{"id":23327,"date":"2020-12-01T01:10:52","date_gmt":"2020-12-01T05:10:52","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/?p=23327"},"modified":"2020-11-22T14:40:55","modified_gmt":"2020-11-22T18:40:55","slug":"of-medicine-n-magick","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/2020\/12\/01\/of-medicine-n-magick\/","title":{"rendered":"Of Medicine \u2018n\u2019 Magick"},"content":{"rendered":"

Deep Autumn <\/b><\/span><\/span><\/h1>\n

I love this time of year. The wheel turns in my hemisphere, and the dark of night claims sway in its dance with daylight. It\u2019s a wondrous sharing. As I anticipate the arrival of winter, the enveloping darkness is comforting Medicine to me. The older I get, the more meaningful this deep autumn Medicine becomes. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

It\u2019s hard for many, I know. It\u2019s hard, even for me with my solitary ways and absolute love for the long nights, short days, and cooling temps. And this year such seasonal challenges are compounded for many \u2013 if not most \u2013 with the increased isolation offered by COVID-19. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Nonetheless, with or without the added challenges of this\u2026 thing we call 2020, I know that I cherish my little ceremonies, my little rituals, my little Medicine acts that sustain me as the daylight dwindles and night overshadows all life. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

This year I\u2019m refreshing \u2018n\u2019 replacing a tool of spirit that I made years ago. Like most of my handcrafted tools, it\u2019s Nature-based and simple, as is the ritual of its creation. The act itself is made of reciprocity, gratitude, a sharing. It\u2019s simple so that my focus may settle \u2018n\u2019 sink in my relationship with the creation itself, what it means to me, my intention, its<\/i> intention, how it might offer influence\u2026 and whatever thoughts of the heart make manifest as my creation makes manifest. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

This year I create a new beaded string with the holly berries of autumn. My holly strand.<\/p>\n

And this is where I free-associate. Not a way to write great, to be sure, but it\u2019s a great way to write. I offer this side-note as one who journals zealously. ::nods:: Anyway\u2026 the holly strand\u2026<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I grew up, mostly, in southern Delaware, where the holly was designated as the state tree. The trees grew wild in the young forests of my youth, most gone now in the name of conventional progress. I recall sitting at the kitchen table, gazing out the window to witness the berries evolve with warming color in summer, often with feet made tender from barefoot excursions under the trees. I\u2019d trim branches in December for my mom to decorate for the season. The holly offers me these ordinary memories.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The little acre of Mohican land that I\u2019ve called home for over 25 years is blessed with a single holly. It grows along the foundation and was trimmed, against its will, by others, to be a shrub. While I\u2019ve considered trimming it so that it might grow as the tree it\u2019s meant to be, it\u2019s too close to the house, so I\u2019ve honored it as the shrub it was when we first met. It offers me a Nature-centered connection to my youth. It offers food to hungry robins in February. It gives perch \u2018n\u2019 protection to wrens, chickadees, and sparrows in every season. It teaches me what protection can look like. It inspires a link to my personal Celtic bonds, and \u2013 in this season \u2013 it connects me to the story of the Holy King who prepares to relinquish his thrown to the Oak King at winter solstice, and who later returns to the thrown at summer solstice. Again and again. Year after year. They share an act, a ritual, with one another, and with us. And so it is that holly shares an act, a ritual, with me.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The string of holly berries that I made years ago \u2013 the one this new strand is replacing \u2013 has been part of winter and summer altars for quite some time. It\u2019s been part of altars in every season. I\u2019ve worn the string to invite protection, wrapped it around candles and sensors in mystical workings, used it to create sacred space for healing and protective works, carried it and kept it by the bedside to invite dreams.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

And my reason for creating a new string this year is that my old string is broken. I broke it. I broke it for someone who was seeking holly for their workings, and those strung, dried berries were all I had to offer. A gesture that sings to the generosity of holly, and to all of Nature. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

So now I sit in the deepening, darkness of autumn\u2019s cauldron and stitch together the seasons, the memories, stories, thoughts, feelings, visions, and all the connections that each berry invokes. Needle \u2018n\u2019 thread \u2013 always a metaphor in my realm \u2013 collaborating with Nature in a way that conjures strands connected to the known and unknown alike. Strands that I may carry to Yule. And so on, until it\u2019s time to break and share some more.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Honoring spirit, and actively taking part in acknowledging and venerating my relationships with mystery, is the ultimate gift that this ritual offers me. It\u2019s not about creating a tool to use, it\u2019s about nurturing a relationship that pulls me into the mystery, the meaning and value of the act, and then, at some time yet unknown, sharing it with others, as the Medicine it\u2019s meant to be. The Medicine it is.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I invite you to engage such Medicine, to nurture such a gift, however it may manifest in your world. And then, when ripe \u2018n\u2019 ready, share it with others. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Peace. <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

***<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

About the Author:<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Rosemari Roast<\/b><\/span><\/span> is <\/span><\/span>called herbalist, artist, Medicine womyn, backyard farmer, among other things. You’ll find her around the northwest hills of Connecticut. You can learn more about her and discover all her online spaces at: <\/span><\/span>linktr.ee\/walkinthewoods<\/a><\/b><\/u><\/span><\/span><\/span>.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Deep Autumn I love this time of year. The wheel turns in my hemisphere, and the dark of night claims sway in its dance with daylight. It\u2019s a wondrous sharing. As I anticipate the arrival of winter, the enveloping darkness is comforting Medicine to me. The older I get, the more meaningful this deep autumn Medicine becomes. It\u2019s hard for many, I know. It\u2019s hard, even for me with my solitary ways and absolute love for the long nights, short days, and cooling temps. And this year such seasonal challenges are compounded for many \u2013 if not most \u2013 with the increased isolation offered by COVID-19. Nonetheless, with or without the added challenges of this\u2026 thing we call 2020, I know that I cherish my little ceremonies, my little rituals, my little Medicine acts that sustain me as the daylight dwindles and night overshadows all life. This year I\u2019m refreshing \u2018n\u2019 replacing a tool of spirit that I made years ago. Like most of my handcrafted tools, it\u2019s Nature-based and simple, as is the ritual of its creation. The act itself is made of reciprocity, gratitude, a sharing. It\u2019s simple so that my focus may settle \u2018n\u2019 sink in my relationship with the creation itself, what it means to me, my intention, its intention, how it might offer influence\u2026 and whatever thoughts of the heart make manifest as my creation makes manifest. This year I create a new beaded string with the holly berries of autumn. My holly strand. And this is where I free-associate. Not a way to write great, to be sure, but it\u2019s a great way to write. I offer this side-note as one who journals zealously. ::nods:: Anyway\u2026 the holly strand\u2026 I grew up, mostly, in southern Delaware, where the holly was designated as the state tree. The trees grew wild in the young forests of my youth, most gone now in the name of conventional progress. I recall sitting at the kitchen table, gazing out the window to witness the berries evolve with warming color in summer, often with feet made tender from barefoot excursions under the trees. I\u2019d trim branches in December for my mom to decorate for the season. The holly offers me these ordinary memories. The little acre of Mohican land that I\u2019ve called home for over 25 years is blessed with a single holly. It grows along the foundation and was trimmed, against its will, by others, to be a shrub. While I\u2019ve considered trimming it so that it might grow as the tree it\u2019s meant to be, it\u2019s too close to the house, so I\u2019ve honored it as the shrub it was when we first met. It offers me a Nature-centered connection to my youth. It offers food to hungry robins in February. It gives perch \u2018n\u2019 protection to wrens, chickadees, and sparrows in every season. It teaches me what protection can look like. It inspires a link to my personal Celtic bonds, and \u2013 in this season \u2013 it connects me to the story of the Holy King who prepares to relinquish his thrown to the Oak King at winter solstice, and who later returns to the thrown at summer solstice. Again and again. Year after year. They share an act, a ritual, with one another, and with us. And so it is that holly shares an act, a ritual, with me. The string of holly berries that I made years ago \u2013 the one this new strand is replacing \u2013 has been part of winter and summer altars for quite some time. It\u2019s been part of altars in every season. I\u2019ve worn the string to invite protection, wrapped it around candles and sensors in mystical workings, used it to create sacred space for healing and protective works, carried it and kept it by the bedside to invite dreams. And my reason for creating a new string this year is that my old string is broken. I broke it. I broke it for someone who was seeking holly for their workings, and those strung, dried berries were all I had to offer. A gesture that sings to the generosity of holly, and to all of Nature. So now I sit in the deepening, darkness of autumn\u2019s cauldron and stitch together the seasons, the memories, stories, thoughts, feelings, visions, and all the connections that each berry invokes. Needle \u2018n\u2019 thread \u2013 always a metaphor in my realm \u2013 collaborating with Nature in a way that conjures strands connected to the known and unknown alike. Strands that I may carry to Yule. And so on, until it\u2019s time to break and share some more. Honoring spirit, and actively taking part in acknowledging and venerating my relationships with mystery, is the ultimate gift that this ritual offers me. It\u2019s not about creating a tool to use, it\u2019s about nurturing a relationship that pulls me into the mystery, the meaning and value of the act, and then, at some time yet unknown, sharing it with others, as the Medicine it\u2019s meant to be. The Medicine it is. I invite you to engage such Medicine, to nurture such a gift, however it may manifest in your world. And then, when ripe \u2018n\u2019 ready, share it with others. Peace. *** About the Author: Rosemari Roast is called herbalist, artist, Medicine womyn, backyard farmer, among other things. You’ll find her around the northwest hills of Connecticut. You can learn more about her and discover all her online spaces at: linktr.ee\/walkinthewoods.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":266,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"iawp_total_views":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[10004],"tags":[12566,12565,10115,10110,10676,10077,10245,10106],"class_list":["post-23327","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-monthly-columns","tag-berries","tag-deep-autumn","tag-healing","tag-herbs","tag-holly","tag-magick","tag-plants","tag-trees"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23327","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/266"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=23327"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23327\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":23337,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23327\/revisions\/23337"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=23327"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=23327"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=23327"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}