Lunaea Weatherstone's Blogue

Welcoming the light

Sorry to be quiet here for so long! The last few weeks brought a vortex of work, and I'm so happy now to be able to give more attention and energy to other things too. I know a lot of you are snowed in, deep in winter and with more winter still to come. Here at Lunadoon, everything is mossy and mushroomy, inside and out! Living in the tall forest means very little sunshine actually gets into the house, and I've had to do some damage control on books and rugs that are showing the dampening effects of all this rainrainrainrainrain.

But today it is sunny and the woods are positively throbbing with the life-force of the approaching spring. At Imbolc I tied my traditional green ribbon to the little plum tree in front of my house, the third Imbolc ribbon to be offered to that tree, and added a sparkly Brigid's cross too -- welcoming Brigid and her green cloak that she draws over the land, bringing springtime, the awakening of creativity, the return of the light. I've been feeling it so strongly this month, haven't you? I've been hearing from so many people that ideas and plans and projects are bubbling over faster than they can catch hold of them. The green energy of inspiration is budding forth, like that plum tree, which not even two weeks ago was dreaming deep, and today is covered with the promise of blossom and fruit. May it be so for you as well!

A Christmas Carol

I've been quiet here lately... it's the season of quiet, though sometimes the externals don't always match the internals. Everything seems to speed up just at the time the spirit usually wants to slow down, to savor the long silent nights, the tender sparkle of starlight and candlelight and all the ways in which we add a bit of glitter to the deep darkness of winter.

One of the lights I return to every year at this time is A Christmas Carol. This is one of my sacred books and has been from childhood, though the reasons for that have changed, and will probably keep changing as I get older. The section with the Cratchit family was my favorite part when I was younger -- and I actually played Mrs. Cratchit in a community theatre production when I was seventeen. (Seventeen! Can it be that many winters ago?) I loved the description of the dinner, the gravy made "hissing hot" and the children's gusting sigh of rapture at the appearance of their meager goose. The gathering close of dear ones around the fire, "happy, grateful, pleased with one another, and contented with the time" -- what more could anyone ask? My own family was never that peaceful, or at least, not for long, but that image remained the Yuletide ideal and I drew warmth from it even as the Cratchits drew warmth from their small hearth fire.

Over the years, the life-changing core lesson of this beloved book has come to mean more to me. I was lucky enough to see Patrick Stewart's one-man performance of A Christmas Carol (two years in a row -- extra lucky!) and bought a souvenir cup with the words "Change these shadows by an altered life." Of all the beautiful or jolly quotes that could have been chosen for the souvenir, they used the desperate plea that Scrooge gives the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come: "Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me by an altered life?" This idea is at the center of my spiritual beliefs: that anyone, even an Ebenezer Scrooge, can change for the better, at any age, at any stage along the journey of life. Why else are we here?

Most filmed versions of A Christmas Carol emphasize the dreadful scenes when Scrooge beholds his own solitary death and the gleeful ghouls who go through his possessions with no thought for the person who owned them in life, as if we are to think that the turning point for Scrooge was fear of this gruesome death, with rats gnawing at the door as his cold body lay on his bare bed, awaiting the undertaker all alone. But I don't think fear was the shadow-altering epiphany for Scrooge. He was already broken open by then, and ready for the final lessons that completed the Ghosts' teachings. He had seen his innocent self, his damaged self, his lonely self, and all the ways in which other damaged and lonely people still found the strength and faith to keep themselves merry -- not just at Yuletide, but all year long. The Ghosts had shown him the simple joys of generosity, hope, companionship, playfulness, and humor. As we all do, Scrooge found within himself a deep longing for these joys to light his own inner darkness. And when his heart had started to crack open a bit, the Ghost of Christmas Present showed Scrooge the "horrible and dread" children of humanity: Ignorance and Want. These are the enemies Scrooge vows to fight against for the remainder of his life. When he awakens to find that he's been given a chance to change, everything he sees gives him grateful joy.  "May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed..." God/dess bless us, every one!

Web weaving

It is the season of the spiderwebs here at Lunadoon. Every day when I walk to my car I have to watch out that I don't run right into some busy spinner's night work, stickily woven from the camellia trees to the plum tree, bridging my front walk. Every window has webs in the corners, though I haven't seen any as spectacular as the webs I used to get over my windows when I lived farther north. That's a picture of one -- the giant garden spiders would weave them every night, usually over a window, but once or twice over the front door. Believe me, there is nothing more Halloweeny than coming face to face with a spiderweb bigger than you are, and perhaps even its furry creator!

I was at the Bay Area Tarot Symposium (BATS) this weekend, so I'm seeing everything symbolically, even more so than usual, and the spiderwebs hold at least two messages for me. The first is of course about the webs of connection. Seeing people in person at BATS with whom I usually connect online, strengthening the web that connects me with dear ones I don't get to see very often, and sending out new strands of connection as well. The two etheric circles that started recently, one for Ninth Wave and one for Farther Shore, are busily weaving their web of connection, which is great to see. When I start to count all my webs of interconnectedness, I feel blessed indeed.

Hold a Vision of Peace

This is a repost from last year, as I always want to remind people of this powerful and important joining of prayers for peace. In years past, I have said, It seems like every year I say “More than ever this year. . .” and unfortunately, it’s true again. More than ever this year, it is important to add your prayers for peace. This year, although brutal war rages today in our world, for the first time in a very long time, I feel that peace may indeed be within our grasp. So now, more than ever...

If you are able to, please join in the worldwide peace meditation on New Year’s Eve morning. This is a tradition that has been going on for a long time, and in which I have participated for more than twenty years. The meditation happens at noon Greenwich Time on the 31st, which will be 4:00 a.m. Pacific time, 7:00 a.m. Eastern time. (In other words, when you go to bed tonight, you would set your alarm in time to get up early tomorrow for the meditation.) These early hours of the day are considered in almost every tradition to be the most powerful for prayer. Even if you only wake for a few moments to offer your prayers, even if you stay snug in your warm bed (this is the John-and-Yoko bed-in model of peace vigil), it is a very beautiful thing to know you are adding your energy to the circle of visionaries around the world — all focusing their intention at the same moment for the same cause, from celebrators at Stonehenge under the midday sun, to church congregations and solitaries and everything in between. As the song says, if we can all dream a sweet dream of peace, there will be no more war.

Silent night

When I was a child, Christmas Eve was the absolute emotional high point of my year. Not Christmas itself, but the eve, with its sense of mystery, magic, anticipation... animals might talk! I still feel that way, though I know that Santa isn't coming to my house anymore and it's unlikely my cats will begin conversing.

Prayer to Persephone

Whenever I take one of those "Which [Greek] Goddess Are You?" quizzes, the answer is always Persephone. I think this is because, of all the Greek pantheon, Persephone is the most like a priestess. She is at the core (the Kore) of the ceremonies of the seasons, the planting, ripening, and harvesting of grain, the continuation of life and the release into death. As Queen of the Underworld, she welcomes souls and counsels them as they assess their lives and experience their grief. She comes into her full power in the darkness. She deepens. She accepts her queenly duty, her sacred service, and in so doing, she follows her bliss.

I honor Persephone especially on this day, when she stands in the doorway between the upper world and the underworld. Unlike Persephone, I don't get half the year to rest and have a nice vacation with Mom before I take up my priestess duties. Mine are interspersed with upper world activities year-round, and it can be difficult at times to remember where the real power lies. Does Persephone sometimes long for her dark throne as she lies in the sweet summer meadow? Does she feel that itch, that craving, to be of true service? Does she wait impatiently for the time when she can set her mundane life aside and descend into the mysteries?

Persephone, light of the underworld, lift your torches. On this day when light and dark are in perfect balance, show me how to balance my own outer and inner worlds and bring them into perfect harmony. Guide me along the deepening paths toward my own center. Let me not hesitate at the gates of wisdom, but willingly, joyfully, receive my true vocation. Blessed be.

The pull toward darkness

Tonight is the harvest moon, and I'm putting out a few autumnal decorations just because it would feel very strange NOT to, but really, my spirit is ready for the season of Samhain to begin. I'm going to hold off on the Halloween decor until equinox at least, because I really don't believe in pushing the Wheel. But there is something extra-strong this year about the pull toward the dark, toward looking within, working magic, doing divination, listening to ancestral voices. Maybe it is this house, as this is my first autumn here. This neighborhood has a sort of fairy tale feel to it, with its winding lane through the tall dark trees. Maybe there is a witch's cottage in this forest. (Maybe I'm living in it!) I try to pay attention and honor the seasons, and it's always a pleasure, but sometimes, like now, it feels almost urgent. An echo of my foremothers, perhaps, with their urgent need to gather in, make sure the shelter was warm and secure, before the storms of winter. I look up from my desk and see small golden leaves falling in a flurry past my window, dancing on the wind. (Ai! laurië lantar lassi súrinen...) I hear crows calling, my spirit bird, and I strain to hear their message for me. Everything seems full of secrets and whispers and portents. What will the days ahead bring? Today, anything seems possible. If a frog appears, I promise to kiss it.

Autumn approaches

As the Wheel of the Year spins, there is nothing that gives me more pleasure than the first signs of autumn. Even with such a mellow and mostly cool summer as we've had so far, there is still something delicious about the first real coolness, the first chilly nights, the first moisture in the air. This morning the glass roof of the solarium is wet with the heavy fog that came in the night. The towering redwood trees swim through the watery veil, and the forest smells refreshed, its thirst perhaps not quenched, but at least a bit relieved. I know this is a Fool's false autumn -- the big heat usually comes in September and early October -- but still. . . My cup of hot tea feels extra cozy, and my thoughts stray happily to fall delights: apple cider, flannel sheets, cinnamon candles, some spooky books I've set aside for rainy nights to come. I'm adding The Legend of Sleepy Hollow to the book pile, as BPAL just announced their new Halloween perfumes, including 12 new scents inspired by that story. Some friends tease me about sticking to certain seasons for certain things -- after all, I could have cider now and read my Edith Wharton ghost stories book any time I want. But anticipation adds its own spice to the brew. I watch the solarium roof start to clear as the summer sun breaks through the mist. Today is perfect, just as it is. AND . . . I'm excited about the approach of autumn.

Lughnasadh musings

Lughnasadh (or Lammas) has always been one of those vague holidays for me. It's about... um... bread, and gratitude, and abundance, and the harvest... I could go on, but all the things I know about the day didn't really gel into something I felt. Maybe because I try to stay focused on gratitude all the time, or maybe because I don't garden, so I am not literally harvesting anything. Today, when I was posting the Divination du Jour card, from the Hidden Path deck (you can see the card here), I got a flash of clarity about Lughnasadh. At this time of the year, crops are abundant and there are high hopes that all will go well with the harvest of grain and grapes, so that the darker months to come will be blessed by that abundance. But harvest is all about timing. There is a perfect moment, when ripeness is at its peak and the storms of autumn have not yet arrived. Try to reap too early, and the crop is not as rich or nourishing. Wait too long, and all may be lost. This was the meaning I wanted to portray in my tarot card Seven of Earth -- working toward that perfect moment, with trust that it will arrive. This Lughnasadh, I'm working on creating a third-year women's spirituality program to follow Ninth Wave and Farther Shore, which I am hoping to begin this Samhain. The message of this holy day today is that the attention and care I give to that "crop" now will determine its richness and readiness when the time is right to harvest it. Like my spirit animal the Badger, I must dig deep and not be distracted from my work. The bread that I eat today in ceremony represents my trust in a proper harvest if I apply myself diligently.

On this cross-quarter day, what are you hoping to bring to the harvest table in the months ahead? And how will you attend to that crop in the coming weeks?

Summertime Plans

I'm one of those people who is NOT fond of summer, at least in terms of heat. I do like light, more and more as I get older, actually, but heat and I are not friends. It's all too easy for me to dull myself into summer-heat doldrums, so I'm thinking that July might be a good "Do Something Every Day" kind of month, and report back here. I haven't quite fixed on what that Something might be, though. Perhaps making a collage every day, or choosing a tarot card every day, or wearing a different BPAL perfume every day. . . or . . . what? Anyone else out there engaging in any Every Day type activities? Inspire me!