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It gets dark earlier and earlier every evening. We're headed, mad dash now, towards the dark. In just five weeks, we'll reach the day of the longest dark. And, how will you spend it? What would you do, if you knew that you had unlimited time in the dark to do it? I've been feeling, ever since Samhein, a much more pronounced thinning of the veil than is normal. I expect it to begin to solidify by Yule. What would you like to do, what do you need to do, before the veil again becomes opaque?
We're headed for the Long Night, when my circle tells stories, sings songs, stays up late, and gets up early to make enough noise to wake the Sun. I treasure that night, spent in the bosom of my circle, spent surrounded by women who help me through the silent dark and into the noisy light. Someday, I am counting on them to make enough noise to wake the ferryman for me, to see me over the River Styx, to watch with me through the longest dark.
Who do you count upon for that? What does the dark hold for you now?
5 comments:
This made me cry. I know I will watch for the ferry for you when that time comes, my dear. And call you to my circle the following Samhain.
Hecate,
This is very helpful. Every year, it seems, I forget that it's "supposed to" get dark now.
I tend to whine and hide under the covers, instead of willingly going underground to take care of what rests there.
This Yule I will have my 80+ mother (aka Senior Witch) for over a week, giving a break to my sister, with who Mom has been living since Padric's Day.
I will have to deal, intimately, hourly, with her rapid decline into Alzheimer's, something I've wanted to hold at arm's length.
I'm determined to reframe my fears about this into anticipation of spending time with her when her own veils between past, present and future have become so thin.
We shall see.
Blessed Be,
Michael Bright Crow
Very beautiful, Hecate. You make me wish I was part of a Circle.
I recently came across a place in a little patch of woods near our house where someone - maybe a little kid - had made a circle of small rocks at the foot of a big oak.
The cold and dark and short days are blankets to muffle the earth's process, to slow and cover and rest it. I lived in the plastic, defoliated suburbs of Miami one winter, and pined constantly for the lost season. Only a couple of days made me glad to be there: one at one of the few public-access beaches, brushed by a balmy breeze off the sea that rattled the leaning palms, another spent at Everglades National Park, where two tiny lizards clinging to the uprights of the causeway challenged each other like minute iquanadons, six feet above one of their far larger cousins resting in the sedge pool below,
But when I returned to New Jersey in the middle of a February ice storm, I was so happy!
A Good Thanksgiving and Back End of the Year to you.
Li'l Innocent
Born in November, dark is my element.
This is a blog where the comments are really splendid.
This will be an interesting dark time for me, as I will be writing a screenplay and perhaps editing the galleys of my novel. I'm always solitary on Solstice, but I plan to build a fire outdoors. I always get up before sunrise on that day and beg the sun to come up. Usually I have to go to work before it does. Not sure where I'll be on that day this year.
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