SeaHeart

The silk scarf was long and purple, soft and warm. I wrapped it around my shoulders and sunk down into the well-worn pew with a deep sense of grace. Grace that was filled with joy and community, hope and love, purpose and reverence. It was Ostara, and together at Diana's Grove, we were about to open the gates to the season and welcome in spring.

I looked at each one of the seventeen women I had been blessed to share sisterhood and community with for that handful of days. It was intimate and personal, friendship-forming and deep magic to be around such a small number of world changers and witches. There was A, only twelve years old, shy yet impish; there was J who had shared animated conversations with me about the magic and witchery of writing. There was M who had inspired me so greatly, had made me laugh until my sides hurt. P, who I idolized, one of the greatest tarot experts I'd ever met. And, of course, Rachel, who made the weekend magic, eyes shining as she stood in the circle. In this circle, we were endlessly connected as we rose and danced in the beginnings.

I had been chosen (by a small slip of paper in a goblet) to be an invoker of Air, along with a few other amazing women. We had met for ritual conspiracy and had talked about what air meant to us, and what we would like to bring to the ritual. In Diana's Grove, ritual is community created, so we would all of us have a part. "These are our prayers and promises to Air," we began, as we moved among the women: "to grow, to flower and to fly. What promises do you give air?" The element moved among us as each cried out a promise and a prayer. To be inspired, to be loved, to be courageous...together, always together, we were drawn deeper down into the circle.

"You are the seed," Cynthea began as we settled down, into our seats, hearts beating quick with the invocation. "And when a seed begins to grow, it unfurls in darkness." She moved slowly as P picked up the drum, beating out the quietest of trance rhythms. "It reaches and it stretches and it grows...in darkness. It takes such courage to be that seed, before we break through, before we grow into the air...and what will we find when we get there? It takes such courage to grow into snow, into harsh cold, to be the first, or perhaps the hundredth. You are that seed."

My heart unfurled, like that seed, as she wove her words, as truths spilled out into my spirit. I felt every woman in the room, every heart, beating, beating, beating, like the drum. And, suddenly, there was light behind my eyes. I opened them, and in the center of the circle was a cauldron, flames leaping high.

"The sun welcomes you," said Cynthea quietly.

We rose and sang the chant, the chant of courage and connection, one to the other, and lit a candle each from the cauldron. Together, we exchanged candles, going from woman to woman as we sang. The song grew louder and louder as the words morphed into the truest and deepest of secrets: "She changes everything She touches, everything She touches changes!"

And then...and then...and then...candles flickering, faces shining, hearts upheld and connected, we finished the song, we basked in the light--we brought in spring.

What did I take from Diana's Grove? Who am I, afterward? After the ritual, I sat down in the Great Room, watching the candles flicker, too heart-full to move. J came and sat down next to me and we watched the light in companionable silence for a moment. Until I said: "You live here. I can't imagine that. One week of this, and I would be a completely different person."

She turned to me, looked deep into my eyes, and--her voice catching--said: "No...you've spent two days here, and already you're a completely different person."

And it was true.

I will not and can not forget those sacred moments. The storytelling on Friday night, as we all told the stories of the elements, and M grabbed my hand and together we walked into the center of the circle and told the story of Air. Walking the land with Rachel, laughing and crying together as we made sense of so much and learned our own truths (or, perhaps, relearned them). Finding the paths we both needed to take. Having her always be there for me, her friendship, her laughter, her kindness, her goodness and her strength. Sharing that ritual space with her, and feeling our sisterhood deepen, if that was even possible.

Playing with the dogs who make up the dog rescue portion of Diana's Grove. Finding favorites and learning their names and their favorite itchy spots. No matter where you are or where you're going, always having that canine companion. There was Percy, the Great Pyrenees, who didn't want me to go so held on to my shawl with his great jaws. There was Holly, the little Labrador baby, who followed us everywhere, a self effacing beauty. There was Abby, the pushy little Australian Cattle Dog who stayed under our cabin, soaking in the rain all night, because she wanted to be with us so much. There was Angel, the Collie who loved people but not-so-much on the pup front. There was Red Jack, the Pitbull, who made me cry when I hugged him because he reminded me so much of Beethoven...and I found peace through him. There was Georgia, the ancient hound dog, who was constantly happy, no matter what. There were countless more, whose names I never learned, but loved all the same, our guardians, our companions, our friends.

The writing workshop on Saturday morning, the tarot meeting on Sunday morning, the draws of cards, the conversations, the connections. S had put bunny playing cards with singular words or phrases all around the property, urging us to find them as a form of divination. Each one was a treasure.

The freezing cold water of the little river through Diana's Grove, rushing over my aching feet. The moment where I knelt down, heart overwhelmed in Brigid's Grove as my fingers traced the old broken statues and the bits of glass (last year, vandals broke into the Grove and trashed Brigid's Grove, smashing the statues and the well. They rebuilt it from the rubble, using the rubble, and within that was such sacredness...that you are never truly broken). Watching the daffodils push up through the earth, into the light...being those seeds.

That life changing conversation that Rachel and I had, after the ritual on Saturday, long into the night. And that promise to be that mirror for each other, always.

I am changed, and my life has changed. On Sunday morning, as we passed the round glass sphere, one to the other, to explain how we felt, what we would take from the Grove, I listened to the others relate the magic and their own truths, and felt the joy and companionship move from each one of us to the other. And as I held the warm glass in my hands, I said: "Diana's Grove reminded me to be outrageous, to be courageous, to be phenomenal. Because I am beautiful, and I am powerful, and I am that seed. And I have never felt that stronger than here." And looking around at the women who had made that weekend beautiful and sacred, I felt my heart overflow, felt it grow, felt it blossom. And I passed the glass on to A, who smiled shyly at me, and promised to remember to be magic.

We all are.


All pictures taken by Rachel~ <3

( More here... )

I haven't logged into my email all week, and just now I did...thank you so, so much for all of your kind wishes and sympathies and things that made me smile and your love. You're wonderful, and I love you, and all this love can only make the world a better place, right? I believe it so very much~ Thank you.

I'm going to be in Missouri this weekend for Diana's Grove's Women's Spring Equinox with Rachel (songtoisis), something I've been looking forward to for months. That it's coming now, on the heels of everything...well, the universe could not have planned it better, I think. The last time I went to Diana's Grove, the year of my wedding, I was so uncertain of what to expect, but I went with my heart open, excited and expectant and searching. Now, I come to the land with absolutely nothing...no expectations, no hopes or yearnings. I am nothing but a seed right now, at this exact moment, and I'm simply waiting to see what shape the Grove helps me to grow into.

Persephone returns from her time in the Underworld on Saturday, Ostara, the first day of Spring. Together, we will celebrate that return, and we will see how the winter changed us.

I can not begin to articulate how wonderful Diana's Grove is, how beautiful the land is, how very much it touches you to be in consistent sacred space, planning your day around the daily rituals, to be in constant communion with the Goddess in such a tangible way.

Great Momma, thank you for seeing me through these past few weeks. It's been so hard, but You've been there, Goddess, with love and fire and compassion and kindness when I didn't think I could manage. You have so much faith in me and trust in me, and I'm so awed by that, constantly. You have more faith and trust in me than I sometimes have in myself. If You believe, then I certainly must. Thank You for this weekend, thank You for Rachel, thank You for our sisterhood and the amazing space of the Grove and for the incredible friends I've been blessed with. Thank You for my blessings, for my pains, for my courage and my triumphs and my failings. Thank You for every morning, every sunset, every moment that falls through my fingers or that I hold. Thank You for my wife, my rock, my star.

Thank You for vegan cupcakes and ridiculous jokes and the sense of relief that comes after crying.

Thank You.

On my daily calendar, there is the picture of a blonde child, holding a box of treasure. She looks down into it, smiling, as it sparkles in her hands. I feel like that's my message for this day, for every day, for the weekend, for the time in ritual, for the communion and the celebration and the beautiful sabbat of Ostara, almost my favorite: look for the beauty in the tiniest of things. That's always the lesson, the truth, the star to follow. Even in the darkest of days or the deepest of pains, there can be hope.

The world is about to awaken.

And, as always, so am I.

If you're a Witch, you're never done. You will never stop learning or growing or becoming or evolving or changing or transforming or loving or caring or serving or being. There's so much comfort in that. You are never done. We were asked to stop, like Persephone, and look at the flowers behind us, acknowledge what we've accomplished, the people we've touched, the love we've spread. I did. I have. But I also look to all those flowers left unplanted.

Acknowledging that I am a Priestess changed my life in the tiniest and largest of ways. It broke me apart and remade me and showed me the truth of the matter. I want to be love, I want to serve, I want to change things and help and heal and give and grow. I want, more than anything, to be that embodiment of the Goddess here on Earth, to give that love to those who need it...to simply be love. And with those deeper realizations and wants and knowings, I was split apart and remade to hold it all, it seems.

The circle comes round again, back to the beginning.

And it always begins with seeds.

~*~

Oh yes, it's true then that life is good,
and I've learned the lesson it can teach:

To know the daylight you must know dark,
to know the flowers you must know weeds;
you cannot meet again unless you part,
or eat a pomegranate without seeds.

~ from "Demeter's Daughter" by Anne Lister

Jenn and I love animals. Lots. You know, like you couldn't possibly tell. XD They're the focus and focal of our lives, we love our own as our children (because they are), but we love all animals, too. The reason I'm vegan, and the reason Jenn is vegetarian is summarized best here:

The animal shall not be measured by man. In a world older and more complete than ours, they move finished and complete, gifted with extension of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. They are not brethren; they are not underlings; they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendor and travail of the earth. ~Henry Beston, The Outermost House, 1928

Everyone has "their thing" that makes them impassioned, that makes them angry or upset when they see hurt within it, or that moves them to want to do something, to want to make it better. For us, always, it has been animals. They are voiceless, they can not speak, can not articulate their great depth of spirit. But we hear that, and we see that, and that--above all else--moves us to act, to love, to cherish. It's the main reason Jenn and I came together in the very beginning, as friends--our great love for animals, and we continue along the same path we began, many years ago.

For Valentine's Day, we wanted to give of ourselves to each other in a new way. We wanted to honor that part of each other that cherishes animals...one of the many reasons we love one another. We'd spoken of volunteering together for a very long time, but had been too busy or had missed opportunities. The universe wasn't ready yet...until Saturday. I'd made arrangements with the Wyoming County SPCA, a wonderful no-kill shelter that specializes in cats (HAH.), to arrive bright and early on Saturday, and work for about three to four hours doing whatever they needed done. They totally forgot we were coming, but bright and early Saturday morning, we stood in the doorway of...of...

Jenn and I talked about it over the weekend, how we could possibly write about our experience and make it plausible and possible and not sound, you know, unendingly disgusting. XDDDDDDD So, this is the nice, totally PC version that you're about to read. Because, you know, I love you. XDDDDDDD

Do you know what three hundred and eighty cats looks like? Yeah. I didn't, either. I mean...I'd been to this shelter before, YEARS ago. But they didn't have three hundred and eighty cats back then. They had like...two hundred, all in cages. Like a normal shelter. But the WCSPCA is not a normal shelter anymore. Let me tell ya.

Three hundred and eighty cats, all out of cages, covering every inch of the floor, sounds like a science fiction epic (The Cat Ladies Take Over AMERICA), but it's real. Three hundred and eighty cats sort-of paying attention to you (if they love/hate you), or totally ignoring you, living in relative harmony (THIS IS POSSIBLE!!! I WOULD NEVER HAVE BELIEVED IT'S POSSIBLE!!!), and looking fluffy and cute or bony and angry or bloody and in need of help or totally healthy, or with three legs or with seven toes or with one blue eye and one green eye, or, or, or...every possible combination of cat possible in this solar system was present and accounted for in that animal shelter. And every single one of them needed something, though they didn't know it, some of them wondering why the heck they'd ended up here. But there they were.

The manager, M., hadn't been told we were coming, but was just really, really happy to see us. "We don't get volunteers often," she said, and led us down to the basement, "they get too overwhelmed, and don't come back. You won't come back," she said with a sad smile. Then, she proceeded to take case after case after case of canned cat food out of a bunker. "See these?" she said, plunking them on a pallet on the floor. "You have to open up each of the little cans, scoop out the food, put it in a big vat, stir, feed the cats. Because we have so many cats, and no volunteers, they never get canned food. They really LIKE canned food. If you didn't come and do this, they wouldn't get it." She took about sixty cases out of the bunker, and then proceeded to explain how to open the cans inside of them. Because the plastic Fancy Feast ones have this tear off top that you need to be the Hulk to get into. And you, you know, have to open about five hundred of them because they're so tiny. And the Pro Plan ones need the labels taken off, because they recycle the cans... and, and, and...

We got there at eleven o'clock in the morning. We left at five thirty, sore, bruised, and smelling like fish. We'd opened hundreds of tiny cans (countless, really), had prepared vats and vats and vats of mushy, disgusting food, and then got the delight of our lives when we actually fed them. We played with the cats who came down to see us and love on us as we opened the cans, we played with one of the two dogs that they still have at the shelter (sadly, the other is untouchable ;-;), Claire...who is just the sweetest, saddest most pathetic dog I've ever seen. If I hadn't held her and loved on her, I'd be crying writing this. Apparently, because she's a submissive pee-er, the woman who had her before thought she was a bit too much, and AFTER OWNING HER FOR EIGHT YEARS, gave her to the SPCA, because she couldn't handle it. Peeing. Christ.

After everything, we poured the vats into smaller vats, and began to slowly carry them upstairs. You know how cats are when you feed them wet food? "Mrow, mrow, mrow, OH GODS I LOVE YOU PLEASE GIVE IT NOW?" Yeah... three hundred and eighty cats, all at the screen door, kind of like a really fuzzy, really adorable plague, came and swarmed us as we were coming up the stairs. We had to do the "kitty shuffle" to get to places where we could actually set them down. Several trips up and down, and there were still cats who couldn't reach the vats, or who were turned away by the pecking order. We loved on as many of these as we could, carrying them about on our breasts like fuzzy pirate parrots. It was so overwhelming, and the whole time I kept thinking...this is too much. We've done nothing. These cats need so much, and we're just done the tiniest drop in the bucket...but Jenn kept reminding me to stay in the moment. That in that moment, the cat with the listing head, who can't keep her ears on straight, whose eyes are so crossed that she will NEVER be adopted, came forward, swaying and staggering, and was in that tiny moment happy. That...that was enough, and it had to be enough. I held a kitten over my heart, as it pressed its face against my chin again and again, purring so loudly that it could have joined a rock band. And the little black cat that reached up for me, with his paws, desperate for affection. And the fluffy orange and white tabby that wanted to live in Jenn's arms. And the fat gray and white cat that followed us around chirping...

There is so much need in this world, so much hurt and harm. So many reminders that we, as human beings, can be ten times worse than animals. But they forgive us. What happened to that one, to that one, to that one? Why did that one cower away from me, fear making her eyes so big? Why did that one want my fingers on his fur, begging and desperate? "What happened to you, little one?" I kept saying, crying.

The Goddess came through, then. She knew. She knew what it was doing to me, and all of the pain I was feeling, made magnified. And I knew, as I was doing these tasks, and holding them, and loving them as much as was possible, that I was Her. That I was doing what I needed to do, that I was Her daughter, and look at the bright birthrite given to me... That for those tiny moments, there was suffering eased, if even in the tiniest ways, and that what happened before, and what will happen after didn't matter. Because it was this moment, and in this moment, they were fed, and they were warm, and they were loved.

I've never felt Her come through stronger than in those moments. All acts of Love and Pleasure are My rituals, She whispered as a little kitten snuggled down in my arms, eyes blinking sleepily. I never felt the truth of that as much as I did then.

This work is the set beginning of my Priestessing work. A Priestess doesn't simply lead rituals and prayers...a Priestess personifies the Goddess, and does what she is most compelled to do, and does what she believes the Goddess wants her to do. And this, my dear friends, is the beginning of that. I've done it before, but not with the intent of offering. Doing work, through love, to me is the best way to priestess, the best offering I can give, from a heart of love.

On the drive home, I looked at Jenn. We were worn out, starving, exhausted...we'd stayed hours over what we'd intended, but we accomplished something...something tiny, but still...something. And I held her hand, and began to cry, because you know what? This is the woman I married. This strong, incredibly and intensely compassionate, amazing, beautiful woman, who wanted to give of herself, like I did, to make Valentine's Day mean something even deeper than it already did.

I am so incredibly lucky. My gods. And in these beautiful blessings, I find that I am so filled with gratitude, that I must do something with it all...that these are, indeed, the Goddess' hands.

And yes, M.. We'll be back.

...in no particular order:

Florida
Our Florida pictures are on Flickr, Jenn posted about our trip here and Rachel posted about our vacation here, and every single time I try to write up a post, I draw a blank. I can't articulate it...I simply can't, and I'm going to stop trying. It was one of the most amazing sets of days of our lives. The magic, the purification and loving embrace of the ocean and our soul family...honestly, every single time I think of what was experienced, the ritual that Rachel and I had on the beach that full moon night...I begin to cry. I've written about it in my paper journal, and that's the record I'll keep, close to my heart. There are universal truths...if you are a witch, and you go the sea, everything changes, and you are healed, always, forever. Healed.



The Fairie Festival
Jenn and I have been going to the Spoutwood May Day Fairie Festival since 2004 (it's actually where I proposed to Jenn~ <3). In the beginning, it was a second honeymoon type thing for us. We simply cavorted on the land for three holy days and nights, and it was just us. Over time, we developed incredible friendships with some of the amazing people who go there or are a part of it, and then were able to introduce our friends to it, too. To us, it's still holy and sacred, but now we share it with those wonderful people who come with us, who are there, too...so it's evolved and changed from a honeymoon type atmosphere to one of love and community, and the circle comes around again. The more fairy magic in the world, I think, the better~ To those new on my friends list, I start posting about said fairy costuming MONTHS IN ADVANCE. Expect costuming posts in...oh say, a day or two. XD There is NOTHING better in the world than any excuse to wear fairy wings. Jenn and I talk about the Fairie Festival every day lately, knowing that it is the sentinel between winter and the beauty and bounty of spring...we CAN NOT WAIT!!!!!

Diana's Grove
I'm halfway through my second year of the Sisterhood of the Silver Branch, and...along with that spiritual work this year...I am lucky enough to experience Diana's Grove again. Diana's Grove was where I first met Rachel, actually, many years ago~ :) To be able to experience the land again, the sheer magick of it all...I am humbled and eternally grateful. This is the last year of Diana's Grove in this incarnation...and the perfect year is, of course, the story of Persephone. What is Diana's Grove, and why am I doing it? Diana's Grove is sacred community...it's myth within our lives. It's sacred land, it's sacred people...it's an experience that is once in a lifetime, and that I'm actually able to be there for the final year, working with my matron Goddess and Her journey...wow, wow, wow.

What Would You Give?
...The reason I brought it up now, instead of a post all of its own (of which there will be plenty this year), is because one of the questions asked of us in January's work really touched me, changed me...meant something to me, in Florida, and continues to here. Rachel and I were sitting on the beach, and we began to talk about this month's work, when she brought up a question I hadn't yet seen. Right now, we're dealing with the part of the myth of Persephone's disappearance (there's more to it than that, but I digress), and Demeter's reaction to it...including roaming the earth, weeping and searching for Her daughter. A question asked was this: if the Goddess, in Her guise as Demeter, came to you...how would you help Her...what would you give? The question shook me to my core, and immediately my heart rose up with a response, and there was so much more that was unearthed and came to fruition and showed me magic...On the beach, in the full moon, Rachel and I discussed it once again, and something else came to light. If you were in Demeter's shoes instead...wandering the earth, and you came to the Goddess' door...what would She give you? The paradox of it, the giving and receiving (especially the receiving), and all of the implications and the way the world has been shifting lately to bring these awarenesses to me...beautiful. I had to share that question with you. :) What are your own answers? And if the Goddess gave to you...do you love yourself enough, have compassion to yourself enough, to receive it?

I Am a Priestess
I keep writing things here, and then erasing them, because nothing holds the passion and joy and rampant tides in my own heart for what happened to change things on the beach that night, and why I now call myself a Priestess in my faith, to and for my Goddess. So we'll save that for another day~ <3