My husband, Fritz, is an avid cyclist. During
the long summer hours, he can’t wait to get home and jump on his Orca. While
there are some very nice bike trails in our area, he also takes his bike out on
the street… “sharing the road” with all of the big cars and trucks and things
that go… oh dear, I try not to think about it. And it was there on such a day
and on such a street where he met Rodney.
As Fritz cruised past one of the local high schools
on his ride, he kept watch ahead of his front wheel. He knew from previous
trips that there was broken glass in that area and no cyclist
likes to hear that “pop” sound. A flash of color prompted him to squeeze the
brakes. He looked back…and there was Rodney. Alone. Lost. Purple.
While out on his cycling jaunts, Fritz takes
photos of interesting things and locales to share with the “balance-impaired”
(that’s me) and to post on his Facebook page. Well, Rodney certainly fit the
criterion. You don’t almost run over a monster every day of the week.
So Fritz took a few iPhone shots, got back on
his bike and rode off. Then stopped. Looked back. Rodney sat just far enough
out into the road that Fritz knew it was simply a matter of time before a car
wheel turned the plastic purple guy into monster mash. Fritz just couldn’t do
it. Leave him, that is. And that is how Rodney came to live with us.
When he got home, my adorable husband was a
bit unsure as to how I might react. He hummed and hawed a bit. “Hum, well…I
don’t know how you are going to feel about this. I mean, I think he’s pretty
cool. But he isn’t cute in the traditional sense of the word. (Yes, he really
talks like that. I love it.) He was just out there on his own… and I almost
left him but I then couldn’t … and so I turned around and got him… and here he
is!”
Plop. There he was. It was love at first roar.
Rodney now sits on our kitchen counter over
the Black Cat Bar with the other lost toys and Chowdah-leena, a lobster magnet
from the Boston Airport. He rarely wanders. He’s safe here. And he has become
one of the guardians of the WitchHouse.
As a Witch, I view this current seasonal turn
as a Time of Vulnerability. It is the season when the traditional animals of my
Ancestors, cattle and sheep*, become heavy with child. Pregnant females, sides
bulging with another generation, cannot easily run away if danger approaches. As
the birthing time grows ever near, they lie down in hidden thickets and wait
out the rest of the gestation. They have to trust in their natural instincts
and in the guardians (both animal and human) of their herds. It is a dangerous
time.
In the cold weather climes, animals may need a
bit of special care during this period. The Eastern Gray Squirrel first brood
babies, for instance, are born in February/March and their chatty parents appreciate
some scattered nuts under the trees. If your oaks had a better than average
fall, store some acorns for later in the season when deep snow cover and ice
can make foraging a bit more difficult. (Double your good libation karma!) And,
alas, in the Southern Hemisphere, many areas have been plagued with drought and
wildfires.
Native birds that usually fare pretty well in normal
cycles have been greatly affected by the strange weather patterns of the past
years. Some habitats and many nesting areas have been completely decimated.
Watering holes are polluted; landmarks on flight routes may be unavailable,
nesting spots gone. Fields and plants and trees remain susceptible to sudden
changes in temperature.
This is a time when protection is necessary
and diligence is required. If you tune in to the seasonal tides, you may indeed
feel vulnerable during this part of the cycle. (See? You weren’t just being
paranoid!) Now you can take measures to protect yourself. Fill your string jar.
Set some wards. Work protection magic. Hold your loved ones close. Do not be
embarrassed to ask for some extra help or reassurance. Watch over little ones. Reach
out to those who are ill or frail or alone. Resources can still be a bit scarce
before we reach the full lushness of spring or the plenty of the harvest.
These same energy patterns also may ripple
through societies and nations during this time. Here in the U.S., we are at the
beginning of a new political session. People could be a little jumpy and a lot
defensive. Everyone has expectations but concrete plans are not yet manifest. Bide this time well.
Whenever we feel vulnerable, we can withdraw
into our protective magical thickets. From a vantage point of safety, we can
strengthen the timid legs of our newborn plans and dreams. The wolves of the
world will pass us by without notice. Sometimes, as we wait, an unexpected guardian or teacher may emerge to guide us on our way to a new field, a new path and a
renewed sense of purpose.
Witches are the folks of another way… not ‘the
other’ way as in ‘the enemy without”, but of ‘another way’. We see things through a different prism. We look beneath the surface. We follow the roots
of a matter. We gaze beyond the stars. We are the ones who spin the ordinary
into magic. We assign a value to -- and purpose for -- things that others may not.
Just because we are the people of the earth and sea and sky does not restrict
us to using only those forms in our workings.
Neither does any of the above mean that we are
better, wiser or more spiritual than anyone else sharing this world and sphere of
humanity. It simply means that we have the opportunity to bring ‘another’
perspective into discussions of sociology and ecology and philosophy. Now is a good time to reflect on how we can better communicate our visions and share them with others.
There is always an opportunity to begin anew. Let the stub of the umbilical cord tying you to past loves, past failures and past regrets shrivel up and drop away. Nibble the promises of the seasons to come. Drink the milk of fresh resolve. Help a beastie cross the road.
Anyway, this is the tale of how we came to have a warty plastic toothasaurus keeping vigil in our witchin’ kitchen. We are still not
sure just what sort of creature Rodney actually is. After living with him for a
while I feel that he embodies the attributes of the Boar -- a totem with an
exceptionally robust gastrointestinal system** -- and so I run all my new
recipes by him. He does seem to really enjoy the shrimp.
**For more on Boar, check out “Neolithic Shamanism: Spirit Work in the Norse Tradition” by Raven Kaldera and Galina
Krasskova
