spirits fully the essence of those plants that kept us safe in the dark nights. The smoke billowed high, and the fire higher. Toast of the Winter Brew were passed around and good cheer was given. Ancestors bless us, bless us with your wisdom. Bless us with hearth and home, with prosperity and wealth, with the way forward.

Then it was time to make our offerings to the Gods. Carefully planned and prepared, each of us with a mission of our own. Each of us with our own Gods to tend to. On my brass platter a mighty cow’s heart, drenched in barley, oats, honey, whisky, and rosemary. In the wooden vessel: strawberries, tomatoes, chocolate, potatoes and sausage. A split apple of my love and devotion. Out I walked hands full, towards the rocks, and the jagged sea. The Raven Brothers followed close behind, their chorus a harsh and beautiful chant. The rock was chosen and all laid out, the apple given as a token to the Brothers. And in the presence of all Three Realms, and those that are my beloved, I sang.

I sang, and prayed. I lifted my voice, in love, in strength, in courage and frustration. I was not meek and mild.  In that moment there was understanding, and I was seen. The sun shone. The sea glinted with resplendent glory,  and the Ravens cawed.

The sea, the sea. All can be cured in the sea. With my dark Irish red beer for the Son of the Sea, I stripped down to my skivvies and answered the call that had been so long in my ear. And it was cold. The kind of cold that burns, yet it brought a smile to my face. The waves teased and enticed us farther and father out. Laughingly, cautiously we ventured forth. With squeals and delight I submerged my netted shall in the foamy brine, forever dedicating it to he who keeps the veil. And dripping diamonds of salt water I poured it over my head. Gone was the illness that had plagued me for days before, gone was the coughing, the pain. In its place joy, clean pure, and ecstatic. For as long as my poor broken foot would allow I stayed there, in that liminal state. Not properly in any one realm, instead joyfully in all three. And then back to the fire, to the warmth and sanctuary of land. Grateful for my gift. One special and large witch’s stone to take with me.

I treasure these times. These places, where all my Gods are so vibrant and real and near. These moments when so much can be felt and done. These dark moon offerings shall forever be cherished by me.

Until next time, the time when the Sea calls…

The Parts of Priestessing

There are times when I get so surrounded in what I’m doing. In my single minded bull headed focus on the things immediately around me, that other layers and context just fade away. Sometimes this is a good thing, it gets shit done. Sometimes this is a bad thing, in that I forget very important lessons. But as with all things in my life eventually the tide comes round and I can see the other side. Remember what I had forgotten, see the forest for the trees, whatever colloquialism is in vogue at the hour. Herein is where I relieve a little bit of how my convoluted, multi-streamed practices work for me.

There are three parts to my path. This is not a surprising revelation, but I just never thought of it till recently. It makes sense, as my daily blessing ends with the line “All three are in me.” My personal path, wherein I have been charged by my Gods to live the values of a culture long past in a modern age. Where I worship my Ancestors, where I tend the spirits and beings of the land around me, where I worship the Gods who have seen me thru this life and past lives. This in and of itself is a fair amount of work. It’s a constant learning experience, study course, at some point (soon-ish) I will need to learn Gaelic. There are big major, long term plans on this path. They involve me owning a house on a fair amount of land. On studying the construction of stone circles and creating a modern one on some scale. They involve outdoor shrines, and eventually a cairn. In short a lot of work.

These goals and that path have been with me from the beginning of my consciousness of the spiritworld. What I did not see coming, where the other parts. Almost five years ago (I can’t believe I just typed that. I mean for normal people five years is not a long time but for the girl who moved every two years since birth five years is a lot) situations where bad at home, and my gods guided me that part of my path (of their path) is community. I was a lone Celt, and that’s just an out of balance thing. The culture is about community, there is a pride and integrity that was inherently missing. Especially since at the time I was having family issues, where it became clear that a large part of my blood family did not hold the same values. So I went out looking for some people to call my own. I looked at Celtic Recon. groups, I looked at ADF, I even looked at Asatru. But the latter didn’t seem to actually hold public events, the middle was not my flavor in congruence to my deities, and the latter just not my people. On a whim I went to a group’s full moon circle. The group was Come As You Are Coven (and what can be more inviting than that?) they said they were an eclectic drop in coven. I figured that I’d probably be the lone CR (which is what I identified with at the time) but I desperately needed to get out of the house and be around people and something just told me to go. So I did and it was lovely. Completely different from anything I’d ever seen or heard or anything (casting circle, calling directions, all that was all new to me). And I kept coming back when I could. They worked with different deities than I did, but I’ve always followed a strict let people worship what gods they will, and more importantly they had the same values of integrity, community, and so on that drew me to the people. Through a series of events and reasons that I do not remember (I never remember how important things in my life began with the exception of how I met the Lumberjack) I applied for and was accepted into their Clergy initiation path. Thus cementing the second path of my spiritual life. Community. It is part of my spirituality to provide, aide, and be an active part of my people. To strive to create a space of sanctuary for those who need it, to help where I can, to believe in the power of community of give and take as needed. I have met so many amazing people within this path. Friends that I will keep for all my days. Friends, family, who are connected to me even tho we worship different gods. It is vital, and it is a lot of work lol. And that my goodly people is how I can be a Gaelic Polytheist and belong to an Eclectic Coven. The key is also finding a coven that adheres to the “let people worship what gods they will” method. I believe that we maybe the only one lol.

Where is the three you ask? Well the three is perhaps the most unexpected one of the bunch. You see with this initiation came an ordination and the title Priestess. Then came another initiation and an ordination and the title High Priestess. These things where and are things that I struggle with in their collective understanding seems is a bit murky. Remember “let people worship what gods they will”? That also means that I believe the only person fit to tell you what is right and proper for your soul is you and your gods. I continue with this line of thinking now, with the understanding that many people find it helpful to talk to people who are sure of their own path in order to discover the path that is right for them.

My personal understanding of a Priestess has come to evolve a bit, thus the reason for this post. In that I see two aspects of Priestessing (or Priesting as you will), both are important, and it’s the finding and rediscovering of balance that I need to do. There is the Priestess of the spirits. In another time and place this would be tending the temple, making the sacrifices, reading the omens. In the now it means the same thing, for me it means tending to my house spirits and beasties, courting the local spirits, making offering and sacrifices to the gods, remembering and honoring the ancestors, all of that which I do in my personal practice. With the added caveat that I also am vested to perform blessings, cleansing, and other sacred rites for my community. Those things fall under the other part, the Priestess of the people.

We live in a society that has ostracized ritual with the exception of a select and privileged few. Yet the human need for ritual for connection to the divine has not diminished. So where then to people go? How do people who have never seen anything other than a select few forms of spiritual connection , that do not resonate with them, how do they find what does? Moreover how do we as a culture make it acceptable to have people worship what gods they will? Those of us that can, that know how, must hold the space and make the platform for other kinds of spirituality. I had forgotten that bit. For many months I was consumed with work and devotion to my gods, the spirits of the land and so on. They still need that work and that devotion, they are hungry for it. My work in the public arena made me more, upped my standards, and so too did the spirits and the Gods up theirs. It’s all a balancing act.

It took a trip far away, being surrounded by people who don’t necessarily believe like I do, putting on ritual for energies and deities that I have no connection with, to make me realize the impact and importance of bringing ritual to the people is again.

Because we’re human beings, and we learn through experience. Because we’re a society where sometimes we don’t know that things are an option until we see others doing it. So being a Priestess to me is being one of those people who gets out there and does it. Who shows one way, several ways that it can be done, and encourages others to find more. And a High Priestess? A High Priestess makes sure there is a stage for that to happen. Puts in the time and effort to make sure that the rituals are that have impact and meaning. Keeps the standard and keeps upping it.

Not too long ago I posted about carving out more worship, that is still true. As I said the Gods and spirits have upped their standards, there is more work to be done and on a grander scale than before in order to fulfill one part of my path and one part of my Priestesshood.  I am however thankful for the reminder that though their goals and means are different the two parts are equally important. This upcoming year I have the opportunity to by a High Priestess to the people, and specifically to the women of my area. That is precious to me and I am excited and dedicated to providing as many spiritual epiphany, soul lifting rituals in as many different ways as only my coven can provide.

That’s it. Just a little ramble on the things in my head. On how paths can multiple and get muddy. On how sometimes you just have to be mindful and look up from your work every once in a while. On how this one American Gaelic Polytheist witch is also a Public High Priestess in an Eclectic Coven, and sometimes makes it work. On how in the end I just wish that we all may worship what gods we will.

99%

My country is in the middle of a storm. Situations and bad leadership that has been going on for years is finally cracking. I’m not surprised that I’m currently living in one of the epicenters of this maelstrom. If you haven’t heard, or seen the coverage on the brutal attack of the Occupy Oakland Protesters, then I suggest you get on google and look it up. I had been watching this Occupy movement with interest, passion, pride, and deliberation. It was easy to see that it was a movement born out of the prolonged frustration of the American people at their government for allowing Corporations to put their wants above the people’s needs. Last night I sat at my altar,  deliberated and prayed. I sat there for as long as I needed to, well into the night. Listening, seeing, working. At this point that’s really all I can say on the matter. The future is going to be a struggle. A struggle to reclaim our government for ourselves. May we prove successful and prosper.

 

Pilgrimage for Holy Water

photos taken by Rowan Wilde

Holy Water is one of those things that every witch should just have on hand. While I’m sure that I could actually get my hands on some Christian “Holy Water” blessed by a priest and all that (and probably will when the Lumberjack and I start making our super cool Victorian Vampire Hunting Kit), that isn’t the type of Holy Water I am referring to. The Witch of Forest Grove has an excellent post outlining some of the different multi-cultural historical presence of Holy Water and also how to make it, what waters do what, some ways to use it. Very well written, well-studied article, go check it out!

For me personally, I use it for cleansing of the home (especially after a bought of illness), for cleansing of new magical items, cleansing myself before deep trance work, and having on hand to make connection to the otherworld. Some of my traveling friends have been so kind as to bring me back Holy Waters from around the world, that get used on special occasions. I have a lovely collection from Ireland that I cherish and use when needed. Bridgit’s Well water saved my poor little rosemary bush that was dying. Well her water and her guardianship I’m sure.

In any event I have some pretty big magical workings on the horizon and horror of horrors I was out of my favorite Holy Water. Time to go on a pilgrimage!

I highly suggest that if at all possible that people take the time to court their local spirits. And in so doing find and make a connection to their own holy rivers, wells, and springs. In my experience it grounds your magical workings, and gives them more of a focal point, while allowing you to continue to aid in strengthening your own connection to the world around you. So my favorite Holy Water comes from the water of my own Blessed Creek (I lived in the south where rivers were the size of multiple football fields I have a hard time calling the things around here rivers). I’m sure it has a name, as a state trail runs right along it, but it’s always remained mysteriously hidden from me, so perhaps the creek isn’t too fond of it lol. I simply know it as the Creek, or the Green creek.

The Lumberjack and I found this little hidden trail in the rainy months of winter when things were very bad at home and escape and our little Izuzu truck was all we had. We’d pack up a bag of sandwiches and go exploring the coast along Highway 1, just to be out of the house and away.  We were very pleased to find this little tucked away trail. The beginning of which is right off the freeway but in such a place that it gets few visitors. The end of which we have yet to discover. We hiked the trail for hours reaching the point of the moss covered stone steps and going as far up them as my little legs would take me.  Interestingly enough we’d discover more people going in the opposite direction as us the farther along we got. It is still my hypothesis that those mysterious stairs lead to the state park woods somehow.

photo taken by Nancy Kerr

That was years ago, and since then I’ve often returned. Leaving gifts, drinking in the beauty of it all, finding the serenity. At some point it just became my holy creek, the waters are so clean and clear, nothing else will do. Would that it weren’t an actual state park trail otherwise I’d happily bath in it lol. It’s one of those places I show to few. But those few need to see it. This trip I gathered up my trusty companions Rowan Wilde, and Nancy Kerr to walk the green way and gather up the blessed water (and to take photos because I always forget to). It’s a beautiful drive, and the trail was deliciously moist when we got there. We stopped to pay homage to the Gaurdian (a rather impressive moss and fern covered boulder that sits at the entrance to the trail. He’s a kind sort that likes to be admired). We walked the trail spying plants (Rowan has a much keener more knowledgeable eye for these things than I), both of them stopping to take pictures and me just being content. We went all the way to the stone steps and up to the first platform before turning back around. It was on the return trip that was stopped for the mission of our adventure. Water.

At the point where the fallen living redwood King makes a bridge over the nymph pool is where the water is collected. It is an amazing little oasis on an already stunning green trail. So between the two large boulders, in the little nook on the Otherside of the creek, I laid out my offering. An apple, a token of my love. Rosemary, a pledge of love and protection, cornmeal for sustenance, drizzled in Aes Sidhe elixir made last Midsummer.

Once honors were paid, prayers were said. It was time to catch my water.

photo taken by Rowan Wilde

 

photo taken by Nancy Kerr

One bright beautiful clear bottle of blessed Green Creek water. To be taken home and divided up. One part had my silver ring added to it and sat on my windowsill soaking up the power of the full moon. The other part got my silver emerald heart ring, my hunk of garnet, and a jade ring, also soaked up that delicious full moon energy. Big plans, my friends. Big plans.

Until next time!