Samhain Approacheth

It says a lot about how things have been this past year when I tell you that this is the first altar I’ve decorated for the sabbats since I moved out of my little home in the woods. I must be feeling better. Endings and beginnings, my favorite time of year.

It’s been stormy and blustery and the ground is totally soaked with an abundance of water. It’s sound was wonderful to wake up to. I love the gold/red/purple leaves against a stormy sky. The flowers are from me mum as are the pomegranates. She gives me poms every year at this time, she has for over 40 years. It’s just such a lovely gesture. I think when Mom is gone and this time of year comes I will miss her the most. It was she who taught me the wonders of late autumn…

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Wishes Granted

Last night there were a few folks. Some of the students were there from Thursday Outer Grove, some others. But since it was only for folks with grieving to do, especially suicides, and those who wanted to receive the booklet of Hekate devotionals, there weren’t as many as last year.

After the circle and once your personal devotions have been completed, each person passes into the house for the dumb supper. No talking allowed in the house. Which I find quite nice actually. A heavy ritual like that leaves me wanting silence. Since I was the one female dedicated to Hekate I had the honor of being High Priestess for the evening with my High Priest from the coven. I can’t tell you how I love this man.

I had forgotten my offering to Hekate so I ran the fingers of both hands through the flames as my offering. She pointed to the beer behind me that someone had brought for others to use. So flying, foaming, cascading beer She did get. And I wonder if my sober friends will smell it on my coat, which really shouldn’t be washed.

I knew that it worked when I broke out into a huge grin on my walk to the car. And when I awoke this morning the same thing. Huge grin.

I got in the car and changed the music. For me, Samhain has begun.

Hekate’s Night

I am a dedicated priestess of Hekate. Crows, snakes, dogs, and bulls. Black and torches. Quiet and eerie noise. I find comfort in these things, in the dark. Her torch shines on the golden treasures in the dark.

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Tonight is the new moon closest to Samhain. Tonight is the night that we can truly celebrate and commune with Hekate. Leon puts this on every year. We wear black clothes, eat black and white food, fizz black beer into the flaming cauldron, we swing noisemakers and windsingers, the works. It is not only the night to work with Hekate but to let Her know about the suicides that need to be unstuck from their place so that they move on or return for a new life, a new chance.

Tonight I will be asking Her to release my ex-husband, Joel Penson. Leon and I agreed last night that I have been thinking of him so much in the past 2-3 years, very aware that he was dead, because Joel’s spirit discovered that I do Her work. That running into my ex-brother-in-law was no fluke but the way for Joel to let me know the work I must do tonight.

I hope that both of us will find peace.

May She bless him and illuminate his way. May Joel find what he needs and the strength to move forward into something new and wonderful.

So mote it be.

The New Phonebooks Are Here!

Well, not really. But an out of print book on the life of Steve Marriott has been re-published and is affordable again. And is being shipped to me this week. Woot!

The more I know about his life the more I see similarities between it and my life and my ex-husband. The destruction that is addiction is just incomprehensible. You take a perfectly delightful, and in his case supremely talented, human being, add more money than god and a cocaine addiction and you get:

An alcoholic in his cups is an unlovely creature. Our struggles with them are variously strenuous, comic, and tragic.

It is the truth. And we lose so many folks this way. My ex’s death certificate said “suicide” and Steve Marriott’s said “smoke inhalation due to a house fire.” They should have said “alcoholism.”

The man fascinates me and I’m dying to get my hands on this sometimes flawed book. I read a lot of biographies and when they deal with addiction I’m all over it. As much as I have a girl crush, the truth is his story breaks my heart. I wish he could have found sobriety. I don’t know if was denial, too much access, fame, or what. I know in the very early 70’s he tried to clean up his act to save his marriage. I think when he failed to do both, he gave up. Fuck it. The battle cry of the alcoholic. I always see myself running down a hill, painted with blue celtic symbols, a huge sword, screaming FUCK IIIITTTTTT! And I laugh and the moment passes. I’m a very lucky woman.