I was raised christian. The bad kind. The everything-but-what-we-think-is-evil-and-I-will-cripple-your-mind-for-life-with-the-fear-of-god kind. Western religion is the bastardization of other cultures’ reverence of nature, and the resulting anthropomorphization . European powers bent these beliefs in the name of social control and economic gain and there stands Western religion to this day. I am descended from the Celts. My fascination with the beliefs and practices of my ancestors is rapidly growing and, perhaps the slot created in my soul when I was a child for religion still seeks to be filled. I like to say, “I am spiritual, not religious.”
This time of year brings out great reverence in me, however and I strive to express myself without inhibition , however “silly” I may feel conveying my perhaps antiquated emotions per the subject matter. I do not seek to copy more primitive peoples, or replace one god with another of someone else’s making, but I do want to give my children the same sense of the divine I get from my natural surroundings. I want to perform symbolic rituals with them, of our design, to express our gratitude and exaltation. The Celts as our inspiration, the Earth as our guide, our own souls as our action.
We have chosen today to pour milk onto the ground, to return some of the Earth’s bounty to her in thanks, recite original poems and tonight, if we can find dry wood, I would like to have a fire. I’m going to wing it now, and make up a poem which I will not edit. Feel free to offer input and suggest edits!
(The photo is from our Satanic Christmas Card Photo Shoot this winter. No animals were harmed in the making of this work. I can’t speak for the virgins, however. And, as a disclaimer since you folks don’t know me so well yet, the photo shoot was for fun, nothing more. If you ask, I’ll share the card we made and the accompanying story.)
Life springs forth,
the green returns,
spreading like gently building flames consuming the earth;
consuming my mind.
I have survived another winter.
I have no need to toil
throughout the summer’s belting tirade,
suffer through ice,
cradling ailing infants,
lamenting empty stomachs.
I live in the age of eternal light,
though this surplus allows time for evil to abound in new ways.
We want for nothing, yet take everything
Light of Life, I turn my face to you.
Age of Abundance, I bow to you.
I am nothing more
and fallen rain and one day
from which life again will rise.
I am all things
and in this I feel the surge of new life
As the Earth gently turns her head,
in my favor, towards the sun once more.
In all things, I am grateful.