Creating a Personal Weekly Practice

I have been wanting for some time to have a simple weekly practice of worship, offering, and prayer. In the past, I have struggled with the concept of worship, but I have been becoming more comfortable with it in the last few months. My desire for a practice of this sort is not new. Earlier, I wrote about my attempts to create a personal meditation practice, and last year, I developed a series of prayers that I used with a set of prayer beads. The structure and repetition of the prayers appealed to me; I like a fair amount of structure in my work, at least during the stage I'm at now. Using the same set of prayers everyday helps me to focus and the words gain more power for me each time I repeat them. After the words have sunk into my mind and begin to roll more easily off my tongue, I begin to sense something, a presence or presences, a feeling of love and acceptance and a sense that I am being heard.

However, in the past couple of months I began to feel unsatisfied with this daily practice. I wanted to do more. Also, for whatever reason, I wanted to give regular offerings. It seems to me that an offering should be an essential part of any work. If you expect the deities and spirits to do something for you (even something as simple as giving you their "blessing"), it seems only fair that you would give something to them. To me, this seems to relate to the conservation of energy and matter: you can't get something from nothing. At the very least, the offering is a sign of your respect and sincerity, and your desire to work with the spirits and deities.

I decided that what I wanted was a simple weekly ritual that had at its core an offering, and that also incorporated some of the prayers I had already been using. I looked at several rituals online, but none of them seemed to quite fit the purpose I had in mind. But I did find a few that contained elements I liked, and combining these with some other things I wanted in the ritual, I created my own weekly ritual of offering. I always feel a bit guilty when I do something like this, as though I am assuming a role that I haven't earned yet. I sometimes wish that I belonged to a more established religion, with a local pagan community that I could turn to for assistance, instead of doing so much by myself, discovering through trial and error what works for me. It is a slow, frustrating, but often very fulfilling way of working.

But I didn't make the ritual up entirely out of my own head; I borrowed and adapted from other sources to create something that is true to both myself and to the Celtic mythos with which I work. The resulting ritual is quite simple. I am not going to describe it in detail here, but the basic outline if this: Invite the spirits and deities that I wish to work with to the ritual. Give the offering. Meditate for a while. Thank everyone for coming. The exact contents of the offering will vary, but may include baked goods, water, and items from nature (dried herbs, leaves, cones, stones, etc.) that have sat on or near my altar for a while, perhaps months or years, and that I am now returning to the land. In the future, I would like to use this time to practice divination, probably using Ogham.

I have only been using this ritual for a few weeks now, so it's probably still too early to tell how it's going to turn out, but so far I like it. The ritual is neither so complex that it's confusing, nor so basic that it's boring. I practice it once a week instead of everyday, so I don't feel the same pressure to get it done that I would have otherwise. But the most important question to ask is: Does this ritual lead me to deeper connection and communication with the deities and spirits? And so far, I think I can say yes, it does.

Summer Solstice

"Solstice" is derived from the Latin sol, meaning "sun," and sistere, meaning "stand still." For a few days before and a few days after the summer solstice, the positions of the sun's rising and setting points on the horizon do not appear to change. The positions of sunrise and sunset are also at their most northerly points. Most people, however, know the summer solstice as the time of the longest day and the shortest night. This occurs because as the sun rises and sets further north, its path through the sky becomes longer, resulting in longer periods of daylight.

I think I've been feeling this energy of "standing still" lately. I have quite a few things written on my list of things I want to do this month, but many of them haven't been getting done. Instead, I've been reading novels, writing, doing some research on various topics, but I also feel as though I, like the sun, am standing still.

The summer solstice has another aspect as well; my dictionary also defines "solstice" as "a turning or culminating point; furthest limit; crisis." The summer solstice is one of the turning points of the year: it is the time when the light, which has been increasing and has reached its maximum, begins to decrease and the darkness to increase. It is a time to celebrate life in the face of approaching death.

I often feel sadness at this time of year. Spring, the season of growth, is past, and six months from now it will be winter. I am reminded that the leaves and grass which are green now will soon be turning brown, that the flowers will wither, the harvest be brought in, and the snow begin to fall. Yet the summer solstice is also the beginning of a season of ripening, the beginning of the harvest. The strawberries in our garden are just beginning to get ripe now, and soon the garden will be filled with good things to eat.

Things feel still now, but soon they will feel as though they are rushing headlong to the time of the autumn equinox, when day and night are of equal length and the darkness is beginning to overtake the light. The summer solstice and the turning wheel of the year remind me yet again that in life there is death, in death life, and that birth, death, and rebirth are all parts of the same essential cycle.

Fire

I'll tell you a secret: I am afraid of fire. When I was in grade one, I repeatedly had nightmares of my house burning down. I can never quite relax when I'm sitting by a campfire because I keep worrying that a spark will land on me. I avoid candles and matches. In high school chemistry class, I was terrified of having to use the Bunsen burner. (My greatest relief in university was that first-year chemistry students were not allowed to use Bunsen burners.)

Our home is a fair distance from town, on a dead-end gravel road surrounded by forest on all sides. It is a beautiful place to live and there is nowhere I would rather be, but in the summer, during the hot, dry weather when it hasn't rained for weeks, it can also be a dangerous place to live.

Once, a few years ago, we saw a lightning strike start a fire on the hills across the valley from us. Luckily, rain started to fall and quenched the flames. Several of the older trees on our property bear blackened bark, signs that a forest fire passed this way many years ago. But the majority of wildfires are human-caused, often by an unattended campfire or a carelessly discarded cigarette butt. Twice in the last decade or so there has been a forest fire close enough for us to be placed on an evacuation alert - in other words, we had to be ready to leave immediately if necessary. One of these fires was caused by lightning, the other by a cigarette butt tossed out of a car. We were lucky both times.

Ironically, despite the danger to human life and property that fire presents, the creation and use of fire was one of the things that set early humans apart from other animals. For thousands of years, people were dependent upon fire for cooking their food, heating their homes, making tools and weapons, and clearing the land. Much of modern society would not have been possible without the use of fire.

We no longer have this dependence on fire. We may even think that we have tamed fire, that it is just one more tool that we humans use (and not a very modern tool, at that). Fire is no longer an entity to be feared or worshipped. But sometimes a house burns down, or a wildfire breaks out in the wilderness, and we are reminded that fire is not tame; it represents all that is wild, untamed, and dangerous. The hunger and ferocity of fire is something to respect and to fear.

Pagan Values: Reverence for Nature

Central to the practice of modern Druidry should be a respect and reverence for nature. "Reverence" comes from the Latin re-, meaning "back" and vereri, meaning "stand in awe of." My dictionary defines "reverence" as "a feeling of deep respect, mixed with wonder, awe, and love."

The mention of awe suggests that there may be some fear involved, which is appropriate for there is much within nature that is dangerous to us and that we may fear, such as wildfires, earthquakes, hurricanes, poisonous plants, or dangerous animals such as bears or mountain lions.

Respect suggests that we should approach animals, plants, and other aspects of nature as more than sources of meat or lumber, as living beings equal to ourselves and as worthy of respect as human beings.

Recognition that all living and non-living things on this planet are connected leads to love. If you cultivate a love for the world of nature, this feeling will extend to your fellow human beings and to yourself and you will receive more love in return.

When we revere nature, we can live as part of it, not trying to dominate it or seeing ourselves as victims of nature's harsher elements. We can respect all other live and not take life needlessly, recognize the dangers inherent in nature, and feel wonder at nature's beauty and bounty.

Like what you read?  Please visit my new blog: At the Edge of the Ordinary.

Word of the Day: Solitude

"Solitude" is derived from the Latin solitudo, which in turn comes from the word solus, meaning "alone." Solitude refers to that state of being alone, of being without human companionship, either through the lack of other people being around or through being uninvolved with those around.

I do my best thinking in solitude, away from the distractions of other people. Community and companionship, having a long conversation with a friend or simply being with the ones I love, are wonderful things to have, but sometimes I simply have to get away and be by myself. Solitude is the time when I can relax, focus my thoughts, listen to and be aware of the world around me, and work on cultivating my spirituality.

Solitude is the perfect time to practice stillness of both body and mind and awareness of the world around you. Observe the nature surrounding you without projecting your expectations or thoughts upon it. Observe things as they really are. Be still and be aware, listening, watching, observing. Gradually, your skills of listening, hearing, looking, and seeing improve.

Solitude can also be spent meditating; making music, such as with a drum or flute; practicing yoga, tai chi, or a similar discipline; writing in your journal, perhaps composing poetry; or performing ritual.

Stories

Truth may not only mean "what actually happened" and it may be just as likely to be found in a work of fiction as in a recital of facts. Although fact and fiction may be considered opposites, they may both be aspects of the truth.

Fiction, in the form of stories, has long been used to explain the big questions: What is the origin of the universe? What happens after we die? What is the best way for us to live our lives? Throughout history, myths, fables, folktales, and fairy tales have been used to answer these questions.

The concept of story is especially important within modern Druidry, as it honours creativity and the work of the Bard, who may be a storyteller, poet, painter, sculptor, composer, playwright, potter, etc. Druids are also unlikely to believe that any one particular story describes "what actually happened" or that one story is in any way better than any other.

Through stories, we can experience lives, places, times, and events that we could never experience in our everyday lives. Through stories, we may learn lessons of morality or philosophy, whether the author intended us to or not. Stories may embody religious beliefs , and they may use symbols that hold many layers of meaning. Last but not least, stories entertain us and join us together, taking us back to a time when we sat around a fire listening to stories told under the stars.

The modern Druid is not constrained to a single set of stories, and may choose whichever ones appeal to her. Particularly popular among many Druids today are the tales from the Celtic mythologies and the Arthurian legends, as well as the modern interpretations. And every Druid will have his or her favourite authors. My personal favourites include modern writers of fantasy and science fiction such as Ursula K. Le Guin, Charles de Lint, Pamela Dean, Robin McKinley, and Susan Cooper, and further back, authors such as the Brontë sisters, Jane Austen, and Charles Dickens.

The Path of Truth

When I was in high school, my best friend and I would sometimes ask ourselves what we would do if a group of people with guns came to the school, lined all of the students up against the wall, and asked everyone who held a particular belief to stand up. Just what this belief was did not matter to us; it could have been of science, religion, or whatever. Whoever stood up would be shot. We asked ourselves, "Would we stand up?" The question was not so much, "Would we die for our beliefs?" as, "Would we tell the truth (about what we believed in) if we knew that we would die for it?"

At the time, my friend said that she would not stand up, that she would lie about her beliefs in order to live. I answered quickly without really thinking it over, and said that I would stand up. Lately, however, I been thinking about this question again, and I have not been able to answer it so easily. Is it worth it to tell the truth if you know you will die for telling it?

One argument might be that to lie is dishonourable, but if you are killed for telling the truth, then at least you die honourably. Whereas if you lie, there is still a chance that you may die anyway, especially if your lie is discovered. "Honour" is a term that we don't use much these days, but I think that most people, if they thought about it, would say that they wished to live an honourable life.

But are different actions dishonourable to different degrees? Would killing someone be more dishonourable than lying? Perhaps it would be better for you to lie so the other person would not have to commit the greater crime of killing you.

It is all very well to argue about which is the best decision, telling the truth or not, but actually faced with a decision like this, I do not think many people would tell the truth. It would probably be impossible to predict how you would behave until you actually faced the situation (and I hope you never have to). But I do not think I would tell the truth. Why? Because I love life, and I love being alive, and no matter what lies I had to tell to stay alive, I would still know the truth inside myself. As for honour, it may be dishonourable to lie, but since a chocolate bar now and then is okay in an otherwise healthy diet, perhaps one lie in an otherwise honourable life is okay too.