Conversations with the Bone Mother

Last month I had the honor of aspecting the Goddess Hecate, as Bone Mother, for a joint Harvest Ritual with my coven and another of our Tradition.  Aspecting is a form of divine embodiment practiced by my Tradition. In the weeks leading up to the Ritual, and in the weeks since, Hecate Bone Mother and I have shared many conversations and She has impressed upon me Her desire that I share some of those conversations here. When that Lady “impresses upon you Her desire…”  well, I learned a long time ago not to argue with such “requests”.  I am going to comply eventually anyway. Life is easier if I dance to the Music the Gods are playing.  And I learn more effectively when I don’t waste time avoiding the lessons.  That being said, it is unusual to invoke Hecate in that aspect, especially at the first Harvest.  The Sun, while waning, is still strong. The light is still long. The Summer heat is at its greatest.  Green growth is abundant and full.  She was thrilled, to be invoked, and to have the pleasure of being in a body, even one with the limitations mine possesses, at this season, so full of Life.  The first thing she imparted to me was this;

“You have work to do Witch, get off your ass and get started.” 

She was referring to the spell I work to bless my grandchild. I had just learned that my second grandchild is expected in early December, but not having done any witchcraft to manifest the child, as I had before my first was conceived, I had not yet begun to work the spell.  Next was a discourse on the Magick of Bones. (Which of course would include a spell to manifest a child in Strength and Beauty among other blessings).  The importance of our bones, the strength of them, the way they are the vehicle by which we move in the world. 

“You need to move yours more.”

And She is right, to keep this body useful, and strong, I do need to move more.  Specifically, I need to dance, and often. 

“You are not yet ready for a nap in the Boneyard, you are not yet ready to be dust.  You have living to do, you have work to do, and you need to get to it.”

I get tired sometimes, like everyone else, I get weary.  The troubles of the day are more than sufficient, some days they are overly abundant. But I am indeed not dead yet, nor am I ready to turn to dust.  I still have living to do, I still have work to do, I still have loving to do.

“Every bone has its purpose. Some are for walking and climbing, some are for stitching with a needle, some are for embracing loved ones.  Just as every essential part of us has a use, none of them are without purpose.  None of our Bones are to be disowned. None of our essential selves are to be either.”

Those parts of ourselves that we despise, that we desire to abandon, are in fact necessary.  They are our very Bones.  They are the structure that helps us stand and move and they are the parts of us that will remain longer than any other.  They are quintessentially us. Even more than our Blood, which will turn to dust in the blink of an eye.  The Ritual was about the Sacrifice of the Harvest.  She wanted those present to offer to Her their Bones.  To offer a part of themselves, to release something of themselves that She could then give back to them as a new thing, as a magickal tool to help them grow, to be used upon their journey in the future.  Now, in aspecting a Goddess for a group ritual, especially such a One as She, I would have expected Her to express Herself with some solemnity, some mystery, some poetry even but, that is not what She chose to do.  Rather, She used my repertoire of swear words, such as it is, (evidently, I need to expand my vocabulary a bit) and She spoke quite bluntly, no pulling punches, no dancing around things.  Truth be told, I spent a few days afterward worrying about it. And the conversations continued.

“…and why is it any concern of yours?  I choose what words and what manner of speech will serve me in the moment, and it is not your worry how I choose to present myself.  You only need to be strong and flexible and to keep your heart open so that I may touch those who need Me to in they way that they need Me to.” 

It took a few days but, I thought about how she received each person’s sacrifice. How She did so with such compassion, and respect and reverence.  She truly valued each Bone She was offered.  And She gave to each person love, blessing and magick in turn.  And that was my hope as a priestess in that Ritual, to serve Her well, so that She could bless those present.  Once I was able to let go of my worries over how my service to Her was perceived by others, She pointed out that I had yet to make my own sacrifice to Her.  Indeed, I had not been able to choose. (Sometimes the immediacy of Ritual can help force us to choose, and in that moment, we discover what we need most.)  I had time, too much time perhaps.  I thought about what I remembered of the sacrifices She had been offered by others, many were surprisingly repeated over and over again.  So many human Bones are shared among us.  But I eventually discovered what my sacrifice was supposed to be.  I was discussing with her my worries about becoming an old woman, especially my concerns regarding my eventual loss of vision, and the fact that many things that I had hoped for in this lifetime were no longer possible.  I decided to offer to her those hopes, the hopes of a young woman for blessing that life can hold for a young woman and that eventually become the safety and blessings of an old woman.  And then She did the most magickal thing.

“You do not need to give up this thing.”

She was correct.  I had lumped one thing into that sacrifice that was not “something that is no longer possible”.  And so, She gave it back to me.  It is not ‘a thing that will happen” but it is “a thing that can happen” if I choose to make it so.  I have a blessed life, and it is good to know that if I choose, I still have time to manifest a dream from my youth.  I can make that a part of my life as an “old woman”.  Hecate Bone Mother is now Someone with whom I have relationship.  She even chose a gift from among my possessions.  A necklace of black and amber beads with a fossil of a nautilus shell that was given to me by one of my Elders at my third degree initiation.  Although I liked it very much, I had never worn it, nor had I given it away, I did not know why.  But almost two years later, it was still among my things. She chose it immediately upon being asked if she would like a gift from me. I suspect we will have many more conversations in the future, and some She may wish for me to share with those who choose to read this blog.  In the meantime, I am not dead yet, I am not ready to turn to dust nor to take a nap in the Boneyard.  I have work to do and I need to be busy about getting to it. Blessings from the Bone Mother.  Blessed Be.

The Garden Forge; a visit to Brighid

You are standing in a clearing on a hill, surrounded by woods.

Before you stands a stone tower, the surface half-covered with moss.

There are ancient symbols carved into the stones and as you try to decipher them you notice a rough wooden door, dark with age.

You pull on the latch and slowly, the door opens enough to allow you to enter.

Inside it is quiet. Light filters in from windows high above and the air smells of wood smoke and blackberries. The floor is smooth and worn.  There is a stair to your left spiraling upward and to your right leading down.

You turn to your left and begin to ascend the stair.  The stone steps are even and smooth and easy to climb.  The light and air are warm and fragrant.  You can see glimpses of blue sky through the high narrow windows above you and you climb step by step up and around and up and up and up and around.  You can no longer see the door but you keep climbing wondering when you will reach the top.  Just as you are considering turning back you come to another door. 

The stair continues to spiral even further upward and you consider continuing your ascent but you notice a hammer hanging by the door. 

The door is a warm golden wood finely carved with intricate spirals and graceful symbols.  You test the latch and the door opens smoothly and easily outward into an orchard, filled with the sunshine of a bright summer day.  There is a path through the trees in front of you lined with blackberry bushes full of ripe black sweet berries.

You hear the sound of a hammer striking an anvil in a regular rhythm and you follow the orchard path to the source of the sound.   The trees are large and in full leaf and you cannot see beyond the ones immediately surrounding you. But you keep following the sound until just when you begin to think that the sound is actually your own heartbeat you step out from the next tree and find a roofed structure with no walls. 

Beneath the roof is a Forge.  The coals are glowing and a woman stands at the anvil beating the metal she is working, with the hammer in her hand. She is tall with a strong body and a presence that is even larger.  She seems to take up all the space within the forge.  Her short red hair, her entire body, seem to glow with flame. 

She plunges the piece into the basin of water beside her and the steam rises.  She then looks at you with bright hazel eyes and smiles a warm and welcoming smile, wiping sweat from her brow with her forearm.

This is Brighid, the Goddess of Smiths, the Mother of Midwives, and the Muse of Poets.  Warrior, Healer and Fiery Arrow.  Go to her and she will transform you, speak with her and she will heal you, listen to her and she will inspire you. 

When you feel it is time to go, thank the Lady and take your leave of Her.  Follow the path through the orchard back to the tower. The door stands open and you enter and descend the stair then pass through the open door to the place where you began.

Us and Them

I have noticed a common theme in a lot of discourse lately.  In political discourse, in the discourse among the greater Pagan community, in the social discourse of our society.  The persistence of the idea that there are separate groups of people who are somehow common to each other and yet separate from other groups.  Black and white, male and female, rich and poor, cis and trans, gay and straight, old and young, christian and pagan, liberal and conservative.

The thing I find incongruous about these distinctions is that they are perceived but not actually real.  Not all women have the same experiences, not all cis women have the same experiences, not all white, straight, cis women, who grew up at the same time in the same socio-economic situation in the same geographic area, or even in the same family of origin have the same life experiences.

We are a common species with a common genome.  We are all human and that is all the commonality we really have or need.  Each one of us has a unique experience in this or any lifetime.  Any two or three people can find other points in common.  Mothers are mothers no matter the color of their skin.  Men are men no matter who they love.  Women and men of different generations and different backgrounds can find that deep inside they share something of shadow. 

We are each unique and yet, we each share points in common with other people.  I believe that if we look to see truly, we can find one point of commonality with any other individual human we meet.  We can each learn something, a different perspective than our own, from the unique differences of each other's experiences. It is my hope that in the coming year we will each strive to see us all as us, and not as us and them.  

Looking in the mirror

One of the tasks that have been put to me this month is, to finally turn around and look into the mirror and SEE who I am.  Not to look at my shadow but, at the entire truth of my Self.   That may sound like a simple thing but, a lifetime of habit can be a difficult thing to overcome.

I am not only my shadow. I have only recently become accustomed to standing in the light. That is not the same as looking at myself in the bright light of day and seeing who I am.  Glamours and veils not only hide who you are from those around you but, from yourself as well.  So the time has come to see myself as I am, without the distractions, without the veils and glamours, without the comfort of shadows.

I am a very strong person.  I am persistent and relentless and patient.  I am the warrior who sits beside the river until the bodies of his enemies float past him.  I am unyielding and adaptable and mutable like the river itself, constantly flowing along the path of least resistance, changing course but never relenting, finding every tiny crack and crevice to flow through, slowly and quietly eroding the earth that contains me but, always flowing to my destiny.

I have power and a need to communicate, a need to make an impact, to leave a mark upon the earth, upon my community, upon my world.  Not the impact of a meteor, not a simple round hole, no matter how big, but a line, curving and wandering, to show where I have been and the path that I have taken so that others may follow it when I am gone and find where it has led me, and continue it beyond the places I have journeyed to.

I have a purpose and the power to accomplish that purpose.  I have a path and a destiny.  I have an enduring strength that will not be controlled or contained. 

“The River she is flowing, flowing and growing, 

the River she is flowing, down to the Sea. 

Mother, carry me, your child I will always be, 

Mother, carry me, down to the Sea.”

two keys

Upon my altar are two keys.  They lay upon the silk cloth next to the onyx jar of copal between my grandfather’s pocket watch and the wishing well. I see them every morning and every evening.  They are both simple and profound.

The keys were given to me during my second degree initiation ritual by the Mother and the Father.  They were gifts to remind me of the power that lies within me to lock or unlock any door, any box, I choose.  They are mine to remind me that the doors and the boxes and the locks are mine and the choice to lock or unlock is mine and mine alone.

There are many boxes and doors within me.  Many of them have been locked and hidden for a very long time.  Many remain locked from life-long habit, many because I have completely forgotten that they even exist, and some simply because I do not yet know how to unlock them.

But the keys are there upon my altar to remind me to keep searching and striving and to never forget that the choice is mine, I may not yet know how but, it is within my power and my prerogative to learn.

I am applying myself to learning how to use these keys.  It is both my desire and my intent to learn to unlock each and every door and box within me.  So Mote it Be!