Dancing at Lughnasadha

Lammas, as it is commonly known, and as my circle refers to it, even though I prefer the pre-xian term Lughnasadha, is one the eight major holidays, or Sabbats, of the Wiccan year. Wiccans celebrate the circle of the year, the fact that the year goes from death to birth to maturity and back to death. On August 1st, we celebrate Lammas.

Lammas is often known as the Feast of the First Fruits, and is associated with the harvest of wheat, or corn, or other summer vegetables. I think of it as the Feast of the Thirties and Forties -- the time when you celebrate finally having reached certain achievements and when you look forward to even more.

It's strange, for me, to be preparing to celebrate this Sabbat amid news that crops all over the Earth are withering in the fields due to the heat caused by carbon emissions. I don't expect to go hungry this winter, but some people will.

But here's what I'll celebrate. I'll celebrate the harvest that does come in, even in the midst of disaster. So many times in my life, I've gotten through by celebrating the harvest that I was able to bring in, the accomplishments that I was able to reach, even when things seemed otherwise pretty bleak.

There was a time in the mid-70s when simply having the money to buy gas to get to work was an achievement. There was a time in the late 80s when getting up out of bed even though the first thought of the day was that my beloved sister was dead was a huge accomplishment. There was a time in the 90s when reading one more case in my law school textbooks before I fell asleep, when keeping the wolf from the door so that I could make one more semester's tuition payments for myself and Son was cause for celebration. There was a time in the late 90s when getting up even late in the morning and struggling in to work was an indication that I was stronger than chemo. Small harvests, lean harvests, harvests gleaned from the threshing floor are still harvests. And harvests are a cause for celebration.

I am -- you are -- the genetic heirs of the Earth's survivors. We come from the people who gleaned enough of a harvest -- from the forest, the savannah, the sea, the jungle -- to pass on their genes. Buried within every cell of my body -- buried within your own DNA and RNA -- is the code of Earth's survivors.

On Lammas, I'll share first fruits with a circle of women that I love with all my heart. And I'll light incense for you and for your ancestors. The ones who harvested enough to survive. May it be so for me. May it be so for you. This is my will. So mote it be.