Today I sing a song for the future, and I place it on the wind. I entrust it to our Gods, to play with and carry, to hold for my children's children and their children as well. I sing songs of love for you, dear ones, of hope for the world you will inherit. I sing you songs of strength, that you may know that even though the way is hard, you never walk it alone. For even though we may be separated by time, I am with you always, whispering on the wind, singing to your heart.
I sing you songs of peace, to comfort you in times of distress and to remind you of your ancestors, of your people, and the beautiful lineage that exists in family. I sing you songs of joy and delight, for your triumphs are mine just as my successes now belong to you.
I sing for you, dear one, and I place it on the wind. Hear my words in the gentle rustling of the tree leaves, in the hum of the breeze through the reeds. Feel my love and joy for you as the wind caresses your face and plays with your hair.
Today I sing a song for the future.
Fairly take and fairly give. Balance must be preserved, and only a complete idjit won't say thank you when help that was asked for was received.
When dealing with one's Gods and other etheric entities, what one gives back can truly be most anything. While, granted, certain Deities do have things They prefer as offerings, saying "thank you" can be done through various means.
It is my eldest daughter’s birthday today. This will be the second Rite of Passage she’s experienced (not including the Birthing Rite of which she was a participant and was certainly a profound experience for her, however it was not geared towards her.) The first Rite of Passage, in accordance with our Tradition, was a Baby Blessing, performed during the first month after her birth. Today’s Rite, like all Rites of Passage, marks a transition; for Aurora this birthday marks her transition from baby to “big girl.”
Decorations lay scattered across the floor, lights flicker on the tree erected where our family altar* usually stands. The theme for our altar and celebrations since buying and moving into our first house has been "let's do something different." This is not to suggest that we're not still maintaining our traditions, not still enacting the rites as passed from parents and grandparents, rather what we are doing is looking to create new traditions, new ways in which to celebrate our faith and our family.
Normally, we would have the tree in one corner of the main room, while still maintaining our family altar either in the same room or another. This year we are a bit crammed for space and over the course of years, our Yule decorations have come more and more to include symbolic representations of our faith. This year we've made the natural transition, then, to the tree being the altar.
This time of year is always one of quiet reflection for me, almost pensive were it not for the larger sense of awe that blots out the sadness and primal survival instincts kicking in, as well.
The Winds are relentless now, ripping at the trees, tearing at my hair, demanding that all that cannot be sustained be released, all that does not benefit be gotten rid of; They demand we let go in order to be strong.
Kids and crafts naturally go hand-in-hand, and magickal crafts are no exception! Making charms, such as amulets, talismans, and wards, are a great way to not only teach your children magick but to recognize that magick is a part of every day life.
Children are naturally tactile: they like to feel things, be it touching objects with their hands, or feeling the movements of their bodies as they dance and run about. Keeping their hands active is a great way to keep them interested and focused, focused enough to notice the slight energy changes that occur when they really concentrate.
I am a big fan of salt-dough. It's easy to make and lends itself well to a wide variety of projects. But, best of all, making it can easily be rendered a magickal process and it can be used to make magickal objects. Scrying bowls, candle holders, offering bowls, and Sabbat decorations are all possibilities. This is is an example of using salt-dough to make magickal charms.
The Sun creeped in through the closed shades, casting golden lines upon the honey colored wood floor. The house was quiet, most of the family was still asleep; muffled snores could be heard through a closed bedroom door.
From outside, the sounds of traffic were a low murmur. Larger diesel vehicles could be heard shifting gears as they went up or came down the hill in front of the house. Children gathered at the ends of driveways, proudly sporting brand new backpacks overloaded with shiny new school supplies. Filled with nervous excitement, they would pose for one more picture for their mom, casting sideway glances, hoping that the school bus full of kids wouldn't happen upon this embarrassing scene. But not at our house.
Friday night I had a dream, involving my mother. Given the recent flavor of my dreams involving her lately, this was not a pleasant dream, but certainly cathartic (at least for dream-me.) Like the other dreams of late, this one revolved about the same theme: throwing the truth in my mother's face, forcing her to deal with it, and be damned any emotions or opinions she may have on the matter.
Going back the last nine months or so, and this truth has involved the boys not going to Sunday School, reminding her that I won't hold lip service to a religion I don't believe in (just because of that whole damnation thing, like some people do *cough-cough* *hint-hint,*) and that she's not allowed to treat my younger sister the way she treated me when I was my sister's age. Last night, though, was about my husband's and my decision to homeschool Atticus.
Atticus, only 6 years old, has asked to learn the Tarot. It was bound to happen; my husband is an avid Tarot reader and I've been drawn to my old deck again, doing at least one reading a day now. He likes to sit close, hovering over the cards.
"Mom, what does that one mean? Mom, I like the pretty clouds. Mom, that one looks weird." As to be expected, he finally asked, "Mom, can I try?"
Tonight my youngest son Titus experienced an important Rite of Passage, this was not his first, nor will it be his last. The energy of the Full Moon is still felt strong and, having painted Herself in Harvest Orange, She bore witness to another witch officially in our midst.
The entire coven was present, plus one as Aurora, only two, crawled out of her bed and wandered out to the Circle. She nonchalantly walked in and asked, "What you doing?" Family Coven that we are, we included her, even if Tradition says she can't truly take part for another year and a half.
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