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I loved reading the tarot so much I carried six decks with me at all times.  I gave readings in restaurants, in class, outside Starbucks, at parties, in the park, over the phone, even by instant messenger.  Reading tarot connected me with Spirit.  It was sacred to me, even if most of the people I read simply found it entertaining.

How could I charge for readings when giving them brought me so much pleasure?  Could I really refuse someone a reading because they didn’t have the $20 I felt bad about charging?  Should I read some people for free even while charging others?  Were free readings worth less than paid ones?

       Lughnasad has come and gone. The altar was decorated with blackberry vines and wildflowers; fruits (apple, pear and avocado) were placed in a bowl of beans and grain to acknowledge the early harvest. My family gathered at table to celebrate the yield of local farms and fields. A vegetarian feast was prepared: light vegetable soup, zucchini and tomato tart, salad, and for dessert, blackberry buckle, made from berries my youngest son and I picked by the side of the bike path that runs along the river. There is bliss to be found in the smallest acts. I hope your Lughnasad was blessed with abundance and such quiet happinesses as you enjoy.

            Today there is a stillness in the air, a certain sense of waiting, as though nature has taken a rest, leaving everything to watch over itself, if just for this short while. The breeze that is tugging at my kitchen curtains carries within it the fresh breath of fall before it is seasoned with bonfires and mulled cider, candle wax and long-simmered stews.

It is harvest-time here in the southern Highlands of the Appalachian mountains. The green beans have been blanched and frozen. The blessed elderberry harvest has been frozen and juiced and tinctured for winter healings. The apples are in now and I have spent many and many an hour cutting off the bruised parts and cutting out the wormy bits and chopping them up. Some have gone into bags to be future pies and apple cake. Others have become applesauce and many of them have been crushed for their juice and amended with yeast and honey to be hard cider in the cold months to come.

If I sound like the busy Ant from the fable that is appropriate. There are "fun" things that I have declined attending because the harvest is in and there is food to process. Not so much fun now but imagine pesto from my own basil, thawed in the depths of January. And I hold fast the notion of a crisp cold hard cider as the perfect celebration of the the Midwinter Solstice.

Although I grew up in a community with a strong Jewish presence, I never really delved into the wisdom of that path; therefore, I was completely unaware of the wisdom of Maimonides and his views on charity.  The philosopher laid out eight levels of giving which observant Jews should follow as a tenet of their faith.  I can't think of a reason Pagans shouldn't adopt something similar.

Sometimes abundance looks suspiciously like chaos.

Life has been very, very busy lately. I am learning the meaning of abundance, I suppose, as both wonderful things and challenging things are happening, all at once. Each day feels like a cup filled past its brim. Taking a page out of a beloved friend's book, I have started giving each year a name, and in January I decided that 2013 would be the Year of Accepting All Gifts. Whoa-boy, did I do a number on myself with that!