We get it on most every night,
When that moon is big and bright...
It's a supernatural delight,
Everybody's dancing in the moonlight!

Everybody here is out of sight--
They don't bark and they don't bite.
They keep things loose, they keep it tight.
Everybody's dancing in the moonlight.

Dancing in the moonlight!
Everybody's feeling warm and bright,
It's such a fine and natural sight--
Everybody's dancing in the moonlight!

~ "Dancing in the Moonlight" by King Harvest

~*~

I've been looking forward to tomorrow's Blue Moon for weeks~ A Blue Moon is the second full moon in a month...it doesn't sound so magical when put in those terms, but for a very long time, the folklore surrounding a blue moon has been just that--pure magic. The best part? It comes on New Year's Eve. AND it's a partial eclipse!! If a Pagan went shopping at the Grocery Store of Cosmic Delights, you couldn't hand pick something lovelier and more auspicious...all nestled at the cusp of the coming year~

I was driving into work this morning, sipping at my warm latte and catching glimpses of the new born sun as it slipped over the edge of horizon. Steam rose from my cup in that fractured sunlight when the radio almost smiled at me: one of my favorite songs came on: "Dancing in the Moonlight" by King Harvest. I really don't care who sees me when those first few notes start playing--I turn it as loud as it can go, sing along, wiggle in my seat and grin from ear to ear. It's probably the happiest song in existence...over the years, I've equated it to everything from witches to werewolves and all that lies in between, but in the end it's just a simple song, filled with joy. Everybody's feeling warm and bright, I sang, turning off my exit, it's such a fine and natural sight...

It's a fitting anthem for tomorrow--New Year's Eve. The significance we humans give that date is fierce...it's filled with anticipation and hope and everything is superstitious. Be with the one you love at midnight! Give out kisses, sing as loud as you can, hold hands, keep the dark at bay. It's quite similar to the Pagan ideas behind Christmas--a celebration in the dark for the light. But this isn't necessarily the light of the sun, but the light of a brand new year...

What wishes are you going to make tomorrow? If you're Pagan, have you given any thought to the magic you want to make? As for me, I'm tickled pink at the fact that it's a Blue Moon and a full moon, all on one of the most special days of the year...I've planned my magic, made my lists, gathered together the ingredients for love and joy, made miracles and just lovely things...all for the coming year.

Tomorrow morning, I'm going to drive to my favorite local coffee shop and set up my laptop. It's across the road from a Civil War era graveyard, and the monolithic trees and gently sloping crests of snow inspire me on any ordinary day...but this will be the new year's Eve, and as I bring out my laptop--all the usuals for a day of writing--there will be something special to the well worn ritual. As my fingers pause on the keys, getting my bearings, I'll sigh, breathing in the heady aroma of coffee and milk, sugar and snow...and then I'll begin writing. And perhaps I won't notice it, at the corner of my subconscious, this new year circling, these new wishes coming, these old magics swirling...but perhaps I will.

Because a few hours after that, I will be standing with my little sister in the cold, white meadow, hands linked as we make magic for the coming year, weaving a spell for her desires, and then beginning my own.

And that will be the perfect ending to a perfect year-long day, and when twilight comes (as twilight is wont to do), we will raise a glass in its honor. And our own.

I probably won't be updating tomorrow--so this is the last I'll "see" you before the new year. May it be filled with magic, inside and out--and I hope you find supernatural delight~


by missbrittt

You say grace before meals. All right.
But I say grace before the concert and the opera,
and grace before the play and pantomime,
and grace before I open a book,
and grace before sketching, painting,
swimming, fencing, boxing, walking,
playing, dancing
and grace before I dip the pen in the ink.

~ G. K. Chesterton:

~*~

The ideas of grace and gratitude, for me, are completely interchangeable. We say grace because we feel gratitude...we are grateful because we are filled with grace.

The dictionary has many various definitions for grace, so I'll just give you mine: that deep, free and infinite sense of love that fills your heart constantly and consistently. The knowing that you are held, that you are strong and holy and made of the same stuff as stars. That you are divine--by birth rite--and that you are both sacred and profane, immaculate and infinite and finite and so, so small...but part of something so much bigger.

I don't know about other Pagans...I can only speak for myself, but I know that my faith and my love for my Divine Mother fill and fuel me in a way that I could never possibly articulate. I believe that I am the Goddess' daughter, and as such, I live my life and pursue my passions with Her love transcending everything. I'll be kind to you because I see Her in you, too, and we're both brothers and sisters, aren't we? I'll love all animals because they're Her children, too. I'll be kind and gentle with the Earth because I can feel Her heartbeat here and there and there and there...and I will live in a state of constant awe and gratitude because of everything beautiful and ugly and lovely and sad and startlingly perfect and imperfect. Because I'm living grace, so I see it everywhere, and I want to spread it, too.

Like a born again, I hold out my faith to you and ask if you have it, if you're consumed by it. Oh, I'm not ridiculous...I know you're Buddhist and you're Christian and you're Druid and maybe you DO believe exactly as I do, but that's not why I'm here, and that's not the faith I'm holding out to you, both hands filled.

Here, I'm holding out gratitude.

I'm surrounded by grateful people, those who truly understand the point of it all, who start their days with a list of things they're grateful for, who don't just say it, but feel it...whose hearts are filled to bursting with the great sense of love and thankfulness. Not thankful to anything or one in particular...just...thankful.

It's not a new-agey-unicorn-hugging-tree-worshipping concept. From the earliest of recorded histories, human beings wrote down their gratitudes, and it can be assumed that they were filled with it long before they took chisel to rock. They were alive in a time that guaranteed nothing. They had food and water, and if they didn't, they had the ability to find it, and if they didn't, they had the stars. Stars were wonder-filled to earliest man. Imagine...imagine waking up and truly looking up at the sky, filled with light at the darkest of times, twinkling jewels that were constant. If they had nothing, they were still grateful.

You have iPods and cars and clean running water and food and jobs and money and parks and protein bars and fingerless gloves and coats and bikinis and stuffed animals and significant others and if you don't have any of these things or just some of these things, you still have the stars, you still have the land, and you still have each other.

You don't have to believe in anything, (though I wish you'd believe in something). You don't have to be religious, you don't have to be spiritual, and you certainly don't have to prescribe to any certain way of thinking to be grateful. You're not being grateful to anything...you're just being grateful. That first word is crucial.

"Saying grace" reminds us of that iconic Norman Rockwell painting, everyone's heads bowed, hands clasped. That's not how I say grace. I live it, I personify it. I smile at random strangers, I pet stray dogs, I give money to animal shelters, I volunteer, I'm Vegan, I listen to my friends, I love unconditionally...how do you live grace? What do you do to embody that gratitude, to become fueled by it so much that you simply can't sit idle...you have to, in some way give back. (I'd love to read in the comments some of the things you do that fill you~)

And that's the embodiment of "being grateful," after all. Saying grace is lovely, prayers are beautiful, and moments spent in divine conversation with your mother or father or really--whoever you believe in--are sacred things. But after it's all said and done, and there's still that gratitude in your heart, and you're itching with it, and you're consumed by its fire, and filled with love for your fellow man, or your fellow animal or perhaps--just perhaps--your fellow earth...you have to live grace, too.

The prayers that we say with our hands are often the strongest ones of all.

You don't have to open up a million dollar non profit or sit on a mountain and chant mantras until you don't have a voice left. I have amazing friends who make blankets for homeless pets, who collect pajamas for orphaned and abused children, who save their pop tabs to donate to their local food bank, who hand out dollar bills to the homeless or who simply give a hug when you really, really need it. I know people who write "you are beautiful" on changing room mirrors, who leave tiny fairy spells on park benches, who sneak sparkling bookmarks between the pages of library books, who write beautiful things on their blogs or simply post pictures of something lovely to give out a tiny ray of hope.

Gratitude and grace go hand in hand, though if you've not found something to be grateful for in a long time, it's sometimes hard to live that grace. Simply finding something to be grateful for can be a wonderful, positive thing...because that then, in the smallest of ways, changes your perceptions, and you've changed the tiniest bit, so then that changes another, and another...even a simple smile can change the world, whether you believe that now or not. I know a single smile changed me.

My greatest wish for the new year would be this: if you don't have gratitude, that you could find it. If you don't feel love, that you could feel it. If you feel rejected and dejected and sad and lonely and listless and at the bottom of the deepest, darkest well with nothing and no one to be grateful for...to know that there are always openings to wells, and always doors to dark rooms, and that there is always, always, always hope.

There is a new year, all wrapped up with fresh tape and a bow, and it's sitting on your living room table. You approach the large box with a mixture of...what. Joy? Expectancy? Relief? Dread? Hope? Yearning? ...Desire? It's almost here, this brand new armful of three hundred and sixty-five days to do with whatsoever you choose. You can do, be, dream or create anything you want with the contents of this box and what this new year holds for you is entirely up to you.

May you have something to be grateful for. May you be filled with your own grace.


by talulayu

The gift of the light
We thankfully take,
But nothing may be
Just alone for our sake.
The more we give light
The one to the other
It shines and spreads life
Growing still further;
Till every spark is set aflame.
Till every heart Joy shall proclaim
~ M. Tittman

~*~

My Solstice weekend was a lot of things: sublime, diaphanous, grounded, magical, beautiful, cold, dark, lovely, light, as I hope was yours. This time of the year is a stretch of magic filled days, if we dare to look for it. I live in Buffalo, after all...I'm used to having my showered hair become icicles (literally) as I dig our car out of the driveway...looking for magic might be low on a priority list unless I made it higher (you know, right below Other Drivers Not Killing Us Because of Snow Stupidity XD).

And so we must make magic~

We had the delight of taking part in the first annual Spiral Dance: A Winter Solstice Concert and Ritual last Friday, held in the beautiful Asbury Hall, in the heart of Buffalo~ Kellianna and the Dragon Ritual Drummers were there on hand to lead in the concert and then create the ritual space and sing us down to the spiral dance. The entire event was created and facilitated by Stephanie Hamberger, an amazing Goddess-filled woman that I had the privilege to meet and sing with during the Goddess Chant Choir, a few years ago. She's also the creative force behind the Enchanted Mountain Goddess conferences, so I knew this event was going to be truly special--I wasn't disappointed~

Before the actual concert and ritual, we were invited into this sacred (and profane!) space to do a bit of holiday shopping at several local vendor tables (It was sort of like a Witchy Etsy ;D). There were blessed soaps and crystals, sage sprays and hand woven blankets, faerie gardens and wands and all manner of magical things, and each of the vendors was kind and excited about the festival itself.

Afterwards, we grabbed seats and sat--spellbound--as Kellianna began to sing. I had heard her sing at the Spoutwood Fairie Festival before, and she was lovely, then, but what followed here was even more magical. She stood on the stage, voice alone, head tilted back and eyes filled with fire as harmonies and melodies transcended the air, the wood, the vibrant stained glass windows of this place. Her voice came, jubilant, morose, powerful beyond measure as she wove stories and blessings and promises for the coming year and the returning of the light. There were so many moments during her set where I realized I was crying...it was too much for me, at times, too beautiful, too ethereal and Goddess filled, I could hardly contain it all. When she was done, when the last note faded away and our roaring applause was silenced, I realized that more magic had been contained in those handfuls of time than most any other. It was a sacred experience, through and through.

We pulled all of our seats off then floor, then, preparing for the Dragon Ritual Drummers to come on stage. I'm an old fan of them, having danced to their music several times at our beloved Fairie Festival, but I'd never heard them indoors. They always ask everyone to dance--no one can simply stand and listen, and you probably couldn't if you wanted to! The primal rhythms and deep, booming god energies pulse through you and around you and carry you through the dance, as much as you are dancing. We danced, we curved and whirled and tossed our feet and heads like wild women and men, and we moved together, a giant heartbeat. There was so much magic and sheer exaltation to the sun, to the earth, to each other, that we were filled and consumed by it.

Afterward, exhausted, we gathered together in a gigantic circle, composed of hundreds of our sisters and brothers. We linked hands and began to move slowly, chanting our love to the world and each other. We moved in a spiral, that old dance of light that moves us all. I have experienced many group rituals--large ones, small ones, have created so much magic myself...but out of all of these treasured memories and moments in my past, none were as powerful or beautiful as this one. Together, together, together, entwined and one, we danced for love and light and healing and peace, and in the darkness of one of the darkest nights of the year, we kept the flame alive...in our hearts and minds and feet, as we called out to the very lightness of being: please stay with us. Come back.

I could swear the stars kept time.


by Raffledoocious

Thick draws the dark,
And spark by spark,
The frost-fires kindle, and soon...

~ Walter de la Mare

~*~

There's something about marrying the childhood traditions and memories with new traditions...the creation of new memories and thoughts and feelings and sensations. The sound of snow when it falls; the scent of twig tea, curling up in steam; the veritable joy of finding (or creating) the perfect gift for someone who is your entire world...

Noticing the sun...even more than you usually do. How it, tirelessly, rises and falls, rises and falls, over the edge of the entire earth, beating down a slim, cool light that colors the trees at its rise with silver and gold, and the snowy hills at its set with lavender. The crunch of the snow beneath your boots as you walk happy puppies over mounds of the stuff, struggling to maintain your balance as they play tag with one another, laughing at the antics as they form perfect figure eights around you. You read their language in the snow.

There's a glory in sneaking around...making extra trips, finding time when your baby could not possibly think there was any...and you find that gift. And you squirrel it away, and it's perfect and you keep thinking of her face on Solstice morning, and this bright, warm glow fills your heart, and you feel the sun reflected there. Because it is. And you laugh and smile and wrap tiny little things with careful fingers, listening to Bing wish you a white Christmas. And it transcends political correctness, and you don't care who is Christian, and who is Pagan, and if he were there right now, you'd wish him the same.

Because it's not happy holidays or merrry christmas or blessed yule or any of the countless phrases people throw back and forth in jubilant voices. It's the jubilance itself. It's the hope and love that you feel from people you'd least expect it, and the way people hold the door and give you a smile and hand you back the dollar bill you dropped and didn't notice. And even in all the mishmosh of shoppers and treasures and traffic, there's the kind soul who locks eyes with you and returns the grin you gave them.

There's tea and cookies and carols and glitter everywhere. The fresh smell of roses and pine fills the cathedrals, and you walk along the icy sidewalks with a spectacular reverence for all of the stars twinkling in the trees...or are those lights?

And you wait, and you wait, and you wait for the longest night of the year. Because somehow, the stars and suns and moons and all the billions of planets you are certain exist seem closer...and all the billions and billions of hearts and souls glow and pulse with the everlasting hope and brilliance that comes from believing that day will come again. That this is night, but it turns to sunrise...and then...it's Solstice.

So you wait. And you sit back and marvel at the beautiful nature of mankind. And the world.

And you rejoice.


by robbie1

I am utterly ecstatic to take part in and celebrate here, tonight~! I hope other local Solstice lovers will join me in this holy rite of joy~ :)

~*~

The Spiral Dance: A Concert and Ritual Celebrating the Winter Solstice!
Featuring the Dragon Ritual Drummers and Kellianna
TONIGHT! Friday 12/18/2009
Asbury Hall, Buffalo, NY

Doors open for vending bazaar at 5:30pm
Bar opens at 6pm
Concert 8pm
Ritual 9:30pm

Buy Tickets Now!

Tickets available online until 2pm today.
$15 online
$20 CASH ONLY at the door

Dance with Dragons, Sing a Spiral, Support Local Artisans and
Welcome in the Light!

Soul Pilgrim is proud to present the First Annual Winter Solstice
Spiral Dance featuring a concert with the Dragon Ritual Drummers
and Kellianna. Come shop for unique, hand-made, last-minute
Holiday gifts at the expansive vending bazaar, enjoy a glass of
wine, dance your heart out with Kellianna and the Dragon Ritual
Drummers, and end the evening with the universal celebration of
the Spiral Dance amidst drums and chants! Tell your friends!
Bring your family! This is going to be a night to remember!

Vending Bazaar: Shop for unique, last-minute Holiday gifts hand
-made by local artisans. Jewelry, unique creations, things to
nurture your spirit and soul, items to give as gifts or just to
pamper yourself. All local. All hand made.

Concert: Enjoy a concert like no other with the unique rhythms of
the Dragon Ritual Drummers and songstress Kellianna. A concert
full of rhythm and spirit, you a guaranteed to dance until you
drop!

Spiral Dance: Be a part of the largest Spiral Dance to take place
in Buffalo, NY in the past decade! Facilitated by Stephanie
Hamberger, Director of the event as well as Creatrix of both the
Enchanted Mountain Goddess Conference and the Gaia Festival, and
co-facilitated by Kellianna, The Dragon Ritual Drummers and
guests.

Win the Raffle!: A raffle basket to will be up for grabs after
the Spiral Dance- the perfect last-minute holiday gift!

DETAILS:
Date: Friday December 18th
Time: Vending begins 5:30
Concert 8pm Spiral Dance 9:30pm
Location:
Asbury Hall 341
Delaware Avenue
Buffalo, NY 14202
(Corner of W. Tupper)


by dragonflypath

...nothing gold can stay.

~Robert Frost

~*~

These are the last, final days of autumn. We've forgotten about her, haven't we, knee deep in the holiday cheer that consumes us all this week. There are brown paper packages and the scent of newly baking cookies and the sweet layering of saints and snow and softly falling dreams. Winter is almost here, and with her comes the Solstice, the return of the Light...a promise. And Autumn stands, in tattered rags, ready to fade away, already forgotten.

Autumn is my favorite season, so it's with mixed emotions that I approach the Solstice. Now, there's no going back. There will be no more reprieve from winter until Spring. I live in Buffalo, that proverbial snow-clad beast who wallows through the white until (jokingly believed) July. Autumn...Autumn is different. It has sadness, yes...sharpness, yes...but there is such beauty in each singular, suspended moment that we're reminded why we're here.

In all the hustle and the bustle of this final week before Solstice, it is hard to carve out precious moments that belong to solely us...but the entire experience of the Solstice, and the entire experience of the holiday season is one that--if it's approached with reflection and deep magic--could be the most beautiful of them all.

I know I'm challenging myself to carve out those moments, too...but it's more important now than ever before. We're an extra crafty family, and my wife and I are up to all hours now, creating love with nimble fingers as we wrap and glue and sew and snip things into being that we hope our loved ones will cherish...and yet. And yet. We must find time for those quiet moments of reflection, of love, of embracing the dark and the light and the leaving of Autumn and the return of Winter.

This evening, after I've danced (because even in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, I'm utterly stubborn about still attending belly dance class. ;D), I will light a candle, and I invite everyone to light a candle with me, connected together though far apart...and lovingly bid farewell to Autumn. I will gather all of the leaves I've kept on my altar from my beloved trees, and I will wrap them in brown paper and put them away. I will celebrate that season that holds so very much for us, and I will give my gratitude to her, bidding her farewell, safe journey. And when we finally part, when I have said the final words, I will be ready for Monday...Monday, and the full embracing of winter.

Ritual is that sacred moment where we step outside of the flow of the mundane and embrace that which is holy. To make a sacred space and acknowledge your love and appreciation for the old season fading away to the new one coming now, is powerful, old magic, filled with gratitude and grace, reminding us of our own deeply sacred purposes~

Nothing gold can stay...but the wheel keeps spinning, and we--the watchers, the time keepers, those who feel the turning of the seasons and the turning of time--we will be witness to that great, great dance, as one curtsies and leaves the floor and another takes her place, glittering gown twirling and twirling beneath a thousand dazzling lights...

Farewell, beloved Fall. Until we meet again.


by labels

Once upon a time, as these old stories go, there was a star. It was bright and beautiful, and because of its light, we were given everything we needed--food to eat and warmth to live. We followed the star on this little earth boat with great courage through space, revolving about it like a child dances about its mother. We revered it and sang to it and offered to it, loving it unconditionally, as it did us. We followed our star, wherever it led through this vastness...because of it, we were never alone.

Sometimes, I forget the sun is a star. It's not obvious, if you think about it. It gives us day, an alien landscape when compared with night, when you see the stars twinkling overhead, warm and soft in the chilly glow of a December evening. When the sun stays with us such a short time during the day, we are lulled by the night, made sleepy by the darkness, thinking on soft, contemplative things, veritable bears in our caves, ready for that long winter's nap. I go to bed so much earlier in the winter, hardly see the sun because I work all day...if I did not pay attention, if I became unaware of daily moments, I would forget it existed entirely. It might be that way with a lot of us. We have day jobs, we're busy with the kids, we have Too Much To Do, and the sun slips away from us sooner and sooner, until it's just a deep orange memory along the horizon.

These days grow shorter up until the edge of the year, at the Winter Solstice, when the longest night comes to wrap us in dark arms and hold us close through the spin of stars. The night can make us forget--but now is the strongest time to remember.

We are still following a star. It's distant, it's hard to catch a glimpse of, the gold, elusive thing, but it's there. I make a conscious effort every day to acknowledge the sun. I thank it silently, I blow it a kiss, I tell it my deepest gratitudes. And at night, I make a conscious effort to remember that I am still following a star...and I meditate toward it.

Meditations are powerful tools...whether you're a Witch or no. Now, in the darkest time of the year, is the perfect time to try meditation if you've never done it before, or if you're a seasoned expert, try to do it more often. I've been meditating since I was seventeen and love the calm, quiet space it gives me in my heart, ready and waiting to receive any messages the gods are willing to give me. Guided meditations, in particular, are a good way to celebrate the sun, and--proverbially--help us remember to keep following the star.

Following the Star Meditation

Make yourself comfortable in a darkened room where you will not be distracted. Soft music, incense or a candle are all lovely compliments to a meditation, if you wish to use them. If you believe in casting the circle (a circle of protection and guidance) before your meditation, please do so.

Imagine yourself in a darkened meadow. The air is crisp and cool, and there is a rolling blanket of white extended before you in all directions. The snow sparkles in the light of a crescent moon overhead, and everything is calm and bright. Now, imagine the stars and moon moving over the sky at a stately pace, until the first edges of dawn curl along the horizon. Watch the stars disappear slowly and the moon become ghostly white as the sun begins to peek over the edge of the world.

Reach your hands toward it, feeling the great pull of its grace and fire. Feel the gravity of this star within you, all around you, holding you close enough to receive everything you need, but far enough away to never feel burned. Bask in the warmth of this light, feel it filling every bit of you, from top to toe. Talk to the sun, this star.

Tell the sun about the star you're following in your own life, the passion that fills every bit of you. If you're a writer, tell it why you must write words. If you're an artist, tell it why you must paint. Speak your heart to the star and tell it your greatest dreams and wishes, your greatest aspirations, and your gratitude for that which you've already accomplished. Thank it for always being steady, for always being there...for being the perfect star for you to follow.

When you are ready to bid it farewell, do so gently, with gratitude, feeling full consciousness return to your earthbound body. But carry the light of the brightest star with you, burning brightly in your heart. It is always there. It will always be there.

Release the circle, ground and center. Welcome back~


by micaela_ivette

I would be happy just to hold the hands I love
On this winter's night with you...

~*~

It has been a perfect day. We woke this morning to a blizzard, a thick blanket of snow being tossed about by the whims of the wind, turning into ghost riders racing across the fields and road, making it impossible to see. It took us half an hour to go two miles down our street, and we decided that with the snow half way up our tires and the rampant scariness that it just wasn't worth it...Jenn called in, and I was able to work from home...an impromptu snowday. :)

Jenn made oatmeal and tea for breakfast, sitting close to me, reading her book all day, or puttering around, sorting old Samhain decorations, and changing our Yule CDs as they kept ending. Before we knew it, we were standing at the back sliding door, watching the warm sky of sinking sun and dancing snow, wrapped in each other's arms, listening to Sarah McLachlan speak about love and loss and light...feeling the immense gratitude for all of this goodness layering about us as soft as the new fallen snow. We were surrounded by our sleepy furbabies, cozy and snug in our little cottage in the country, content to watch this snow fall and fall, curling and twirling from a sky laden with possibilities.

...A perfect day.


by seawallrunner

"Lighting one candle
from another -
Winter night"
~ Buson

~*~

We've walked the labyrinth of time from Samhain (Halloween) to now...it is the month of the Winter Solstice, that joyous celebration and reclamation of light, where we throw back our arms and embrace the skies of winter, knowing with absolute and utter certainty that snow will fall, that the white will come, but that spring will come again, too.

Now, more than any other time of the year, there is that desire for community. We feel all of the others who have gone before us, calling out to the sun...there is a long line behind our shoulders, connected not by blood, but by time and hope and faith. Thousands of years ago, it was a frightening thing to have winter descend. Who knew that spring would come at all, that all animals would not die...that you, yourself, would have enough to feed the family for the daunting months ahead? It was with faith that you approached each day, each moment, watching the sun tread over the sky, watching the snow shine like treasure. You simply believed, because there was nothing else you could do. We're not that far removed. Now, Yule has been transformed into Christmas, evolved from those old traditions into something new, wrapped in cellophane and closed up with a too-tight bow. But the base wants and needs of community, the treasured memories and wishes...they're still the same, they're still here. Pagan, Christian, Jewish...no matter the faith, we want to gather together and celebrate, give thanks, pray, make ritual of the ordinary and dive deeper into the darkness of each cold winter's night so that we might come out, whole, upon the other side.

I have so many plans for this month, so many bright secrets, happy jubilees and quiet moments all squirreled away in my heart, ecstatic and hardly able to wait to experience them. I'm the child at Christmas, all over again, turning over each day to a higher number, waiting, waiting, waiting, utterly impatient.

This is the first time that Buffalo will experience a Winter Solstice Spiral Dance, put on by the same lovely lady who does the annual Goddess conferences in the Allegany mountains each year. The Dragon Ritual Drummers and Kellianna are going to be performing a concert before the ritual. I have had the utter pleasure to see both of these perform (in the case of the Dragon Ritual Drummers, several times!) at the Spoutwood Fairie Festival. The energy that flows through their music is phenomenal, heart stopping, hip moving and soul dancing, in and of itself. Pair that with a local artisans craft fair, and the fact that it's in Asbury Hall, and I'm literally in heaven~ (A few years ago, my best friend and I attended the Masaru Emoto seminar there...the seminar itself was wonderful, but the space is pure magic. Trust Ani DiFranco to turn something into treasure~ :)

But the main part of the evening that has me in the deepest whirl of anticipation is the Winter Solstice ritual and Spiral Dance that is the focus of the evening. Gathering together with the good people of Buffalo, Pagan or Pagan-friendly alike, to link hands and hearts and move the rhythm of the earth, right down through our bones as we swirl and swirl and swirl...making magic in such a sacred space, calling out a hallelujah to the Sun. This is the spirit of Yule, this is the spirit of community, on a personal, global, universal scale...one of joy and reverence, peace and deep, bountiful gratitude, spinning our thanks to the sun and everything after.

I can not wait for the Gathering.


by Chris Wild

At darkest midnight
The earth shall be light
And shall gleam like a star.
~ Unknown

~*~

Last night, I took my mug of tea, touched the teapot--so warm it was almost unbearable to my fingertips--in a gesture of thanks, and curled up on the couch. Immediately, Poesy was in my lap, snuggled close, nose beneath my chin, curled up against me exchanging warmth as much as love. Before us, the tree glowed.

The scent of cranberry bread lingered in the air, baking in the warm oven. Overhead and all around us were the sounds of "The Christmas Revels: In Celebration of the Winter Solstice." A man, voice bright and burnished like copper, told the oldest tale of the world...that, throughout time, humans have gathered together to light the fires, to tend the flames, to sing back the sun from his long journey. To not forget...rather, to remember. I began to cry, tears tracing down my cheeks, reflecting the light of the tree, as I opened my heart to that sensation of community, of divine comfort and knowledge of our connection to all others who have gone before, and all others who will come. This Great Family of the world who joins hands, no matter what, rejoicing and celebrating and crying out and coming together and dancing and singing and laughing and weeping for the glory of the light and the darkness and that fine and delicate and perfect line between the two.

And so the Shortest Day came and the year died
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreen;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive.
And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, revelling.
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us - listen!
All the long echoes, sing the same delight,
This Shortest Day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, feast, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And now so do we, here, now,
This year and every year.
~ Susan Cooper

Jenn was in the next room, changing into warm jammies, and Link and Pan were wrastlin' on the floor, and all around me was the divine glow of the lights. Our star on top of the tree, made from winding wire and grapevine, painted gold, open like the sky, seemed to twinkle in response to the words, to my heart opening (a blossom, spiraling up and out as it unfurls sweet, soft petals).

That great duality of darkness and light...that great dichotomy of being so very alone, cut off in the snow and sharpness of the ice, but kept together, dancing, staying warm and sharing what we have because in that great stillness of winter, we know we could be so alone, and we thank the gods we are not. We thank them for everything, you see. I have gratitude singing in my bones all the time...but winter sharpens this, gives it a new strength and purpose. This cranberry bread, warm and sweet in the glow of candles...it is divine. This woman's hand, fingers curled in mine as we cuddle together beneath blankets (and a layer of purring cats and smiling pups), watching the tree, our tree, together...it is more perfect than words can sum up. Here, in the darkness, there is a myriad of stars overhead, winking and singing with the greatest of purposes. Here, the snowflake on your tongue, eight pointed and magnificent and so tiny you would need a magnifying lens to understand its perfection...it melts in an instant, and you laugh and feel the wonder of childhood seeping you through and through and through, and you know that the darkness has its purpose, as does the light...and you sing the sun back from his journies, and you join hands and you bake and you make miracles in the half light of candles, because now, more than ever, you remember who and what you are and they are and we are.

And you kneel down, beneath those stars of wonder. The snow is cold, and the ground is frozen, but if you listen very, very hard and you open your heart and you close your eyes, you can hear what the animals and trees and very stones know.

All around you and before you and behind you is love. And in this, as in all things, you are held. And there is no snow too cold or night too dark or moon too far.

And the gratitude overwhelms you, so you sit in silence, listening to the music of the stars.


by uberfischer