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Druid Rituals For Dummies

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I’ve written a great deal about my daily practice on this blog. There have been periods of prolonged drought, periods of genuine doubt, and times when I felt like my daily practice was all that was keeping me invested in my Druidism.

In my ADF Dedicant studies (which will be a central focus for me until Imbolc), one of the tasks for the student is to develop a steady daily practice. A regular practice, especially for solitaries, is key to taking your religion out of the book and rooting it in your life.

I had almost no regular practice in August. I kept the High Day, but after that I woke up and started my mornings with only a casual glance at my shrine. I was busy in my head before stepping out of bed, and I didn’t take much time to slow down and seek out the Kindred.

But I have a syllabus now. I’m a dedicated religious student (as I mentioned in my Druid School post). I’m going gung-ho, and I’m starting as a beginner.

ADF member, Melissa Burchfield, wrote a piece on ADF.org on how to adopt ADF’s Core Order of Ritual (COoR) for solitary use. For those who don’t know, the COoR is what makes and ADF rite an ADF rite. It’s the foundation for all ADF liturgy.

On this article, Melissa lays out a series of “tiers” for the beginning student. In the first tier, she strips down the COoR to these components:

  1. Initiating the Rite – Bell Ring, clap of the hands
    Light candle
  2. Purification - Breathe deeply, nine times to center
    and clear the mind.
  3. Honoring the Earth Mother
  4. Statement of Purpose - "I have come to honor the gods."
  5. Inviting the Kindred
  6. Key Offerings - Made to the Kindred
  7. Thanking the Beings - In reverse order
  8. Thanking the Earth Mother
  9. Closing the Rite - "The rite is ended."

Notice that the numbers are a little wacky? That’s because the COoR has a total of nineteen steps in its full form.

I performed the first tier of this druid ritual this morning.

For step one, I rang triple Goddess bell. I lit my candle and said,

“I light this candle in the presence of the Shining Ones above, in the presence of the Ancient Ones below, and in the presence of the Nature Spirits all around me.”

Step two was easy, and surprisingly effective. Feeling tense? Breath nine deep breaths. It’s like magic  (*ahem* — magick).

Honoring the Earth Mother is always a strange moment for me. I feel like my prayers can never be big enough. I said something to the effect of,

“Holy Earth Mother, on whom we move and live and have our being, all praise and honor belongs to you. From you we are born, and to you we shall return.”

What can I say? I was a cradle Episcopalian. I like the formalities.

After the statement of purpose (which can sometimes be elaborate, as in the case of a High Day ritual), I invited the Kindred.

I like this part. This is where I speak out loud to the Kindred and ask that they be present in my ritual space. When I call to them, I describe them, and by doing so I engage my imagination. I get to see them in form, in color, with attributes. That’s how it was this morning, at least.

I simplified my offerings today. Taking cue from Melissa, I poured a bit of steel cut oats into a small, clay serving cup, and used it for all of my offerings.

I made offerings to the Three Kindred, ending with the phrase that I hear at most ADF gatherings:

Nature Spirits / Ancestors / Shining Ones…. accept my sacrifice.

I love liturgy. I love the repetition of meaningful phrases. I nerd out over it sometimes. Saying the phrase “accept my sacrifice” with the same cadence and tone that we did at Eight Winds makes me feel — just a little — like I’m still at Eight Winds. Liturgy allows my small rite to feel like a giant group ritual.

I offered my thanks to all, and closed the rite.

The whole thing took about five minutes.

I share all of this not to present myself in a special light. My practice should not garner me any praise; that’s not what it’s for. But, I do feel that people — solitaries, especially — need to see that there is always an opportunity to begin your practice again, to start from scratch. With a beginner’s mind, you can simplify your religious life and relearn how to be what you are.

It all starts with a single flame.

Have you ever stripped things down to the basics? If so, what was that experience like for you? Do you find that a ritual with a reliable form and structure makes sense, or are you more of a ritualist who keeps it loose?

What would your “beginner” ritual look like?

The Offerings of Man, the Obligations of Gods

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I approach my home shrine in the morning and prepare my offerings.

Into three small, porcelain sake glasses, which were given to me by my stepfather, I pour a small bit of sugar, oats, and oil. These were the foods that made the most sense to me, although I’m not sure why.

Whether I’m clothed or naked, I drape a stole over my shoulders. The stole it green and white, and was made by hand; made by a woman I met at a metaphysical fair in the fall of last year. She gave it to me as a gift after I purchased a longer red one. She told me the stole was a traditional rose pattern, and she felt I should have it. There was just something about me, she said.

I remember that moment when I drape the stole over my bare shoulders.

I light the charcoal which sits at the middle of my altar, and wait for it to turn red before placing into the concave center a few pieces of something fragrant. This morning, frankincense and myrrh.

Some things I will never leave behind.

Using a prayer from Ceisiwr Serith’s book, A Pagan Ritual Prayer Book (Weiser, 61), I purify myself by saying,

“From all that I have done that I should not have done, may I be purified.”

I dip my finger into the water, and raise my hand to touch my forehead.

“From all that has come to me that should not have come, may I be purified.”

Again, the water.

Sometimes I slip into saying, “For all that I have done…,” and doing so makes the prayer feel more Christian, more connected to sin. That isn’t the point of this prayer. Purification, in the way that it is approached here, is not unlike washing one’s hands before supper. It is done because there are things which one brings to the shrine that are best cleaned away before doing the business of worship.

The prayer ends simply,

“May I be pure, may I be pure, may I be pure.”

One need not believe in a god who washes away sins to see and experience the power in that language.

Then begins the ritual; the Core Order of Ritual (COoR), to be exact. My druid tradition is united, in large part, by an agreement about practice, and the COoR is the center of the practice.

I perform the ritual in silence, pouring the offerings out into a cauldron as I recognize the gods, who remain somewhat a mystery to me, the ancestors of blood, spirit, religion, tradition and place, and all that exists in spirit on this land.

I do all of this in the morning in order to affirm my place in the cosmos, or at the very least to try to get a better sense of what the place might be. I do this ritual to affirm my relationship with the Kindred, these aspects of the great mystery to which I belong, of which I cannot fully explain. I do all of this not to win the favor of the gods, but more to practice sincerity in my relationship to them; to practice honor, to practice reverence, and to practice hospitality and generosity.

Regardless of whether the gods can hear me, or if these bits of food are of any use to them, I perform this daily practice so that I might come to better experience these qualities I cherish. My daily practice is simply me holding up my end of the relationship.

I show up. That is all I can do. The rest is up to — what — fate? Grace? The will of the gods?

Ian Corrigan said in his response to my last post,

“I make a good sacrifice, using my limited mortal means, and the gods grant a blessing that while it might seem disproportionately generous is simply the obligation of their station. This is grace of a sort, surely.”

Obligation… what an interesting word to use in this context.

I wonder —

Do you feel that by making a “good sacrifice” you enable the gods to perform the “obligation of their station?” Or, do you have different language for what the gods do? If you have a daily practice, do you perform your ritual in order to win the favor of the gods?

Why do you show up at your shrine?

WARNING: Call on a God, and He just might show up.

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Overlooking El Matador beach

I drove an hour to Malibu for my Spring Equinox ritual. The location was a secluded, public beach called “El Matador.” The site opened at 8, and I arrived just a few minutes after the top of the hour.

I followed the dirt trail down the edge of the cliff side, wearing jeans and work boots and too many layers. I’d overdressed, fearing that the ocean would bring a chill to my skin, but the sun was already up and it was plenty warm.

 

Once at the bottom, I started searching out a spot for my ritual. There were several coves and nooks that traced the edge of the beach, and I wanted to make sure I was far enough from the path that I’d have some privacy. I wasn’t exactly certain how this was going to go, and I didn’t want an audience.

 

I climbed over and around a few large crags, timing my stride with the crashing of the tide. I waited until it moved back, and then ran to the next high clearing. The sand was saturated and sinking, and it swallowed my boots with every step.

I came upon a clearing. This would be where I performed my first solo, High Day ritual.

My offerings, my boots, and my army bag

I brought with me a loaf of locally baked wheat bread and a bottle of locally brewed beer as my offerings. Something about bringing offerings made in the area felt right. I carried the beer and bread in my hunter green backpack, along with my tarot cards, my travel altar, and my two Pagan prayer books. I didn’t know if I’d use the books, but it seemed like I should have them nearby in the event that I needed to find words to speak.

I set down my bag, took out the bread and the beer, and began to take off my clothes. I’d leave on my jeans, but nothing else. I removed all of the ritual items from my backpack and laid them on dry reeds.

I tried to twist off the beer top, but it wouldn’t budge. It wasn’t the kind, and I had no opener with me. I put the edge of my key along the bottle cap and tried to pry it open, but it slipped and my finger dragged across the sharp lip, slicing two small gashes near my knuckle. I sucked off the blood and continued to try to open the beer by dragging the bottle top along the edge of the rocks, being careful not to break the glass. It budged a little; enough to allow a trickle of alcohol to pour out.

That would have to do.

I set my ritual items at what seemed like a good distance away from the water, placed my new hand-made stole over my naked shoulders, and walked barefoot towards the sea.

I lifted my hands and began.

The ocean crashed louder.

I thanked and praised the Earth Mother, and I found that the words came fast and easy. There is something qualitatively different about outdoor ritual, especially in the moments where you acknowledge the power of the land. I noticed this right away.

I called on my Gatekeeper, Arawn. I invited the Kindred: first the Nature Spirits (which needed no invitation, really), then the Ancestors, then the Shining Ones. I called upon Brighid, for I have a deep connection with her, and it seemed right that I praise her. I’d never before made offerings to a God that I didn’t already have some sort of relationship with. That is…until the next moment.

I called on Manannán mac Lir.

Then, things changed.

I spoke of the greatness of the ocean, of the power and strength of the water, and I gave him praise. I said that I had offerings of beer that I would give to him, and I turned to retrieve the bottle. Once I had it in my hand, I knelt down and began to allow a trickle of alcohol to pour onto the sand. Just then, the tide rushed in — a good twenty feet higher than it had at any moment prior — and pushed me off-balance! The water rushed up towards my tiny, portable altar and consumed it, putting out my little candle and filling my tin with sand. I laughed out loud, amazed at what had happened, and rushed to grab my belongings before the water swept them away.

It took me a moment to recompose myself. I felt small, and slightly shaken. Keeping the form of my ritual, I turned over three cards to get a message or omen from the Kindred, and the cards were sobering. They affirmed my feeling that I did not realize how very real all of this was.

I felt humbled in that moment.

I gave thanks to Manannán, Brighid, and the Kindred, called on Arawn to close the gates, gave thanks to the Earth Mother, and was finished. I staggered back to my wet pile of possessions, gathered them up, and began the journey back to the beginning.

My Equinox ritual was not a heady experience. In fact, I’m not even sure what to think about it. I encountered something much greater than I’d imagined. I can only describe this feeling as a visceral reverence.

It is a new season, indeed.

Have you ever had a ritual experience that shook you to the core; one that took you out of your head and brought you into deeper communion with the world around you? If so, how did it change you? Did it affect the way you think about yourself, about the mysteries of the universe, about the nature of the Gods?

A Response to “Omens and Tarot”

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This post is a response to the blog post “Omens and Tarot“, posted yesterday on Grey Wren’s Flight. I encourage you to read the full post for context, and I’ve provided a brief excerpt below which summarizes what she wrote.

“I’ve been incorporating omens into my devotionals lately, partly because I’ve been wanting to take my spiritual work to the next level, and partly because I have so many beautiful tarot decks that need love. (I’m such a little kid, wanting to play with my toys.)

The short version of this post: how do you take omens during a ritual?

What’s the best way to take omens? It must vary from person to person, but how does one find a method and feel confident that it’s working? Any thoughts?”

I’m delighted to read the you’re incorporating the tarot into your daily work, especially if you already have a relationship with the cards. I also use (as one of 2 or 3 regular decks) the DruidCraft Tarot, and I know exactly the image you’re speaking of.

For me, I’ve chosen to use the cards in a slightly different way. After making my offerings, I ask of the Kindred something like:

“If my offerings are acceptable to you, please provide me a point of focus, a message of guidance, an Omen.”

Then, I work with the cards. I may lay out a single card, or a three card spread. I have an Ogham deck, and I may choose to use that over the more visual, narrative cards. I allow the spread to be guided by my intuition.

I also may change my request of the Kindred to suit my needs at that moment. Today, my request was that they provide me insight into the story, song and poem that I’m preparing for the Bardic Chair competition at Wellspring. When I sat down at my tarot table, I chose to pull one card from 3 different decks – the DruidCraft, the Llewellyn Tarot and the Ogham Deck (something I’d never done before). The message that came forth was amazing!

This may not be strict ADF or PIE orthopraxy, but to me it feels right. I don’t just want to know if my offerings were accepted or acceptable, because I don’t think that all the Kindred want from me are some oats and a bit of oil. This is a relationship, and the offerings, in large part, are symbolic of something much deeper. I make these offerings so that I might initiate contact with forces that are greater and more powerful than myself. The objects I use are – I think – mostly arbitrary. It is the sincerity with which I share these object – these symbols – and the focus and intent with which I hold them up in worship that matters most.

I believe we should make offerings that feel right to us, and make requests of the Kindred as our needs and desires dictate. If, by Their wisdom, they do not see fit to provide us with exactly what we are asking, it seems to me that we need not take that as an immediate sign that our offerings weren’t “good enough”. It could be that our requests were simply not coming from the place of true need or right desire (if I might risk sounding moralistic by using that phrase).

So, use the tarot as feels best to you. Or, seek out their Omen in the clouds…or in the pattern of your coffee grounds! Or, perhaps best of all, still your soul and listen for the sound of their voices in the sanctuary of your heart.

The Kindred Speak Through the Tarot

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I don’t normally share the details of my daily meditation outside of one of my weekly recaps. But today, in light of the power and poignancy of the experience I just had, I’m making an exception.

I started the devotional with the Two Powers meditation. I was a tree, the greatest tree ever to stand, and I pulled the water from the ground, through my roots, into my being. I felt the sun above me, and I felt the heat pour into me. The two powers mixed in the middle, and my tree-body tingled. I was ready to begin.

Each day when I approach my altar, I call out to Arawn, Welsh god of the Underworld, and ask him to join his magic with mine. With our magic joined, I ask for him to: take the candle flame and transform it, that it may become the Sacred Fire, the gateway to the Heavens; take the chalice of water and transform it, that it may become the Sacred Well, the gateway to the Otherworld; take the wand made of wood and transform it, that it may become the Sacred, World tree, connecting the Heavens and the Otherworld, standing as a gateway in the Middle Earth.

Once the gates are opened, I make my offerings to the Kindred. Typically, those are olive oil for the Shining Ones, oats for the Ancestors, & sugar for the Nature Spirits. Then, with a special candle lit, I offer up my heart to Brighid as a living sacrifice of my praise & thanksgiving, my respect and honor, my love and worship. I save her offering for last.

For a while now I’ve been heading straight to my tarot table after all of my offerings are made. Today, though, I did something different. I stood before my altar, still very much in the same space I’d been in during offerings, and I spoke out loud a request to the Kindred. I asked for their assistance as I shuffled the cards. I asked that they provide me guidance and direction, a clear point of focus, an Omen. Usually, I’d ask this after I sat down at my table, and I’d have to re-center before I did it. Today I never lost that center. My request came directly after offerings were made, and I think that may have had an impact on what happened next.

I shuffled the cards, just as I explained in the recap of Weeks 5 & 6, and I cut the three times. Then, it happened:

Two of Swords   |   Two of Cups   |   Two of Pentacles

Three 2’s!?

Somehow I knew after the second 2 that I would pull the third. Three 2’s. This is not ordinary. And, I’ve been pulling some of the same cards in every spread lately, which I take as a sign to me of one or more themes running constant through my life. But none of those cards weren’t present today. Today I was shown a different kind of message.

I read 2’s as cards representing choice. Interestingly, the only 2 not represented in this spread is the 2 of Wands, a suit most closely associated with Will, or making choices. There was no clear choice to be made; there was only the message given that I am moving into a climate of choice, and that I need to remain aware and alert.

I must be willing to suspend my intellect and trust my intuition (2 of Swords). I must remember that I have already chosen to be in the relationships I’m in, and now it is a matter of the heart whether or not I choose to experience the positive or negative aspects of those relationships (2 of Cups). I must maintain my balance, be clever and cunning, and – even as I stand amidst a raging storm – be light on my feet (2 of Pentacles).

This Omen was a true blessings from the Kindred. I just had to share it.

My Heart Is Your Hearth: Imbolc 2011

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My heart is your hearth.

– A prayer offered to Brighid during my morning devotional

I began preparing for Imbolc long before the first snow. I knew Winter would be a season of great creative work for me, and I decided that the way I would make it through that work successfully was to consider all of it one big offering to Brighid. I would lift the work up in her honor, and remember her fire as I made my way through the ups and downs of the creative process.

My music would be my offering at Imbolc.

On the evening of February 2nd, I attended an Imbolc ritual at the Jefferson Unitarian Universalist Church in Golden, Colorado, performed in traditional ADF style by Tony and Jorja from the Golden Branch Silver Horn Grove. The ritual itself was simple, but very pleasant. The environment was beautiful, and while this wasn’t an “official” ADF gathering (the UU’s are open to people of all traditions, including Pagans), I was glad that the rite was in a format I was familiar with.

There were two altars. On the larger of the two sat a statue of Brighid, in triple-goddess form, surrounded by yellow candles, in front of which was a large bowl for liquid offerings and a plate for dry offerings. The smaller altar was a place where attendants could leave items to be blessed, like their jewelry or tools. I brough several items, including two writing tools, a few musical tools, a wall plaque of Brighid and a Brighid’s cross I wear around my neck.

We were led through a basic mediation, which was designed to bring to our awareness the first moment of realization that Spring is on its way. The second was the Two Powers meditation, and this was the first time that I’d ever been led through it by someone else. If I could have changed anything about the meditation, I would have chosen to spend more time in the moment where the Two Powers meet. That is, to me, where the true magic comes from.

Once Manannan Mac Lir was called and the Gates opened, offerings were made to the Kindred. Then, we were invited to make our offering to Brighid. Interestingly, I found myself a little nervous at this point. I’d brought a small vial of oil to give as a public offering, but I knew that my true offering was something I couldn’t place in a bowl or on a dish. I hadn’t figured out how I would express what I’d done in this public setting.

So, I approached the altar and poured the oil into the ritual bowl. I closed my eyes and lifted up my heart to Brighid, as I have done every morning since I began my creative project. Then, I walked back to my chair, hoping that this public expression would be sufficient; that my private work would be pleasing to Her, and that She would understand all of what I had done in honor of Her. I completed my creative project by Imbolc, and offered it to Her and to the world during my trip to Los Angeles, just as I said I would do.

Imbolc is a High Day where we acknowledge and honor Brighid, yes. But, I think it is also an opportunity to acknowledge and honor all of the qualities which She represents in us. By being creative, by forging transformation in our personal or professional life, by deepening our sense of belonging in the world, we honor Brighid. We embody Her in our lives.

That may be the most meaningful offering we can make.

Daily Devotionals: Getting off the page

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For the past three days I’ve started my morning with a daily devotional. My altar, in place since before I joined ADF, is even more active and vibrant now. There are four fires burning upon it as I write this, and the fragrance of Frankincense still permeates the still, sanctified air. I’m reminded of what Church felt like at it’s best. That is what I have re-created in my little room.

My husband gave me a copy – a rather difficult one to find, I might add – of Skip Ellison’s book, Solitary Druid. The book is proving to be a very useful resource in these first few weeks of my work on the Dedicant Path. Early on in the book, in Chapter 4 (Living the Life of a Solitary Druid), Skip shares the inner workings of his daily ritual, including how he approaches the Gatekeeper, Mannanán mac Lir, how he gives respect to the Three Kindred, and how he makes offerings and requests to each of them.

I followed the ritual rather closely on the first day, making only a few substitutions. While I have respect for Mannanán mac Lir, and I acknowledge that he is a great force in the Spirit World – primordial, even – I feel called to reach out to Arawn, the Welsh God of the Otherlands. Arawn payed me visit in a dream earlier this year, an experience that shook me to my core, and I now believe that he was initiating a relationship with me. So, it is He that I call on to open the Gates. I also substituted olive oil for the whiskey Skip suggested as a favorite offering to the Shining Ones. We have none such spirits in our cabinets.

Reading a ritual off a page is awkward. The words are missing the fire of inspiration, at least that’s how it felt to me on my first and second day of my morning devotional.

Today, I made a change.

I prepared my offerings to the Kindred, as well as all of the other materials I use in the ritual (matches, fresh candles). With the book closed and my mind centered, I approached my altar. I spoke from my heart, reaching out to Arawn, transforming my candle in to a Sacred Fire, my copper chalice into a Sacred Well, and my wand into the Sacred Tree. I called on the three Kindred with more sincerity than I ever had before, speaking to them without pretense. My requests were made with kindness, and my offerings with true gratitude.

When I made my offering to Brighid, I felt immediate reciprocity; a warm energy surrounded me, and the calm feeling of creative light permeated the room.

I sat down and wrote, effortlessly.

Today’s experience was a blessing; a much needed sign that I do not walk alone on this path. There are spiritual forces at work in my life, and they are conspiring with me an abundance of good things.

Sincerity in the Face of Drought

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The Druid path requires a different kind of faith that what I’ve known before. This new faith is a faith in the power and relevance of my own actions.

One must believe that the Kindred are conscious and aware – that could be a leap of faith for many of us. But, outside of that, one must believe strongly that the actions one takes, either in ritual, or prayer, or through some other form of worship, are sufficient in order for them to be effective. I’m not certain how one receives the definitive word from the Kindred that said actions are insufficient – I think that is the reason that divination is used in ADF ritual. But, before any evidence is given one way or the other, the Druid must approach the Kindred with sincerity. This, I’m starting to see.

Sincerity, as my husband told me yesterday morning, can be the best offering one makes to the Divine.

When I was a part of the Christian church, I was called to have faith in my beliefs. That faith was offered up as a bit of sustenance to get me through spiritual drought. I’m reminded of that drought now, but what I’m experiencing these days is less an absence of spirit and more an absence of community.

I wish there was a Druid gathering every week. I wish we celebrated every Moon cycle, and met regularly to better our liturgical skills and our knowledge of the Old Ways. I wish there was a Druid Center in every neighborhood. I wish that we didn’t meet in basements, but instead we gathered in bright places filled with beautiful representations of our Cosmos.

I wish we had an ADF Church.

I find myself drifting between the High Days, longing for something more consistent, more continuous. Eight days out of every three-sixty-five? That isn’t enough for me.

This, I suppose, is where my new understanding of faith must step in. If I long for continuity in my spiritual life, I must create continuity in my spiritual life. Faith, in this case, is the act of doing my daily, spiritual work.

It’s a different kind of sustenance, needed to get me through a different kind of drought.