With my 20th Mabon dawning this morning, I’m thinking on gratitude and balance. Afterall, those are the common themes. However, I’ve understood for some time now that the seasons of Lughnasadh and Mabon can really be a time of death.
Of course, us Pagans and Witches experience Samhain as a time of death and honoring our Beloved and Mighty Dead, yet I’ve often seen that first swing of the scythe come down at Lughnasadh. Or maybe it’s a shaking of the stalk, or the threshing of the grain, or whatever other analogy you like in order to express that if things are ripe for dying, the Gods will take them down at the first harvest.
This year, that first swing of Her scythe almost took me down. Or at least it felt that way. Overworked, overwhelmed, under-appreciated, spread thin…they were all happening and building, and good ol’Merc doing his retro-reverse-worm-breakdance move was just the thing tip the cart, that cart being me.
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| Trying to go with the reverse-flow during retrograde. Like this cat mine are usually wondering what's going on. |
With support and guidance from my own High Priestess, I was able to make a decision that served not only my good, but the overall good of my coven, The Stone Chalice and Rising Blade.
Mom needed a break. So, she has taken a sabbatical.
I handed the reins to my Maiden and Sage, and stepped into self-care. This is a big deal for me. A huge deal. Because if you know me personally, I don’t take breaks, I don’t hand off, I don’t quit. I don’t even delegate very well, but I do it.
Trivia Tidbit: I’ve never broken up with anyone. Always the Break up-ee, never the Break up-er. I don’t think that’s a real saying, but whatever.
To step away and say, “I can’t” was the very best thing I could have done for the Group Mind. It was not at all easy, not for me or any of my coveners. But again, it was the best move for many reasons. And through this process, I’ve learned some incredible lessons.
Part 1 - Understanding Tailtiu
In July, I was a Hunter. A capital H Hunter. Not a hunter who hunts for game, but a Hunter in a Sacred Hunt. The ritual was brought to the Starwood Festival I attend in Ohio every year, by Drake Spaeth, a Huntmaster and Shel Skau, Head Villager, and when I read about it, I knew that if I did nothing else beyond facilitating my scheduled talks and attending the Saturday night Bonfire, I was doing that.
Reading the descriptions of other’s experiences was one of those moments that I felt a greater purpose. There was a purpose to my participating yet, it wasn’t in the role of a Villager, that seemed much more familiar to me and whose purpose was to care for the community of Hunters. Because, hello, that’s what I do everyday as a mother a doula and a Priestess. And I wasn’t supposed to be a Drummer, either. Maybe in future Hunts, I’ll choose those avenues. Hekate whispered in my ear, “Hunt”, and I knew that I had to step outside my comfort zone and take on an energy very different to what I normally do. If I didn’t, I’d regret it.
It deserves its own post, really, and I’ll get to that, but ultimately as a Hunter, I learned essential things. The thing that applies to living through the Harvest is that Hunters can’t hunt without the support of their Village. They can’t go on those spiritual hunts for themselves or their community without back up. And the Village dies without their Hunters. Things get inside the Village that can wipe it out. Hunters can get lost in the darkness, can keep venturing out and never return. It’s a symbiotic relationship that the facilitators told us would not only be for the good of the ritual participants, but the whole Starwood community and the world itself. Sounds grand, but they weren’t kidding.
I really need to write a post about the Sacred Hunt.
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While I stepped away from the coven at Lughnasadh, my responsibilities to both my prison circles remained. Interestingly, both groups wanted to work with Brid and Lugh. It sounded good during the planning sessions, and before my sabbatical, but by the time those rituals were upon us, things shifted. Brid nodded and told me “Yeah.. but no. I’m marking no on my RSVP.” It instead was Tailtiu who stepped forward, for the first time ever.
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| Illustration by Margaret Walty |
Should you not know of her or Lugh’s story, I highly suggest looking into the details, as explaining it all here would be more than this blog post could cover but ultimately Tailtiu (pronounced TALL-chee-uh) is the foster mother of Lugh. Having been taken from his young mother and tossed into the sea by his grandfather, Balor, he was raised and cared for by Tailtiu. She is the personification of the very earth itself.
Feeling sad and distraught after the wars between the Formorians and the Tuatha De Danann (as they are all her children in the end), she did what all mothers would do if their children needed to survive. Ax in hand, she walked out into the forest, where the ground was untouched by war and death and blood, and cleared the trees away to create farm land. And after the last tree was cleared, she fell to the earth, dead from exhaustion. You don’t see many Goddesses die, but the Irish pantheon has a few exceptions.
I always knew of this story, but it never really sunk in, or hit me the way it did this year. I know that this is because of where I was personally on my own path as a Priestess. I stood, ax in hand, still embodying the Hunter, but also an exhausted Priestess. The Earth around me was bearing the sustenance of life, all her blossoms come to fruit, the God was stepping into the grain, ready to be sacrificed, and as I talked things over with my Sage one evening, everything lined up and made sense.
Do not take your Hunters for granted.
Do not take your Teachers and Elders for granted.
Do not take those who work hard to assist you, in whatever ways they do for granted.
Do not become jaded at the magic and mystery of this planet, and everything she gives to us and does for us, because if she falls down dead from exhaustion, we are all seriously screwed.
And if your Priests and Priestesses become burned out, what a loss to your community.
Support those Hunters, Teachers, Elders, Helpers however they might need, and realize that often, you probably have to ask them how to help. “What do you need? How can I help you? What would make this easier?” And then do the things. There’s nothing worse than asking for help, and watching it not happen.
And take care of Big Mama. Look around. Find beauty. Appreciate life. Environmentally, we are in a fucking pickle, kids. We all know this. She needs us. She needs you. Find a way, however small you think it is, and follow Her into the proverbial forest, your own ax in hand.
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