Posts Tagged ‘pagan’

An altar with three peaches, a pomegranate, three copper cups, three corn men, a painted wooden spoon, and several assorted jars

When it came to Mabon this year, our hive had some different feelings about which direction we should go. I was feeling a lot of water energy, and Mabon is also a Sabbat I tend to associate with the Celts (though I know that the historical evidence for it is sketchy at best, it’s the association which has stuck with me, sorry). Ivy really wanted to make sure we remembered to burn the corn men we’d made at Lammas, and Kian was interested in the harvest sacrifice/turning of the light half of the year into the dark half of the year aspects.


Close-up of the Mabon altar with fruit and tools

Meanwhile, I’d been feeling a little caught up in ongoing interpersonal drama, in spite of not being directly involved myself, and it had also come up that there were potentially some folks out there who were, for lack of a better way of phrasing it, wishing us all well to our detriment. (You know that thing where someone really really wants something for you, with at least mostly good intentions, but it’s a thing that you would not actually welcome or find beneficial? Yeah, that.) So, it seemed like a good time to do some cleansing/warding/blessing magic in order to make very sure that any influences we did not consent to were reflected back at the sender, to make sure our wards and bounds were being respected, and to do a general cleansing and blessing of our spaces and selves.

We went to a beach near us, with corn men in tow, and all of our assorted supplies. Our hive dedicated ourselves several years ago to a deity who is private to us, a hearth mother goddess of Slavic/Eastern origin, and we each own a painted Russian spoon which we use to give offerings into our little copper cups in her honor if there is not a fire. If there is a fire, she gets the first offerings. In this case, the first offering was a pomegranate, for the movement of the light into darkness and the journey into sleep and the Underworld, so we squeezed some pomegranate juice onto our corn men as they began their travel into death and transformation.



Three corn men burning on a grill

We ended up having a hell of a time getting a fire going, as it was too breezy by the water, but we finally got the little pile of corn bodies to catch, they burned great. Kian read the poem of John Barleycorn for them as they turned to ash, and we thanked them for their sacrifice that they might provide life from the earth again when the wheel turns back to life in the spring.

I always struggle with feeling disconnected from the land, living in an urban area without the distinct seasons I grew up with, and I wish this could have been corn I grew from my own fields, and burned on my own land instead of a grill in a public park, but I guess we all just have to work with what we have on hand. There are things I like about being an urban witch, but I’m a farm kid at heart, and sometimes that’s more apparent than others.


Four tarot cards, a painted wooden spoon, and two peaches on a dishtowel

After we’d burned the men, we took a little time to do some magic- I’d pre-prepared some ingredients for a cleansing mix, a protection rub, and a blessing ointment. We mixed them up in our three copper bowls and distributed them to each of us, so that we could take them home and use them. We’d done our Mabon ritual the weekend before Mabon, as it fell on a Thursday, but we agreed to do the actual cleansing, warding, and blessing on the day itself. Particular attention was going to be paid to our mirrors and windows, as they can be inadvertent openings into yourself and into your home if left unprotected.

We also drew a card each for our divination for the next space of time before the next Sabbat- the wind also helpfully picked one for us. Three sword cards and a pentacles, which is interesting- though, helpfully, none of the sword cards were the truly ominous ones. Still, there’s something to being on our guard and careful in the next while, I think.

Three small jars, one containing cleansing mix, one containing protection herbs, and one holding the ingredients for a blessing anointment

As our last acts before we left, we ate pomegranate seeds to help us transition into the coming darkness, and made some fruit offerings to the sea (and to the seagulls and crows, which would no doubt partake on the sea’s behalf).

(I liked the kitchen-witchery aspect of this Sabbat- I use herbs fairly widely, but I don’t tend to spend a whole lot of time on making things to use for tinctures and potions and rubs and so on, but I enjoy it when I do it.)

Next up: Samhain!


Read Full Post »

Hail to Heimdallr!

Hero of the ancestors,

Helmed guardian of the realms,

Halting any who dare to threaten Bifrost’s noble span!

Horsed is he on mighty Gulltoppr;

Horn at the ready to sound the call!

Hand resting upon his side-sheathed sword, he is

Harbinger of things to come and

Hearer of all that moves in earth or heaven!

Holy child of the Nine Mothers,

Herald sired by the All-Father!

Heaven-strider and light-bringer!

He who shall defeat the trickster at the end of days!

Hastener of the end.





Read Full Post »


Ga’en to the garden love

ga’en t’ the shady grove

ain there shalt thou be

thrice ringed w’ flowers o’er.

Tae dance the circled stone w’in

an’ the ancient tongue a-sing

an’ raise our mouths ain hands

t’ all th’ pleasures a hea’en.

Take my hand an’ come w’ me

ga’en down tae the garden green

ain we shall sport and play

from dawn until the e’en.

Author’s note:

1) this is not meant to be any particular dialect, it’s just sound play. 

2) this another one of those I really don’t like, but I’m trying not to hyper analyze, but instead just release things into the wild. 

Read Full Post »


Author’s note- I don’t really like this one. I’ve decided to post it anyway, as half the point of this year of hymnic/poetic blogging is to force me out of my comfort zone and into putting things up whether I’m happy with them or not. So, here it is. 


Freya the bold stands on a hill at dawn

wind blowing the ends of her skirts at the edge of the world

booted feet treading the darkened line

at the tip of Yggdrasil’s shadow.


Freya the beautiful lays in wait

to claim that which is rightfully hers;

love, and pleasure, and riches, and joy

wealth brought forth from the earth to her hands

to adorn her lovely neck.


Freya the seeress blinks her eyes

and foretells your doom-

at point of spear, or crack of wheel

her runes fall true, and do not lie

nor do the visions that play across her eyes.


Freya the Warrior leads the gathering horde

of women and crows and clouds of death

she marks you with blood and bone

claims your breath in a rush of wings

and ascends to the higher realms

as you gasp your last…

Read Full Post »

(meant to be chanted in a pattern with 1 measure of 6/8 followed by two measures of 2/8. ONE two three FOUR five six ONE two ONE two, repeat. The last word in a phrase gets a breath after it, or held. “BREAD of my MOUTH (breath) MOTHer MOTHer”)

Bread of my mouth

mother, mother.

Dust of my bones

mother, mother.

Blood of my thighs

mother, mother.

Salt of the earth,

mother, mother.


Wrap me in arms

mother, mother.

Feast on my heart

mother, mother.

Devour me whole

mother, mother.

Build me anew

mother, mother.


Spin me in silks

mother, mother.

Drape me in rags

mother, mother.

Warm me in life

mother, mother.

Cradle my death

mother, mother.


Gave to me birth

mother, mother.

Created my flesh

mother, mother.

Under my feet

mother, mother.

You are my world

mother, mother.


Read Full Post »

Face of stone and pillared tall

still with a solemnity summoned from the earth

sandstone and granite, marble and wood

every surface within you


You hold within you every hope and dream and fear and plea

co-mingled in the offering basins with

blood and oil and water

your smoke carries aloft the reverent prayers

of countless devotees.

Liquid runs down your steps

pooling darkly where we must lift our robes to ascend,

starlit heavens spinning circular

around the pinnacle of your spire.

In you, the holy of holies

rests, and is


Read Full Post »

Brace down the shutters and batten the hatches. Let the waves crash over the bow, washing the deck clean of filth and disease. Rain on the roof, the windowpanes, the planted garden, is a trickle, a rivulet, a torrent, a flood.

Hear the crashing thunder roll, feel the wind as it pulls your soul from your body. The hooves of the wild hunt are pounding through the darkness, past dripping trees, through howling winds.

Ships on the ocean are dancing in the lightning’s flash; riders on the road are pelting before the fury of the storm. Branches bend and break, shingles fly, and out in the fields, we shall dance for joy as the heavens open upon us.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »