Temperance and the Star

I associate strongly with Water imagery, so it’s no surprise that I love both Temperance and the Star. I was thinking recently of the similarities and differences between these cards, and I want to suggest the possibility that Temperance is more of a human-scale quality while the Star represents qualities that are more divine. Perhaps by “human” and “divine” there I mean something more like “bounded” and “unbounded,” respectively, but human and divine seem to describe the ways I would look to experience these cards in my life.

Temperance and the Star are both pouring: Temperance is pouring from one vessel into another, and the card can represent in part the correct balance or mixture of two substances. This idea of pouring a finite amount from one finite vessel into another finite vessel is very familiar to us in our everyday lives.

By contrast, the Star is just pouring out, endlessly, upon the earth. Although she is pouring from a bowl that should be almost empty, my image of her is that she is constantly refilled from within, just as a star shines on us without being diminished in our sight. At first, the association of a Star with Water imagery seemed odd to me, but now it makes sense; she is pouring out blessings, healing, and all good things, in a gentle but ever-renewed stream, just as the stars’ gentle light is always available to us.

This perspective was reinforced by the recasting of the Star as Grace in Lunaea Weatherstone’s Mystical Cats Tarot, which I was just exploring via the Fool’s Dog app. (Aside: I love the Fool’s Dog apps for exploring a new deck. If I want to get the physical version, I can; if one particular deck is not for me, then very little time and effort and no physical resources have gone into the exploration. The Mystical Cats deck is definitely for me, though!)

However else we describe it, to me grace is defined in part by its boundlessness; a grace that is limited or partial is grudging and shoddy and not really grace at all. This kind of grace is an ideal, though, and because of that it’s not really human. For example, as much as a minister, priestess, or healer can want to be a conduit of grace, one of the lessons we all learn is that as human beings, we are limited and constrained. We cannot constantly give without renewing ourselves, and there are some things we cannot give. It’s not that healing or blessing is a zero-sum game and that we are sacrificing ourselves for others, but we don’t have the boundless inner resources of a star, either. Even if the blessings flow entirely through from the spirits, our time, energy, and attention are limited. We all have to learn to find our balance, to do what’s best, what we can, and what works. This approach is much more like Temperance – being temperate in the sense of applying ourselves best, and that when we do approach empty, we find ways to refill ourselves.

If I were to apply these interpretations in a reading, I would adjust whatever advice I was giving related to Temperance to try to apply it to a human scale: look for ways to refill yourself, find balance within the finite nature of your situation, and so on. For the Star, thinking about grace, I would advise someone to look to the divine more directly, including looking for the hidden but always-renewed sources of peace, blessing, healing, and joy in their heart and soul.

What do others think about the tentative comparison I’ve established here? Do you see similar human/divine connections between other cards in the Major Arcana?

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Litha – Destruction Averted

I’m continuing to republish a series of essays originally written in 2011.

Litha, the summer solstice, is one of the Sabbats that can be a challenge to celebrate. Yule, the winter solstice, is usually easy to celebrate, because northern and western European culture is inclined to fear winter. Yule, when we begin to see the first evidence that winter will not last forever, makes it easy to celebrate: “We’re not going to freeze to death!” is definitely good news.

By comparison, summer is usually regarded as pleasant and positive. Stereotypically, kids love being out of school, people love spending time with their families, vacations are always fun, and all of that makes summer the time for recreation and enjoyment.

Of course, this can make it easy enough to celebrate Litha. If summer is such a good time, then not much more excuse is needed. [1]

But Litha reminds us that summer will end, so it can also feel like a letdown. The contrast is especially jarring for those who love summer but hold to the current astronomical definitions of the seasons, which use Litha to mark the beginning of summer: Yay, summer’s here! Now the days get….shorter? Huh?

This is one of several reasons that I use a different definition of the seasons. The way the eight Sabbats fit together, there are four derived from old Celtic fire festivals (Samhain, Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnasadh) and four from astronomical events (Yule, Ostara, Litha, Mabon). Historians have correctly pointed out that no Indo-European culture seems to have celebrated all eight; in particular, Mabon, the autumnal equinox, has relatively few roots in pre-Christian European culture. Yule and Ostara derive from Germanic roots, and the Germanic tribes and Celts spent more time bashing each other than sitting down and having respectful multi-cultural dialogue about how to celebrate joint festivals. [2]

But when Gerald Gardner was “improving” the material from the coven that initiated him, he added in the astronomical events, and in a fit of symmetry included even the less-celebrated ones. [3] Mostly, the idea of having a reason to party every six weeks or so is a pretty good one, so I can’t complain too much, and it gives us lots of leeway to adapt the celebration of the Sabbats to a wide range of four-season climates. As a result, there’s no one coherent mythical cycle that incorporates all eight Sabbats that has come down to us, so we find and make our own.

Anyway, astronomers have decided that it’s better to use astronomical events to define the seasons, so they mark each season as starting with its definitive event, which is utterly predictable and convenient for them but weird for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere who think that when it’s freezing and snowing in November, winter’s probably here already. Similarly, I don’t think it makes sense to say summer has started at the exact moment when the sun starts to spend less and less time in the sky every day.

Instead, I follow the older Celtic idea of the seasons that says the four fire festivals, which lie (pretty) neatly in between the four astronomical events, are the days when the seasons change. So for me, summer started at Beltane, Litha is its midpoint, and it will end at Lughnasadh, at the start of August. This means summer is the period when the sun is highest in the sky, both immediately before and immediately after the solstice. Just like “day” doesn’t start at noon and “night” doesn’t start at midnight, each season has its waxing and its waning.

Even understanding Litha as Midsummer means acknowledging that it marks the turning point and the year is inevitably turning towards winter once again. Wicca’s roots in Northern European culture include the implicit preference for summer and fear of winter. The term most Wiccans use for the afterlife, or place of rest and peace between reincarnations, is the “Summerland.” [4] If “heaven” is like summer, that makes a pretty clear statement that summer is much to be desired and while we might enjoy some parts of winter, it is mostly to be endured.

As we are all learning, though, more heat is not always a good thing. Global warming isn’t just bringing higher temperatures: the increased energy in the atmosphere is changing climate patterns and making weather events of all types – from frost to drought – more intense. And when it does bring higher temperatures and longer summers, it reminds us that we can no more live in the midst of constant scorching heat than we can in the midst of perpetual deep freeze.

On the other hand, constant, temperate stability isn’t necessarily the best thing, either. Even if the extremes are no place for us to live for long, perpetual balance isn’t automatically better. The examples of nature show us that we need the heat, and we need the cold, and we need the alternation between the two, just as we need day and night, not perpetual twilight. The flow, the change, the give and take between seasons and influences is an integral part of the dynamic, adaptive kind of balance in which living things find their active stability.

This helps us understand why Litha is a time to celebrate, not to mourn: we know that the waning year it ushers in is more that just a necessary but annoying interlude. But that intellectual knowledge doesn’t easily translate into the language of emotion and symbology, into the stories of myth, so let me put it this way: Litha is a time when we see destruction averted.

In many cultures, myths of creation and destruction are paired or linked. Some myths paint destruction and even death as not just the counterpart but the predecessor and catalyst for creation, such as the Babylonian myth of Marduk making the world from Tiamat’s body, or the Norse myth of the world being made of the body of the frost giant Ymir.

Other stories cast destruction as a consequence of actions that the created beings take: one Egyptian myth tells how Sehkmet was created by Ra to wreak destruction on the world and kill the humans who conspired against him, and the story of the Flood in Genesis is explicitly linked to the sinfulness of humanity.

Of course, these myths are never purely about destruction: Sehkmet was stopped; the Flood gave way, and Yahweh promised never to try that again, even hanging the rainbow in the sky as a symbol of his relinquishing rain as a weapon. But in the primarily linear conception of time that dominates most Western culture, these myths are mostly before-and-after stories. Even the Biblical flood, which can be seen as ending in a restoration of Creation, is a dividing point, one that is explicitly promised not to come again.

In Wicca’s focus on cyclical time, there is no single creation myth. The idea of rebirth at Yule serves a similar purpose, with the allegorical connection of the Sun and the vegetation god making the winter solstice a myth of re-creation every year. This idea of constantly dynamic life-cycles occurs on many scales simultaneously, too, from the rising and setting of the sun to the phases of the moon, to the turning of the year, to the lifespan of a person, and even to geological time.

Just as there is no single creation myth but an ongoing story, there is no single myth of the world being spared a disaster. Instead, the twin forces of creation and destruction are seen as parts of an ongoing cycle, feeding into each other. We face destruction from both extreme heat and extreme cold (and other forces, if they get out of balance), and Litha and Yule are both celebrations of destruction averted and the ongoing re-creation of the world.

As MadGastronomer’s article on the Eleusinian Mysteries pointed out, Southern European cultures, where great heat made summer the barren period, told their stories of destruction averted around summer, and Persephone was not the maiden of the springtime but the advent of the autumn planting, the return to the growing season that would get the Greeks through the next summer’s drought.

That sense of the necessary interplay – the way that the barren period is not just the counterpart to, but inextricably linked with the fruitfulness – is what we ought to try to express and celebrate at Litha.

Raj expressed how a similar cyclical view is at the heart of Hinduism: “The Hindu Supreme Trinity consists of Brahma the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver, and Shiva the More Complicated Than That. Shiva is often called The Destroyer, but he is not an evil being seeking the destruction of the world for his own gain. He is, after all, part of the Supreme Trinity. His role is to transform that which is into something new. In doing so, he does indeed destroy, but the destruction he wreaks is destruction for the sake of new creation.

“What this means is that in the Hindu worldview, as in the Wiccan, destruction is an integral part of the process of creation. Acknowledging the role of destruction in the reality we inhabit isn’t always a pleasant thing to do, and we are certainly not obligated to celebrate destruction whenever and wherever it occurs. We can, however, remember that a lot of the destruction in nature results in creation, so that ultimately, while destruction is ongoing, utter destruction is averted because creation, growth, and renewal are also ongoing.” [5]

While it heralds the sun’s waning, Litha is not about light or dark winning victories over each other, even temporarily, or about one end of the polarity between ice and fire being the “good” one; it’s about the constant interplay in the dance that is the turning of the Wheel of the Year. That cooperation and interaction are the real story of destruction averted, and not just averted, but transformed into the ongoing process of re-creation. Now that’s something to celebrate.

——

[1] ^ In US culture, Memorial Day has mostly become a similar celebration of summer, although ten years of war have created quite a few families with someone to memorialize and plenty of additional performances of often-empty patriotism.

[2] ^ Imagine the “barbarian” opponents of the Romans in Gladiator and the Celts from Braveheart trying to spend time together. The result would either be massive carnage or an all-night drinking bout that would end in…massive carnage.

[3] ^ I haven’t written much about Gardner. That’s on purpose. He’s considered the “founder” of modern Wicca. He said he was initiated by a millenia-old survival of prehistoric witchcraft; that may have happened, but he probably wrote a lot of the rituals himself, and is apparently the originator of many recognizeably Wiccan practices.

He had many personal foibles and some seriously objectionable beliefs and practices (most notably sexism and Orientalism). Personally, I think getting rid of some of that dross he mixed in is one of the signs of progress in Wicca in recent decades, but that’s just me. Wicca has changed and diversified tremendously since Gardner, so don’t judge all of Wicca or all Wiccans on the basis of Gardner.

[4] ^ Adopted from Spiritualism. Wiccan beliefs on what happens after death are complex, highly individual, and not necessarily coherent, but it is common parlance to speak of someone “going to the Summerland” or “being in the Summerland” after death. Wiccans who think about reincarnation may describe the Summerland as a place of rest and joy between incarnations.

[5] ^ I would like to thank Raj for his excellent contribution here and even more for his tremendous help in discussing the ideas behind this article with me. Our conversations and his commentary on Hinduism made it possible to develop these ideas fully, and to expand the scope of the inter-religious aspect beyond solely Western ideas and practices. I am deeply indebted to him for his cooperation and look forward to collaborating with him again.

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A simple ritual: Moon shadows

For this month’s ritual, I want to suggest a simple activity which can be as elaborate and engaging or as quiet and meditative as you want: looking at your moon shadow.

The weather is nice enough in most places at this time that going outside while the full moon is high doesn’t mean flirting with hypothermia. So why not get yourself out of doors while the full moon is the main light source and spend some time with your shadow cast by moonlight?

Shadows are curious creatures – appearing and disappearing, images of ourselves but shaped by our surroundings. Shadows cast by moonlight are even more rarely seen, unusual and perhaps revealing.

Turn your back on the moon and do ritual with your shadow as your partner. Can you feel it? What does it look like? How does it engage or not engage?

Meditate with your shadow. What does it have to show you, to tell you, to be for you?

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Chakra meditation class

I’ll be leading a guided meditation through the chakras at Mind Your Body Oasis in Arlington, VA on Friday, May 23rd at 6:30 pm.

We’ll go into a state of relaxation and encounter each of the chakras in turn, giving participants an opportunity to experience each chakra and work to clear out any existing issues and balance the way their personal energy is working in each of these areas.

Come by to relax and enjoy!

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Ritual for gathering energy using the Four of Wands

With the arrival of Beltane, my rituals are moving into the suit of Wands and the Element of Fire. The first card I’ve chosen to do ritual around is the Four of Wands. In the Motherpeace Tarot, the image of this card is a woman sitting inside a pyramid. The Rider-Waite-Smith image is a couple dancing underneath a canopy held up by the four wands. In both images, the active energy of Wands, which is related to taking action in the world, is balanced by the stabilizing influence of the number four, which usually has to do with a fixed, lasting form. In this case, it is energy brought into structure, into a stable foundation for containing, raising, and directing that energy. (See the Motherpeace image by selecting 4 of Wands from the drop-down menu.)

This ritual is intended for the full moon on Wednesday, May 14th, but the visualization itself can be used in many contexts.

In this ritual, we will do an exercise to gather energy, using a visualization of a greenhouse as the structure that helps us amplify our own ability to hold energy. Now, we know that the greenhouse effect in our climate is having bad effects on our planet, but try to return to the original purpose of an actual, physical greenhouse – its ability to gather and contain the sun’s energy makes it possible to grow plants, with beautiful, beneficial results. In this ritual, we are working not with heat but with the metaphysical energy that we raise and direct in ritual.

After building up this energy, and practicing gathering and containing more energy than we usually do, we will release it out to Goddess. You can do this with a simple intent of thankfulness, perhaps for the energies of this season, or you can imbue it with a specific intent such as healing (for the earth, perhaps?) or to give you energy to take an action in the real world. Regardless, the main point here is to work with increasing the energy you are able to hold. As with any other skill, this ability can be built up over time, so try stretching yourself a little with this visualization.

Materials: I suggest you use four candles to mark the quarters of your space.

Ritual:

Cast your circle with your wand, staff (or a broom!), athame, or by walking the perimeter of your circle with one of the candles you will use to mark the quarters.

Call the quarters using these words or your own. As you call each quarter, light the candle in that direction, and visualize yourself putting down a stake to mark one corner of where you will build your structure.

Air, Powers of the East, bring me the energy of inspiration and communication. Hail and welcome, Air!

Fire, Powers of the South, bring me the energy of change and growth. Hail and welcome, Fire!

Water, Powers of the West, bring me the energy of emotion and flow. Hail and welcome, Water!

Earth, Powers of the North, bring me the energy of strength and stability. Hail and welcome, Earth!

Invoke a Goddess of this season if you wish. You might invoke Aphrodite, Juno, Freya, or the archetype of the Maiden or the Mother.

Now sit or stand comfortably near the center of your circle and begin your visualization. You already have the four stakes planted to mark the corners of your structure. Ground and center yourself, and open yourself to the world around you. Draw in energy from the earth and from the sky above, especially the full moon’s light. Draw in energy from your goddess if you called one. Draw energy in in whatever way is best for you – breath, movement, stillness, music, silence, words, trance, whatever works. Use this energy to expand your aura out away from your body, filling it up more and more as you do. Keep going until your aura reaches the edges of your circle, where it touches the quarters. There it takes root and becomes a solid structure, one which creates a pyramid or dome overhead.

Once this structure is established, keep filling it with energy. See yourself drawing energy from all these possible sources, especially the full moon, and as that energy enters your greenhouse, it becomes your energy, which fills and pulses within this space, until it is more energy than you have ever held before. The energy flows through you, and you are its focal point, but it fills the whole space and remains in balance with you, so that you are holding it gently and comfortably. Use the four quarters to stabilize your structure so that as it fills with energy it becomes stronger and more able to hold that energy.

Stay with this concentration of energy for as long as you are comfortable holding it. When you are ready, imbue the whole structure full of energy with an intention, whether that is celebration of the season or support for an action you wish to take in the future. Then see your structure opening at the top and sending all that energy out, upwards toward the full moon, in a great fountain of light.

Afterwards, ground yourself thoroughly. Damp your aura down to its usual size. You may feel tired after that big release, but hopefully you will also feel empowered from knowing that you have stretched your own boundaries and enhanced your ability to take such action again in the future, much like after a good workout.

Thank any goddess you called.

Thank the quarters for the kinds of energy they provided and for giving you the structure to draw in and contain that much energy.

Open the circle.

Extinguish your candles safely and ground yourself again.

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SCOTUS Endorses Government Prayer (updated)

The Supreme Court decision regarding the prayer practices of the town of Greece, New York is bad news for anyone who does not want to experience Christian prayers at government functions.

The real problem with this decision is that its overall philosophy moves further away from an endorsement test – the idea that the government should not endorse a specific religion – and towards a coercion test instead, verging on the idea that government can endorse religion without coercing citizens to follow that religion. Moreover, a couple justices took the opportunity to say they would like to see coercion defined even more narrowly, meaning that government would have an even wider scope to push religion. See more specific discussion at SCOTUSblog.

It is not an accident that justices who have experienced the least disadvantage in their lives tend to see coercion narrowly and don’t have a problem with endorsement, while those who have wider life experiences are more likely to think that endorsement slides into coercion and that both are a bad thing. People in the majority – in this case the religious majority – have not been subject to the myriad slings and arrows of everyday life that make one more thing, like your government expecting you to have the strength to withstand public, officially sanctioned disparagement, just too much to bear.

Specifically, this decision is a bad thing for Wiccans because to be realistic, in my lifetime we will not be on an equal footing with Christians, and this decision is all about accommodating the majority rather than protecting the minority. In the meantime, we run a serious risk of being used as cover – call it the “I Have a Wiccan Friend” defense. In other words, if a town council has to get a Wiccan one week out of the year (and a Jew once and a Buddhist once) so that they can have their exclusionary prayers to Jesus the other 49 weeks, they’ll do it, and those 49 weeks will do way more to reinforce the Christian sense of hegemony (we own this town – look at the meetings!) than that one week of pretend tolerance will.

Make no mistake, that one-week-a-year, or any similar plan, is tolerance, not inclusion. I have argued before and will argue again that there is no such thing as a fully inclusive prayer that covers all citizens, so the only truly inclusive option is no prayer at all.

Moreover, it looks to me at first glance like this decision’s details gave small governments a long list of ways to tailor their tolerance so that it’s not too burdensome on the Christian majority. It doesn’t seem like there’s any real burden for the government to be inclusive by any standard, for example. Saying that local governments may be run “informally” is a loophole big enough to drive the “Oh, it’s an accident that we forgot to invite any rabbis” truck right through.

EDITED: Originally, my last paragraph read:

Personally, I will continue to advocate for less appearance of government endorsing religion for any religion, mine included. I would not give an opening prayer at a government meeting even if I was specifically invited to do so. Others may make different decisions depending on circumstances, but please think carefully before participating in this misguided encroachment of government-sponsored religion.

EDITED TO ADD:

I am hearing some good arguments about why we should engage in exactly the kind of prayer that I firmly believe on fundamental principles should not be happening. I am not particularly swayed by the argument from equal misery: If they’re going to make us miserable, I am not convinced that we should make them miserable too. I am much more convinced by the argument that trying to participate in public prayer and being turned away could be – in the long term, on the order of decades – the foundation of a new case to get this crap overturned.

In the meantime and the near term, there is always the possibility that a sectarian Wiccan or Hellenistic or Druid prayer can be so repulsive to a Christian majority that the Christian majority decides not to hold the public prayers any longer. That would be similar to the attempt to install a Satanist monument in Oklahoma to “balance” the Ten Commandments monument.

I am not yet convinced that the potential harm done to others in the meantime is worth it, especially because of the risk of being used for “cover” in the way I describe above. I am willing to be convinced otherwise.

I don’t know how to balance the kind of activism for equal recognition of Wicca and Paganisms that I see going on in many places (military, prisons) with using Wicca as a weapon to get religion removed. How do I take action and try to communicate the subtext “Well, you could just not allow prayers here,” in one context, and in another context take an almost identical action with the subtext, “No, really, take me seriously, Wiccan prisoners have a real need for ministry?” How do we avoid having the kind of wiggle-arounds that are going to be used in prayer-giving contexts (oh, we’ll have everyone in on a rotation, that’ll work) applied to other contexts to marginalize us even further?

As I said, I’m willing to hear further arguments. I’m deeply torn about this matter and expect to spend some time contemplating while I’m away at Fertile Ground Gathering this weekend. That means I won’t be here to moderate comments or respond. We’ve got time. Let’s ground and center and think and talk together before we act.

Posted in civil rights, politics, religious freedom | Tagged , , , , , , , ,

Beltane – In My Hands

I’m continuing to republish a series of essays originally written in 2011.

The Pagan celebration of Beltane, May first and second in the northern hemisphere,  is a fire festival and also a very earthy and bawdy celebration of physical love and pleasure. It’s easy to think of Beltane in big terms: huge bonfires with whole communities dancing in ecstasy, both vertically and horizontally. For the moment, though, I’d like to put it in smaller terms based on something I discovered recently: the motion I make when I cup my hands around a candle to protect it from the wind is the same as the gesture I use to cup my beloved’s face before a kiss.

The full moon after Ostara (in 2011) was a “supermoon” when the moon was full at nearly the same time it was at perigee; its nearness to the earth made the full moon bigger and brighter than usual. I decided to do my personal ritual marking the full moon outside, on the rooftop patio of my apartment building. I took my portable altar kit upstairs and and settled down to watch the sun set and the moon rise. I was a little irritated by the fact that the densely urban area where I live creates a lot of light pollution, so the supermoon wouldn’t be as impressive as it would be elsewhere, out in “real nature.”

Well, Mother Nature must have heard me thinking, because she decided to remind me that even in the middle of a very human-constructed and human-influenced environment, she can still play tricks. Thankfully, she was gentle and only sent wind, but it was an erratic wind that snuffed my candles at frequent but irregular intervals, spaced out just enough to let me think I could relax and meditate a bit before another gust came. It became something between a game and a competition as I frantically relit candles from each other, and finally I let two of my candles go out, but sheltered the third one in my cupped hands to keep it going until the moon rose, majestic and beautiful and just exactly the same shade of ruddy yellow brilliance as the flame.

This was a good reminder to me not to let myself get caught up in “living room Wicca,” where we practice indoors and all too seldom actually experience the nature that we claim to revere. Living room Wicca leads to all sorts of silliness, especially from ultra-urban Wiccans who can get all overly romantic about the purity of nature. I’ve got news for people who think that way: the idea of the wilderness, and especially the idea that it is in some way better than the settled areas, is a social construction from the Romantic period. After the atmospheric nuclear testing of the 20th century affected the distribution of isotopes in the air and water of the world, there is no place on earth that is completely unaffected by humankind’s actions. Even the moon in which I admire one face of the Goddess has had men walk on it.

The purity of nature as distinct from humanity is a myth, just as the idea that humanity is distinct from nature is a myth.  Humans are creatures of flesh and blood, bone and sweat, tears and urine. What wildness does exist is valuable and a vital part of the planet’s biosphere, but it’s not necessarily nice or comfortable or beautiful, any more than humans are necessarily rational and logical creatures.

Anyone who actually lives there will tell you that it takes a lot more work to live in less-developed areas. It’s even a hard place to do ritual: the flames get blown out, nothing is level, the rocks are sharp, the ants carry off the sacred bread, you discover what a dead frog smells like, and when you start chanting “We all come from the Goddess / and to her we shall return / like a drop of rain / flowing to the ocean,” she takes you at your word. People who succumb to living room Wicca run the risk of being like the young Wilderness Explorer in the movie Up!, who complains that the wilderness is just too wild. It takes a keen appreciation of the ridiculous, as well as deep familiarity with your environment, careful planning, and a high degree of flexibility to do ritual outdoors successfully.

In that way, it’s actually a lot like making love. Robert Farrar Capon wrote that “the unrehearsed and unrehearsable ritual by which two people undress each other for the first time” was one of the few things “not worth describing seriously,” what  with all the fumbles and uncertainty and mishaps: clothing gets tangled, zippers stick, and jewelry breaks. Even after that, our bodies don’t always keep pace with our thoughts and emotions, sometimes zooming light-years ahead, sometimes lagging, frustratingly slow to respond. It almost never happens smoothly, as if choreographed; sometimes it hardly seems like it’s worth the trouble, and that it might be slightly ridiculous to bother about it at all.

And the ultimate ridiculousness can be found in Beltane’s opposite – Samhain, the festival that recognizes death and its place in our lives. After all, as Sir Terry Pratchett pointed out, “In the long run, we’re all dead.” So why should we bother, why take the risks, why expose ourselves emotionally to the dangers and difficulties of loving, let alone physically struggling with the acts of love?

And yet somehow, we still keep trying, and we believe it’s worth the trouble. Because here and now, we are alive, and in love.

These two great mysteries, love and death, are closely intertwined, although we try to separate them, to idealize the one and ignore the other. But no matter how much we try, they exist in dialogue with each other. The only real response to the fact that death happens is, “I love you.” And all I have to believe is that that’s enough. All I have to believe is that love can be the basis for me to build a meaningful life and relationships.

And this is true: we have proof that love is amazingly, tremendously powerful precisely because it happens in the face of silliness, and ridiculousness, and impermanence, and death. It is worth the trouble of popped buttons and of broken hearts, because love is what makes new life possible. This is true in the literal sense, obviously, of creating new lives, but it’s also true in a metaphorical sense.

Capon argued that grace, which I regard as the ultimate manifestation of divine love, makes sin utterly irrelevant. For Capon, the grace of the divine love is forgiveness that not only settles the score but throws out the idea of keeping score at all. Although the concept of sin is no longer particularly meaningful for me, the concept of forgiveness still is.

For me, the most incredible forgiveness happens when I love someone enough that I want my relationship with them to go on, regardless of what has happened to hurt me. I’m so in love with them that I’m willing to let the old me die, so that the me who was owed a debt by the offender is simply gone, and the debt will never be called in. If we go forward into that together, our love can create a new life for us both, and for our relationship together.

That’s why this year, especially when Easter and Beltane are so close together, it seems appropriate that Beltane occurs at the new moon, not the full moon. It’s a reminder that both are celebrations of love over death, reminders of the love that transcends death and helps us make life meaningful, in the face of all the fumbles, and the pain, and the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Beltane and the love it embodies are about light, and fire, even in the darkest moments of a moonless night. After all, that’s why it is called the new moon and not the empty moon.

Even in those very dark moments, I find the newness of life in the simple motion of cupping my hands. I light a candle, rather than cursing the darkness, and cup my hands around it, nurture it just a bit more, get it to glow a little brighter. I cup my hands around the face of a child, and wipe away the tears, and replace them with kisses, nurturing the young life that is just barely taking hold but promises so much potential. I cup my hands around the face of my beloved, and nurture the flame of our love. And when I do, that brilliance blazes up into a light that illumines my life, and I have the answer right there, in my hands.

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