The Stone’s Resolve
Saturday July 28, 2007:
In a brief window of sunshine in the veil of rain which has been deluging much of south and central England this last week or two, a group of us threaded our way through the trees on the heath, heading for a grassy clearing in which to do a public Lamas ritual. Around us, dogs and their owners gambled, bicyclists swished past and the parakeets called to each other noisily in the undulating trees. Beneath our feet, the grass, long and succulent cushioned us as we walked.
In a quiet green clearing, we dress the space and crated an alter of fruits of the woods. Rowen and blackberries, oak leaves and grass glittered in the shafting sunshine as we placed our sacred objects amongst them.
We were here to mark the turning of the year. Together, we brought our personal harvests and that of the land too. We shared our triumphs and challenges, offered thanks for the learning gained, and in sorrow and foreboding, acknowledged the enormity of the consequence of human behaviour upon the climate of the planet.
Sitting on a blanket on the soft grass, I tuned into the benevolent presence amongst the trees surrounding us. The grass, its smell delicately sour rose to meet me as my fingers played between its slim and feathery blades.
I spoke of my harvest of words, words that had allowed me to paint pictures of my journeys to meet the goddess. In allowing them to grow and shape themselves beneath my tapping fingers, I had found joy and a quiet soul’s rest.
Reaching into my pocket, I brought out the palm sized smooth stone I had picked up from my collection at the water shrine in my house. I stroked it thoughtfully as I spoke of how I had learned that grief cannot be shaken off at will but has to take it’s time and place, and how hard a lesson that had been for me. I spoke of my inner resolve to engage with all that might come to me from the death of my father, knowing that – no matter the turmoil of my mind, there was an inner core of rock solid strength that would preserve me. The stone symbolised for me that rock solid strength and the certainty that in perfect love and perfect truth, the Goddess was with me wherever I journeyed.
One by one, we shared our harvests and plans. We broke bread together in honour of Lugh the sun god, whose sun’s energy had gone into the grain and would sustain us till he came again at solstice. We called for healing of the earth and a return of balance and the life giving gift of water: and as we did so, a rabbit darted across the clearing.
We danced our wishes, sending energy in a cone of power up into the heavens. Feasting on the land’s bounty, we gave thanks for its ongoing nourishment. The sun moved round and the air began to cool. Returning the alter decorations to the woods; we tidied away any clue that we had been there and went on our ways back to the everyday world.
Saturday July 28, 2007:
In a brief window of sunshine in the veil of rain which has been deluging much of south and central England this last week or two, a group of us threaded our way through the trees on the heath, heading for a grassy clearing in which to do a public Lamas ritual. Around us, dogs and their owners gambled, bicyclists swished past and the parakeets called to each other noisily in the undulating trees. Beneath our feet, the grass, long and succulent cushioned us as we walked.
In a quiet green clearing, we dress the space and crated an alter of fruits of the woods. Rowen and blackberries, oak leaves and grass glittered in the shafting sunshine as we placed our sacred objects amongst them.
We were here to mark the turning of the year. Together, we brought our personal harvests and that of the land too. We shared our triumphs and challenges, offered thanks for the learning gained, and in sorrow and foreboding, acknowledged the enormity of the consequence of human behaviour upon the climate of the planet.
Sitting on a blanket on the soft grass, I tuned into the benevolent presence amongst the trees surrounding us. The grass, its smell delicately sour rose to meet me as my fingers played between its slim and feathery blades.
I spoke of my harvest of words, words that had allowed me to paint pictures of my journeys to meet the goddess. In allowing them to grow and shape themselves beneath my tapping fingers, I had found joy and a quiet soul’s rest.
Reaching into my pocket, I brought out the palm sized smooth stone I had picked up from my collection at the water shrine in my house. I stroked it thoughtfully as I spoke of how I had learned that grief cannot be shaken off at will but has to take it’s time and place, and how hard a lesson that had been for me. I spoke of my inner resolve to engage with all that might come to me from the death of my father, knowing that – no matter the turmoil of my mind, there was an inner core of rock solid strength that would preserve me. The stone symbolised for me that rock solid strength and the certainty that in perfect love and perfect truth, the Goddess was with me wherever I journeyed.
One by one, we shared our harvests and plans. We broke bread together in honour of Lugh the sun god, whose sun’s energy had gone into the grain and would sustain us till he came again at solstice. We called for healing of the earth and a return of balance and the life giving gift of water: and as we did so, a rabbit darted across the clearing.
We danced our wishes, sending energy in a cone of power up into the heavens. Feasting on the land’s bounty, we gave thanks for its ongoing nourishment. The sun moved round and the air began to cool. Returning the alter decorations to the woods; we tidied away any clue that we had been there and went on our ways back to the everyday world.
posted by Blackbirdowl | 2:16 AM
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