Don’t call Susun Weed that name, it’s reserved only to friends of long, long standing. Like thirty years. I’ve called her Weedie for a long time out of sheer affection for this wild woman who walks the green walk. Her place is near Woodstock, it’s set outside in the green rocky fields, trees and millions of singing frogs.
When she picks me up at the airport, after 12 hours of grueling transit, I am tired. Its usually late, she takes me for an hour drive and installs me in that little house in the Nettle Patch. It has turned into Tulip Patch of hot red and yellow flowers.
My room is decorated with just some flowers, a good bed, and there I can exhale at last.
As the night grows deeper I can hear the Leopard frogs begin their rehearsal. They just bring […]
Original post by Z Budapest and software by Elliott Back
Seasonal
Take my eyes off the computer, take back my feelings from watching the elections, put down my research materials, its spring time!
The main event in my front yard was the blooming pink flowers of the decoration plumb tree. She who enchants me every year by throwing pink petals in my path, falling from the tree like snowflakes.
My front yard is self-planted.
Some flowers are very imperialistically inclined. One spring there were just a few firepoker flowers, ill named for sure, they look more like orchids, in brick red. The next year they have colonized the entire front yard, and a year later they moved all the way down to the sidewalk.
I have noticed that my Morning Glories are also into expansion. I have planted one bush in the backyard to have something nice run up, on my aging old bamboo hedges. I watered […]
Original post by Z Budapest and software by Elliott Back
Seasonal
Dear Befana!
You are the spirit that brings the gifts of life, but you don’t live on the North Pole. You live in the Air, and fly a hefty broom. Salutations to you!
Before Sinta Klaas was adopted from the Dutch and made into Santa Clous, it was you who brought gifts to the children, sweets for the good, and you only knew good kids. Befana! Mother Befana! Granny Befana! The old year opened up her cornocopia, out poured the harvest, the grains, the fruits, the figs and the grapes, the wine, and the breads.
Then you flew off again to fill your apron with more goodies. It was you who bid grandmothers to cook and bake, create huge celebrations around food, which is the basis for all life. You promised continuity, you promised new years, you promised old age and longevity […]
Original post by Z Budapest and software by Elliott Back
Seasonal
Oh, how my heart jumps when I drive by the old neighborhood! Hollywood Blvd, Whitley Hill , up the the hill and there is my old apartment, number 1972, like the year I lived and loved there. Everything was such a miracle. The jasmine tree that had a branch reaching into my first lover’s apartment, and bloomed, we never closed the door. The jasmine caressed us as we made love in her bed on the floor. Nobody slept on real beds back then, mattresses on the floor was the way to go. I had become a woman there in that little apartment, a feminist in the first Women’s Center on Crenshaw, and a practicing witch with a coven. Ten years of solid service, 21 holydays a year, solstices and equinoxes and the high points in between plus the full moons. Every six weeks there […]
Original post by Z Budapest and software by Elliott Back
Seasonal
I loaded myself and two other women into the cramped space of my little truck and packed off for a drive deep into the heart of the redwood forest. The weather was warmer than it should be at the turning of the seasons, but Indian Summer had graced our night. The drive took over an hour and the going was very rough, on primitive roads nearly washed away by winter’s storms.Â
Bumpy and windy as it was, no one complained. We were all in good spirits and in full of anticipation for the full moon ritual we were about to cast as we drove deeper and deeper into the mystery of the forest. Finally, we found our destination.Â
We had come to the home of a dear circle sister who lived off the grid. That is the purest way to be in my way of thinking. Completely surrounded by national and state forest lands, her world will never be infringed upon by humans. To be deep into the heart of the land, and then suddenly see a wee farm show itself, was a magic unto its own existence.Â
Mother Moon was not yet showing herself above the forest’s treetops as we all greeted and hugged. It doesn’t take a gaggle of heathen women long to prepare a ritual space when they’re filled with moon energies. We could feel her coming, and we were excited to greet her at this turning of the wheel.Â
With the ritual space set, we gathered around and cast a circle. But I must say, in my way of thinking the circle was already cast for us by the forest. Really, all we were doing was calling up our ancient selves through the rote of ritual experience. The elementals were welcomed through the vibration of music … drum, flute and voice. Of course we sang, “She changes everything she touches….” How could you not sing that song when it is such a pregnant full moon?!Â
The September full moon is my most favorite of moons. It’s my holy of holies as moons go. She fills the night skies in such big and grand way that she cannot be denied her due.Â
With the circle cast, the elementals welcomed … we invited the energies of Hecate and Persephone to join us, and then we lit the fire just as Momma Moon peeked in on us over the tree tops.Â
With the moon is Aries, we gave voice to her counter-balance of Libra energies. To me it means the moon is dancing with us in all her glory, yet she holds the mystical gifts of great and abundant loving energies. It’s so in-your-face energies, and in such a wickedly good loving way.Â
What we did next was in my mind the best thing that women can do in circle, we began by passing a talking stick and each woman told her story of where she was at in her life, the influences that had brought her there and what she wanted to cast for on this moon. The warmth of the night airs held us as each women took at least a half hour to speak uninterrupted. Such an amazing gift we gave each other in the purity of being listen to in a complete and whole way. It is what all of us crave most in life, and on this night it was realized.Â
Such rich, full and detailed stories these women shared. Their human experiences stood in stark contrast to their spiritual needs. Always the issue is the blending of the two, and the deep desire to walk their own talk in their daily lives. I loved these women in that moment of timelessness for being the amazing souls they are … and my good fortune to have been witness to them showing their true selves. Such a blessing.Â
When we finished, the moon had risen fully into the night sky. We’d let the fire die down to embers because the moon was so brilliant, we needed nothing more to illuminate us. She cast a glow upon all the redwoods around us, and at times the forest was very active and at others, it was completely still. At one point, a small wind blew through our space … and only in our space, as the rest of the forest was quiet. I quietly welcomed the Fae, whispering to only one sister … “Here they are, here they come.” She smiled because she knew them too. I love the redwoods. I am always embraced by the beings that live there. It’s a good place for me to be authentic.Â
When the stories finished, we did a little magic to find our deeper selves and sculpt our lives to match our spiritual needs. We imbibed apples with our intentions, and like any good witch would do, we ate of the fruit. Saving the seeds, we dropped them into little pouches and tied them for a month’s worth of contemplation until the next full moon when we will release those seeds of change. I must say, those were wicked good apples too!Â
Apple cores cast to the embers, we opened the circle and enjoyed plenty of good food together to ground and prepare for the long trek off the mountain. But there again, the moon lead us safely down the dangerous path to the safety of our own beds.
Cerridwen SidhewolfÂ
Full Moon in Aries 0007
Dianic Faerie Faery Moon Musings Ritual Seasonal Wicca Womens Spituality
You know it’s Midsummer when my plum tree drops her fruits on the hot sidewalk. They land already ripe and roll away. Splash.
Walkers make a bee line to the other side, especially the ones dressed in white. My plum tree waits for those who have forgotten her, and if they step below her tree she drops on them plums and stains their clothes and head.
I often wonder what kind of people planned Oakland. The city is planted generously with these decorative plum trees. They bloom first thing in the spring and look wonderful. I guess this is the reason the early Outlanders planted so many of them.
Suddenly I have parking space in front of my house, because the stain takes the paint off the cars if they get blessed with a few plums.
My old car is used […]
Original post by Z Budapest and software by Elliott Back
Seasonal
The celebration and veneration of the dead was an ancient holy day in May called Lemuria. In our culture it has transformed into Memorial weekend, venerating the fallen. Either way they were given burnt offerings, much like barbeque ribs today. Celebrated with eating and drinking. Food was left out for the dead or the poor who walked by.
Since it was still not very warm, Zyna and I went to the Piedmont cemetery for our walk. There was action there. Motorcycle leather jacketed men roared up the quiet hill, in respectful single line.
All the military related graves had little flags fluttering in the wind. Under my most favorite tree, my Oak mama, where I usually pay my respects by singing and chanting into her mossy crotch, there was somebody else.
She was on ground, a young woman, her face covered with […]
Original post by Z Budapest and software by Elliott Back
Seasonal
