Creating Circles and Ceremonies: Rituals for All ... - reading...

Book III: W heel of the Year 195
the Year came much later as an ex post facto justification, which didn’t originate with us, but
probably with the Druids. I am not even sure that the obsession with Celtic authenticity—
including using Irish instead of English names for the major festivals—didn’t originate in the
U.S. sometime in the 1960s. I myself have always found this obsession with the Celts rather odd,
not because I have only one-quarter Scots (and therefore Celtic) ancestry, but because the Celts
were—and the Irish still are—great fighters, and therefore patriarchs. As an English poet, whose
name I forget, put it in his description of the different people of the British Isles: “The Irishman
doesn’t know what he wants, but is prepared to fight for it!” What we early Witches were trying
to hark back to was pre-Celtic and generally pre-Indo-European Neolithic Earth Mother worship.
Getting back to the major Sabbaths: what Gerald taught us about them implies that we
should let the climate of the place in which we live dictate the dates of the major festivals,
especially of the spring festival, rather than abide by what others have written about supposed
old Celtic traditions.
194. Turning of the W heel
Deep in the black of night,
Wrapped safely in the arms of the Mother
I dream,
And wish upon the coming of the child,
So radiant and bright,
That he warms the chill of Spring.
As the veil lifts, and dawn breaks,
I begin to wake, feeling my body stir.
Great passion arises, and I dance
With merriment and delight,
For this is when the Great Rite will occur.
I reach my outstretched arms
Toward the warmth of the Father.
Growing in his brilliance,
I will sacrifice myself now
Within the love of him and the Mother.
As the light begins to fade,
I begin my journey home,
Back to where I once began,
Wrapped safely in the arms of the Mother,
Deep in the black of night
I dream again.
—Samina Oshun
195. T he Turning of the W heel
The Wheel turns as crows take flight
Across the wintry Samhain night.
In glowing flames the Yule log burns—
Our Sun’s reborn as the Wheel turns.
Imbolc chases night away
As candles change the dark to day.
The Wheel turns—Ostara’s flowers
Are blessed by April’s springtime showers.
On Beltaine Eve the fires burn;
Again we see the Wheel turn.
Litha brings the longest day,
When we can dance our cares away.
The Wheel turns to Lammastide,
The first fruits of our fields so wide.
And when the harvest Lord is gone,
The Wheel turns us to Mabon.
What we have sown we now shall reap
As Mother Earth returns to sleep.
The Wheel turns as crows take flight
Again across the Samhain night.
The years go by, the seasons pass.
Our lives leave shadows on the grass,
As every day we learn to feel
The constant Turning of the Wheel.
—BellaDonna Oya, August 2002