{"id":4832,"date":"2011-02-01T01:10:48","date_gmt":"2011-02-01T06:10:48","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/paganpages.org\/content\/?p=4906"},"modified":"2011-01-23T19:10:40","modified_gmt":"2011-01-24T00:10:40","slug":"rites-rituals-3","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/2011\/02\/01\/rites-rituals-3\/","title":{"rendered":"Rites & Rituals"},"content":{"rendered":"

Imbolc <\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

“I remember I saw you, I saw you dancing through the woods.<\/span><\/em><\/div>\n
I watched you dance away the snow, from the shadows where I stood.<\/span><\/em><\/div>\n
I smelled your scent within the breeze, it dropped me to my knees. <\/span><\/em><\/div>\n
As I watched you, so longingly….<\/span><\/em><\/div>\n
And the Wheel turns, can you feel the fire inside,\u00a0begin to burn?<\/span><\/em><\/div>\n
Can you hear the wind whisper our names?<\/span><\/em><\/div>\n
Destiny that cannot be changed<\/span><\/em><\/div>\n
As it is willed, so is it done<\/span><\/em><\/div>\n
Our dance has just begun<\/span><\/em><\/div>\n
When the Moon is kissed by the Sun”<\/span><\/em><\/div>\n
Imbolc, I imagine somewhere deep within\u00a0a sacred\u00a0grove of ancient trees. The youthful God stands quiet and still. The Mother aspect of the Goddess has been shed into the cold Earth to begin her work from below of prying Winter’s grasp from the land and\u00a0leaving in her place the Maiden. An unseen source, softly fills the\u00a0air with music as the Maiden lightly dances her way through\u00a0forest and field. The youthful aspect of the God watches in silence as her steps melt away the snow. His eyes stare in disbelief\u00a0at the small, fragile flowers her steps appear to conjure up to defy the stark black and white world of Winter’s palette. He thinks about stepping out to meet her but instinct holds him back, whispering, not yet, not yet. As the Maiden dances closer and the music in his head grows louder, his eyes grow heavy. His vision blurs and he feels himself drifting in between what is and what can be. The Maiden dances ever closer, weaving her spell over all. She reaches down with her magick to slowly awaken\u00a0those that deeply sleep. She reaches out with her dreams to those awake but caught in Winter’s stupor,\u00a0to believe once more in the turn to Spring. For a few brief moments, for those whose eyes are open to see, there\u00a0exists a fleeting glimpse of Spring. It is barely a thought, that dances just beyond your touch. It is\u00a0so small a sign of color amidst the bleak\u00a0void of Winter, that it lies beyond sight of all but the greatest dreamers. It is there though and as more of those sleeping awaken, join with those already dreaming, the intention of Spring takes hold and turns toward manifestation upon the Wheel. When the young God regains his senses, the Maiden has long since danced away. His thoughts swirl back and forth\u00a0between succumbing to Winter’s immediate embrace or holding onto\u00a0an improbable notion of Spring. I\u00a0often wonder, each year when Winter and\u00a0Spring begin their tug of war, if it might be the combined belief in or\u00a0lack of belief\u00a0toward either season that\u00a0determines the time line for stable change. It is inevitable that Spring will eventually\u00a0prevail but it is often far from decided until considerably past the\u00a0equinox. These are the thoughts and the imagery that move me, as\u00a0I consider the magick of Imbolc. As I do my ritual to celebrate the midpoint and subsquent fading of Winter, lighting the white candle in my cauldron, I think about all of\u00a0the new life possibilities\u00a0coming. I think about renewing my self promise to embrace the\u00a0wonder of\u00a0Spring\u00a0with all of my senses as free as is\u00a0possible from the\u00a0taint of the mundane. As I take a long drink from my wooden chalice, savoring the cold champagne, I\u00a0tell myself\u00a0that I will allow the energy to wash over me, intoxicating me with Nature’s rush. Then as I\u00a0sprinkle one last pinch of incense over the charcoal, I promise myself, that no matter\u00a0the situation, I will strive to teach, to heal, to open eyes to see. Imbolc is the moment when I whisper my dreams, for the year that\u00a0comes in earnest now, into the seeds I’ll sow. As it is willed, so mote it be………<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Imbolc “I remember I saw you, I saw you dancing through the woods. I watched you dance away the snow, from the shadows where I stood. I smelled your scent within the breeze, it dropped me to my knees. As I watched you, so longingly…. And the Wheel turns, can you feel the fire inside,\u00a0begin to burn? Can you hear the wind whisper our names? Destiny that cannot be changed As it is willed, so is it done Our dance has just begun When the Moon is kissed by the Sun” Imbolc, I imagine somewhere deep within\u00a0a sacred\u00a0grove of ancient trees. The youthful God stands quiet and still. The Mother aspect of the Goddess has been shed into the cold Earth to begin her work from below of prying Winter’s grasp from the land and\u00a0leaving in her place the Maiden. An unseen source, softly fills the\u00a0air with music as the Maiden lightly dances her way through\u00a0forest and field. The youthful aspect of the God watches in silence as her steps melt away the snow. His eyes stare in disbelief\u00a0at the small, fragile flowers her steps appear to conjure up to defy the stark black and white world of Winter’s palette. He thinks about stepping out to meet her but instinct holds him back, whispering, not yet, not yet. As the Maiden dances closer and the music in his head grows louder, his eyes grow heavy. His vision blurs and he feels himself drifting in between what is and what can be. The Maiden dances ever closer, weaving her spell over all. She reaches down with her magick to slowly awaken\u00a0those that deeply sleep. She reaches out with her dreams to those awake but caught in Winter’s stupor,\u00a0to believe once more in the turn to Spring. For a few brief moments, for those whose eyes are open to see, there\u00a0exists a fleeting glimpse of Spring. It is barely a thought, that dances just beyond your touch. It is\u00a0so small a sign of color amidst the bleak\u00a0void of Winter, that it lies beyond sight of all but the greatest dreamers. It is there though and as more of those sleeping awaken, join with those already dreaming, the intention of Spring takes hold and turns toward manifestation upon the Wheel. When the young God regains his senses, the Maiden has long since danced away. His thoughts swirl back and forth\u00a0between succumbing to Winter’s immediate embrace or holding onto\u00a0an improbable notion of Spring. I\u00a0often wonder, each year when Winter and\u00a0Spring begin their tug of war, if it might be the combined belief in or\u00a0lack of belief\u00a0toward either season that\u00a0determines the time line for stable change. It is inevitable that Spring will eventually\u00a0prevail but it is often far from decided until considerably past the\u00a0equinox. These are the thoughts and the imagery that move me, as\u00a0I consider the magick of Imbolc. As I do my ritual to celebrate the midpoint and subsquent fading of Winter, lighting the white candle in my cauldron, I think about all of\u00a0the new life possibilities\u00a0coming. I think about renewing my self promise to embrace the\u00a0wonder of\u00a0Spring\u00a0with all of my senses as free as is\u00a0possible from the\u00a0taint of the mundane. As I take a long drink from my wooden chalice, savoring the cold champagne, I\u00a0tell myself\u00a0that I will allow the energy to wash over me, intoxicating me with Nature’s rush. Then as I\u00a0sprinkle one last pinch of incense over the charcoal, I promise myself, that no matter\u00a0the situation, I will strive to teach, to heal, to open eyes to see. Imbolc is the moment when I whisper my dreams, for the year that\u00a0comes in earnest now, into the seeds I’ll sow. As it is willed, so mote it be………<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":86,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"iawp_total_views":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4832","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4832","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\/86"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4832"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4832\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4832"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4832"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4832"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}