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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?

Doing It Alone on the Equinox

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I find that the best way to get my house clean is to throw a party.

My desk may be covered with books and papers, my laundry bin filled, and my various interests — knitting and sewing being those that come with the most accessories — all sprawled out across the dining room table, but as soon as I decide to invite people over? POOF!! I’m a bearded Mary Poppins, snapping my fingers at the furniture. Before the song is over, my house looks marvelous.

All it took was a spoon full of sugar and an Evite.

This happens in extreme cases, too. When my husband and I sold our house last year and moved across town to a slightly smaller, more manageable rental, we scheduled a gathering with friends exactly one week after our move in date. It wasn’t a “help us unpack our boxes” party, or a “let’s hang art” soiree. Nnnnope. It was the end of October, and we threw a Halloween party. Boxes be damned!!

In seven days, we unpacked all of our bags, hung all of our art, filled every drawer and shelf, and made the crucial decisions about where to sit, where to eat, and where to place the plants so that they’d have the best chance of survival. It was a whirlwind of a week, but we got it done. And, were it not for us becoming impromptu party planners, the process may have dragged on for weeks — months, even.

I bring this up because The Spring Equinox (Alban Eilir/Eostre/Ostara) is exactly two weeks from today, and I have no idea what I’m going to do to celebrate. I’ll be away from home, cloistered in a hotel room in Los Angeles, far from my altar, my ritual garb, and the big, budding Maple Tree in my backyard. I imagined myself doing ritual under that tree once the snow melted, inviting a few friends to take part with me. But, that isn’t going to happen this month.

I could just prepare a personal ritual, making it a full-fledged, ADF style, bells and whistles affair, and perform it alone on the morning of the Equinox. There is an ADF grove in Southern California, Raven’s Cry Grove, and they celebrate (as many of our groups do) on the Saturday following the actual Equinox, but I’ll be traveling on that day as well.

See, part of my study requirement with ADF (Ár nDraíocht Féin) is to honor and celebrate each of the eight High Days throughout a single year, and to record my experiences. Ideally, I would celebrate the High Days with a group of ADF Druids, but this isn’t a strict requirement. Only four of the eight rituals need to be ADF style.

It’s just that I want to have an ADF ritual on the Equinox, and I want to share it with others. The quality of my religious experience changes greatly when I take part in ritual and fellowship with like-minded folk. I felt this most profoundly during PantheaCon when I was asked to participate in the ADF ritual alongside the Senior Clergy.

I wasn’t expecting to be involved in any way. It was a last-minute decision made by the clergy — literally, the night before the ritual. And, just like with our moving-in Halloween party, I made it work. I purchased a long, green robe in the PantheaCon vendor room, I processed into the room beside the priests like a pro, and when it was my time, I stepped into the center, lifted my voice, invoked the spirit of Inspiration, and felt a real sense of purpose and belonging.

For the rest of the ritual, I was fully present, fully engaged, and swept up in reverent worship.

And that’s the thing — I love being with people. It doesn’t matter if it’s a themed party or a sacred ritual, I love the energy of a group. When I clean house, I’m readying the space so that all those who enter will feel welcome, relaxed, and happy. My guests are my motivators, and my reward. But now, as I look toward the coming Equinox, I have no guests for which to prepare, or even a fixed space to make ready.

So, I’m reaching out to you, my friends and loyal readers. Maybe you could brainstorm with me.

If you’ve been a solitary — either by choice or by circumstance — how did you celebrate the High Days? If you have experience at leading groups, what do you do to prepare for your gatherings? If you have insights into how I might approach my situation, I would love hear them! Please post them in the comments.