A Witch Alone: Thirteen moons to master natural magic. Marian Green
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Pre-Christian people in Europe worked out the passage of time in moon phases and because of this they probably had a moon-number of great festivals. The oldest seem to be the beginning of winter, the middle of winter and the end of winter. In summer they would probably be too busy to find time to gather and celebrate, working from dawn to dusk, hay making, weeding, tending livestock, shearing the sheep, then reaping the corn and stooking it, and carrying it into the barns and threshing out the grain. Then there would be the gathering of wild and cultivated fruits and vegetables and fungi to be stored for the ‘hungry gap’ of the winter. In autumn, the beasts would be brought in from the hills and woods and some slaughtered and salted down for the winter. Fat would be rendered both for eating and to burn as lamp oil. At each change of occupation it would be Nature herself who would instruct the people what to do. Gradually several overlapping patterns began to emerge, and it is from the cycles of the life of the land and the farm stock, and the magical lives of the Goddess and the God, that some of the festivals which are celebrated by modern pagans began to develop.
I think that if some of the witches of today thought more about the actual workings of Nature and less of book-bound, set knowledge, they would gain more power in their magics, more joy in their celebrations, and a greater sense of unity with their ancestors and the ancient faith they aim to follow. It was, after all, the Church that fixed the dates of the old Festivals, and it is from that restrictive form of belief that most of them are trying to untangle themselves! This is especially true at the end of the twentieth century, when it seems that great changes are occurring in our weather systems; spring is coming earlier in the south of Britain, with more winter rain, high winds and overflowing waterways.
Nature marked out the turning seasons with a series of alternating White and Green harvests, and it was from these that the original nine feasts came to be established. You don’t have to take my word for it, but look out of your window, observe and take note of those outdoor happenings which presage every change of season.
All over the world, the Goddess is seen or known as the White Goddess. White flowers, clothes or offerings have always been associated with her, from the snowy-white icefields of the north, to the white-hot burning deserts on the equator; to the southern lands, lying under the Long White Cloud. We see it today in the white dresses of brides at their marriage, when the young lady, for that day, represents the Goddess to her husband; in the white costumes, with their bells, ribbons and flowers, of the Morris Men, ‘Mary’s Men’, dancing in honour of the White Goddess. Even in India, a land where white is a colour of mourning, it is into the hands of the Goddess of Death, with her white face, that the departed soul will travel.
The White harvests represent stages in the lives of the Goddess and the God, defined at a moment when a certain kind of power was to be felt, and perhaps shared with the people. The ‘green’ festivals are set around the solar agricultural dates of the Equinoxes and Solstices. The old rites were simple and largely intuitive affairs, when a whole village or community would come together to act out part of the Old Ones’ story, to renew the bonds of dedication to the Lord and Lady, and those ties of kinship within the human relationships, or forge new ones. There was no priest to intercede between the people and their deities, for even in the pre-Christian Celtic era when the Druids held sway, they seemed to have acted more as guides or masters of ceremonies than controllers of the ritual. Everyone in the community probably made a small offering, asked a boon, or offered prayers of thanksgiving, as appropriate to the season. If there was speech, it was from the heart and Goddess-given inspiration rather than set-piece sermons or regulated supplications. As most such celebrations were carried out in fields or woods or sacred circles of standing stones, it is likely that much of the action was mime, just as today’s mumming plays enact the story of Life and Death, Summer and Winter, with a variety of local characters depicted. Song and dance too would have played a part in such gatherings, with music, drumming and probably the playing of games like those country children still play. Often those who acted out the characters of the story of the Old Ones would be chosen by lot, with symbols baked into a cake, or hidden in a bag. This allowed the God or Goddess to cast his or her part without the intervention of human will. When this method of choosing the parts for a ritual or celebration is used, those so chosen play their parts far better than might be imagined, even if they do not exactly fit the archetype they portray.
Starting at the beginning of the Celtic year, around the end of October in the modern calendar, when the first hard frost whitened the grass, shrivelled any green stuff and iced over a shallow puddle, the community began their preparations for winter. Cattle and pigs and sheep which had roamed the unfenced fells, moors or woodland would be brought back to the farmyards or perhaps one of the great earthworks which dot the southern hilltops. It would be a great round-up and time for sorting out the stock. Some would be selected to be killed as, before the times of extensive haymaking and the production of winter feed, not all could be expected to survive through the winter months. Pigs would be salted into ham and bacon, but a great feast of those parts which could not be preserved would be eaten. The White harvest of this time would be fat and hides and fleeces, all vital to see the people through the winter.
Next, as the nights grew longer and the air colder, the people, less sure than we are today that the warmth of spring actually would return, made many spells and enchantments to call back the sun from his long journey into night. On the darkest night, at what is now called the Winter Solstice, when the whole community huddled round the blazing yule log, the mysterious Star Child, Son of the Goddess, the Mabon, was born; As Sun God, he stood for the return of the Light but there was doubt until, by a few minutes a day, the nights began to shorten. It is for this reason that the births of the Christ Child and his predecessor, Mithras, both sacrificial gods born in a cave or stable, are celebrated on 25th December. That was the day when the Wise Ones could announce that the magic had worked, that the bonfires on the hilltops, the offerings of greenery and red berries, the decking of the houses and the giving of gifts, especially to children, had brought a return of the Light.
There would then be a period of real rejoicing with the best of the stored foods being brought out, the fatted goose prepared for the table, the last sweet apples, dried fruits and nuts brought out in celebration. This was a time of great hardship in many communities, if the grain harvests had been poor or the livestock sickly, yet once the promise of the Star Child, the Child of Hope as he was known in some old villages, had been seen, the entire community would do what they could to celebrate. There were round dances, called originally ‘carols’, performed in barns or out of doors if it was dry enough, and special songs, some fragments of which are still sung these days, with the words changed to greet a newer Lord. It was the greenery, the holly and the ivy, branches of fir sweet-smelling in the smoky houses, and the magical mistletoe, sacred to the Druids, which enriched this dark time. Those customs are still with us, as well as the dressing of the sacred tree with lights and tinsel. All have pagan roots.
All celebrations have to end and the Yuletide feast was concluded with another day of special activities, called in the Christian calendar Epiphany or Twelfth Night. In that tradition, it is the time when the Wise Men from the East arrived, astrologers following a star and bringing gifts of the Frankincense of Royalty, the Gold of Material Power, and the bitter Myrrh of the Sacrifice to come. This also echoes a Celtic tradition whereby the young man or woman, at about the age of twelve to fourteen years, gained their adult name and status. In the Old Religion it is when the Young God is initiated into the wisdom of the Clan, and receives his name, his magical weapons and instructions for his life. Although this particular festival has been overlooked by witches whose rituals use the eightfold contemporary cycle, instead of the ninefold lunar pagan one, various country customs and village celebrations do recall this end to the midwinter feasts. Even in ordinary houses, it is Twelfth Night when the dried-up remains of the Christmas greenery is thrown on the fire, and the last decorations in homes and churches are taken down and stored away. Out of doors, in places where cider orchards flourish, there is the ritual of Wassailing the trees, by pouring libations and sticking bread or toast soaked in cider in the branches of the apple trees. Shotguns are fired to drive away harm, and songs are sung, ‘Here’s to thee, Old Apple Tree, much mayst thou bear, Hats full, caps full and great bushel baskets full. Hurrah!’
In some villages other rituals are to be found at about the middle