Harvest
On the weekend, I made challah, spending most of Sunday kneading the silky, honey scented dough, and waiting for it to rise. I plaited it into two loaves, and after they had risen, brushed them with egg yolk. The oven transformed them into two darkly burnished loaves of woven bread.
I made bread a lot when I was at University, but I haven't done so since I began working. I love the meditative rhythm of kneading, feeling the dough become silky and smooth under my hands. In the absence of anything freshly harvested to include in the loafs, I used organic flour and free range eggs, thinking while I kneaded of the meaning of harvest. We harvest what we sow - does this mean if we sow illadvised seeds in our life, then we harvest chaos? Or does the word harvest imply only the useful, beneficial results of our actions?
Harvest, for me, has positive overtones - but surely when examining what you have harvested in your life, you must also examine the illadvised harvests you have made.
Thankfully, I have no harvests that I regret. While occasionally I have sown bitter talk only to reap it back, it was a learning experience. This summer has been a time of family reconnection, of a growing confidence in myself (although that has been a theme of the past year), and a growing confidence in the strength of my relationship. I am soon to be engaged, and that is a joyful harvest indeed.
Everytime I bite into that honeyed bread, I think of the joy and strength of this summer. May we all have such good harvests this year.
Lammas thoughts
As Lammas is fast approaching, I've been doing more reading and thinking about its significance.
Here is a basic overview of Lammas;
this is from an Australian perspective. The
Australian Perspective on the Wheel of the Year is interesting, as is this Australian
Seasonal Myth.
A
beautiful personal musing on Lammas in Australia is wonderful, and this article on
Idols of the Grain goes deeper into the history and meaning of the traditional corn dolly. Mike Nichol's article on
Lammas is very widespread, but worth reading.
The weather has definitely become cooler and more comfortable in the last week. Today, I'm going to celebrate this first harvest festival by making bread, something I haven't done in a long time. It's such a meditative activity, mostly because of the slow stages it requires, and the kneading process. Here's to the creation of intention, and a long day meditating on the meaning of harvest, and of sacrifice.
Dowsing
When I was younger, I remember using a pair of dowsing rods at home. Two L shaped pieces of metal; I held them by the short ends, loosely, and let the long ends swing around and occasionally cross over each other. When they crossed over, I was on top of water.
I cannot for the life of me who taught me how to do this, or gave me the rods. I remember my father and I tracking a pipe with them underground so that he wouldn't hit it when digging - it seems strange to me now that this was just an accepted way of checking where water was. It seems so esoteric, and not something that my father would do.
I was quite fascinated by the phenomena, and wandered all around the house and garden with my dowsing rods, watching them swing around. This memory has made me want to experiment with dowsing again. I'd like to make myself a pair of rods like those I remember having, but first I'm going to use a pendulum, for some practical divining. By practical divining, I mean using a pendulum to answer questions like, "Should I plant the tree here, or here?", rather than laying out a tarot spread for a general reading.
I have made a basic pendulum out of embroidery thread and a large blue glass bead, purely for aesthetic reasons. I shall do some experimenting tomorrow, and report any results.
Sacred Space
Witches Weekly asks:-
Give us a tour, some images, or detailed descriptions of your sacred space(s). Be it a small table in your room, a small trip through the woods, etc. Show us where a spiritual place is for you.
When I think of sacred space, I think first of my altar. My personal altar sits within our spare room, up against a window. Created on a wooden chest that my father made for me, it is, at the moment, a minimalist construction, containing a wooden spice cabinet (a very special gift from a dear friend) which holds dried herbs, ribbons and crystals, an empty white ceramic bowl, a green and a white candle, and an amethyst and citrine crystal wand. The cloth over the chest is green - however, this changes regularly. Sitting before my altar is very sacred place for me - a space where I feel enormously at peace, and can sink within myself, to divine, to create ritual or magic, or to pray.
A very low key household altar sits on top of the bookshelf in the living room. This is where candles congregate, and there are two big groups of candles on either side of the bookshelf. A wooden bowl of ceramic runes I made when I was a teenager sit between the candles, as does another bowl of stones and shells I have collected at various special places.
Sacred space for me always begins when I ground myself - that tingle in my spine, the relaxing of my shoulders, the solidness of my weight on the earth say 'sacred space' to me. My mindset changes, the chatter of talking mind slows down, and I enter the sacred realm.
I grew up in the country, and the rainforest country of northern Australia is very sacred for me. I feel myself opening up when walking in the rainforests - a sensation deep within my chest of unfolding. I have so many memories entwined with the landscape that it will always be a very unique place for me.
I have lived in this house, in this place, for a year now, and am looking forward to working more intensely with the spirits of the land, and exploring the public areas around the nearby river. I'm sure that in the near future I will discover many more sacred spaces.
Moons
A couple of years ago, I was inspired by a description of the names of Druidic moons I found somewhere - Oak Moon, Hawthorn Moon - and decided to do my own notes on each full moon for a year, to follow the patterns of the weather, and name my own very localised moons. I want to try and do it again this year, and take a look at the similarities and differences.
One year ago, I wrote:-
"This month has been sultry, sweaty and hot, although today we've had showers of gusty rain which has cooled things down enormously. Plants wilt without enough water. The basil grew enormous in the garden (with plenty of water, that is). There were mangoes cheap in the shops, and our mango trees produced a few fruit as well. Only a few more days until Lammas - perhaps this could be some sort of Harvest Moon, Summer, Sultry, Salt Moon."January this year has also been sultry and hot, and we have had regular storms, flooding the back garden, and filling the sky with lightening. The young trees in the front garden are lush with new greenery, and the mango trees are laden with fruit, much of which is rotting on the ground underneath the trees. January is a lush month, and the first full moon of the year is a promising moon, lighting up the laden fruit trees and overgrown grass in the back garden with a silver glow. The moon on 14 January, 2006 was a lush, summer, burgeouning, flourishing, ripe moon, and Lammas this year will be a time of plenty.
Lammas in the Southern Hemisphere
One aspect of paganism that has always frustrated me is how difficult it can be to transfer seasonal celebrations to the Southern Hemisphere, especially the sunny area of the Southern Hemisphere where I reside. Yule is not a time of cold darkness, but of cool dry weather, and darkness when I arrive home from work. Here, there are no dramatic alterations between seasons - the leaves do not change colours in autumn, it does not snow in winter. It will takes years for me to fully understand my environment, and to worship in the wheel of the year.
I change the directions of the elements when casting a circle - to the north is the equator, Fire, to the East is the rising sun, Air, to the South is the Antartic, Earth, and to the West the setting sun, Water. I cast a circle walking counterclockwise. I celebrate the Sabbats six months away from their Northern Hemisphere dates, so that Yule is in July, and Litha in December.
Lammas will fall in the beginning of February this year. Lammas is a sabbat that I have always had particular trouble with in terms of viewing it as a seasonal festival. Here, summer is beginning to wane. The days grow a little cooler, and I begin to plant things in the garden. I believe wheat is harvested here in December, so the ancient origins of this festival have little meaning here. I have always tended to view Lammas as a time of reflection on personal harvests, after the new year.
Caroline Tully is an Australian pagan writer - this excerpt about Lammas is from an article she wrote in
Practicing the Witch's Craft"Gemini is high in the eastern night sky, followed subsequently by Cancer, and Leo's brightest star appears low in the horizon. In the south this is late summer, often much hotter than Litha itself, and bushfire danger is high. Some birds begin to fly north, bogong moths emerge and are preyed upon by kestrels, the beautiful gum emperor caterpillars inhabit eucalypts, native trout spawn, and Tasmanian devils begin mating. In northern Australia it is the time of the late monsoon. In January, February and March, the weather can manifest in furious cyclones that may last for several days, bringing torrential rains. Forests can be devastated, large trees uprooted or stripped of nearly all their foliage, and animals have difficulty finding food. The heavy thunderstorms mean that the land is rapidly flooded, it is the maximum growth period for native vegetables although they are not ready to harvest, magpie geese and brolga lay their eggs, estuarine crocodiles hatch and platypus juveniles venture out of their burrows for the first time."
I'm going to think more deeply on Lammas, on what significance it has on this continent, and what indicators I should use - such as plants flowering - to note its presence.
Peace
My father has left after staying at our place for a few days. I put away his mattress today and hauled the altar back into its place by the window in the spare room. I immediately felt a great sense of peace and calm - things were as they should be. I had my sacred place back again.
The full moon on Saturday was beautiful - I stood outside in the back garden before going to bed, and was washed in its soft grey light. The full moon is a very potent spiritual symbol for me, and a connection to that bone-deep feeling of serenity that I can connect to sometimes.
This last moon has been interesting in terms of self-development. I have realised that I'm very private with my emotions, insofar that I sometimes appear cold and uncaring to others. This is quite at odds with my internal image of myself, but not so with my very solitary and introverted personality. I have a gregarious mask I wear a lot, but it doesn't reach very far within. This next moon, I'd like to work more on integrating myself, and facing those parts of myself - the cold public face - that were not visible to me before.
Circle Casting
As a tool for further learning (and a more structured year in terms of progression), I've decided to follow through the various exercises in
The Twelve Wild Swans. It's very valuable, going over basic exercises again - I'm getting much more from them, and they resonate much more with me than they did a few years ago. I began last night, by casting a simple circle.
I lit the two candles on the altar, and closed the door to the spare room, after telling my partner that I'd be doing ritual for half an hour.
I began with the Tree of Life visualisation from The Twelve Wild Swans, sending roots down from my feet all the way to the earth's molten core, then drawing that energy back up into my body, out the crown of my head and up to the sky, then down once again with the sky energy into my body. I felt glowing and grounded and moved on to a cleansing.
I relaxed, emptied my mind, and without thinking too hard about what I was doing I began making clawing motions a few centimetres away from my body with my hands, and then flicking then out into the air. Claw, flick, claw, fick. I spent most of the time around my head and throat, raking my fingers through the air around my face and flicking them to get rid of whatever nastiness I was cleansing myself of.
When I was finished, I rubbed my hands over each other, and mentally prepared to cast a circle. Picking up a feather from the altar, I faced towards the East. "By the air that is her breath," and moved counterclockwise, arm outstretched, in a circle, "by the earth that is her body, by the waters of her living womb, by the fires of her bright spirit." I stood in the centre, one arm stretched up, one stretched down, and visualised the line meeting my hands, forming a sphere around me. "As above, so below. The circle is cast - we are between the worlds. What is between the worlds, changes the worlds."
I turned once more to the East, and inscribed the invoking pentacle in the air. "Powers of Air, come, be welcome," and continued around the circle to invoke Earth, Water and Fire.
I sat down in the circle, and spread out my tarot reading cloth. I spoke casually, saying something like, "Here, in this sacred space, I will read the cards, to see a clearer picture of my chakras. Please aid me in my endeavour to know myself more deeply." I shuffled the cards, and lay out on for each chakra. I wrote them down, folded up the paper and placed it in the empty bowl on my altar. "I will look at these tomorrow. May I have clear dreams. May I see my way in my dreams." (I dreamt about organising a boxing match).
I rose, took up my feather, and faced North. I drew the banishing pentagram. "Powers of Fire, farewell, and thanks," and continued my way around the circle. I faced once again to the North, arm outstretched. "By the fires of her bright spirit," and I made my way around clockwise, until I reached North again. "The circle is open, yet unbroken. May the spirits bless this sacred space." I stood and briefly grounded myself once more, using a tree image, and left the room.
Chakras
I've never really been able to work with chakras, simply because I've never been able to sense them. While I've practiced visualising chakras, and doing opening and closing exercises, I don't think I'm truly sense them. I worry that when I visualise them, I'm merely imagining them. This is a worry I have a lot about visualisation. I need to learnt to trust myself more.
Can anyone give me advice on working with chakras? For example, when someone says that they sense that their root chakra is muddied, or disturbed, how do they
know? When I visualise my chakras now, for instance, closing my eyes, I see plain bright colours - the classic rainbow. I can't sense changes of energy in my hands. Do I just do a regular visualisation of cleansing anyway? Are there any other ways of sensing the state of your chakras?
Perhaps using divination might be a way - a tarot card spread with 7 cards. I think I'll try this, and see how it feels.
Reiki
When I was about 13, a friend of my mother's showed me how to do reiki. "Hold your hands over the person like this," she said, "hover them over the skin, and picture energy running down from the crown of your head and out the palms of your hands."
Almost immediately, I felt a strong pulling in the palms of my hands. It astonished me, that I could actually feel it so clearly, such an intense physical sensation.
About three years ago, I completed my Reiki One Certificate, over a weekend with a teacher I was rather dissatisfied with. He dispensed knowledge with one hand, and demanded an unreasonably large amount of grovelling energy in return, telling us at one point that we should value this skill he was so kindly teaching us because we could make money out of it, an attitude that didn't sit right with me. In fact, I thought he was joking at first, and half laughed, until he frowned at me with displeasure. I don't think the potential monetary value of the skills taught is a reason to value the teaching.
Anyway, while I didn't particularly like my teacher, I enjoyed what I was taught, and during a final reiki session, my hands became so hot that I left sweaty handprints on the t-shirt of one of my classmates. I loved the intense, absorbing feeling of energy rushing through me like a waterfall. I thought to myself that this abandonment is what ritual should feel like. It was the first time I'd had such a physical response to the metaphysical.
I met a friend at lunch today who was coughing and miserably blowing her nose. After we'd eaten, I sat for fifteen minutes with my hands on her back, gently sending energy to her while she spoke. "Aaaah, that's lovely," she said, several times, and she looked brighter in a way when she stood up - more cheerful and stable. I feel wonderful too, after channelling energy - like water has been rushing through me, washing me out. In the past, I haven't been able to feel energy being passed to me in reiki sessions - I wonder if I would be able to now.
I have always been a little sorrowful over my lack of psychic-ness - visible auras, prophetic dreams and visions - and consequently am rather proud of my ability to feel reiki energy so strongly. I hope to translate this skill one day to be able to energetically feel ritual circles, auras and chakras. In fact, I think
using this skill more this year (as I have been while sitting at my altar each day - letting energy run through me, around the altar), will enable my sensory perception will increase. We'll see.
Deity
I have been giving a great deal of thought in this new year to my concept of deity. It has always been a somewhat unrealised area in my spiritual path, and that is something I would like to resolve, or at least move further towards a resolution, this year.
In
Living Druidry, which I have just finished reading, Emma Restall Orr writes at great length about her Druidic concept of deity. Gods, with a small g, are those forces in nature which we honour and respect. They are rivers, storms, trees and winds. They do not care about us. They can kill us. We do not worship them, but we approach them with respect, hoping to gain an exchange of energy, of
awen. There is no all-loving mother goddess - there is just life, in all its cruelty and beauty. We honour the killing force of the storm as much as we honour its beauty, as they are all part of the same whole.
It's an interesting idea, but not one that I feel I can wholly subscribe to. Not at this moment. Although, on a side note, it made me wonder - when a lioness kills an antelope, that antelope feels terror, and pain, and is occasionally still alive when it begins to be eaten. It is not killed 'humanely'. When animals are killed by humans in terror and pain, what is the difference? Why is one to be honoured as part of the great force of life, and the other not? Is it because of the differences between humans and other animals? Is it because more often than not, slaughtered animals have not had much of a life to begin with before they are killed?
Back to deity. This is, at the moment, what I believe. I believe in the energy of life, in a great universal energy that flows and changes. I believe that the ancient gods and goddesses, from Artemis to Zeus, are ways of honouring that energy, each goddess and god celebrating a particular aspect of that energy, from wisdom to strength, stubborness to anger. (Restall Orr writes about human nature - anger, laughter, deceit - being gods; energy that we should honour and learn to communicate with, rather than simply control.)
I have not been called - have not felt that intimate absoluteness that others feel with deity, that feeling of belonging. I am glad, mostly - I would not want such a commitment at this age, at this time in my life. I think my level of knowledge needs to be far greater before I am ready for such a thing. But, at the same time, it would be nice to have a clearer sense of deity, rather than simply archtypes (although not simply archetypes, but also poetic and symbolic ways of seeing) and energy. Can I honour the energy of life, in all its ugliness and grace? I don't know. But it's something I'd like to explore.
Spiritual history
I was raised as a faintly pantheist variety of atheist by parents who were firmly against organised religion, but who stocked the bookshelves with a variety of religious texts (a Bible, Hindu and Buddhist books). They were strong environmentalists and humanists, and those ideas are very important to me today. My parents were happy for me to read widely about other religions, and were fairly unphased when at 10 I wanted to be a Jehovah's Witness, at 12 I wanted to be a Hindu, and at 14 declared firmly that Buddhism was for me, and by the way, I'm vegetarian.
I was about 15 or 16 (and no longer vegetarian) when I first read what I think was
Eight Sabbats for Witches by Janet and Stewart Farrar, which for some strange reason was in the collection of our local rural library. I was quite fascinated, probably mostly by the photographs of nude people gesturing with athames, and read it several times. It wasn't until I left home at 18, to study at University, that I began getting more seriously involved in paganism. I avidly read books by Silver Ravenwolf, Fiona Horne, and Starhawk, and joined a local pagan email group, where I was quickly inundated with a vast amount of differing opinions about everything. I loved it, met some people from the list, sang in the pagan choir, and attended a public ritual.
As years passed, I became disenchanted with the local pagan scene - I didn't spend any of my time learning or growing spiritually, but just read online fights and gossip. I disliked the pagan dogma spouted by many online, and it all seemed less and less related to my everyday life of studying law. I removed myself from the email list. My altar became dusty. I cleaned out my bookshelf, and gave away all my Silver Ravenwolf books.
Last year, I moved in with my partner for the first time, and no longer had an official altar. A goddess statue languished underneath the mango tree outside, with a goblet and a collection of stones, and I visited her occasionally, lighting incense. I didn't talk about my spirituality at all - when I was asked what the area was, I just said, "Oh, a peaceful place to sit." I described myself as an agnostic when asked, and an atheist at work, and I spent a lot of time at work. I was busy.
At the end of the year, I visited a psychic tarot reader, who turned up the High Priestess. "Oh," she said, "you're a very spiritual person. It's really important to you." I sat there for a moment, silent, then said, "
Yes," and felt it too, deep inside my chest. It was a small epiphany, of sorts.
I was tired of not having time, of not wanting to appear silly and New Age (which has always been one of my problems, being naturally sceptical and coming from a very scientific and practical family). A sudden longing awoke in me, to learn and experience once again, to dive into the roots of my spirituality and develop a living, daily spiritual practice. And so, the beginning of this blog (I keep other, more everyday ones), and my spiritual resolutions this year.
(I realise I am being somewhat vague with the use of 'spiritual practice' and 'spiritual path'. If I were to define it, it would be something like pantheist pagan celtic witchcraft druidry, which is far too clumsy a label. So I use 'spiritual path' for ease of writing.)
I wonder about how open to be about this renewed dedication. I am open with my partner, who is a true agnostic, and a couple of friends, but I think to everyone else, I will remain as I am - the declared agnostic with a shelf full of books on witchcraft and paganism. It's not important to me to reclaim words, or label myself to other people. It requires too much explanation, explanation I'm not interested in giving. Perhaps if people in my life are genuinely and respectfully interested, I will go into further detail. But until then, my altar is in the spare room, and the living room altar is simply a bookshelf top of candles and photographs, similar to what can be found in many homes, and it doesn't evoke curiousity.
I feel so deeply excited and joyful about the year, the years, ahead. I am greedy to learn more, experience more - to ground myself in the forest, to experience magic, and to dissolve my barriers between the spiritual and the everyday. Here's to the days and moons ahead.
Senses
A challenge for myself in the next few months - to rediscover my sense of touch, hearing and sight anew.
To sit, eyes closed, and hold an object in my hands, exploring it with my fingers. To place my empty hands resting on my thighs, and
listen, to everything around me, noting each separate noise, and how they interact. To examine something as if for the first time, taking it in with my eyes as if it will be taken from me and I will have to draw every detail.
I will try to incorporate these exercises into my daily altar time, into my weekly meditation. I hope that this will enable me to drop into that state of altered, heightened consciousness more readily.
Continuity
I am reading, with great pleasure,
Living Druidry by Emma Restall Orr, which I found one copy of in Borders the other day.
I have previously read
Ritual and was greatly inspired in my daily practice by this book.
Living Druidry touches me in the same way, and I am reading it slowly, soaking up Restall Orr's words and ideas.
I return to work on Monday, after two glorious weeks of holidays. During the week, I am away from the house for at least 12 hours a day. While I have an hour's lunch break, and travel time to read and occasionally write, my spare time, in which to write, play violin, spend time with my partner and simply
be, in my own home space, is limited. Unsurprisingly, as last year was my first experience with this routine, I lost touch with my spirituality. This year, however, I feel a deep pull to return and renew my spiritual practice. However, given my weekday constraints, this is going to require dedication and commitment.
As I have my own office space, I have some small freedom to bring my spirituality into my workplace - in fact, I hope to, this year, in a very discreet way, and make my work more strongly based in spirit. My work generally puts me in contact with people who rely on me to solve problems, and I think I can be much more effective at this if I work grounded and fully aware, and feel supported in spirit.
For the first few weeks of work, I aim to continue my daily devotional time at my altar, and to continue writing here several times a week. I would like to devote one lunch hour a week to a period of meditation outside the office, which I always failed to do last year despite vague intentions.
May I be strong and devoted in the year to come.
Books
These are some of the books that I have found most inspirational and formative on my path:
I'm going to re-read these books in the coming months, and post on my thoughts and rituals arising from them.
Books I would like to get hold of in the near future are:
I think a little trip to the local metaphysical bookstore in my lunchhour might be in order.
Resolutions
I made a rather large list of resolutions and goals for the New Year (which at points was coming perilously close to a to-do list). These are my spiritual and magical resolutions for the year ahead:-
- Create a personal altar in the spare room, incorporating my spice cabinet and the wooden chest my father made me.
- Spend time at the altar every day, even if only to say a few brief words.
- Celebrate each sabbat this year in some meaningful way, even if only by writing and reflection.
- At least once a month, create and perform a small ritual.
- Work on bringing positive energy into the house.
- Create a basic house altar, a focus for energy, on the bookshelf in the main living room.
- Be more spiritually mindful in my interactions at work - make my office a space of calm and focus.
