C is for Calendar & Celebrations

Forgive me if this post seems a little scattered; the summer heat has officially become Totally Unbearable after ex-Cyclone Oswald swept through the place and left a string of annoyances both big and little in his wake. And wouldn’t you know it: my airconditioner has decided to die! That’s right, in record temperatures (think, oh, 110 degrees F!) the sodding thing decides to break down. Couldn’t happen in midwinter, could it? :P

But the topic of killer weather leads me into this week’s theme: my pagan calendar and the celebrations that take place within it.

A lot of pagans tend to work with fixed dates on the Gregorian calendar for their Wheel of the Year celebrations; I do not. Every single celebration day changes with every different year for me, because I work with an orbital calendar, and have done since I was a little witchling who could barely pronounce “Samhain” — it just always felt right to me that nothing pertaining to the Wheel of the Year should be static or chained to one date in the Gregorian calendar. I couldn’t possibly explain the orbital calendar without a) taking a million words to do so, and b) definitely making a mess of it (hooray dyscaculia!), so you can learn more about it and how it is calculated by visiting this page.

There are two main calendars in the nóre — one with twelve months and five days belonging to no month, and more seasonally-appropriate seven “month” calendar also with five days belonging to no month. The thing is, though? They are also fairly static as things go, especially the twelve-monther. They all fit the solar year of 365 days perfectly, but the solstices (the first calendar) or the equinoxes (the second calendar) are still on static days. This caused me some consternation when I first started working with them. Plus there was the problem of seasons, for me — both calendars were designed with the seasons of the Nothern Hemisphere in mind.

So after some thought, I decided to do two things: perform ritual and prayer on the orbital day of the celebration, and use the static dates as more of a festival day, something more lighthearted and fun, and can often involve my non-pagan friends and family members without scaring them off ;) This method also works fantastically with my illness, as well — if one day’s a washout, I can relax in knowing that I can still celebrate its forthcoming “party day”, or feel alright knowing I acknowledged the time with ritual.

There are seven festivals I celebrate on my path, based mostly on the seven-month seasonal calendar — because, in the nóre, it existed before the twelve-month calendar. (Seven is quite the Important Number on my path, it seems. But more on this later, p’raps.)

The first festival going by the Gregorian calendar is Yávië. Its orbital date is February 4th this year, and its festival date is February 1st. Yávië is also the name of the 3rd month in the seasonal calendar of the nóre. It’s very similiar to Lammas, as it’s a harvest festival. I’m not any kind of farmer, so I can’t celebrate my own harvest, so I celebrate my local farmers’ by buying their produce for my feast: many fruits, fresh bread, and many many apples! (Only last year I discovered how fond of apple pie I am; apple pie is going to be a Yávië staple from now on, bet you London to a brick ;P)

Next is Enderi, or more properly the Enderi, which are the ‘middle days’. Its orbital date is March 20th, and the festival days go from the 24th to the 26th. Enderi is the ending of the warm weather period (finally!) and on the seven-month calendar, are three of the five days that are not part of any month, right in the middle of the year. Being an autumn baby who adores winter, I love Enderi — it’s almost my favourite festival. I have a tendency to cover my altar in autumn leaves come this time of year.

Then comes Turuhalmë, the “Log Drawing” of Midwinter. Its festival day is July 2nd, and its orbital date this year is June 21st. Turuhalmë is basically Yule, but with a heavy emphasis on remembering your ancestors and those who have passed on, and on the telling of tales. Ideally, I like to celebrate it by having a bonfire with my family, but living on my own and in suburbia, no less, bonfires tend to be frowned upon by the local law enforcements. So I make do with staying up late into the night, reading my favourite stories or writing, with a single pillar candle burning from sundown until I go to sleep. (Leaving it burning all night would be nice, of course, but taking fire safety into consideration and not burning my flat to the ground is much nicer!) Both Mandos and Vairë are the Valar who are honoured the most at this time of year; Mandos who is the ruler of the slain, and Vairë who weaves all the stories in the world into her tapestries.

Next up is Sovalwaris, the “Purification”. Its orbital date is August 7th, this year, and its festival date is August 1st. Sovalwaris is the final festival before the seasonal New Year, and that’s where the “purification” part comes in — tidying things up for the year’s end, magically or otherwise. It’s a celebration of the year passing and joy in preparation for the upcoming new year. Usually on the festival night I luxuriate in a long, hot bath, physically and ritually cleansing myself. I also feast on strawberries on Sovalwaris night, as well — in my part of the world, the strawberries are always their tastiest and hugest in August. Nienna is the Valie honoured most at Sovalwaris.

As mentioned before, next is the New Year, Vinya Loa! Orbitally it falls on September 23rd this year, and its festival day is September 25. September is my favourite time of year hands down, so I usually take the week that the festival day falls in as a gigantic week-long celebration. :D Feasting, decorations, song, dancing — Vinya Loa includes all of it. It’s the New Year, after all! There is magic in the very air you breathe in, and new beginnings are unfurling. A symbol of Vinya Loa for me is the blossoming jacaranda tree, because they all burst into flower in my city around about the same time. As it is a celebration of joy and of youth, Nessa and Vana are the two Valie that are honored most during Vinya Loa.

Then comes Nost-na-Lothion, or “the Birth of Flowers”. Its orbital date is November 7th in 2013, and its festival date is November 21st. Nost-na-Lothion is a celebration of the very beginning of summer. All the loveliness of spring meets the least harsh parts of summer in a blooming of flowers. Nost-na-Lothion is also a celebration of fertility and new life — much like Beltane. I tend to place less of a sexual emphasis on Nost-na-Lothion than other people do on Beltane, however. Primarily is because I find the whole Goddess-opens-to-the-God, here we go ’round the Maypole thing to be (and I hate to use a buzzword here, but) very heterocentrist, which as a childless queer woman, I find rather jarring. I’m sure phalli are lovely and all, but they’re not really my area of expertise, you see. :P I am not saying that fertility in any form is a bad thing, nor is hetereosexual love (no form of love between consenting parties is a bad thing!), but it does irk me to focus on it, because it has very little to do with my life or my experience. To celebrate Nost-na-Lothion, I tend to tune out the sexual side and simply embrace the beauty of the season; the flowers, the trees, the baby animals first appearing. Yavanna is the Vala I honour at Nost-na-Lothion, she who created all the flora and fauna of the world.

And at the end of the Gregorian calendar comes Tarnin Austa, or “the Gates of Summer”. It falls on summer solstice, December 22 this year, and its festival is on the 21st. (It’s lots of fun when the two dates are the same!) I have to admit that even though I’m usually very sick in summer, and grumpy as a stocking full of badgers because of it, I do love Tarnin Austa. Part of my ritual includes not saying a word after midnight of the 22nd, and waiting until the sun rises. Whereupon I raise my palms to her, and hail the dawn with song. Arien is not a Vala, but she is praised deeply during Tarnin Austa.

B is for Beliefs

‘Beliefs’ is a very nebulous, covers-all-ground kind of term, I know, but I think when you’re working with deities and walking a path that makes a goodly number of people go “…wait, what did you just say?” it’s always a good thing to have a basic framework slash explanatory sort of post that you can point people to and say “I mean that!“, which is what I’m going to try and cover with this post. Likely it will just be sprawling and ramble-infested, but damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead! ;P

My statement: I believe in the Valar: I believe in a group of Powers from “the universe-next-door”. I believe that said universe-next-door is real, and connnected somehow to the one I am currently living in, though I’m unsure how precisely.

So let’s break those statements down. I believe in the Valar: I believe in a group of Powers from “the universe-next-door”.

Most people know the Valar from JRR Tolkien’s Legendarium, that is, the entirety of his works concerning his imagined world of Arda. For those who don’t: the Valar are fourteen powers (‘Valar’ [singular vala] translates to ‘powers’), or demigods, with seven of them considered kings and queens, who watch over the world but exceedingly rarely intervene directly. They feature primarily in the posthumously released The Silmarillion.

Why do I believe in such a thing? I’m afraid the answer is sprawling and complicated, but despite that, basically boils down to “I just do”. Because it would be silly of me (and unconscionably rude) to stick my fingers in my ears, squeeze my eyes shut, and hum when it comes to the Valar, who have made their presence in my life known since before I even knew of them.

Many years ago, I was a baby witch who could feel a great power when I reached out, a little dangerous but mostly quite benevolent, but I wasn’t sure what to call it. Or who it was. Having my head all whirled up in Wiccan dogma, I simply decided I was feeling the God and the Goddess, and worshipped them as best I could.

Then I first read The Silmarillion and suddenly, things seemed to click into place. I knew those Powers, they sang in my blood and my head and my heart. The mythology sunk into me and it felt right. I found myself reaching out to the Valar — particularly Varda and Manwë, I think mostly because I could think of them as forms of the Wiccan God and Goddess — as themselves. They responded, of course.

I was terrified. I was convinced I was going mad. “Kate, this is all from an author’s imagination. There is no way they can be real. You’re a silly fangirl at the best, and at worst, you’re completely bonkers!” But to deny something that made so much sense to my mind and my heart…that surely would have been more bonkers?

I tried fitting the Valar into a Wiccan paradigm. It didn’t work, I think most because the Wiccan paradigm doesn’t work for me. It was what set me off down my witchy path, and I will never not be thankful for it, but it wasn’t for me.

I’d like to say there was a big revelation where suddenly everything clicked and fell into place, but nothing like that ever happened. I continued to follow the Valar, continued to wonder if I was completely mad, and continued to be very vague about my pagan beliefs whenever asked, referring to my pantheon by kennings only — the Star Queen, the Wind King, the Earth Queen, so on and so forth. The closest I came to making peace with what I believed was reading this article when I was seventeen and realising I wasn’t alone. So many things the author’s “irritating inner voice” said to her sounded exactly like my own!

I think it was a simple combination of time and dipping my toes into the pagan blogosphere as a lurker that brought me to the point where I stopped thinking I was insane, or a silly fangirl, et cetera and ad nauseum. I wasn’t the only witch in the world who followed a ‘fictional’ deity (or deities) — I wasn’t even the only person who followed the Valar! And really, who is to say one myth or legend is more real or accurate than another, really? When I discovered the theory of imaginality and the imaginal realm, my faith became rock-solid, no more chiding myself. But that’s another post for another letter. ;)

I believe that said universe-next-door is real, and connected somehow to the one I am currently living in, though I’m unsure how precisely.

Here’s where things get a bit “woo”, to use a hilarious term that means, sadly, “anything outside the socially acceptable plethora of spiritual beliefs”. Hilarious as the term is, I have a few issues with it, but again, that’s something I’ll touch on in a different post.

The Valar are not from my world. Obvious, right? I believe that in my heart of hearts, I know that from the nóre, I know that from my journeying to their realm. Their universe is akin to my own, but is not my own. I believe it is real, for reasons I’m actually loathe to speak about even under a semi-anonymous cloak — they’re highly precious and personal reasons, for the most part. There’s also the reason that I believe all ‘fictional’ worlds are ‘real’ somewhere, which I actually share with quite a few people (almost so many it’s hardly considered strange, these days).

So. My pantheon are not from my world. They’re from another world! Which is connected to ours! Nifty — but how does that work? Here’s the thing: I don’t entirely know. And over the years, I’ve started to wonder…does it matter if I do know or not? Is that the core question I want to concentrate on in my spiritual life?

Well, no. It isn’t. I don’t walk this path with the Valar because I want all the answers to life, the universe(s), and everything. That’s not my reason; never has been and never will be. I follow this path because I feel called to it, because my spirituality is how I feed my soul, guide my spirit, and illuminate my life. (Do I sound like a fluffy bunny yet? :P) I’m not bothered by not knowing all the little details. Perhaps that’s choosing ignorance willfully, but really…what I’m most worried about is living out my life as best I can, not harming anyone as I do so, and making strong connections with those who reach out to me. I’m quite content leaving the little (or big!) details to someone else.

That’s not to say I don’t think about the whethertos and whyfors of it all! I certainly do, quite often. But I don’t see any point in working myself into a bind over it. I know what I know, and what I can’t understand, I know someday the Valar will help me to understand. Maybe that day’s tomorrow, maybe that day’s not until the End of Days. It will come when it comes, and I’m fine with that.

B is for Bipolar

It seems cruelly appropriate that as I write this, I am very, very sick — really no better time to tackle this head on, I suppose.

Hello, my name is Kate, and I have bipolar disorder.

Just a quick rundown for those of you who don’t know, bipolar is a mood disorder that is quite erroneously named — you’d think you’d be either happy or sad (and according to popular culture, violent, when in fact bipolar sufferers are far more like to be the victims of violent behaviour than the perpetrators!) at the drop of a hat. It doesn’t quite work like that. There are certainly things that can trigger moods from one thing to another, but that’s semi-rare. With bipolar disorder, there are generally five states a sufferer can be in:

• depressive, which can range from mild (sad, but able to function) to very severe (completely unable to function at all, including but not limited to: getting out of bed, eating, showering, or talking to anyone in my case); severe depressive phases are dangerous and there is a high suicide risk when a bipolar sufferer is going through one of these.
• manic, which is…think three-year-old on red cordial. If not crack cocaine. Thoughts race, sleep isn’t needed, energy goes through the roof, irresponsible decisions regarding money, sex, people, and just life in general are made. People who are manic can seem like they’re taking illicit substances.
• hypomanic, which is “below mania”, as the etymology would suggest: you’re bright eyed and bushy-tailed, outgoing and unafraid, but not to the point of manic dangerousness. In my experience, hypomania is wonderful — I feel more confident, in control of my life, and ready to tackle anything. If I could choose, I’d be hypomanic all the time. The downside is that hypomania is exhausting at the end of the day, so you need to get to bed early and try and get a decent sleep.
• stable, which is functioning normally like anyone else would. It’s a nice feeling! ;P
• mixed state, which could be, for example, mania mixed with depression. Depression mixed with hypomania, hypomania with stability, and so on and so forth. Mixed states are tricky. They can blend the best of things with the worst of things, and put you completely on edge. I personally can’t really stand them, I’ll be feeling sad all day yet too energetic to need any sleep for 48 hours or more, et cetera. But I would still prefer a mixed state over being depressive.

This isn’t going to be a rundown of what my disease does to me and how it affects my daily life; that’s an entry for one of my other blogs (which, sadly, I won’t be linking here. Anonymity can be a pain, ne?). This is how it affects my spiritual life, my worship, and my relationships with my gods.

I suppose the thing that bugs me most of all is that when I go to sleep at night, I literally have no idea how I’ll feel in the morning — and should the next morning be a day of celebration? What then? Could all my careful planning for a greatly anticipated Winter Solstice celebration mean absolutely nothing, because I can’t get out of bed, literally? Could a week’s worth of ignoring an upcoming holy day because I can hardly concentrate on breathing suddenly be changed sharply because on the actual day, I feel fine….or more than fine? There is no constancy in my life at all, and it frustrates me that this includes my spiritual life.

Depressive phases and manic phases have a tendency to knock the godphone right off the hook, too — and I’m one of those annoying types of people that seems to get clear reception nearly all the time…when I’m healthy. With hypomanic phases it isn’t so bad (I’d venture to say that reception is super-clear when I’m hypomanic), but introduce mania and all I can hear is myself echoing in my head. Depression’s exactly the opposite, but it’s sad echoes, not joyous ones.

Sometimes…okay, the majority of the time, seeing as I’m virtually anonymous I might as well be honest…I hate myself for having this disease, for having no constancy, for hurting friends and family members without the slightest intent, for confusing them and making them upset. I’ve often gone to Anpu in tears, apologising over and over for being…well, being me. And He has always, firmly, but gently, told me that I have nothing to apologise for, when it comes to my disease. I didn’t ask for it, and I don’t encourage it; I stay as healthy as possible, treat my mind and my body well.

When I started to follow Loki, things got interesting. He also insisted that apologising for having an illness was “utterly stupid”, but He has also insisted on having me work to realise that I am not my disease. I am not Kate-with-bipolar, I am simply Kate. I may have bipolar, and it may be a pain in my arse, but it does not define me. Flame-hair also encouraged me to either cut out of my life or ignore the people who do define me by my sickness. It’s been difficult; incredibly difficult. But I think I’m getting there, slowly. (He has also told me to never hide behind my illness, either. For some reason, you’d think that would have been much more difficult than no longer associating with aforementioned people, but it was in fact much easier. But there’ll be more on that in Loki’s own entry for the PBP.)

The Valar have been with me for so long that they — especially Vana, who I’ve grown very close to over the past few years — are simply “used to it”, for lack of a better phrase. It’s been difficult for me to accept that I have Gods who love me even though on some holy days, I’m curled up in a little ball wishing I was dead with nothing else on my mind except how awful I am. Unconditional love, especially after the bout of emotional/mental abuse I went through from 2005 to 2010, is almost something I have trouble believing in. I still have my doubts that human beings are even capable of it. But whenever I’ve turned to Estë, desperate for some peace in rest, or to Vana, craving joy, they have always been there without fail. When I’ve looked out my window and spotted an eagle, far-off, I know Manwë still hears my prayers, even if they’re brokenly-worded and don’t make much sense.

For that, of course, I love them all so dearly.

A is for Arien & Tilion

I originally wanted to do a separate entry on these two, but they are both linked together, so it seemed rather odd to do so. Hence, here I’ll be talking about the both of them. :)

Arien and Tilion by niliram @ Deviantart

Arien and Tilion are the maiar (or Spirits, as I like to refer to them when being patently vague about my path) of the Sun and the Moon, respectively. In the lore (or nóre) of my path, the Sun and the Moon are the final flowers of Laurelin and Telperion, the Two Trees which gave the world light before the coming of the Children of Ilúvatar. The Trees themselves were struck down by Morgoth and the hideous spider Ungoliant, but from their dying forms two flowers could be coaxed forth. These two flowers were taken, put into vessels crafted by Aulë, and then Arien and Tilion were chosen to guide these vessels through the sky at the proper times.

I have found that while Arien and Tilion, while not the light of the Sun and Moon themselves but instead the guardians and guides thereof, still have their own power and magnificence, possibly because they have been twined with their vessels for so many, many countless years. It’s a sort of symbiosis — neither could exist without the other, not in the state we know them in. The power of the Sun itself and the power of Arien herself is inextricable, as are the powers of the Moon and Tilion. When I call on them in ritual or prayer or spell, I’m calling upon them as whole beings, not just one part.

I have a tiny section of my altar set aside for them both, currently only represented with a sunstone and yellow silk flower for Arien, and a moonstone and white silk flower for Tilion. I’d like to expand it, I think, over the coming year. I have a few ideas forming; we’ll see what comes of things.

Arien is of greater power than Tilion. Her power can be of such great intensity that it can sometimes border on destructive. (And being in Australia currently, with half the country on fire and temperatures soaring above 35C/95F, I can attest to her near-damaging power right now…) She is honoured greatly in festivals, particularly Tarnin Austa, the near-equivalent of summer solstice. On the longest day of the year, after midnight, I will not speak a word until sunrise. When Arien rises, I’ll raise my voice in song and in thanks to her, and in joy for summer.

Being allergic to the sun (and yet I’m living in Australia! Fate will never cease to be amusing :P), I am not as close to Arien as I am to Tilion. I honour and respect Arien deeply, of course, and sun magic itself is a very joyous thing, but I always feel more…magical? magically awake?…when I work with Tilion.

Tilion is a gentler power, and not as often honoured as Arien. He is fickle, and doesn’t follow a set course, but changes every night. Sometimes he’ll be shadowed by the Earth itself, or in the sky at the same time as the sun, and sometimes eclipses Arien’s light, trying to get close to her — in the nóre it’s said that he is deeply in love with her, and often strays close to her; even though her brilliant fire scars, as can be seen on the face of the Moon.

I feel very close to Tilion, probably for primarily emotional reasons — I have bipolar disorder, which makes me as inconsistent as Tilion’s path, in a way. I have been burned for love, and I have been in the shadows of others quite often. The light of the full moon at night is a great comfort to me, not simply a magically powerful time. I’ve been known to sleep with my curtains drawn back on full moon nights, just letting the light fall into my room and tingling with spirit and magic.

Recently in my part of the world, there was a partial eclipse of the sun. Apart from being a wonder to see, it also sent magic dancing through the air — it happened during the morning, when the bright sunlight should be touching everything, well over the horizon, yet everything was ever-so-slightly shadowed. It was one of the strangest but most brilliant things I’d ever seen (I’d never seen a solar eclipse before in my life!); it made my fingertips tingle with the odd beautiful energy of it all. While gazing at the eclipse during its peak (through protective eye gear, of course), it was as if a tiny slice had been scooped out of the sun. All I could imagine was Tilion leaning over to press a kiss to Arien’s fiery face, before they both continued along their intended paths.

A is for Aulë

(Here we go, first PBP post! And I am ridiculously nervous, but let’s do this…)

Aulë creating the Dwarves, by Natalia Nikitin

In my pantheon, Aulë is  one of the Aratar, or Greater Powers. I have given him the kennings of Lord of the Stone and the Lord of Mountains. In the Valaquenta (The Account of the Powers), Aulë is said to have lordship over “all the substances with which [the Earth] is made”. During the creation of Earth, he created many things together with Manwë and Ulmo, and he is said to take as much joy in the small gems that can fit in the palm of your hand as much as he does in the great mountains.

I personally have felt his energy very strongly when I’m in the mountains not far from where I live; a huge, strong, yet kind energy that thuds along with the heart. It’s not a calming sort of feeling, but it is clearing, unclogging the mind and helping me think straight. I haven’t yet tried speaking with Aulë while in the mountains, nor even just meditating, but I am looking forward to doing so.

Aulë is also the master of things made by hand, especially with great skill and dedication. Whenever I start on a project that will require careful use of my hands, such as chainmaille’ing, if the project is especially tough or worrisome, I will reach out to Aulë for reassurance, and sometimes guidance.

The most interesting thing about Aulë’s cleverness with handcrafts is that Morgoth — the Enemy, the master of destructive forces — was equal to him in both skill and thought. In the Valaquenta it is said that Morgoth spent much time undoing Aulë’s works, out of jealousy. When I look at both Aulë and Morgoth I am shown two paths that any skill can take, and which of the paths is the more rewarding and ultimately the most beautiful.

This is shown best of all in the tale of the creation of the Dwarves: Aulë, inspired by Iluvatar’s creation of Men and Elves, wished for a people of his own creation — not to rule over, but to teach his own crafts and to share his knowledge with. Iluvatar chastened him for this, for Aulë did not have to right to do so, but let Aulë put the fathers of the Dwarves to sleep beneath the earth, to awaken after Elves and Men.

Morgoth, on the other hand, created another race spoken of…if ‘creation’ is the correct word for it. He took Elves, tortured and mutilated them, until they became Orcs. Morgoth in fact could not create, despite his intellect and skill, equal to Aulë’s — all he could do was pervert and mutate what was already made.

Aulë’s colours on my altar for him are usually rich, earthy tones: deep browns, and the strong dark reds of the soil where I live. If I can, I usually light a dark brown candle for him. He enjoys handmade things as offerings — I often find myself making detailed little objects out of Sculpey or other such modeller’s clay to gift him. He is very fond of stones, especially things like bornite (peacock ore), tektites, and micah. I’ve also found that Aulë very much likes “human crafted” gemstones, such as mystic topac, Mercury mist, opalite, and goldstone.