May the return of the Sun bring joy and comfort to your hearts. Many blessings to you all…
I had the opportunity on Friday to celebrate the Gemini Full Moon (or the Cold Moon) with a great group of people. It was an evening filled with prose, song, laughter, beauty and a sense honesty and intimacy that in my experience only a few groups truly share (though many struggle to create.)
Despite the fact that the circle was magical, the setting was less than inspirational. The venue had a number of other groups that night and we were relegated to a vacant classroom; stacking preschool sized tables and chairs out of the way, turning off the lights and desperately encouraging ambiance by sitting in a circle on the floor surrounded by a number of halfhearted, guttering candles.
It got me thinking about the idea of sacred space. What is sacred space and how does it come into being? Many theologians say that one of the most important elements of religion (or spiritual path) is sacred space how it is identified and how it is created. There are, however, innumerable perspectives on what exactly qualifies something as sacred space. For the sake of this discussion, we’ll say that sacred space is any location that is “apart” from the mundane that is dedicated for religious or spiritual activities, or invokes some sort of communion with the Divine. (Of the two the second is my preference – anyone can create sacred space through ritual, prayer and faith, but to discover a place of mysticism and Divine energy that just spontaneously exists is a miraculous treat!)
As an advocate of a Universal Divine, I certainly believe with the appropriate intent anywhere can be transformed into a place of Divinity and glory. Perhaps these settings do not hold the mystery for much longer than it takes to perform our rites, but even an empty classroom can be a place of power for a time. I also believe that if the power is awakened repeatedly in these commonplace areas, a residual sense of mystery will remain, transforming them into permanent sacred space over time. (This explains the longstanding reverence of old churches and sacred wells – the repeated petitions, prayers and rites leave an incontrovertible impression of faith, hope and Divine love in these places which were made by the hand of man.)
Then there are the places that you walk through and are immediately struck by their innate power. Whether it is a church or a forest grove, a ring of standing stones or a solitary tree these kinds of places are denominationally impartial, but spiritually rich. I do not mean to say that these locations cannot have connection to any named doctrine, but merely that you need not follow the particular path to feel the spiritual energy that resides there. I have been in churches that have power to inspire me with awe and reverence, despite the fact that I do not follow their specific doctrines. I’ve known churchgoers to come across a lone monolithic willow that embodies the Divine, emanating her joy and love to those who dare to open their hearts to her.
Once I walked rather indifferently into a small clearing I had passed through many times before and was rooted to the spot by the unpredicted, palpable Divine energy. Perhaps it was the play of light through the trees just at that unrepeatable instant, for despite many return visits the sensation was never recreated in such intensity. Was the space scared only for that brief moment? Or was I only receptive that day? (Going back to my theory of Universal Divine, I would have to support the latter theory.)
Whether it is created or found, sacred space is filled with wonder and mystery. It holds a poignant connection to the Divine and creates a venue for peace and joy to flow into our hearts. Without dedicated sacred space our most sanctified rites would feel somehow uninspiring and commonplace. It allows us to remove the fetters of everyday experience and look beyond into the measureless grandeur of the universe.
Walk with wisdom, from this sacred place
Walk not in sorrow, our roots shall e’er embrace
Let strength be your brother, and honor be your friend
And luck may be your lover, until we meet again.
‘Tis the season… The season of what, exactly?
I no longer celebrate Christmas. This is partially for religious reasons – although it can be reasonably argued that many modern Christmas traditions were based (or blatantly usurped) on a variety of Pagan customs. A persuasive case can also be made that Christmas is no longer a truly religious holiday, but has been widely mutated into a commercialized, secular one.
Religious holiday or not, the thing that has severely turned me off as of late is the amount of waste generated by “The Season.”
The first thing one notices in my town is Edward’s Street. Each home for an entire block is lit with innumerable lights, starting the day after Thanksgiving and running through New Year’s. The illumination is bright enough to read by and it doesn’t end there. Bathed in the garish, colored, flashing lights are dozens of blow up Santas, Homers, Grinches, mechanical reindeer and six foot tall snow globes all making the electric meters spin in crazed unison. The power draw is so significant that anyone on Edwards Street who decorates gets a discount on their December electric bill. In a climate where experts are saying we are experiencing an energy crisis, all this extra lighting seems improvident to me.
I won’t risk the wrath of a consumer driven society by saying that holiday gift giving is profligate, but how many bits of plastic do we need to buy in order to show our families and friends that we love them? Growing up Catholic I was told that three gifts were good enough for baby Jesus so three gifts were good enough for me. My parents are in the minority though, and all those millions of gifts need to be wrapped. Gold, and red, and green, the paper and ribbons are ripped from the packages without much notice in the frenzy of opening and promptly discarded, only to eventually find their way to landfill. Bye-bye to thousands of trees all for a moment of pretty packaging that no one actually appreciates or remembers. (Often our homemade/garden grown gifts are wrapped in tea towels or scrap cloth – they are pretty, functional and reusable!)
Speaking of trees – what’s environmentally responsible about cutting down a perfectly good evergreen tree, propping it up in the house, covering it with more lights and more bits of gleaming plastic, and then tossing it out on the curb in three weeks? At least when we had goats we were able to pick up the leftover trees – the goats and sheep loved to nibble off the scrumptious green needles like children gobbling ice cream. Our neighbors were kind enough to do without the tinsel & spray snow at our request, as they are not very advantageous to goat/sheep digestion. Later the naked limbs and trunks fueled our winter bonfires; warming sliders and unsuspecting victims of spontaneous snowball wars.
And don’t forget the overindulgence in holiday food. I’m not advocating ceasing the flow of holiday treats all together, goodness no! (Especially since we love to eat at my house!) However, at nearly every holiday gathering I’ve attended or hosted, there is an excess of food far beyond the guests’ abilities to consume. Statistically nearly half of the leftovers get thrown away, while 33 million people in America will go hungry this holiday.*
Finally, there is a prevailing “over the river to Grandmother’s house” mentality. It seems like all people do is traipse around during the holidays; consuming copious quantities of gas running from store to store to find the perfect gift. No one has bothered to make a list; no one has even given it much thought, although everyone is sure they’ll know the unrivaled, perfect gift when they see it. (Even though it wasn’t in the last 20 stores they looked.) Then there are all the parties and visiting to attend to. Before we know it we’re running around in a frenzy, barely enjoying the people we are seeing just so that we can make the next venue on time. So much for the joy of friends and family…
So call me a Grinch, I don’t care. I just can’t be a party to such squandering activates. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against the occasional indulgence, (in fact I believe it is an emotional necessity!) but an entire month of environmentally negligent behavior is repulsive to me….
Instead – on the Winter Solstice close friends as well as strangers will gather for one evening; candles will be lit; voices will join together in unity – lifted in song and prayer; we will share company and food, then go home with smiles on our faces and love in our hearts. What more can one ask?
Tonight is the Full Moon in Taurus – a celebration of the senses, a time to enjoy earthly pleasures and attune to the primal, material plane. This full Moon inspires actions that bring about solidity and comfort, both physical and emotional. Taurus stabilizes lunar moodiness that we often experience so we can get things done in a calm, grounded, steadfast way.
The challenge with this full moon is to move beyond our comfort zone in order to attain our desires. The stubbornness and potential laziness of the Taurean energy can sometimes make us expect to have things turn up in our lap. We have the potential to obtain what we desire most if we are willing to put in some effort and dedication. Vast stamina is possible with the help of Taurus, so it can be used to help see a difficult situation through to the end.
This is an apropos Full Moon for our paths right now – Glenn & I are ready to make a significant material change in the way of a new farm. The goal is to find a place that allows us to make a better partnership with the land; where we, as good stewards, can provide for ourselves both physically and spiritually. We have found several new home opportunities that appeared fantastic on the surface, but turned out to be unsuitable or unattainable. Perhaps the Taurus energy will help us persevere in the search…
Joyous Esbat to you all!
PS As a random aside – according the Farmer’s Almanac, any clothes washed for the first time under a Full Moon will not last. So take the day off from doing the laundry – you deserve it! Heehee!
I am relieved that this election is finally over. I am comforted by the fact that I no longer run the risk of snapping completely and running over street corner activists, revving the engine and cackling in maniacal glee. The streets still have the look of yesterday’s tickertape parade – countless rectangular banners, still raggedly supplicating my vote in a rainbow of plastic highway rubbish. (Which they will do again, when the snow banks subside in the Spring – slowly popping up like angular flowers in the guise of forgotten political propaganda – aka trash.)
The TV and radio commercials have ended (almost), the countless debates have come to tremulous conclusion, and no one is extolling the merits of their candidate of choice in attempt to sway my mind (as well as my powerful white collar, female vote.) However, I am resigned to the fact that the great American institution of complaining has already begun. In fact, I’m pretty sure that it has become traditional to serve a side dish of sanctimonious judgment, as well as contemptuous dissent at Thanksgiving dinner. (Extra helpings served on an election year, thank you very much.)
The whole affair reminds me of a magnificent song by a band I enjoy immensely for their intense, harmonic vocals, as well as their humor and wit…
Excerpt from “Gulf War Song” by Moxy Fruvous
“What makes a person so poisonous righteous
That they’d think less of anyone who just disagreed?
She’s just a pacifist, he’s just a patriot
If I said you were crazy, would you have to fight me?
Fighters for liberty, fighters for power
Fighters for longer turns in the shower
Don’t tell me I can’t fight, ’cause I’ll punch out your lights
And history seems to agree that I would fight you for me“
–
Harm None
Be True
Live Harmoniously
Last night was a beautiful full moon. The weather couldn’t have been better – not too warm for a fire, not too cold to be uncomfortable.
We spend an evening using the energies of the full moon to work on relationships, strengthening our connections to the world. It was neat that we had some old friends that we hadn’t seen in ages join us – one that we hadn’t seen in almost a year! It was like we drew them towards us as the ritual was written!
Glenn wrote this ritual, since he’s been at home more than me lately. It was kind of nice to relinquish the reigns a little. I didn’t have to do anything but participate – we had enough others to call the Quarters and stuff, so I really got to be just part of the congregation, which I do not get to do much in any group. I prefer to help write and present, but sometimes it is nice to just let go and be a part!
Hoping you all were touched by the energy last night – it was truly beautiful!
Yesterday afternoon Hubby & I had a big day planned. We had pumpkin butter to can, apple cider jelly to make, bread to make, as well as a fancy Swiss chard/Parmesan dip that we were planning on taking to a dinner party that evening, accompanied by home made crustini.
The bread was started and left to rise in the living room, which is the warmest part of our house. Next was the pumpkin butter. This was deliberated on for a while – we had some Internet sources that said pumpkin could be canned in a hot water bath, however both my Ball Blue Book and my Home Canning (A Sunset Book) say that pumpkin should be pressure canned. Since “Home Canning” is my go to canning reference and the “Blue Book” is the have-all-end-all authority, we lugged out the pressure canner.
A side note about the canner – Our pressure canner is 12 qts and is nearly as old as I am. It belonged to Glenn’s mom and has been canning faithfully, year in and year out. It has seen more jars that you and I can even imagine and has preserved food for two generations and Glenn & I have always been happy to have it and put it to good use. Not only are we glad to have escaped the expense of a large pressure canner, but every time we used it there was a feeling of family tradition.
We haven’t used the pressure canner this season – partially because it is a lot less work to blanch and freeze where you are able, and partially because the things that really need to be pressure canned (like green beans) didn’t do as well this summer. But Glenn had greased & checked the seal a week or so ago and we were ready to go.
We decided to use the small 4 oz jelly jars for the pumpkin butter; we’d already done pear & apple butter as well as some jellies in this size, so figured we’d continue the trend and have a nice assortment for holiday gift giving. A 12 qt canner holds 24 jars of this size with ease; we were even able to toss in the 1/2 pint jar with the leftovers. We popped her on the stove and turned on the heat.
The way the canner works is that once steam starts coming out the vent, you allow it to vent for 10 minutes before putting on the weight and allowing the pressure to build. Since that whole process takes 15-20 minutes, I was able to start the apple jelly. Then we popped on the weight and monitored – we needed to achieve 10 pounds.
At 5 pounds a bomb went off in the kitchen; a 12 qt bomb, loaded with glass shrapnel and superheated pumpkin puree. There were a few moments of confusion and then my hubby who doesn’t lose his head in a crisis, got us into the bathroom, out of the pumpkin covered clothes (that were still burning us) and quickly into a cool shower to stop the burning and rinse off the glass shards.
Needless to say the was a few moments of shock. Glenn received 2nd degree burns on the back of his neck and one arm; I escaped with very minor splatters. We both had minor lacerations, but nothing very serious. Despite being within two feet of our canner bomb when it went off, we were very lucky. Glenn would have been much worse off, but he had just turned away to do a plate test on the jelly and saved his face and eyes from serious damage.
The cat was less than pleased. She was lucky too – covered in pumpkin goo, but her thick fur kept her from being burned.
Nurse Mom came down and doctored us up and we spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning. I cannot even describe the mess – pumpkin on the walls, floor & ceiling. Glass shrapnel everywhere. There was mess in places that mess should never find (the inside of shoes, under cabinets, in other rooms!)
The metal locks had failed and there were shards of metal mixed in with the glass as well! The ceiling had dents where the buckshot jars ricocheted off it and the top to the canner landed in the dining room – 12 feet away from the stovetop. We had to throw away the apple cider jelly because that was filled with glass too.
Moral of the story? Get you pressure canners checked evey year. UNH Extension service will do them here in NH (it used to be free for there may now be a small fee.) I expect any extension service does it, or can tell you where to get it done. Glenn & I were very lucky, but it could have been much worse. We knew we should have gotten ours tested, especially since it was so old, but never got around to it.
Of course, this won’t deter us from pressure canning. We’ll save our pennies for a new one. There is no reason to be afraid of such a useful tool; but respect and safety first!
Next time Glenn wants the kitchen cleaned from tip to toe… I told him he should just ask!
No, this is not a post about the evils of Monsanto, so don’t get me started.
I’m trying my hand at seed saving this year, partially because I think it is a handy skill for independence in the face of a frightening food economy, partially because I am just curious. The most compelling reason though, is that I am drawn to following the complete life cycle, not just the buy-plant-harvest-till-buy again cycle that proves that even something as natural as growing food is subject to our consumer driver society.
I’m starting small – at the moment I have pumpkin seeds drying (on a screen for 3 weeks – no shortcutting!), a few green beans, and tomatoes. Let me tell you, simulating the natural life cycle of a tomato seed is stinky business. You have to let the seeds & tomato “goo” ferment for a few days, which replicates the fruit falling off the plant and rotting on the ground. The “fermentation” cues to the seed to harden off, creating it’s protective coat against winter’s chill.
I still have to harvest dill seed and coriander, both which go brown and dry on the living plant. I should have enough to use as spices as well as to save for next year’s planting. My biggest excitement is the rutabagas that developed small yellow flowers towards the end of the summer and are now covered with dry little seeds pods, looking like long and narrow needles. They burst open at the touch and drop out dozens of tiny little seeds – I’ll need to bring a bucket to catch them!
Between the seeds left over from planting and the ones that I’ve harvested there is going to be very little need to purchasing seeds in the Spring. Oh, I know, that won’t stop me since one of my greatest joys is when the seed catalogs start arriving – the glossy pictures promising a rainbow of delectable treats is a huge temptation for me!
I plan to move my seeds to the freezer when the (really) cold weather comes. I’ve been told that it imitates nature, providing the dormant, sleepy winter stage and provides for better germination.
Nighty night my little ones! See you in the Spring!
I had the “no pants” dream the night before last. I was at a work, we were all going to some sort of continuing ed lecture together and the only person that seems to care that I was completely naked from the waist down was me. Apparently this is a common dream and it often interpreted that either A – you feel you have lost control in your life or B – you’re searching for your inner self (so supposedly clothes define you?)
I don’t necessarily take stock in either of these definitions…
Really the thing that I found the most interesting was the design of the dream itself. I usually dream more abstractly, in texture, emotion, and disjointed action & imagery so the storyline stream was just a little strange.
Interesting.
All life exists at the cost of other life. The omnivorous lifestyle that humans are genetically predisposed to requires the sacrifice of animal life. Those who choose vegetarianism consume life in the form of plants.
We are all killers, every day. Assuming that our immune system is working properly, it puts down countless bacterial, microbial and viral rebellions on a daily basis. Spreading antibacterial cream on a scraped knee kills off thousands of lifeforms. Just taking a walk through a field we step on insects and destroy wildlife homes, unconsciously ripping down spider webs and disturbing grass nests.
Animal, vegetable, microbial, they are all part of the universal Divine and deserving of respect. We often forget or even dismiss the smaller lifeforms as insignificant, however they are no less Divine than the primal wolf or majestic jungle cat. In order to survive, we cannot avoid the death-for-life cycle but long as we do not kill gratuitously, and remain aware and grateful, it is all part of the natural order.
We’ve been losing chickens. It is unusual, as we have had a pretty good relationship with the farm predators up until now – the coyotes have been excellent and respectful companions for years. Saturday night we decided to gather up our feathered friends and confine them together; freedom sacrificed in the face of complete annihilation. As we came into the barn, we caught the culprit red-handed. (Or was it red tailed?) A reasonably good sized red fox with a fantastic black tail scurried down the run way and out of sight! Bold!
We sequestered the chickens and guinea hens and called it a night.
The next day, it was discovered where the fox was living. I’m almost embarrassed to say it, but he had created a nice cozy den in an old abandoned dog house that was at the far end of our indoor riding arena! Oh the irony.
Sadly the little guy has to go. He’s not agreeing to the rules of the farm and there may be the chance of rabies, as we saw him strolling across the field without a care in the world in the middle of Sunday afternoon. Even if it was just a case of insomnia, he still has to go. Again life begets life and the chickens are supposed to be a food source for the hominids on the farm, not the vulpes.
Since we cannot afford the significant road trip it would take to relocate such a ranged creature and there is the risk of rabies, we really have no choice. Killers to the end, we can at least make it painless and respectful.
It doesn’t bother me as much as some I know. People forget that Nature isn’t pacifistic, or even reasonably gentle. However, it isn’t cruel or sadistic either. We take our cues from the world around us, survive the best we can, and do it with as much veneration as possible. We take a balanced place in Nature…
”Nature, red in tooth and claw” Tennyson
