I slipped on a floor-length black dress, tying my glittery, silver and black kitchen witch apron around my waist. I fastened a clip of ribbons and feathers in my hair, feather earrings for my ears, and donned my ritual jewelry. Amethyst and silver, pendants of eagle, wolf and owl, and a likeness of Thor’s weapon, Mjölnir. Setting up my altar for the first in too-long, it felt both familiar and strange. Three green candles represented the Spirit, the Dark, the Light. My scrying bowl filled with water, I placed a nugget of my own spirit summoning incense into the water and lit the candle beneath to allow it to simmer and release its magic into the world, the scent of honey and herbs thick and intoxicating. I burned sage to cleanse the room and then wafted the smoke over my body for protection. I anointed my palms, the soles of my feet, the top of my spine and made an equal-armed cross over my third eye with homemade ‘traveling’ oil. On my altar, I placed items to honor the dead ancestors and Cthonic spirits: wasp paper, a bouquet of dried dandelion leaves, and a frog figurine with shiny green enamel ‘skin’ and brilliant, red-gemmed eyes whose mouth opens wide to hold rings. I placed a sprig of oak leaves with acorns still attached sacred to Thor. A photo of an eagle and my Air Sword, which is a handmade, wooden beauty, were placed together. A figurine of a wolf sat upon my clay pentacle. My tiny incense and petition cauldron, of course, had a place, as did my fireproof ceramic plate. I placed my silver Fire Blade next to the cauldron. I decided to bring out a strong protection amulet that is dedicated to the white and black spiders that are so frequent in my dreams, weavers of the web of fate. My little blue genie bottle of water and a shell represented the element Water. A shot glass of salt and water were also present, and finally, my three-pronged stang bedecked with a large feather, a scalloped shell and a stone. As offerings, I brought in 5 slices of watermelon, arranged in the shape of a pentacle, and a goblet of anise liqueur drink.
Casting my sacred spiral using my wooden blade, I begin to invite my beloved dead, my guides and animal helpers, one of the archangels and deity. Tears prick my eyes as the air changes when I call the names of my deceased family. I make sure to let them know they are so missed, but otherwise left idle conversation for another time. Simple meditation seeming difficult, I decided to dance and dedicate the energy to those present, and to the dark of the moon, the doorway to other realms. Sometimes dance is the only way I can express myself when words or other ritual elements leave me cold. Immediately the tingles shoot through my skin, and things click. I can tell I still hold back considerably, and I try not to focus on this and let go. I danced with my shadow on the wall as I sang along to a chilling song for cthonic goddess The Morrigan. I made movements like Crow, imagined and felt wings spring from my shoulder blades and feathers ruffle in the wind as I flew over fields of death. I gained courage and strength as I prepared to die in battle, facing the ultimate gore of war, feeling her take my breath. Not commentary on the right or wrong of it, simply the nature of this face of the triple goddess. Facing the nature, trying to understand it, biting into the bones of life and death. We are equally dark as we are light, and only when they balance can there be found peace. I devoured the watermelon, shaking from low blood sugar and exertion. I thanked and farewelled the entities present. I did the reverse spiral chant and returned to the mortal world.