Dark Moon Vigil: Nights 2 and 3

I realize I never wrote up about the last two nights of my three night vigil.

Night Two (Friday night, August 17) was a quick and somewhat impromptu meditation quite late (it may have even been technically Saturday morning by the time I got to it, after hanging out with Leah reading Pratchett and watching a couple episodes of the IT Crowd). I didn't do a full formal ritual circle as I'd done the night before, but simply lit Sorta*'s candle and spent some time in silent meditation before drawing a card from the Oracle deck and then spending a bit longer meditating on its meaning.

The card I drew was the Hunter of Gifts — and my half-sober meditations seemed to revolve mostly around the subtle paradox of being a "hunter" of gifts, how this phrase seems to capture the paradox of our relationship with the gods, the delicate blending and balance of work and grace (to put it in more Catholic theological terms), or action and receptivity, effort and acceptance. I have never gone hunting in a literal sense, but I've heard stories about the long hours spent waiting quietly in the woods, moving gently through the trees trying to be unobtrusive as possible, how our ancestors sometimes had to stalk prey for days.... And the sudden appearance of the animal, when it finally arrived, could seem like a gift. A gift is a gift precisely because it is not earned or deserved or exchanged tit-for-tat... it is simply given, freely.

I found this particularly poignant because on this night, I had another object on the altar besides the Oracle deck, the candle and the water (which I drank, as before, to honor and bring into myself the energies of the divination and meditation).... a pendant that is an abstract depiction of a bow and arrow. It seemed a powerful omen that I would draw a card depicting a hunter on this night. (The night before, when I'd drawn the Shaman of Courage card, I'd had a piece of ritual wear that I plan to consecrate to Sorta* for shamanic/journey work on the altar, one that has ties to the deer/stag, which I always invite into the circle with an invocation of its strength and courage.)

Night Three (Saturday, August 18), once again I did a full clearing and blessing of the space while burning incense, lighting the candle with a prayer to Sorta* after some time in meditation. This time, along with the deck, candle, water and incense on the altar, I had another pendant, this one of a bear's paw print, along with Jeff's bear fetish that he allowed me to use. The card I drew during divination was the Shaman of Stars. Using the recorded drumming, I did some journeywork on the meaning of this energy (again, a good synchronicity that on the night I work with the bear's energy, which I've often invoked as "great starry bear" associated with the constellations of Ursa Major and Minor in the northern sky, I would draw a shaman card of the stars)...

Again, I entered into the hollowed cedar and found myself following a spiraling stairwell deep down into the earth. The stairwell itself had close, cool walls of bluish stone studded with "stars" that shone white and gold in the dark and which, on closer look, were various gems and diamonds. At the bottom of the spiral stairwell was a rounded, wooden door on which the image of the Shaman of Stars appeared. I reached out to touch the image, and at my touch the door swung open, giving way to a night scene of green, rolling hills under a star-studded and moonlit sky. I recognized this place as the same hillside I'd seen in meditation more than a year ago when seeking insight from Brigid about her role in my life and my role in hers. The image I'd received then was of me dancing beneath the moon and starlight off alone in ecstasy, while others gathered around a bonfire off in the distance sharing stories and laughing together. I remember feeling a protest in me about how this personal worship, away from the eyes of others, did not seem to me to be what being a "priestess" to the gods was about (I thought instead it was about serving the community and being in the public eye) and how I was chided for that attitude, reminded that tapping into my own deep relationship with the gods was the source of any "priestessing" I would be doing and that I needed to let go of my worry about others' expectations and opinions when it came to that work. This time, there was no one else on the hilltop beneath the starlight.... at least at first. Then I saw a movement, almost like a disturbance in the air, and there was the Shaman of Stars on the hillside, reaching up to pick stars out of the sky like fruit and bringing them down to the earth. He was tall, huge really, and his head seemed to be of an animal nature, with a snout, and he seemed to have antlers, though they were invisible, in which the net of stars would sometimes snag and shiver with the movement of his head so that the stars themselves glimmered. I approached him hesitantly, watching him awhile as he plucked the stars. Then he handed me one — it was cool and light, not heavy, though it was about the size of my fist, with many gleaming facets. I wasn't sure what to do with it, but had the impulse to eat it, so I put it to my mouth. Some rational part of my mind must have objected to eating something hard as a diamond, for I found that I had to crunch it with my teeth, and it shattered into a million tiny shards, like glitter, that I swallowed down with some degree of trepidation and even horror. But as I swallowed, I could feel the shards embedding themselves within me all along my throat and in my chest, sinking into my flesh, passing into my bloodstream and being passed throughout my body until I was shining and glistening on the inside. The heat of my body seemed to melt them somewhat, so that they were wet and almost like liquid. At the drumming call back, I thanked the Shaman of Stars and turned to return through the door and back up the spiral stairwell.

Of all the nights' meditations, this is the one I'm least sure of — the journey work on courage seemed to have some clear and obvious symbolism, the red-mud paint and the dancing naked by the bonfire.... This seemed to be the counterbalance to that night's work, all darkness and starlight and a kind of being anointed on the inside, by eating the star, rather than on the outside with bodypaint like blood. There are also obvious ties back to my work with Brigid, so that I feel that this is also about bringing the gifts of my past relationship with her into this new work that I'm doing. (The Libra-ascendant in me is all ready to be giddy: oooh! a sun goddess and a moon goddess! how balanced! ::headdesk::)

I had intended to complete these vigils with a ritual of integration on the new moon night (Sunday), but decided it wasn't quite the right time. Jeff and I did go out again to Tiger Mountain, where I spent some time in meditation in a small cave among the Talus Rocks, surrounded by rock and root, soil and sky. Obviously, since then, I've had a couple of rough days with inexplicable crankiness — today, though, I'm feeling more enthusiastic and energetic. I'm thinking perhaps that I'll do some work tomorrow night, on the sixth night of the moon, which is also a day of importance to this goddess.

Random discovery yesterday while surfing online: the western (or Pacific) red cedar is not a true cedar, but is actually a member of the cypress family. This is also pretty intriguing, since I've had an intuitive sense of connection with the western red cedar ever since arriving here in Seattle, and it turns out that the cypress is a tree considered sacred to the goddess I am calling Sorta*. Interesting....

Diary - Spirit Animal

Sun: cancer (cardinal water), 5:50 AM - 8:54 PM
Moon: last quarter, pisces (mutable water), VoC
Earth: hot and muggy all day with thick clouds this morning giving way to sun this afternoon, with evening comes more clouds again and rustling wind hinting at a thunderstorm


So I finally had a chance to try out some of the shamanic journey work from the book Jeff got me for my birthday, Caitlin Matthews' Singing the Soul Back Home: Shamanic wisdom for every day.

For the ritual, I did draw a circle (with incense) to ward and protect the space, and then invited in the blessings of the four directions. Next, I did the DOTR Three Realms working to connect to below, above and center (my way: sea, sky and land/tree, respectively). Once grounded and centered, I took off my glasses and tied on the blindfold to help with trance work.

For this first attempt, I followed Caitlin Matthews' advice about first trying to connect with your instrument and then finding a "spirit animal." I have a small, square clay rattle — forget where I got it — that seems modeled after some Native American look, with spirals carved into one side. So to begin, I spent some time exploring the rattle and trying to use it in different ways to get a consistent sound. It was more difficult than I'd anticipated and I found that it was very hard to keep a consistent beat with it — it seemed like the beads (or whatever is inside the rattle) would get kind of stuck in a corner if I shook the rattle too consistently in just one direction, so that the rattle would become muted and almost silent…. but thinking too much about it and trying to intentionally vary the movement of my hand often resulted in an uneven rhythm or just plain confused coordination.

I did eventually find a way of holding the rattle where I could get a consistent beat without having to consciously think about it, so at that point then I tried to do some journey work. Caitlin Matthews recommends beginning every journey in the Middle World from a real location — not necessarily the location you're actually in, but some location that actually exists in the physical world somewhere and that you've been to. So instead of going to my "inner grove" as I would normally do, I tried to go to this one outcropping on Mount Desert Island in Acadia, where the cliffs jut out into the ocean and the low pine forests always seem shrouded in fog. It's a very quiet, mist-strewn and magical place and I've felt more than once that I could very well slip between the worlds there. It's also where I saw those wild otters running through the underbrush that one year. So I reached out to try to get there…

But not all that successfully. I felt like I couldn't concentrate very well and kept slipping in and out of focus. I think there are several reasons for this: (a) Not being used to trying to rattle and meditate at the same time. (b) The rattle itself not giving the most resonant rhythm to journey with. (c) Trying to go to a location that I don't have much practice going to. (d) My slight physical discomfort because of the stuffy, overly warm room, the heaviness of the blindfold which made me even warmer, and a mild headache probably from lack of food and/or water. Not the best conditions for trying to do journey work, but it was the only time I really had.

Once or twice, I seemed to catch glimpses of animals — but for a long time, none really came close enough for me to connect or communicate with them in any way. A seagull here or there out over the ocean, that type of thing. I tried to keep my purpose in mind during the work, repeating my intention to journey in order to meet my spirit animal... but for a while, it was touch and go and I was getting frustrated. Once or twice, I seemed to see some kind of creature in front of me on the trail among the trees and undergrowth, but couldn't get a clear impression.

Eventually, I decided to stop rattling and try journeying in silence. I laid down on my back (to relieve the cramped circulation in my left leg from the way I'd been sitting) and untied the blindfold, just draping it gently over my eyes instead. I continued to try to stay focused on the journey work, but I may have started to drift off to sleep or allow my mind to wander. At one point, though, I realized that in my mind that sure enough I was following along behind an animal, short and stocky and low to the ground. I'm not sure if this was in dream or trance or what, but when I realized it, I tried to clarify the impression and asked of the creature if it was my spirit animal whom I'd come to meet. It turned to look at me briefly, and for a second I couldn't tell quite what I was looking at, but then the impression resolved into a grayish, shaggy badger (with the deep black face and the white stripe down its forehead to its nose).

My first reaction was to scoff and think that this couldn't be my spirit animal, because I felt no connection with that animal at all and it seemed so... dull and mundane. Part of me noticed some similarity between the badger and the white dog, Moira, who has shown up in some of my meditations before, and I wondered if this was Moira just in a different guise. I tried to ask the badger its name and find out if it was Moira, but it shrugged and trundled off along the path. I think at this point I began to fall asleep again, because though I continued to follow it, I started to hear very clearly two voices arguing — they were male, youngish, with thick stereotypically Mexican/Hispanic accents — and though I couldn't see anyone (it was as if the voices were behind me or as if my eyes were closed, though I could still see Badger ahead of me), they continued to argue loudly about whether or not Badger was my spirit animal. One of them said (speaking to me, not to the other) something like, "Oh, so, it won't speak to me, so now it won't speak to you!" as though in explanation for why the badger didn't seem interested in speaking and had turned its back on me and trundled away.

Then suddenly, I realized I'd lost track or lost sight of where Badger had gone, but I was standing in front of a huge, thick-trunked tree. Though I hadn't seen anything, I had the vague impression that Badger has actually become the tree, and the tree seemed to have an gnarled old face in its trunk, made from the bumps and knots of the bark. I looked down and it was as though the ground beneath were clear or transparent somehow, or that at least I could see through it, because I could see the roots of the tree reaching down into the earth and rock and spreading out in all directions, just as I could see the branches of the tree spreading out above. It was almost like looking at a painting or drawing (or photoshopped photograph) of a tree with a "reflection" in the ground, except the reflection wasn't a mirror image reversed of the leafy branches, but definitely and distinctly twining, dirty roots. Not sure what to do, I sat down under the tree, my back against the trunk and found myself doing the DOTR Three Realm working the way I had done when visiting the Angel Oak last month.

The loud, obnoxious invisible voices continued to argue back and forth, until at some point I kind of interrupted them and asked them to shut it. Then I tried reaching out to Badger again to see if it would come back, and there it was, coming out from behind the tree trunk. I asked politely if I could come closer, and it sat back, upright on its back haunches, and allowed me to approach. I saw its amazingly powerful claws, and its small eyes peering at me. I started to think about all the various references to badgers I'd seen recently - the story Emma Restall Orr tells in her book about a badger coming across her in meditation in the woods, the "honey badger don't give a shit" youtube video Ryan showed everyone at the last work conference, some vague impression that maybe the badger was related to the groundhog and was therefore connected somehow to Brigid... When Badger seemed to lose patience with my wandering, chattering mind and clicked it claws at me, then leaned back down onto all fours and trundled off again. I realized I couldn't keep focus for much longer in any case, so at that point I ended the journey work.

I sat back up and wasn't sure what to do for a moment. I was so skeptical of Badger being my spirit animal, fairly convinced that it was just some weird thing in my subconscious picking up pop culture references or something... but I knew that the next step, according to Caitlin Matthews, was to "Dance the Animal" to welcome it and give it a chance to live in the world through you. So in the small space I had in the study where I was set up for ritual, I sort of sat on my haunches and began to try to dance in a way that mimicked the movement of Badger. Since most of my journey had been spent watching it shuffle away, I started by kind of rocking my hips back and forth, as though "trundling in place" — then I allowed this movement to kind of carry all the way up my spine until my whole torso was shifting and twisting back and forth. I got the urge to move my arms as well, and so began to rock them backwards and forwards, swinging them as though walking — it took a bit to get the hang of it and coordinate the swinging with the rocking of my hips. I did this for quite a while (it seemed like a while, anyway), breathing kind of heavily, almost snuffling. By the end of it, I felt... great. The dancing, even in place, was amazingly helpful in seeming to ground me in my body and integrate the Badger energy, so that by the end I no longer was skeptical or scoffing at the idea that Badger might be my spirit animal after all.

To end the ritual, I blessed my small blue pitched of water, and gave a few flicks of water to the fire in thanks to the spirit of Badger, then took a sip of the water to honor the Badger spirit within me as well. I then did some poking around online to see if I could find out anything about the meaning or associations of badgers in mythology... but that'll have to wait until another time.