athenagrey: (Default)

Keeping vigil for the sun wasn't planned,
but I could not sleep.
Gritty-eyed, stumbling and late,
despite sleeplessness,
I ran down the path to the headland.

Pale light rising in the east.
This is the false dawn.

I greet a swan on her morning glide,
and settle on the rocks to wait.

Slowly, the clouds blaze with red highlights.
It's beginning.
I pour a libation of clear, pure water,
and offer bread to the Sun.

Slowly, the sky brightens.
Red in the morning,
Sailors take warning.

I lift my hands to the light,
Seeing the symbols burning with power.
I know that it is joy that will lead me
from this sun drenched pinnacle,
back to winter's stillness.

I must carry gratitude's sweet lessons with me,
and keep the Sun at my center.
Compassion paves the path ahead of me,
and possibility is linked to accountability.

Know detachment,
let go of straight lines drawn in ink,
whispers Katiyah, and the Ancestors.
It will be as it should be.

It all comes down to courage.
Trust is not revealed, but integrity is.
I take in these messages,
knowing the meaning will be revealed in time.

Walking back from the east,
I regret that the furthest cove
only held memories of last year's encounter.

In the nearest cove,
I find her, the white egret,
like paper folded into impossible angles,
gleaming in the sun.

Solstice blessings.
athenagrey: (Default)
This is the shortest night of the year, Midsummer Eve. Tomorrow, Midsummer Day, is the longest day of the year.

Like the full moon is the monthly time to stand on the hilltop and take stock of where things are going, correct your course, and jump forward, tumbling downhill to a breathless finish, this is the solar time, the annual time, to do the same thing. Presumably with a higher hill, a longer jump, and a faster tumble.

Although I join other witches in celebrating the solar year, and use it to mark long passages of time, it is the monthly progression of moon from new, to full, to dark, that guides my everyday life.

A year is a long time.

I am disinclined to look back, because the hill was very steep, and I flung myself from rock to rock, taking the only path I knew. I left behind tatters of my mantle of grief, like a snakeskin painfully shed. I'd rather stand here and look to tomorrow. I"m wrapped in a better mantle right now, layers of satisfaction, accomplishment, promise and silence. Fancy threads. I must have picked them up without thought, to cover the raw nakedness of being. They suit me well.

I will pause briefly and look at the present. This is my fifth anniversary as priestess. The rhythm of the lunar calendar is now as natural to me as breathing. The solar calendar of sabbats is becoming familiar. Tonight, as the sun passes behind the western hills, I will light the sacred fire in my cauldron.

I am ready to look to the future, to chart the course that brings me back to the stillness of midwinter. I have The Project™, the challenge of doing something that I've never done before. I am bound to silence on this one, and the pent up desire to speak about it may be what propels it to completion.

Sunrise will find me sitting on the rocky headland, overlooking the Sound. There are answers where the water meets the sky.
athenagrey: (Athena Grey)

And so the Wheel of the Year has turned to Yule. Although the candles blazed in a riot of light, I am slow to turn away from the center and begin the spiral back out into the light. Don't wait for me. I'll be there by Imbolc. I promise.

I won't deny that this Yule is a strange one. Some traditions were imperative, like baking Jannie-esque ritual cakes and decorating the hearth. Others, like the dozens of small delicacies for the Yule Eve feast, didn't make sense for an evening spent alone.

One old tradition that I welcomed back was going out on the bluffs to watch the sunrise over Long Island Sound. It wasn't a dramatic sunrise. The sky changed slowly from iron to pewter to dull silver. The tide was rising near high, and the water pounded the rocks below me. A bitter wind from the east kept blowing my hood off and threatened to send my blanket aloft like a kite. An octet of ducks floated like corks in one of the more sheltered inlets.

Last night's tarot reading reminded me that this IS the bottom point. I've been here before, and I recognize the landmarks. This is the point where you realize that the fall didn't kill you and that you have solid rock beneath your ass. This is where you survey the damage and begin to put things back together. This is a point that is filled with hope.

The blessing from the reading was The Lovers. This card represents choice more often than it represents love. To be blessed by choice is a good thing, especially because other parts of the reading indicate that I have the wit to recognize which choice is right for me. It's not the one that the world would expect me to choose, either. *wink*

So, I wish you the blessings of this season, and remind you that it IS Saturnalia.


athenagrey: (Default)

June 2012

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