Seasons

the Gaian Tarot

Last summer, I began a handwritten journal to help me understand the relationship that I assumed existed between the seasons and my moods. It was a few weeks before Lúnasa and I hoped the journal would also be part of a spiritual journey within nature.

Each day I wrote about something I'd seen on a walk or in my yard.

Many mornings were filled with grace and calm. At the height of summer, I calmly accepted that the growing light would wake me before dawn and started each day gently. With the first light, I poured water into pie plates half buried in the ground, hoping to help more baby quails survive the dry desert. I tended frailer plants and put out sugar water for the hummingbirds and the bees. Then I walked my stone circle, calling the directions, speaking new words each day.

I thought about the seasons and the elements, I spent an evening with a shaman, I took short walks, I watched the hummingbird moths in the evenings, and tried not to dread the approach of winter. I wanted to see the world as clearly as a human can, without any veil of belief coming between us.

(My mind was still active and it had many questions. Most were about the stars. However, I discovered that I had become terrified of the night and could not stay outside to watch them. I had dreams of traveling in space, unwillingly steering my ship away from stars and civilizations toward dark, starless regions that terrified me.)

Wheel of the Year Spread

I did not lose myself in nature as I had as an adolescent. I did not forget that I was the one seeing or smelling or hearing. I knew who was watching the clouds on the horizon or listening to the birds, but I did absorb the season into my body.

During the nine days before Lúnasa, I attempted to distill what I'd learned of the season into a ritual. (A friend and I create rituals together and do them over the phone.)

As we approached winter, my experience of each day changed slightly. In mid-November, I found myself spending less of each day out in nature. Birds and bees had migrated, some bad news arrived, the weather became colder and the days darker. 

Within me, though, I found a reserve of sunlight.

Later, because I’d stayed almost entirely indoors for so long, I had no experiences with which to plan a Winter Solstice ritual. A different idea occurred to me when I noticed that the day of Solstice would not be the single shortest day of the year. Daylight would last nine hours and fifty-six minutes from December 18th until December 25th. I would let myself collapse into the "eight days of darkness." I did not hide from it. I embraced the dark. And on December 26th, winter ended for me. I was able to see how close we were to summer.

This was partly a matter of perspective. It was also a reality. While much of the continent was experiencing unusually cold weather, we had an early summer. There were days in January when I worked in my yard wearing only jeans and a t-shirt.

Imbolc Fire

I still did not renew my relationship to the world outside my doors, and so there was no shape or meaning to the nine days preceding Imbolc. What would I do?

According to a stellar calendar, Imbolc occurred yesterday, February 3rd, at 14:55 MST. It was cloudy and quite cold in the morning when I took a walk. I still wondered what I could do to mark the day.

I lit a candle and spent the night wondering about the future.

http://toshevetmidbar.blogspot.co.il/2014/02/seasons_54.html

2/4/14, 1:42 PM
Mountain Standard Time