Back To Basics

I have been practicing Earth-Centered spirituality since the late 70's-which means I've been around the block a few times. Not that I consider myself special or a fount of occult knowledge on the subject. My personal version of spirituality developed slowly and came from a diverse arena.
I am comfortable with my place in the Craft, and I am confident in my abilities because I know what works for me.

I'm spending the Spring and Summer reacquainting myself with the intrinsic simplicity I felt when I first came to the Craft. To be quite honest, there was a freedom and elegance to not exactly knowing what I was doing back then, and in finding my way. Working by instinct-and seeing the results-was exhilarating. Who knew the conventional wisdom behind the old saw of "Magic is everywhere" being literally true? I certainly didn't, because like most folks, I approach everything with a healthy portion of skepticism. I have to learn things from doing it myself. The first Truth I learned about being a witch is that the Craft is experiential. If I read about a method of achieving a goal with a particular spell, to me it's basically hearsay until I prove to myself that it will work. My personal experience with things  fuels my individual practice and spirituality.

During the next few months  I am able to hike and explore my surroundings in these mountains, I'll be more alert to view things through 'magickal eyes'. I will be receptive to Nature's cues like I was before I claimed any particular path.

Yesterday I watched a thunderstorm form and cross the mountains from my living room. ( I have a fabulous, unrestricted view of the mountains and surrounding valley, and the windows in the living room take up most of the wall, so when they are fully open, it's pretty much like being outside.) With the relative safety of enclosure- and because I have the greatest respect of lightening, having once seen it fry a beloved red maple into dry,cured fireplace wood in a matter of seconds-I could see and feel the energy of the storm without fear of endangerment.

My perspective placed me in a perfect place to open to the energy of the gathering storm. As the sky darkened to a yellowish grey, the atmosphere became dense. The changing barometric pressure was intense and dramatic as clouds condensed; the air cooled as moisture was wicked out of the ground. With the altitude at nearly 2,400 feet where I live, these changes are not only instantaneous, they are visceral. Watching two buzzards lazily gliding just ahead of the storm, I was visually able to trace the thermals they rode. The visualization was broken by the first roll of thunder, the shock wave so deep it seemed to shake the mountains with it's tympani. A bolt of lightening split the sky, back lighting clouds in pale, metallic pink and lavender.The electric charge of the lightening was palpable because it was close, I heard the shriek and sizzle of the next two or three as they bounced off the microwave towers on the other side of the mountain directly in front of me. (Truly, Nature has the very best light shows!) A gust of wind flipped the leaves over so their bottoms were facing the sky, and pushed a curtain of rain between me and the mountains. Micro bursts caused the curtain to ripple silver in some spots and sent huge drops of rain thrown the window screen: I allowed my face and hands to get reasonably wet this way. The air had a moist and earthy scent; the leaves and grass were shades of bright green. As quickly as it came on, the storm dissipated.

When I felt it was safe to go outside, I walked down to the creek/canal that runs through town. The water was high and churning; it was murky. The ducks were stirred and quacked excitedly-fingerling fish had been washed into the canal from further up the creek, darting out of 'harms way' from the hungry ducks. The creek carried the scent of the honeysuckle and laurels growing along it's banks. By then it was well after twilight, but the sky still reflected an eerie afterglow.

Back in my apartment, I set up my altar and cut several lengths of twine. Psychically, I put myself back into the storm, and with each crash of thunder and flash of lightening, I tied a knot in the twine, capturing the energy and power of the moment.When I finishing rerunning the course of the storm in my mind, I had several lengths of twine with knots tied in them that I will use by untying them during future spell casting when I need a burst of energy to help send the vibration and intention along.

This is the magick of the natural world, the simple form of the Craft that Scott Cunningham wrote about. Earth Power was the first real book of magick/witchcraft that I read as a 17 year old seeker desperately searching for the force I was driven to form a connection with for the rest of my life.

As a young solitary ( I didn't call myself solitary then; I had no notion such a thing existed) books were my first tools. Books opened the gateway, gave me clarity and helped me to form my understanding of Earth-centered spirituality. And even today, that is still what believe about them. Books provide the cues and information while participating in the process provides the necessary internalization of experience that gives life to the Craft and lights the Spirit within. It is also why I believe there are so few advanced practice books available concerning the Craft. The knowledge contained in the Craft is primarily experiential.

Having said that, let me go back and further define what I just said. Proficiency in the Art of the Craft comes from the study (and participation in) many areas which will later apply to our individual advancement: astrology,astronomy,ancient cultures and civilizations, history, mythology, folk lore, herbalism,botany and alternative medicine molarities, physics, geometry, psychology, comparative religion, art, music and dance...the list goes on. Witches must be perpetual students because knowledge of the world is unending and new discoveries are made everyday. We never know it all. (Those who do make claims of this are flat-out fools and we need to run far away in the opposite direction from them!) With so many choices of subjects, I find myself scoffing when I hear someone bemoaning the lack of 'advanced' books on the Craft. Thinking outside the box ( or is that 'the broom'?) reveals an infinite resource from which to draw when a witch feels the restless urge to seek knowledge.

Broom With A View: Is It Appropriation Or Adaptation?

photo courtesy ihazcheeseburger.com

In the lexicon of modern Paganism, the term appropriation has become a bit of a dirty word, especially when applied to the ‘borrowing’ of methods and elements of culture and spirituality which is not our own, and more specifically when concerning holidays.

In America, we live in a multilingual, multicultural country, the hallmark of which has always been the ‘melting pot’ society; we are rather proud -rightly so- of our ability to blend iconic characteristics of the nations from which our millions of citizens have come.  We happily celebrate Christmas (a Christian holiday) by setting up Christmas trees (a German practice by way of Victorian England) sing Christmas carols (written in many languages from England, France, Germany, Italy and an exhaustive list of other places) about an event concerning a Jewish child imbued with deity (a Hebrew, Muslim, and again, Christian belief) that historically and mystically took place a couple thousand years ago in the Middle East according to a variety of sources.  We do this through public religious expression which has its origins in the Latin and Orthodox Rites,( later influenced by European Protestantism), blending the religious aspect of piety with a secular one concerning the persona of Santa Claus (forged from the folklore of many nationalities), reindeer, sugarplum fairies, snowflakes, and children’s toys, with a smattering of morality (“Santa knows if you’ve been bad or good”) thrown in for good measure…and other than the occasional cry of a few crabby fundamentalist Christians that there is a ( non-existent) ‘War on Christmas ‘, we suck it all down like a Winter Wonderland-flavored milkshake and nary bat an eye. And we not only deliriously enjoy every slurp, we revel in it.

As of late, the Pagan community in general has been pointedly vocal about how many of the things traditionally thought of as an expression of Christmas spirit (by Christians in particular) have been ‘stolen’ from ancient pagan sources, and that indignation has now spilled over to other holidays on the calendar, like Easter and Halloween. The more literally and fundamentally minded devotees of Christianity ( a la Kirk Cameron and Fox News) have retaliated by creating an imaginary “War on Christmas’ fueled by mass paranoia. To be absolutely honest about it, there has been self-righteous bellowing and finger-pointing from all sides concerning the subject, which is simply making me tired and slightly nauseous from buzzword sickness. The fact is that societal/religious/governmental groups have been picking and choosing, appropriating, adapting, borrowing and blending elements from cultures and spiritual practices other than their own from the beginning of time. Since this is nothing new and universal, it should not only not come as a surprise, it should not be warranting the attention or indignation the subject has been getting as of late. Whether or not it is ethical or moral is a moot point her and another discussion someplace else…we’ve all done it in some way at some time, folks. Taking that into consideration, let’s move on to other things, like solving the problem of not enough clean water on the planet or what we’re going to do with all the trash we’re generating, or what to do with the idiots we’ve elected to Congress.

To be sure, there is a fine line between appropriation and adaptation. Neither is necessarily negative or the act committed maliciously. Disregarding the old saying about “imitation being the best form of flattery”, there is also the truth that if something contributes to your spiritual growth in a positive way, there is no reason for you not to create your own individual version of a practice-hasn’t that been a rallying cry in the modern Pagan community since its inception?

We smudge ourselves, our tools and our circles; bestow blessings, offer up prayers with incense, chant, dance, sing and make music; wear robes sewn from fine fabric and richly embroidered with mystical symbols, crown ourselves with fancy tiaras fit for royalty, brandish ceremonial knives and swords to cast the boundaries of our sacred spaces, and acquire degrees, pedigrees and titles such as Lord and Lady…and I have never heard a single damn one of us express any remorse over how we appropriate the cultural or spiritual icons or spiritual elements of the Celts, Greeks, Romans or any other ancient people- including and especially those of indigenous native heritage. We wear feathers woven in our hair and not one of us gives a second thought that we might be appropriating a style or spiritual practice from Native Americans, Africans or Aborigines, because we see it rather as a personal adaptation of individuality. The wearing of feathers alone doesn’t mean we are intentionally appropriating an element of the a fore mentioned groups in a disrespectful way…maybe we just like the look or feel of feathers in our hair. The act of sweating in a sauna is healing and restorative for many who, although perhaps mindful of the similarity of the sweat lodge, would hardly consider it stealing a sacred act from Native Americans or those of Swedish heritage-as long as it is not represented as such. Just as much as I suspect donning a ceremonial Elvish-inspired, jeweled headpiece doesn’t make you an Elf Princess, a Hobbit, or give you special magical powers…but it may help you spiritually transcend between the worlds, or assist in creating a mindset beneficial to a successful ritual experience. I happen to like loose-fitting, draped robes (and if they have a pretty embroidered pattern on them, all the better), but wearing one doesn’t make me an ancient Celt, a Roman goddess or a Greek oracle wannabe-it just means I like to be comfortable when in the circle.

Do by all means consider what you borrow and adapt- to understand why you’re doing it-but try not to over-think things in the process…because what you unjustly project upon others says more about your motivation and shadow than theirs. 

A Few Thoughts on Advancing the Basics

Wait...What was that bright thing in the sky this morning?

Was that... the Sun? The actual Sun?

I'm only asking because we haven't seen the sun around here for...well, it feels like forever. It's been cold and the sky has been gray...too much like a stereotypical Winter. Everyone-including me-has cabin fever. We all want to get out and get away, which would entail climbing over the piles of snow the plow left at the curb. You risk breaking a hip or your neck on the black ice to go out there.

So instead, I have been reading...and reading...and reading...interspersed by some crocheting. At the New Year I decided I'd go back over some of the more basic ritual elements we all know (or should), and redefine them in some new way. I've been scribbling like mad in my BOS to add the 'new' stuff-
although, if the old adage holds true, there is nothing new under the sun. Or whatever that vaguely shiny thing is up there in the sky.

I always find myself shaking my head nowadays when I read the Pagan-centric stuff posted all over the Web...various factions warring over how to do things their way the "right" way, arguments over titles, degrees and pedigrees, and incessant whining about the lack of books on advanced practice....

I will take this opportunity to gently remind you (and myself) that a few short decades ago, there were no books with little crescent moons on the spines, there were few magickal systems that awarded degrees as the student progressed along the path of study (and magick wasn't spelled with the controversial 'k', thank you Mister Crowley), Witches and Pagans weren't gathering at this or that
convention to admire their ritual attire or discuss social justice...we were mostly at home, studying our Craft and making improvements and discoveries on our own after we learned the basics. There were no 200 level courses for the Craft and if you wanted to learn something else, you took up studying another form of divination or conjure. Otherwise, you practiced your personal version of the Craft until you were confident in your skills. There was no one at Barnes and Noble complaining because they didn't carry books on some obscure, arcane form of hermeticism. No one was looking for the Advanced Key of Solomon. They were home...exploring the Mysteries on their own, because teachers were far and few. I subscribe to the theory that the best teacher is the self.

Sigh. If it's so simple, then why is it so hard? Because we make it that way. We are never satisfied with what we have and want more- and better. It's human nature, I know, but discipline ( with a little common sense thrown in for good measure) would help temper the witchy wonderlust or whatever you call it.

Learn to improve on that candle spell, that prosperity spell, whatever you desire, on your own by changing the oils,the chant, even the intention you've been using...and stop looking for the advanced book where someone else tells you how to do it. We are by the very nature of our works 'doctors' and scientists. Yes, we learn from one another, but we learn from our inner selves, too. What better way to imbue something with personal energy than to deconstruct it on our own and then build it into something better? It's the journey that's the most satisfying part of the Search. So find out what works for you by doing it with your own hands. By all means, don't stop reading, just realize that the line  from the Charge of the Goddess " Whatever you seek you shall find within you" is more true a statement than you imagined. The next time you wonder where all the advanced books are, remember to look inside yourself first!

Irish

I am Irish and German on my father's side of the family and Scot-Irish and Italian on my mother's, so there is a lot of Hibernia in my DNA. It could be the power of suggestion, or simply personal preference, but I feel more Irish than anything else in my ancestral background. The late Christian mystic John O'Donohue often wrote that the clay-the dust from which we are formed- has memory. O'Donohue spoke in an authentically lyrical Irish voice, one which melded Celtic Christianity and the much older inner poetry of the Emerald Isle. The combination transcends labeling ( which I personally try not to do with spirituality, but I find I need to at times for the sake of context and describing content). The voice that speaks from the clay of which he makes us so keenly aware has memory which comes back mysteriously to me. I find myself knowing things of which I have no recollection of learning in this life. I've come to believe that these things are genetic memory. I have no other explanation for knowing these things intrinsically, but I am enough of a skeptic to eschew immediately believing that they come directly from the Divine. I don't take credit for that kind of connection for myself; I don't think I'm any kind of special. It smacks of smugness... and yet more modestly, I know we humans who work with the spiritual side and nurture it are capable of occasionally having the gods speak to us. Shaman of every culture, it seems, as well as the priestly class of many traditions regularly tap into that flow of energy and are set apart by it. I make no such claim for myself.

I think my Irish ancestry simply sits within me. In particular moments it works its way to the surface in my personality from the Place of Deep Indwelling and and the secret Elsewhere found in all of us. Brigid is my personal patron and because of this there are occasions when I  feel the fire in the head that she carries. My Pagan initiation took place at Imbolc (which is also her feast day). This time on the calendar her vibration seems to grow within me until peaking at Ostara, when the light of her forge gathers enough strength to carry me through the rest of the year.

I need to take a moment to say how much I abhor the commercial trappings of secular St. Patrick's Day. There is not a wit of truth in the portrait of the endlessly drunken, loud Irish lout (although the Irish, like the rest of world, enjoy a good time now and again). It's derogatory cultural profiling,  insulting in more ways than I care to cite. If you recall, early in the Industrial Age, signs were posted in the windows of big city businesses that read, " No Niggers and No Irish need apply"... yet it was precisely those groups ( and many Eastern Europeans) who provided the unskilled labor that built the roadways and railroad lines, who were the general contractors and who dug the coal out of the ground to fuel this country in it's infancy. Many Irish  came here to keep from starving to death in their own country during the Great Potato Famine only to become the poorest of the poor on America soil.  The comical image of the Irish invented by American marketing  belongs on the dung heap with the commercialization of Christmas, and lately, Halloween. The happily jigging leprechaun may have a scintilla of reality as tales of folklore portray the Fey dancing in the forest in some accounts, but if that folklore holds true, it would be rather risky to try to talk them out of any of their treasures. The choice of Patrick from among the three patron saints of Ireland- Brigid and Columba are the others-points to the fact that since his back story is the most sketchy, his story would be the one most available and malleable to morph into a completely new cultural and spiritual myth. Please, let's do something about replacing the pointedly stupid stereotypes of St. Patrick's Day that ridicules an entire culture with something that honors the contributions of people of Celtic heritage in a dignified way...What's wrong with Irish Heritage Day, or Celtic Heritage Day?

The single Irish stereotype I do hold with is cooking corned beef on St. Patrick's Day. Yes, I do know that the original meal consisted of rashers of boiled bacon to go with the traditional cabbage and potatoes. Bacon was a luxury item to the poor in New York, and corned beef- a tough cut of meat tenderized by the process of marinading or 'corning'- was a suitable substitute. Jews who shared the urban ghettos with their equally poor neighbors introduced corned beef into the Irish culinary arena, an act for which I am eternally thankful. I cook my corned beef in a crock pot with the cabbage and potatoes nowadays; afterward, it's painted with a bit of mustard glaze and placed in the oven for a few minutes while I fry the cabbage and make colcannon out of the potatoes (adding a bit of boiled kale). It makes for a grand yearly feast at my table.

If the snow melts enough for me to make it out to the cemetery, I'm going to take a handful of shiny pennies out to press into the ground and pour a little milk and honey out for the Land Spirits. The local cemetery ( on the historic register) is the final resting place of many of the European immigrants who were enticed to this area with the promise of jobs in the many coal mines in operation in the 1800s. A fair amount of Irish, Scottish, Hungarian, Polish and Negroes gave their lives digging "black gold' out of the mountains here, and quite a number of them are interred nearby. In between their headstones, grow an abundance of mushroom rings-fairy rings-so if the stories hold true, the Fey are dancing among the bones of those who have gone before across the Veil.

And speaking of those who have crossed the Veil, for the very first time during this holiday, I'll be remembering my friend Arthur among the Beloved Dead I honor at my altar. Studying the Druid priesthood, he took the name of the sea god Manannán Mac Lir and for the first year of our friendship I called him 'Mac'. He crossed the Veil suddenly and much too soon; during my yearly trance journey, I'm going to look for him. There are questions and unfinished business for both of us, and hopefully we'll cross paths along the way...if not, there is a later day which awaits for that meeting.

And as for you, Gentle Reader, my hope for you is a bright moon on a dark night to guide you along your way...and a bit of reading from Irish Central: http://www.irishcentral.com/roots/the-magic-of-irish-witches-and-druids-top-ten-ancient-irish-charms-and-spells-128912303-237762261.html#


Slainte!

Signs of Spring A-borning

"(Imbolc is a) Holy Day of the Goddess Brigid when we Rejoice in the Life that Grows Within."
 ~ Phyllis Currot,HPs/Founder,Temple of Ara

I have a personal affinity for Imbolc; I made my dedication to the Craft on the Feast of Brigid, my patron, and was honored with the 3rd Degree in the protoGardnerian tradition which I was involved with at the time. If you're a follower of this blog, you'll already know how much I adore all things Autumn, but I wanted to set this special time in my life apart from that time of year because it felt more 'right'. Perhaps I wanted another reason to celebrate something personal during the year? Perhaps it was not I who made that decision, but the Goddess who rules the Wheel of the Year. The early days of February are when the first stirrings of Spring appear after the long sleep of Winter. In the place of Deep Indwelling- where I tend to live during the cold, long nights of this time of year- a simple fire burns. It's enough to illuminate the place where I study and write, and it comforts me as the wind howls outside and the snow covers the mountains. As I emerge from Winter's hibernation, I ready myself to carry this light with me into the world that I am now ready to re-emerge into. After a Winter's rest, I am fully ready to engage Life once more. I bask in the brightness of the fire, both my own and that of the increasing sunlight.

One of the simple joys of being here in the mountains is that I am living closer to nature now. Despite all the little things that are mutable for me about the area, this one thing stands out because it has become the binding thread; I can walk out of the building where I live and literally walk into the woods. This tiny town is surrounded by a dense forest teaming with wildlife. The remoteness of the place has its joys ( watching a herd of deer grazing in the lot across the street, wild ducks and geese nesting along the banks of the creek that bisects town, being surrounded by the beautiful Appalachian Mountains)  as well as its frustrations (no place to go to just sit and have coffee, no bookstore, limited choice of where to grocery shop, limited public transportation options). I was born in a major Southern city and  raised a stone's throw from a major Northern city; my formative years were spent being educated in New York and Washington, DC. I commuted back and forth to Colorado, LA and several other big hubs for employment, but my heart always yearned to be in the country, and preferably in the mountains...and finally, here I am. We have four distinct seasons here, and I for the first time in my life I love all four of them. Autumn, of course is still my favorite-but Spring is competing as my seasonal muse. It's magical-and comforting-watching minute shoots of green this and that thrusting their shoots up through the ground cover. The feeling of  awe I get watching the buds on the trees just outside my window increase in size and strength day by day as the sun grows higher in the sky over the mountains overwhelms me with the fact of just how lucky I am to be in this place at this time.

And yet...I long for more, for what is beyond because I know that something grand is just around the next curve in the road. It is already mine, a gift from the Goddess and God who love me without measure and all I have to do is claim it.

Brigid of Ireland - my patron- Creatrix of the Forge, Poetess Sublime, Compassionate Healer-is also the patron of many of those who lived here when coal mining was at its zenith and who populated these mountains.  I can feel her presence everywhere. She is alive, but most notably along the many creeks and wells that pepper the area. There is physical evidence that she is still remembered by the sighting of an occasional 'clootie' ( a strip of cloth) tied to the branch of a tree that grows next to the water. At first I thought what I was seeing as simply a piece of clothing that had been caught in the briars and torn loose-maybe someone had been out picking blackberries and become entangled. Seeing several more in different places confirmed to me that this was not a random occurrence, but a deliberate act of devotion by someone. Mountain ash and hollies are plentiful here, and ash is the tree which most often grows next to sacred wells in Ireland (and the British Isles), where this practice is common.

Making and Using Clooties:Clooties are thin strips of fabric torn into ribbons. They are usually made from old clothing or rags (Remember, we're talking about people who had little in the way of possessions and wasted nothing).According to tradition, a clean strip of fabric is dipped into the water of a sacred well or creek, and used for anointing for healing, then tied to a tree branch so they prayers were carried by the wind to the Divine. In a variation of that, the ribbon ( which in this instance may be specially selected from a piece of fine quality or expensive cloth) was dipped into the holy water source and tied to the tree accompanied by prayers petitioning a specific deity (usually Brigid because it's "her" well), or to the spirit of a place as a type of votive offering. As the clootie disintegrates over time, the physical disorder or illness lessens. Otherwise, the clootie can be used as a kind of ' prayer flag'.

Tying the strip to the tree is usually accompanied by a short prayer or brief ritual. Prayers of supplication, thanksgiving or devotion are sometimes said as the individual walks sun-wise around the tree or water source (if possible). Depending on the nature of the act, other items may be left also:
a coin or a stone, and occasionally religious items such as a rosary, small cross, or prayer card. In the case of thanksgiving for a healing, crutches and other medical devices have been left as a testimony of  faith. Please remember that if you take something from the site when you leave your clootie, you should 'pay' the nature spirits by leaving them a separate offering such as a a coin, a splash of milk, rum or whiskey,or some other appropriate gift.

Musings On A Winter's Day

Moon Sonata by Igor Medvedev

I am struck by this painting; as an artist myself, I am absolutely awed  by the subtle gradation and use of light. There is something that freezes the subject of this painting in time: a moment that is not a moment. It is somewhere between the worlds.

To begin with, it's a moonlit scene that captures in the moon shrouded in clouds and a cold mist-and it's not blue. Many paintings of this type use blues, purples and stark whites for backgrounds and contrast. Here each element stands out: the nearly naked tree, the grasses and background greenery, the scattered snow on the ground, the stream and the rocks in it.

The synergy of the scene comes from the graduation of light and variegated fade-out of the greens.
Together, there is an echoing stillness and peace that radiates out to the viewer. This is how Nature really looks in the wee hours of a cold Winter morning; it is tonal and lyrical, using all the basics of an outdoor scene. It is a sonata, in every sense of the definition.
Winter is a sharp contrast to all the other seasons. Spring, Summer and Fall are all riotous with blooming flowers and color. Winter is sharp-in temperature and temperament. In many parts of this country, a cold snap is equal to a cold slap that gets our attention and firmly lets us know that we are not in charge of the seasons-corporate marketing be damned. After the joyous celebrations which occur throughout the later months of the year have ended, Winter firmly establishes itself.

Rightfully so, I say. Our varieties of agrarian-based spiritual traditions celebrate the seasons lustily and lavishly, yet when we come to this time of the year many of us are at a loss for religious expression, other than to cover up the sharply delineated starkness of Winter with greenery and merriment. After Yule/Christmas, my decorations are bare branches and garlands of red glass winterberry beads. ( The Carnival season has begun in other parts of the world, but here we wait for Mardi Gras).

It is easy to miss Winter's clever and indirect beauty. What we often see with our eyes is grey and brown and essentially dead; we miss the inherent beauty of  the process of decomposition and decay.
We do not comprehend the breaking down of what once was to make room for what will be, that the memory of what used to be heralds the reality of what is to become. Beauty is to be found in all of Nature, in brow, crisp leaves that nourish the soil; in grain that has been winnowed and fields that lie dormant; in trees which thrust their bare branches to the sky in exaltation. Beneath the frozen soil there is a place of warmth were the seed sleeps as it grows in the darkness.

As much as I adore the shimmering glimmer of the holidays, I am relieved when they are over. I am ready for this period of rest. I want to nest, to settle in with my books and a hot cup of tea; I want to sit idle in the dark and let peace wash over me as I meditate and go down to the Place of Deep Indwelling, where I can find lost parts of myself and reclaim them to wholeness. In Winter we are continually born and born again, we are vessels of regeneration to fill with renewal in preparation of Spring.

A Clean Sweep For The New Year

January is a great time to clean out any residual stale energy  accumulated from the old year. Throughout the year our living space  becomes just as cluttered with energy just as it does with physical matter, and when that energy is allowed to remain it turns stagnant, creating pockets of this negativity which lowers the beneficial vibration of the space. You open your chakras to allow good energy to flow, so why not do the same for the place where you live?

If you enter the New Year still feeling inexplicably stuck or burdened, if you feel weighed down or 'heavy', chances are it's due to what's around you. Get out your smudging tools as well as the mop and bucket and make your living space shine!

After a through physical cleaning (because the old saying really IS  true that "cleanliness is next to godliness"), I smudge every room from wall to wall- paying special attention to the corners-with white sage. Sage is wonderfully useful for moving out negativity. I then smudge a second time with sweetgrass, which raises the vibration of the space. At the time I do this I also carry a tiny temple bell (the one from my altar) and ring it a couple of times as go along. Bells have long been rung to dispel evil; their movement disrupts negativity and keeps it from re-forming.
Some Buddhists keep a few of these bells tied to a short ribbon or rope to hang in their home for just this purpose; I keep a small set of windchimes hung up on the window valance in my bedroom year round. Wiccan author Scott Cunningham recommended a similar thing, to hang a little bell near a window so that when moved in the breeze it imparted love and happiness to those living in the house.

Many people suffer from the holiday blues when the festivity of Yule/Christmas ends and a sudden shift in excitement and activity occurs. Emotions have been steadily building for weeks and when it is over we sometimes feel overwhelmed with a sudden emptiness which can lead to depression. These  emotions leave the same sort of psychic signature as the vibration we raise for ritual, and if ungrounded, we are left feeling disoriented and unbalanced. This vibration becomes a sort of static which affects our physical and emotional function: cleaning it out restores us to balance.

Other ways to psychically cleanse the living space is to wash down the area with Florida Water, which is type of cologne used in spiritual cleaning by those who practice hoodoo and folk magic. Florida Water-scented with florals and citrus, primarily orange essential oils- is added to a bucket of water and then used as a magical preparation to remove negativity and replace it with a higher vibration. ( Florida Water is also an excellent agent in aiding you to contact the Ancestors, so leave a small bowl of water with a little in it on your altar or elsewhere.) Kananga Water is a similar preparation, except it is scented with ylang-ylang and suspended in alcohol. Either preparation leaves the refreshed and rejuvenated. You can make your own Florida Water ( recipes on the Internet) or purchase it commercially. I have found it in the supermarket in the personal care isle.

A pomander made from sticking whole cloves into an orange is a great way to seal out negativity (cloves,citrus fruit) while giving off a lovely scent. Tie a ribbon around it for hanging, and put it in a place where it will dry naturally, otherwise it may mold or mildew. It is also believed that a pomander of this type will bring prosperity and financial blessing into the home.

Peace comes when we make a place for it. Spiritually cleansing your living place creates the calm needed for regeneration during the months of Winter. Creating a lovely, comforting place allows us to
invite this peacefulness in while we are resting, and renewing our spirit as we look forward to the return of the Light Time of the year.