Child of Wonder

This time of year the early setting of the sun brings darkness at a time when we're just getting comfortable for the day. It's a time for candles, a hot cup of something, and maybe a good book. I use this time of year to study, to re-evaluate and discern my spiritual path in the hope of forwarding my journey authentically, with sincere gratitude.

Since I am a 'night person', the darkness is comforting. It is also the time that I'm my most productive and can take advantage of being uninterrupted by the busyness of others during daylight. I connect well with Midwinter.

By my own admission, I am a festival junkie. I love all the holidays throughout the year (although I have my favorites). I enjoy decorating because I love the special feeling in the air. Most of all, I love the celebrations that express our humanness and interconnection with each other and the world around us. For me, there is an archetypal energy that comes to the forefront, particularly in the festivals of the latter half of the calendar year. They feel like a doorway to other dimensions that we only feel at a distance at other times. There is a deep soul-level alignment from Samhain to Yule that awakens within us which I believe correlates with the myth of the Divine Child.

The birth of that Divine Child of Many Names holds eternal hope in our hearts: we continue in the mundane physical world as the earth receives returning light and warmth with every new day and nature around us slowly awaken from a cold sleep. Spiritually, we see the sacredness of life renewed in the birth of a child of potential which represents our future. We go innocently into the newness of Life mindfully, with the feeling of being surrounded by something undeniably holy. Perhaps for just a time, our communities are united and optimistic. Whatever we call our holidays and festivals, the energy is joyously the same and we are caught up in the wonder and love of it all.

Each year at this time the story of the birth of a vulnerable infant who survives despite being born in an unwelcoming environment with the odds against him echoes throughout many cultures and religious traditions. The motif of the Divine Child is a global one.

The noted psychologist Carl Jung created a list of archetypes which includes "the Child" and had some rather profound things to say about it. Jung's Child appears in our consciousness when we are at our most vulnerable. At a time when we are too emotionally weak and feel powerless, when there is seemingly no way to survive against personal challenge, the birth of potential and possibility takes place within our psyche. It survives and grows in that moment of deep despair when we are overwhelmed and ready to give up. If we are open and receptive to nurturing this newness, it becomes our reality, and that reality becomes a driving force to survive. Jung, who was well acquainted with the metaphysical, understood how to create thoughtforms.

Within everyone of us lies a spark of the Divine represented by this Child of Wonder. The birth of every child is holy. The knowledge of the ages are reflected back to us in the eyes of children, something we have lost as we become older and jaded by society and culture. We come into this world from Spirit bathed in light but soon forget who we are and where we came from. This is what I love about my Pagan spirituality-we have so many ways to remember we too are filled with the essence of divinity. We are god/dess in our own right, created in the image of the Universal Source.

Why Mary Matters

We are all familiar with the Biblical story of Mary and her husband Joseph, and the particulars of the birth of Jesus. It is a tale that's been told over and over ( more or less) in the same way for thousands of years by millions of people: how the couple made their way from Nazareth to Bethlehem to pay taxes and found themselves without a place to stay upon arrival; how a benevolent inn keeper allowed them to stay where the animals were kept; how Mary gave birth to a child supposedly conceived by the Holy Spirit-the Son of God-destined to become the Savior of a world fallen to sin. And so on and so forth.

Not meaning any disrespect, but if you found yourself yawning just now...well...let's just say you're not alone. We've heard the story so often for so long that it's become rather pedestrian and routine. Time for a cup of coffee and a cookie to keep the eyes from glazing over.

For all the holy hoopla surrounding Christmas, every account of Jesus' birth is astounding in it's lack of details. It takes several sketchy predictions from the Old Testament and all four of the New Testament Gospel writers to corroborate the linage and meaning of His birth. There is even less factual information about Mary: other than being the daughter of the elderly Joachim and Anne, being betrothed to the carpenter Joseph, the Nativity narrative, a fleeting mention of being a guest at the wedding where Jesus turned water into wine and the Crucifixion, there is scant else said about her in the Bible. This is pretty skimpy, considering the  extensive body of Mariology and Marian devotion in Christian and Eastern Orthodox churches worldwide. While the Christian core of Marian devotion in the West is centered in the Roman Catholic Church and has found its way into dogmatic teaching, the Eastern Church bases its devotion in liturgical rites. Meanwhile the majority of Protestant Christians believe Mary's divine mission was over when she gave birth to the Divine Child. She was,  in effect, historically cast aside and devalued as all women have literally and figuratively been after providing a male heir to continue a linage.

In fact, there is more written about Mary in the Quran, where she is mentioned throughout from beginning to end. She is the only woman specifically mentioned by name in Muslim scripture, where she is considered one of the most righteous persons in the Islamic religion. These texts not only speak to her divinity, but to the sanctity of her humanness. The nineteenth chapter of the Quran (Maryam) is named for her and talks extensively about her life. Her importance in Islamic culture and spiritual tradition is evidenced by the inscription of verses from the Quran relating to her on the walls of prayer rooms in mosques. According to Muslim sacred text, after her birth, Mary was dedicated to service in the Temple under the guidance of the prophet Zechariah, who was her uncle. She had her own special place in the temple for prayer, and was set apart as virtuous prior to the birth of Jesus.  (An interesting aside: the alternate meaning for the word virgin is a woman who devotes herself wholly to divine practice and is unimpeded by the preoccupation of husband, family and home life.  As a single woman she was owned by no man and was not any man's property. She was "of her own" by choice although fully capable of assuming the role of wife and mother if she desired.)

Through an otherworldly gentleness and spiritual nature, virtue, and personal resolve, Mary is the archetype of the All-Mother and is The Creator Mother personified. She is known by an endless variety of names- "Virgin Mother of God","Queen of Heaven","Holy Rose"," Immaculate","Rose of Sharon"- the list is exhaustive. She shares characteristics with nearly every mother goddess throughout history and transcends specific cultures as creatrix and nurturer. (Compare the births of Mithra, Osiris, Krishna, Horus and even the Buddha.) As such, she is the rightful "Queen of Heaven" in a more modern mythos.

I believe there is an ancient memory of the Great Mother in our collective psyche which accounts for  apparitions of Mary world wide. For every individual sighting approved as legitimate by the Church, there hundreds and perhaps thousands that are rejected or go unreported. Although there are some appearances of her that are seemingly incredulous, who's to really say what is and is not real? Entity manifestations often begin in the subconscious as thought forms. It's been psychologically proven  that someone desiring union with a divine entity can invoke the desired result (even if that manifestation is due to hysterical psychosis). To this reasoning, any appearance is valid. Belief in a religious context does not always require evidence other than individual experience; faith is the trust in that experience. In my humble opinion, it's motivation and intention that matters most. I think the Feminine Divine is alive in this world, and it doesn't matter what name we call her. It's how I, as a Pagan, can stand behind the Christmas narrative and the importance of Mary- by putting it in perspective along side the many other Great Mother/Divine Child myths in history. It isn't a form of appropriation from one culture to another as much as a need for the story to continue for all of us no matter who we are.

I rather like the image of Mary as Rosa Mystica, as found in the writings of Saint Brigid, in which Mary herself tells the saint ( I'm paraphrasing here for clarity): "... The rose gives a fragrant odor; it is beautiful to the sight and tender to the touch, and yet it grows among thorns, unaware of its beauty and tenderness. So may those who are mild-tempered, patient, and beautiful in virtue be put to the test in the world. As the thorn guards the beauty of the rose, so does adversity keep us from wrong- doing by the example of its destructive nature." It fits with my definition of the Feminine Divine which equally shares strength and power.

In Pagan theology, we are all God/dess, co-creators who share in the Divine Mysteries of Birth, Living and Dying and everything that lays between them with the gods. As a woman and priestess, I can connect deeply to this, more deeply than when I was a part of a faith tradition founded by men where I was stripped of my inherent worth and dignity and considered second best as a human being. I say these words without anger, because I also believe that to get to the place of spiritual confidence I have today, I had to have gone through that experience. I believe it's true that everything is a lesson. You have to start and leave somewhere in order to make a journey. It is a journey I make guided by the Mystical Rose along a path of my choosing. Here we are joined, and I, too, am Mary. I carry within me the Divine Child of possibility and wonder which is in constant renewal. And I'll tell you a secret: I'm not always enraptured by knowing this, especially when I realize the responsibility it carries. Being a priestess of the Mystery of the Holy Rose has both its exultant glory and its unfathomable burdens. And while I'm being candid, both scare the hell out of me for a lot of reasons.

So in this period of personal discernment in the weeks of waiting before Winter Solstice and Yule, I'm going to work on being a little less scared and less doubtful of my abilities. I'm going to try to be less pessimistic about my fellow human beings, a little more hopeful about the world, and more grateful about all of it. I'm going to remember I have the Divine spark in me, too, and see magick and wonder at every turn. And maybe, just maybe, the Mystery of the Holy Rose will bloom in me.

Auld Lang Syne

It's January, and even though we've been in the New Year for nearly 72 hours, I'm still drawn dreamily back into December and earlier days of Christmastide. Most every year I feel this way, and I can't exactly put my finger on why...I just do. Maybe it's because December is co closely linked with a kinder, gentler time in my life, when things were a little less unsure. Maybe because December holds the Magick we imagine the rest of the year. Most of my childhood memories-good and bad-are set in the homey warmth of this time of year.

It's good to simply be still and remember.

The Reason For The Season-Revisited

We all get our very own reason for the season, and in the larger scheme of things, I honestly don't believe it matters what that is. We're in the final weeks of a dying year...Good, bad or otherwise we made it through another one!  That alone is  cause enough for celebration. Let's go out with a bang, we deserve it just for hanging in there!

The Nativity story transcends the birth of Jesus; in fact, it goes beyond the birth of any one we hold as a god. What I see is the never ending saga of our own birth and rebirth. In that old story I hear the echoes of the story of our own creation. I see the nativity of all of us, not just one, because every child is a Divine Child born of Mystery. I see parents in a committed relationship who have endured hardship, who have risen above, who have endured. I see their devotion to one another, and to the new life they've brought into the world. I don't just see Mary and Joesph...I see Tom and Mary...or Mary and Susan...or Tom and Joesph... and their child. Every child is a gift and we are all Divine.

The reason for the season is being born into Life. It is enough without all the trappings of myth and folklore ( which does, admittedly, make it more interesting). Please do drag out the decorations to brighten your home in the drab, long days of winter...which are drab and long even if you live in sunny Southern California or Florida because winter is as much a mindset as a season. Bring in the evergreens and light the candles. Hang your stockings with care, because a jolly old elf with a sleigh full of goodies just might stop by while you're taking a long winter nap. Pull everything out of the fridge, raid the cupboards and put out a feast...and don't forget to invite the neighbors because they probably feel just as crappy as you do right about now. Misery really does love company, so have a party. Have a drink and don't be afraid to be silly, because it will make you feel better. Let loose and sing until you're hoarse or someone calls the cops...Ring up someone you haven't seen in awhile and tell them you miss them...and don't be afraid to cry because you miss someone who's no longer here.

The reason for the season is whatever you want it to be. Okay, if you STILL need a reason, it's the Solstice. It's all science, folks. Hallelujah and pass the eggnog!

Three Kings and a Bambino Shed

I was serving in what turned out to be my last parish as an Episcopal minister, and it was late Advent. I was the assistant rector in a Revolutionary War era church built of river rock at a cross roads which sat back far enough off the road that the roar of combustion engines was lost to birdsong and organ music. A beautiful building, with white-washed, gated pews and a slave gallery (balcony) just up a winding staircase. It had changed little since it was built, and things were rather cramped by today's standards. I remember it now as a kind of dollhouse/church,the appointments much too low and small for modern men and women.

Father Mark was known around the diocese as a bit of a character: he'd been a university chaplain and when he wasn't appointed a canon by the Bishop in his home diocese (whose politics he was diametrically opposed to) he somehow managed to not only be appointed to that position in the Philippines, he picked up a Doctor of Divinity along the way as well. at one point he was nominated as Diocesan Bishop and his wife told him that " You'll win because people know you." or, " You'll loose because people know you." I thought it was a very Buddhist way of looking a things. Well, Mark lost the election, and he immediately became the rector of the Church at Mill Creek Hundred.

Like all churches that had been in existence for a period of time, Mill Creek Hundred had an eclectic assortment of holiday decorations- things purchased by the Altar Guild for a specifically themed event, or things donated from family clutter. The Nativity set was composed of the latter.

Every Episcopal Church has a Nativity set- Mary, Joesph, the Babe Jesus, a manger, and some hay. The set at Mill Creek Hundred had been expanded over the years by the addition of various odd pieces-Shepard's, angels, animals, birds and many, many sheep and several camels. None of these additional pieces matched the original set and many were of a different scale, which made it a yearly logistics challenge for the dear ladies of the Altar Guild to position figures twice the size of the Holy Family far off in the background so when viewed from the front, they all appeared to be the same size. My favorite piece was a Shepard who looked exactly like Charleston Heston in the role of Moses; at some point he had been dropped and decapitated, and his head hastily glued back into place, only with his Adam's apple on the side of his head so it resembled a goiter. Recalling my first year of Old Testament studies, I determined that Moses had not been present at the Nativity, so this guy had to be a Shepard by process of elimination. Summoning my  art conservation skills honed at NYU, I took him home, decapitated the figure with a Dremel tool,sanded down the offending goiter,and repositioned his head. At the same time I made a couple of cuts through the legs to foreshorten them so he didn't tower over the Manger when positioned at the back among countless sheep of every size and color (including pink and mauve, don't ask...I didn't.)

While I was performing surgery on Moses lost twin, Father Mark was crawling far back into the basement of the church to retrieve what he termed, " The Bambino Shed". (Both Mark and I have a wicked sense of humor and played well off one another; we could make nearly anything into the subject of irreverence and satire, for which we both were brought before the Bishop and warned many times, ha ha...) The Bambino Shed had been recycled out of an old wooden orange crate, the whole outside of it wrapped with 1 inch holed-chicken wire so greenery could be lovingly tucked in by the Altar Guild. Attached to one of the upper cross beams (which had begun it's life as a # 2 lead pencil) was a rather large, out of proportion spun-cotton dove, whose left wing was shortened by the silverfish who also resided in the church basement.)

On December 15th, my job was to take the entire cast of the Nativity home and clean/repair or discreetly dispose of things too unseemly to represent the birth of Jesus.
I patched a camel, a few sheep, and tossed out what I believe might have been a boarder collie, but resembled an anteater by the position of it's snout ( No anteaters at the Holy Birth, either. Sorry. Although the elephants used by one of the Magi had to have come from Africa by the size of their ears...maybe I was hasty throwing out that anteater, er, dog...)

The six elderly ladies who made up the Altar Guild always did a magnificent job of decorating and wasted nothing...The Bambino Shed containing the Holy Family and now covered by greens was lit by a small electric bulb disguised as an angel...The Magi were placed on the opposite side of the Sanctuary and moved daily toward their quest following the star (e.g.,the table upon which the Bambino Shed sat) ...three Magi, a horse, a camel and an elephant, accompanied by servants and chests of gold, frankincense and myrrh, inched their way across the sanctuary floor toward the Bambino Shed, until they all hopped up onto the table holding the other figures on January 6th, the Feast of the Epiphany( an assumption on my part; I never actually saw them do this, although I did inadvertently drink too much communion wine during the three Xmas Eve services that year and teetered dangerously against the Altar Rail, nearly falling over backwards. After that, I learned to pull rank on the ushers and make them finish the blessed sacrament left in the cup, LOL.)

The daily journey of the intrepid Magi, aided by the Altar Guild, was dramatic and quaint. I must admit, however, that I was stymied by the two additional Magi peaking out from beneath the poinsettias surrounding the Lectern ( Who were they? Did someone on the Altar Guild uncover a forgotten text of the Old Testament? Were they the second string-just in case one of the first three didn't make it during the journey following the star to Bethlehem? I wondered, but the wisdom I had gained over the years as a minister told me not to question the mysterious ways of the Altar Guild, and the additional two Magi, their camels and slaves, remained in hiding under the poinsettias until well past the Epiphany.)

At the appointed time on December 25th, at the end of the first service on Christmas Eve, the occupants of the Bambino Shed came alive. There was an audible gasp as the lights were dimmed and the string of white lights positioned among the rocks and trees and cut greens were lit...it was magic.Everything took on a golden glow. The single angel, wearing a tinfoil reflector disguised as a robe lit the inside of the manger, and the Holy Family and visitors were illuminated by the Glory of the Lord (and Edison Electric). I'm pretty certain this was what St. Francis had in mind when he created the first Creche so many Christmases ago to tell the sacred story to the masses.

Love was born once more at Christmas, the Divine Child shone in the rapture of the Sun as the Son once again....Hallelujah!

Peace and Grace of the Season be yours today and everyday....

Merry Christmases Long Ago

This afternoon I bought an artificial Christmas tree at Family Dollar. It was on sale because the box was torn but all the parts were in it, so for $3, it went home. I was already resigned to the pot of bare branches like I had last year, which-if the truth be known- wasn't so bad looking after I they were trimmed with all the garland, tinsel and ornaments. In fact, you could hardly see any of the bare branches, and where they peeked through, it gave the whole thing character in a Charlie-Brown-Xmas-Tree kinda way...right up until the branches dried out and began to break off bit by bit and the oasis they were shoved into split in two and half the 'tree' fell on the floor before New Year's Eve.

There won't be that problem this year, because I have a 4 ft. genuine Noble Fir artificial tree, which the instructions packed with it assured me was made of real PVC ( Oh, goody!) The Noble Fir-named no doubt for it's fine heroic bearing and NOT because it is representative of any strain of fir tree named after anyone with the moniker Noble- is presently sitting on a card table wedged in the corner of my make-shift bedroom while it awaits trimming. I hastily cut a tree skirt from a yard of Xmas fabric covered in toy soldiers and holly on a cream-colored background and tucked it around the foot of Noble Fir to cover up its scrawny green  PVC legs, then got the stationary paper box full of Christmas ornaments off the top shelf of the closet where  they've rested since this time last year.


The box of ornaments is a wondrous assortment of things I've acquired from friends and my own habit of collecting through the years. Most of us have at least a few fragile ornaments from our childhood- mine are a couple of pine cone clowns made in China in the 1950's, two hard white plastic reindeer that I inherited after Aunt Laura Pote died in 1985, and a handful of peeling glass gee-gaws from my grandparents. The reindeer are always placed first on any tree of mine since I rescued them from the garbage when Aunt Laura's son was cleaning out the house after she died-she always placed them first on her own tree, and this sacred act was obviously lost on her only child who had tossed them into the trash can around the back of the house. They aren't particularly pretty, but they hold a lot of good memories for me of the next-door neighbor who was my adopted 'aunt' for 18 years.

Then there are the things I have made over the years from various phases of crafts- painted ceramics, counted cross-stitch,plastic canvas, bead kits, pain-by-number wood, assorted glued glitter items. They are joined by various Muppets, the Peanuts Gang, a 4 inch fully dressed Beefeater doll from England, cats, mice, cotton and feather birds and an assortment of stuff from friends-Jeff's grandmother's blue and white beaded Star of David and  bell; Gretchen and Mark's clothes pin bird's nests, Kay's hand-crocheted Xmas stockings and the Kermit the Frog in a Santa Hat JD stowed out of sight in his luggage and brought back from London for me when he filmed John Denver and the Muppets: A Christmas Together. My step-sister Elizabeth found a porcelain and cloth Scrooge doll in the Christmas Room at Ronnie's Garden World in Smyrna, DE ( Which I miss, by the way, because they had the best selection of  decorations anywhere.) There are a dozen or so formerly white plastic glitter- dipped snowflakes that just make the tree, in my opinion, even though they have now aged to a yellow patina.


Presently, it's all laying in a jumble under the tree sitting on the table awaiting the big moment-as soon as I find the fluffy white and silver garland and a few strings of white lights I've shoved inadvertently in another box...meaning I will have to search through all of them tomorrow until I find said missing items. I will not be able to trim the tree without them, it's in violation of the 'The Rules'-I bet you know which ones, because you have them at your house, too. You know, the Rules that dictate what goes on the tree in which order to a specific Christmas CD, or which ornaments are traditionally placed on the tree by whom, or that the lights must be on while the garland and ornaments are being added. Things that we don't even think about but do out of habit because they are such ingrained traditions.( And isn't that yet another wonder of Christmas?)


Meanwhile, as I position each ornament in its proper place and adjust it to hang just so, all the Christmastimes I have ever lived through will come flooding back in my memory in the blink of an eye,and I will be living them again...as I happily sing along in each of the Muppet's voices that I learned while working on the above mentioned Christmas special...abet, slightly off key.

Take that, Charles Dickens...even YOU can't create Christmas Past like a tiny ball of spun cotton atop a pine cone from China with spindly pipe cleaner arms and legs can!

Seeking Light in the Darkest of Days

[The following is an excerpt from my forthcoming book, "Seeking Light in the Darkest of Days: Pagan Devotions for the Winter Solstice" 

(copyright 2003 By Ameth/Jera)] 

“My soul wanders in the darkness and seeks the Light of Hidden Knowledge.”

- spoken at the initiation of a Neophyte of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn

D

o you often feel blue at this time of year? You’re not alone. Research has proven the existence of Seasonal Affective Disorder, a state of sadness common among those who lack exposure to sunlight. Scientists recommend going to a place where there is maximum exposure to light as a cure.

Our pagan ancestors had come to the same conclusion millenniums earlier. Building fires on hilltops gave light to the long nights. Perhaps feeling lost in the darkness, could the bonfire have also been a signal to the gods- “here I am” ? Hearth fires did much the same in heathen homes. Can you think of anything more comforting than a warm, golden fire on a cold winter’s night? To further brighten the living space, flowers, leaves, berries and fruit were brought inside to cheer the spirit. Lush spices and incense were used as a soothing mental balm. These were subtle reminders that life went on even during the time when it seemed the Earth slept.

“O Goddess, as the light gives way to the darkness we stand in the knowledge that as the Wheel of the Year turns steadily onward, we are always in your care. We ask your continued blessing and grace, Mother Crone, to face the dark things in our lives. In the shadows we find not only rest and renewal, but our selves revealed.”

***

Day 2

G

randmother Spider spun her web in the sky. The points where the web connected were like diamonds. Later they became known to us as the stars…

- Native American Myth

The spiritual life of Native Americans is colored by their connection to all of Nature. There was a story explaining every natural occurrence. They look often to the sky and give honor to the stars.

“Listen to the words of the Star Goddess, she whose feet are in the dust of the heavens…”

- Doreen Valiente

***

Day 3

A

t this time of year, field and farm brace for the winter with the sewing of new seed to replenish the crops come the Spring. In times gone by, the herds were culled of individual animals that would not make it through the cold winter months, and the meat was used in feasts or put up for short term storage in anticipation of leaner times. What have you done to prepare for leaner times in the winter months? Have you remembered to sew seeds to restore your soul?

“Mother Terra, you are the holy earth and all within it. We thank you for your continuing substance. Your children rise up like the heads of flowers and turn toward your golden light joyously”

***

Day 4

T

here is a chill in the air, and all the creatures of Nature- animal, vegetable, and mineral- are preparing for a rest. Vegetation dies back to fallow fields; animals migrate, hibernate or transform their winter selves with thick coats of fat and fur for comfort in the long cold months ahead. Water turns to ice. We can learn from this example: slow down, make way, and settle in. Humans do it differently. We burn candles and incense oils, light the fireplace, soak in hot baths, read and listen to music more often, huddle together in conversational groupings.

“O Creator of Creature Comforts, help us to slow our minds and hearts in preparation for this time of renewal and rebirth. Like your creatures in the lower kingdoms, we too should now settle into the  comfort of the Earth in repose. Let us sink down into the comfort of knowing love and light will shine brightly again soon.”

***

Day 5      

I

f you look around today you will most likely find that electric lights are being strung on houses and rooftops around your neighborhood. Seasonal decorations are beginning to appear. You know the story behind some of those seasonal symbols?

Long ago, branches of fir, pine and other conifers were cut and brought indoors during this time of year to brighten and freshen homes closed tight against winter winds. The lush greenery was a reminder that life continued to flourish, even in a stark landscape that was barren to the naked eye. Greens laden with colorful berries were a reminder of the fruitfulness that was now hidden until bursting forth in joyous abundance at the first hint of Spring. Holly and mistletoe in particular were symbolic to the pagan people: the bright red berries were symbolic of the blood of the sacrificed King, while the white berries signified the seed of mankind.

“Sometimes the best prayers begin with a question, Goddess. You have given us questioning minds and reasoning hearts- and the ability to find answers within. As we revel in the things of the season which give us ‘comfort and joy’, keep us mindful of their meaning.”

***

Day 6       

“In the weaving of your fingers,

In the whisper of the love that never ends,

In the dreaming, something lingers,

In the promise of a love that never ends”

- Paul Noel Stokey

W

e are weavers by design, wrapping wreaths, garland and gifts. We wrap ribbons around those taking vows in handfasting and cords around those taking initiation into the Craft. We are bound to one another and to the One Who Is. At birth, a baby is bound to its mother by the umbilical cord until it is able to survive on its own outside the womb. To what do you wish to be bound in the coming year? From what do you wish to cut the cord and be set free?

“O Mistress of All Knowing, we are willingly bound to you by the silver cords of Love. We wrap up the best parts of ourselves as a gift to each other. We cut the ties that bind us to that we no longer need. We ask for the blessings of intuition and knowing, and the grace to know the difference.”

***

Day 7

D

uring the pagan season of light, there is an official government  holiday of thanksgiving in the United States. Set aside as a national day of rest and reflection, we associate it with pilgrims and turkeys. It is a day to celebrate harvest and abundance in our lives. It has, most recently become a day of over indulgence and unloving family arguments, a mockery of its meaning. In our hearts, we long for the Norman Rockwell picture of Thanksgiving. But that isn’t quite right, either. How do we break out of old behavioral patterns? How do we truly count our blessings? Do we make the proverbial count of blessings list? Where and how do you begin?

 I suggest taking time out of the day’s preparations to a walk around where you live and take stock of the blessing and wonders around you. Nature, of course, is a wonder unto its self, but have you looked with new eyes at the everyday and mundane? Consider the marvel of electricity and cable service, of how houses are constructed, that municipal services care for your water delivery and someone takes away the trash, that police and firefighters have been trained to keep you safe. Your list will expand in no time, and by the dinner hour your meal will truly have become a feast of celebration and thanksgiving.

“O Goddess of Abundance, open my eyes to see the blessings lovingly bestowed on me in my surroundings. How wonderful a world it is! My smallest joy is treasure. Accept my pleasure with thanksgiving.”

[This excerpt is copyrighted 2003 by AmethJera.All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.]