we belong to the Land...

I grew up on this Land, on Land close to where I now live.  My mother lived in the house I grew up in while she was pregnant with me and I lived there while carrying both of my children.  My body and their bodies were made from the food and water and air of this Land.  

The places where my parents were born hold a feeling of connection for me, and the Land across the sea that my ancestors lived upon before they came to those places holds a beauty for me, calls to me like no other place on this amazing planet we call home. 

The stream in the woods down the road from my childhood home is sacred to me, as is the stream in the woods just up the road from my tree-house.  These places, this Land, is sacred and is a part of me.  The Waters, the Trees, the Soil, the Stones, are a part of my body, always.  The Spirits of these places are a part of my soul, and I am a part of theirs. 

Earth is not only the planet upon which we live, nor an abstract idea of elemental power.  Earth is the Land that we belong to. I give thanks for the Land and for the Earth, my Mother.

Cauldrons

In Welsh tradition, that is, in the stories, there are three cauldrons. 

The first is of dubious nature (and ownership for that matter).  It is found in the story of Branwen the Daughter of Llyr in the second book of the Mabinogion.  In the story about an arranged marriage that goes bad and the war that results, the Cauldron in question changes hands and its magick brings back to life those dead warriors whose bodies are cast into it (although they no longer retain the capacity for language).  It does not surprise me that no hero seems to want to retain ownership of such a relic.

The other two, both of which I find much more appealing, are found in “the Book of Taliesin” and “the Spoils of Annwfn”.

The Cauldron of Cerridwen (also known as the Cauldron of Inspiration or Awen) imparts all knowledge and wisdom and is found in the story of Taliesin.  It is a story of initiation and the birth of the Greatest Bard of the Land.

The Cauldron of Annwfn is found in the poem “The Spoils of Annwfn” which recounts an expedition by Arthur (yes, that Arthur) and his men into the Underworld to find what treasures may be discovered there.  The Cauldron is in the possession and stewardship of Gwynn ap Nudd, the Lord of the Underworld (and King of the Fae) The description of the Cauldron is beautiful.  It is edged with pearls and heated with the breath of nine maidens. But it is the magickal power of the Cauldron that I find most inspirational. 

The Cauldron of Annwfn can provide as much of whatever good thing is required however, it will not boil the food of a coward.  So, if one is willing to brave the terror of the threshold and the shadows of the Underworld, one can claim as much as one needs of whatever good thing one requires.  Courage is all that is needed. 

Magick often works that way I think.  We must be willing to face what we fear, and in doing so, we gain what we need to live a life of abundance and beauty.

Blood Magick

Blood is a Magickal substance.  It sustains life, in ways no other part of us can. It delivers oxygen and nutrients to all the cells of the body.  It can be given to others to sustain life, without damaging the giver.  It carries our DNA, our genetic code, the pattern that connects us to our ancestors and our descendants.

Blood marks the thresh hold between childhood and coming of age.  It is the place that the beginning of life is formed.  It flows at miscarriage and birth.  And it stops flowing at the time of change, when we are no longer capable of creating life.

It flows when we are injured, whether from a skinned knee in childhood or from some traumatic event, whether accidental or combative, or at the moment of initiation into the mystery of sexual awakening.

Without it flowing freely through us, we die. It is the essence of life. It carries our life force.  It is that part of us that is most quintessentially ourselves.

I sacrifice a drop of my blood every morning to test my sugar to maintain the health of my body.  I also sacrifice a drop or two to my Magick on occasion.

It is a part of me that I can give to my Magick, to my Gods, to my Ancestors, to my Allies, without causing permanent damage to my body.  It is the most direct way to connect to those spells that are of utmost importance to my life.  My Magick is at least as important to me as my health.  My Magick is as personal to me as my body.  My blood is an essential part of me, and it is mine to give as I see fit.

If you are healthy enough to donate blood to the Red Cross, consider the Magick that you are giving to your community.  Consider the Magick that saves the life of a stranger.  That is a spell worthy of a Great Witch.

a vow from my ancestors

For years I have worked with my ancestors.  For years I have worshiped them and honored them and served them.  For years I have offered them my gratitude and my devotion. And in all of those years they have blessed me and demanded from me.  They require much, and they offer what they will.  I have always been respectful and deferential to them.

For the past ten and a half months (since my daughter gave her permission last Christmas) I have been making offerings to my ancestors every day.  I have been praying to them to grant my child the child that she was seeking.  I have been doing a spell for the child to bring her into the world in strength and beauty, honor and grace, wisdom and power, love and purpose, and joy.  Less than three months later she was conceived.  My prayers remained the same, my spell remained the same.  Almost three weeks ago, she was born, eight weeks before she was expected.  Still my prayer has not changed, my spell has not changed. 

I dreamt about the child a couple of weeks before my daughter told me that she was trying to conceive.  I had a vision of her a couple of weeks before she was conceived.  In the past three weeks I have dreamt about her often.  Then, last night I attended a ritual in which I had the opportunity to call to my ancestors and to hear what they would say to me.  I have always been deferential to my ancestors, always respectful.  But last night something changed. 

Last night, I did not ask.  I did not beseech, I did not make requests or prayers.  I did not call to a single ancestor, I called them all.  And once I stepped forward, I did not wait to hear what they would say to me.  For the only time in my life, there was something more important than that.  I had called them all and when they came, I presented her to them.  I called out to them to claim her as their own, as their blood and as their bone, as the future of their bloodline and their fate. I called out to them to vow their protection and their guidance and their blessings to this child, because she is here, now.  She is mine and she is theirs.

And when I was done, I heard them shouting in my ears, a great chorus of them claiming her and vowing as I had called them to.  I will give them whatever they require from me.  They will continue to have my gratitude and my devotion, my service and my respect, my honor and my offerings.  They have vowed that which I required of them.  I give thanks.  

Blessed be my ancestors, and their “Starry One”.  So Mote It Be.

The mysteries...

For the past month I have been focused on trying to understand some of the secrets my shadow keeps from my conscious self.  In that time I have been dreaming incessantly.  It has been very disconcerting and has had me more than a little spooked.  At one point I did not sleep for three days.

One of my beloveds has suffered a loss and is grieving.  My heart breaks for this dear one and I weep for them often.  One of my beloveds has begun a new adventure and I rejoice for their excitement and new life.

I spent a wonderful October morning walking in the woods with my sister and High Priestess “solving the problems of the universe”. And an evening under the full moon around the fire with community, wanting to climb out of my own skin.

I attended the beautiful wedding of two cherished young people and was greatly moved by their love for each other and that of their family and friends.   The desire and hope for that kind of happiness was rekindled inside my soul and I hold onto my faith that it is possible with every bit of tenacity that I possess.

I have discovered a young poet who moves me with his voice and his eloquence and his passion more than I can describe because I cannot reach such heights as he although his words lift me up to breathtaking crescendos. 

And my beloved granddaughter was born eight weeks early.

My reactions to all of these things seem to me to be out of all proportion.  My immense joy at the birth of the first of her generation of my bloodline is overwhelming.  My heart seems to be exponentially smaller than it needs to be to hold the love I have for her tiny self.  And although she is very little in the physical sense, she is larger than the entire solar system in my other perceptions.  She also seems to have the magickal power to cause me to time travel.  I find myself reliving her mother’s birth and the pain of separation and all of the “might have been”s that we leave behind in order to live in the present and walk into the future.  And time travel seems to flow in both directions at once.  I feel as though forty-five years is not nearly enough time to love her enough, to teach her enough, to become the woman I want to be for her. 

Dreams and desires, grief and adventure, love and passion, birth and separation, time travel and death.  These are the mysteries and these are the shadows.  These are the lights and the beauty that may be found in the dark nights and sunny days. 

May the blessings of both be with us all as we travel through the dark of the year.