Dear Friends,
So this week-end I celebrated Imbolc.

I also went to my U.U. Church service and then spent a delightful afternoon in conversation with Tracie the Red.  Monday I was ill, headaches at the back of my skull where the neck meets the back of the skull… a friend of mine says that’s where the sinuses are.  Not sure of that but I was light-sensitive and not in the best of moods until after dark.

I spend the day listening to some podcasts and cleaning my rooms a bit, more work to be done on that front but it has begun.  I unpacked the bag with the gear from the ritual and set my altar in order.  I burned some incense and cleaned a few bottles that had collected over the last several that I am sure I will be using soon… I have that urge to spellcraft and cunning some worts and all that jazz.

So in part inspired by some of the Witchy podcasts I’d listened too, and in part by the Imbolc rite, and by the pulls of magick and tides of life, I went for a walk.  I took a small red paper gift bag I had handy and put a few things into it…

1. Athame

2. An old hip-flask rum bottle filled with Pomegranate Juice

3. A whole Pomegranate

4. A small glass jar with a cork top, full of Black Tea leaves

5. An Apple, which had been sitting on my altar in offering to the Gods, and some Barley in the same situation as said Apple.

I walked into the night.  At various places throughout my late night walking, I cast out handfuls of Black Tea in offering to the Spirits of the Land.

I walked until I found a place where three paths could reasonably be said to meet, by a lake, near a boat ramp so the trees of the Earth framed the Sky and Waters nicely.  There I poured out the Pomegranate Juice to the Morrighan, an offering of gratitude for not smiting me some years ago.

I walked until I found a place where the Live Oaks were covered with Spanish Moss and it felt as if any offering left would be left to its own devices.  I took my Witches Blade and cut the Pomegranate in half and made offerings to the Spirits of the Land.

I walked until I found a part of the walking path where it felt right to leave out the offerings to the Gods.  To toss the Apple into the woods and to cast forth the Barley.

I walked, and realized as I did so that I had walked Widdershins round the pond with the signs the warn against swimming for here-there-be-Alligators.  I walked and felt power behind me, a sense of being pushed or warned away from where I had left my offerings.  I completed my circuit and walked back towards my apartment rooms and the everyday holy world, musing as I did so that sometimes in the early stages of these sorts of relationships discretion is the better part of valor.

Peace,

Pax