Deaf Pagan Crossroads

To many here in America, February 2nd is seen as Groundhog’s Day – the day when we all stand around and wait to see if Punxsutauney Phil will see his shadow, and thus we will be stuck with a couple more weeks of freezing cold (by the way, according to this weather-forecasting rodent, we will be blessed with an early Spring this year.)

But for others, this day is celebrated as Imbolc, also known as Candlemas. It is the day when we honor the strengthening spark of light that pierces through the gloom of Winter. We gather to celebrate the first stirrings of Spring in the womb of Mother Earth, and the promise of new beginnings soon to come.

Here is wishing you all new beginnings.

~ Ocean

painting by Wendy Andrew

goddess artist extraordinaire

be sure to visit her site at http://www.paintingdreams.co.uk

The season of plenty is over and done.
We’ve welcomed the New Year and welcomed the Sun.
The larder is leaner, the woodpile is low,
But somewhere, spring waters are starting to flow

The world in her slumber is starting to dream
Of green fields and pastures, of honey and cream.
While we begin counting each branch and each bowl,
The Gods are thus counting the marks on each soul.

A time then of reckoning, counting and worth,
Of deeming true value and culling our girth,
Of finding what matters, what lies deep within,
And checking our balance in spirit and skin.

When each mouthful matters, when each blessing sings,
How can we then stew upon these lesser things?
The ice is still thick and the snow’s just as deep,
But we’ve things to do while the world’s still asleep.

This season is owned not by Winter nor Spring
But these quiet moments have been measuring
In inches and hours, in pounds and in pecks
Our world and ourselves in their many respects.

We find something worthy, we guard it with care.
We wonder at all that is simply “just there.”
We buy and collect, we save and we store,
At times such as these, then we ask, “What’s it for?”

In Winter’s deep cavern, the promise not born,
We stand at a threshold, so eager yet worn.
A time for reflection, and casting aside,
A time to be empty and quiet inside.

The season of plenty is over and done.
We’ve welcomed the New Year and welcomed the Sun.
The larder is leaner, the woodpile is low,
But somewhere, spring waters are starting to flow…

But somewhere spring breezes are starting to blow.

This song is an original piece of music written by Lorelei Greenwood

specifically for an Imbolc ritual I conducted a few years ago.