It is definitely autumn here in upstate NY. The trees are changing color, the garden is dying back, and we had our first frost the other morning. Days are shorter and colder, and I can feel the energy slowing from the hectic pace of summer.
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I live in an area where the winters are long. And cold. And snowy. Sometimes it seems like spring will never come again. So 5 years ago I started making corn dollies out of corn husks and cotton embroidery floss, cotton twine or jute twine. But these were not just ANY sort of corn dollies, these are SPRING corn dollies.
“Volatile” would be a good word to describe the chart of this Full Moon, and because there is an eclipse, we should pay close attention, since eclipse charts are generally in effect for several months to a year. You need only read the news on any given day to see the dramatic changes and upheavals that have accompanied the square of Uranus and Pluto that has been in effect for a few years now. This eclipse activates that square, and lights a fire under it through a Fire grand trine. Find the chart here, if you want to follow along.
There's so much during this season that I find myself trying to find any lightness, any humor. Hence the title of this piece. We hardly need to bring them out, Python-style, when they are insistently demanding our attention as the nights grow like looming stalactites.
Tonight I want to write a bit about Ancestor altars. Do you have one? Do you leave it up, year-round, or put it up just after the Autumnal Equinox? I've been asking colleagues which they prefer and it's about evenly divided. For the record, I keep one up year-round because my root work is dependent on keeping my Ancestors in-the-know. And also, happy. I like some happy Ancestors, me....
It is harvest season and my Mabon altar features the bounty of my farmbox. Piles of fruit and vegetables arranged carefully around ritual tools with a sunflower bouquet in the center. I sit back to admire how beautifully balanced the altar looks - for about 10 minutes. That’s when my cats discover the changed altar and promptly invent a game of apple soccer, sweet potato rugby, and squash - played with real squash. The apple is round enough to roll gently, the scratches on the sweet potato don’t bother me, and the squash has thick skin so I let them have at it. But when my precious pomegranate gets unceremoniously dumped off the altar, bruising and bleeding red on my bedsheet, I draw the line and stage a rescue mission amidst sharp teeth and claws.