Today it’s Imbolc. You may have noticed I haven’t been writing a lot in this column. I guess the reason is that I haven’t been very active religiously. The temple I had organized has drifted off, doing its own thing. I have lacked the energy to jump back into the fray. I’m done with the politicking, tired of the big fish competing over little ponds. I haven’t even done anything with my coven.
I haven’t even been following the online controversies. I don’t really have any idea what my fellow bloggers are currently arguing about. I just don’t have the energy. And I’m not sure I care to get into emotional arguments with people I’m not likely to ever meet, and if I do, I will meet once a year.
Mostly, I’ve been hibernating. I have been unwell this winter, so I haven’t left the house much. I have been concentrating on fiction writing, not on Paganism. I’ve been trying to devote myself to my choice of secular career.
I worried about it. I wondered if I was failing at my duties as a sworn Priestess.
But maybe it’s not all that surprising. Winter is, after all, meant to be a time of rest. A time when you catch up on the basic household duties, like weaving and mending. Except in this Information Age, my work is the work of words.I’ve been doing things which are secular, but have roots in the ethics of my spirituality. Like speaking out for women, for the disabled, for people affected by racism. I’ve been speaking out to support the fight against climate change. Because Aradia liberates the oppressed, and I value the beauty of the green earth, and the white moon among the stars. I haven’t been at a lot of protests, but I’ve supported them all. How can I do otherwise? I’m a witch.
Last night, on the supermoon/lunar eclipse/blue moon/Imbolc Eve, I still set my tools out to charge. I have hardly used them at all this past year, but that doesn’t matter. It’s good to know they’ll be ready when I do.
Today, on Imbolc, I am staying close to my hearth. I am spending time with my family. I am cleaning my house. I’m continuing to do the quiet, private things that mark the rhythm of the seasons. But of course, I’m burning a candle for Brighid too. And maybe I’ll do a version of a disting for my computer.
Maybe that’s good enough. At least for now.