Tonight is
the beginning of the Grain Harvest celebrations in the old Celtic traditions in
the Northern hemisphere; it is a 24 hour celebration. So tonight we will honor
that ancient tradition. It is a time for trade between tribes, and the telling
of oral histories as well as songs and poems of praise for the fallen heroes. It
is also the time for those that wish to enter into the Tailtian marriages, where new couples make a vow for a
trial period of a year and a day in a trial commitment, before making it
permanent or splitting apart.
As I look
into my candle and the sandalwood smoke rises; curling around and looping as
air currents move. We begin walking up a spiral trail to the top of a lush
green hill. A fire is already lit and blazing brightly, it can be seen for
miles around as people come for the feast and festivities. Everything is made
from the first harvests of all the grains, berries and apples, each participant
bringing their best. Songs and Poems telling the history of the Sabbat are
being told and sung. It is the halfway point between the Summer Solstice and
the Autumnal Equinox. The moon is almost full, with the bright fire and full moon
shadows are all around, both deep and soft they dance with the flames and the
people. The flames leap high and look like the ancestors also dancing with us. The
foods are gathered and the merriment calls to all. As each person enters the circle
around the fire they leave their gifts of food on the table between the rocks.
The dancing subsides and all take a seat. An elder with long white beard and
robe raises his staff and arms to the stars, gathering the energies of the
night. The fire crackles and the staff shines bright, “May the Magick of this
night be felt by all, with good will, honor, and ethics may you trade your
goods; may the foods we have made from the first harvest ensure in this year of
so much drought that we glean enough grains to last through the winter; may
your night be filled with new beginnings for all.” He points to me. I stand and
offer:
Prayer for the Warrior Soul
by Patti Wigington
The warrior soul, fighting in spirit,
follows a code of honor and wisdom.
Strength is found not in the arms,
not in the knife, the gun or the sword,
but in the mind and soul.
I call upon the warriors of the past,
those who would stand up and fight,
those who would do what is needed,
those who would make sacrifices on behalf of others,
those who would die that others may live.
I call upon them this night,
to give me strength of heart, soul and spirit.
With this poem I ask also that no matter what we may encounter this
coming year that we remember this poem and the lessons it gives. The nights are becoming longer and days shorter, may we harvest what we can save and make it last until the Sun returns the Earths gifts as the Wheel of the Year turns. These plants that have given their gifts are wilting in death to return next year, may we remember and be blessed to understand the gift of rebirth. I sit down and
wait for the next gift to be given.
