Imbolc Intro

Imbolc is the name of a major Celtic feast that can be traced back to medieval Irish literary sources and was held on or about February 1st. Although the exact meaning of the name has been lost, it apparently has something to do with milk and is thought to refer to the milking of sheep when they begin to lactate in the early spring, which in the British Isles occurs in February. As historian Ronald Hutton explains in his 1996 book The Stations of the Sun, “During the twentieth century, the notional beginning of spring came itself to be moved backwards to the vernal equinox, by a slow process induced by the mass media. This was part of an adoption of the American system of reckoning seasons from the solstices and equinoxes, which works admirably in the climate of most of the USA, but is nonsensical in the rhythm of the British year” (p.145). Little evidence survives as to the nature of the pagan rites with which Imbolc was celebrated, though it’s possible they involved the Celtic goddess Bridget.

Given that our celebration of Imbolc occurs at mid-winter, it makes sense for the theme of our festivities to be “Cold,” a phenomenon that manifests itself in a variety of ways. Cold can slow things down, like chemical reactions, but also speed some things up, by reducing electrical resistance. We often think of cold as something unpleasant to be guarded against, but it has its upside too. While we may dread going out on bitterly cold winter days, a cool breeze off the ocean can be refreshing. A hike through a snowy forest can be invigorating. For many people, participating in winter sports is the highlight of their year. Part of the fun is defying the threatening aspects of cold temperatures and enjoying camaraderie and companionship regardless. We should scale that feeling up to include all life on the Planet Earth as it spirals through the cold depths of space.

Yule Intro

The celebration of the Winter Solstice, the border between autumn and winter, is known by many Pagans as Yule, a name derived from a Scandinavian seasonal festival that was imported into the British Isles by Vikings in the 11th century. According to the 13th-century Icelandic author Snorri Sturluson, Yule had been celebrated at least as long as an October “Winter Nights” festival that is described in the earliest Scandinavian literature, placing its origins firmly in prehistory. Though little evidence has survived, it seems clear that British pagans had been celebrating the winter solstice for at least half a millennium before the Vikings came. In the 5th century, St. Patrick excoriated Irish pagans who venerated the sun and would have celebrated the solstices and equinoxes. Anglo-Saxon and Welsh sources from before the 11th century also refer to a “midwinter” festival held at this time of year—for them the solstice was considered the midpoint of winter, and it is still celebrated as such throughout Great Britain. However, in America, due to climatic differences, the Winter Solstice marks the beginning of the season. In his 1996 book The Stations of the Sun, historian Ronald Hutton notes that we know little of how ancient British pagans celebrated the season, but we can be sure of “the existence of a major pre-Christian festival marking the opening of the new year, at the moment at which the sun had reached the winter solstice and its strength was being renewed. There is testimony to this in the Anglo-Saxon, the Viking, and the Welsh components of the medieval British heritage” (p.8).

Since the Winter Solstice is the longest night of the year (and consequently the shortest day), it seems appropriate that the theme of Yule celebrations should be “Darkness.” What does darkness mean to us? From prehistoric times, human beings have associated darkness with fear and danger, but it also provides respite—the perfect conditions for introspection, rest, and sleep. There is also a special beauty to lights in the dark; colors become more vivid and our attention more focused. The universe itself is predominantly darkness, punctuated by points of sparkling light and wisps of color. The glowing sun and the Earth, that pale blue dot, spiral through the dark unafraid. We can do likewise: hunker down, snuggle up, and take some time to contemplate the darkness within us. In some ways, the Winter Solstice feels like a low point; the light is at its weakest and the world seems dull and gray, the darkness can feel relentless and overwhelming. But we should be mindful that it is the shadows that are now in retreat, for we are crossing over into the waxing half of the year.

Samhain Intro

Samhain (the ‘mh’ makes a ‘w’ sound) is the name of a major Celtic feast that can be traced back to early medieval sources, held on November 1st. In the British Isles it marked the beginning of the winter season, though in America we find ourselves at mid-autumn at this time due to climatic differences. According to historian Ronald Hutton in his 1996 book The Stations of the Sun, Samhain was the ideal time for the year’s most important tribal assemblies: the harvest had been completed, the livestock brought in from the pastures, and the normal seasons for warfare and trading closed. Thus, royalty, warriors, and peasants alike had some extra time on their hands. As such, it was the perfect setting for numerous tales involving encounters with gods and monsters. Like Beltane, which lies at the opposite point on the Wheel of the Year, Samhain was “a particularly numinous time,” during which “fairies and witches were especially active, and magical devices required to guard against them” (pp. 365–366). In time, the medieval Christian Church overlaid this festival with its feast of the dead, which brought with it its own arcane associations. The modern Samhain, then, along with the associated celebration of Halloween, is a hybrid of these ancient Celtic and Christian traditions.

Even so, being the time of year when leaves are dropping from the trees and flowers wither, it seems appropriate that the theme of Samhain celebrations should be “Death”—not as something to be warded off or feared but acknowledged as an integral part of life’s cycles. It is a time to remember our ancestors—and all those who came before us—and to reflect on how their paths influenced ours. We can tell their stories, and honor them for what they did and what they tried to do. Likewise, we can reflect on how we hope to be remembered by those who will come after us, and thereby to remind ourselves that our lives are but one step in the spiral path of the human race and, beyond that, in the journey of our living world, the Earth. Death comes to all things, perhaps even the universe itself, and being mindful of that can help us keep life’s difficulties and disappointments in perspective. Even in the darkest quarter of the year, when the world looks as if it were dying around us, we can set aside a night to celebrate our own spiral path.

Mabon Intro

The celebration of the Autumnal Equinox, the border between summer and autumn, is known by many Neo-Pagans as Mabon, the name of a Celtic hero from The Mabinogion, a collection of medieval Welsh mythology. In the tale “Culhwch and Olwen,” King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table must rescue the long-forgotten huntsman Mabon ap Modron (a name that means ‘the son of the mother’) from a dank dungeon in the hellish realm of Gloucester, for his special skills are needed in the quest to capture the enchanted boar Twrch Trwyth. Mabon is glad to be liberated from his long imprisonment and soon proves his valor among King Arthur’s men. The hero’s name was associated with the Autumnal Equinox in the 1970s by the American Neo-Pagan author Aidan Kelly while creating a liturgy for a California-based offshoot of Wicca with the somewhat tongue-in-cheek name the New Reformed Orthodox Order of the Golden Dawn. As Kelly describes in a 2017 blog post on the website Patheos, he was dissatisfied with the traditional names of northern European harvest festivals and wanted something with some Celtic cachet. He saw a parallel in the tale of Mabon ap Modron, who was kidnapped as a baby, with the tale of Persephone, whose abduction to the underworld represents the advent of autumn. Furthermore, Kelly was intrigued by similar myths of young people being rescued from certain doom, such as the Biblical story of Abraham and Isaac, and associated them with the autumnal equinox as well. Thus, Kelly chose to name this equinoctial festival “Mabon,” and the name was soon popularized by Oberon Zell’s journal Green Egg. However, Kelly is something of a persona non grata among more traditional Wiccans, so some of them reject his contributions to Pagan ritual.

Regardless, the Autumnal Equinox has long been celebrated as a major turning point, as it is the time when we cross the threshold back into the dark half of the year. In constructing my graphic of the Wheel of the Year, seen above, I searched for an appropriate dichotomy to mark this axis and settled on Hello/Goodbye. In this sense, “goodbye” goes beyond a simple valediction to encompass letting go of old ideas, old habits, old relationships. We find ourselves at the midway point between “heat” and “death,” where we can start the process of unwinding that precedes the coming of winter. “Goodbye” can serve as a theme for Mabon celebrations, as we get ready to retreat to our sanctuaries and turn inward for a period of restful self-reflection—but before we can do that, we need to settle our accounts, tie up loose ends, and ask ourselves, what is it time to let go of?

Lughnasadh Intro

Lughnasadh is the name of a major Celtic feast that can be traced back to early medieval sources. It means ‘Festival of Lugh,’ a god who appears frequently in early Irish literature, and was held on or about August 1st, which in the British Isles marked the beginning of the autumn season. In America, however, we find ourselves at mid-summer at this time due to climatic differences. According to historian Ronald Hutton in his 1996 book The Stations of the Sun, this pagan Celtic festival and its Anglo-Saxon counterpart, Lammas, are attested to in official records as early as the seventh century. They were both intended to celebrate the opening of the harvest season, when the first batches of corn were ready to be eaten (pp.327–331). The evidence for how these festivals were celebrated is scant, but the sources suggest it generally involved open-air feasting, hill-climbing, and assorted sports and games, which seems appropriate for the warmest season of the year.

Given that our celebration of Lughnasadh occurs at mid-summer, it makes sense for the theme of our festivities to be “Heat,” the phenomenon that does more than any other to preserve life. The sun’s heat warms the surface of Planet Earth, allowing lifeforms of every description to thrive. The heat of Earth’s core causes the convective circulation that generates the planet’s magnetic field, which in turn preserves its protective atmosphere. Even at the bottom of the ocean, cut off from the sun’s rays, extremophile organisms exist in vents of boiling water heated by subterranean magma. Where there is heat, life flourishes. We can’t imagine life without heat, and this concept infuses our language. We recognize the life-preserving power of heat when we speak of “warm feelings” among friends or of how “hot” an attractive person is. Heat allows us to function and keeps us going when we would otherwise start to shut down. Lughnasadh, then, is a time to celebrate our persistence in the face of adversity.

Litha Intro

The celebration of the Summer Solstice, the border between spring and summer, is known by many Pagans as Litha, a name attested to in the 8th-century writings of the Venerable Bede. In the lands of the Anglo-Saxons, of whom Bede was writing, Litha was considered the midpoint of summer and is still celebrated as Midsummer Day throughout Great Britain. However, in America, due to climatic differences, the Summer Solstice marks the beginning of the season. Regardless, the evidence suggests that the solstice was celebrated with bonfires at least as far back as the Middle Ages, when written records of such practices begin. In his 1996 book The Stations of the Sun, historian Ronald Hutton offers a possible derivation of the term bonfire: a contraction of “bone-fire,” that is, a fire in which clean bones were burned instead of wood. He notes, “The stench of the burning bones… was thought to drive away dragons” (p.313). According to Hutton, a fire made of wood without bones is more properly called a “wakefire.” He finds convincing evidence of the widespread celebration of a pre-Christian fire festival at the Summer Solstice throughout England and Ireland, though much less so in Wales and the Scottish Highlands, except in areas with a strong Scandinavian influence.

Since the Summer Solstice is the longest day of the year (and consequently the shortest night), it seems appropriate that the theme of Litha celebrations should be “Light.” What does light mean to us? As human beings, it provides an awareness of our surroundings as well as clarity. And at this time of year, light is abundant. We can shine some of that light on the darker areas within us and re-evaluate—see if we are where we want to be or if there are things we need to work on. For the Planet Earth, sunlight provides sustenance. Plants depend on photosynthesis to feed themselves, herbivorous animals depend on the plants, and carnivores consume the plant-eaters. They in turn are consumed after death to provide nutrients to the soil in which the plants grow. Light keeps the cycles of life going, and that’s something worth celebrating. In some ways, the Summer Solstice feels like a high point; the sun is at its strongest, the light is at its brightest and lingers its longest. But we should be mindful of the shadows, for we are crossing over into the waning half of the year.

Beltane Intro

Beltane is the name of a major Celtic feast that can be traced back to early medieval sources, one of which claims that it descended from the Druids. It was a fire festival held on May 1st, which in the British Isles marked the beginning of the summer season. In America, however, we find ourselves at mid-spring at this time due to climatic differences. According to historian Ronald Hutton in his 1996 book The Stations of the Sun, the name “Beltane” most likely means “lucky fire,” referring to the ritual bonfires that were built to ward off ill-health and ill-fortune for the coming year. He reports that the tradition was maintained in Ireland and other Irish-influenced areas of Britain well into the 19th century, as well as in “parts of England in which native British culture lingered the longest” (p.223). This suggests that the bonfires were indeed a survival of a widespread ancient practice. Interestingly, he notes also that mentions in Welsh literature impart an “arcane quality” to May Day, similar to the oft-celebrated “thinning of the veil” at Samhain, which lies at the opposite point on the Wheel of the Year.

Being the time of year when trees are budding and flowers are blossoming, it seems appropriate that the theme of Beltane celebrations should be “Life.” New life is coming into view all around us, reminding us to renew our hopes and aspirations. But we also take stock of where we are, as though from the top of a hill, and consider how best to move forward. Are there goals we want to pursue? Where do we want to put our energy? If we were trees, we could devote ourselves to growing our trunks taller, spreading our branches wider, digging our roots deeper, or making our protective bark thicker. Even trees have to choose their priorities for the year. And their choices will affect all the other trees with which their root systems connect. So we also celebrate the interconnectedness of all life on this world and remember that we do not stand apart from or above that web of life. Whether you’re a tree or a bird or a human being, life can be daunting—all the more reason to celebrate.

Ostara Intro

The celebration of the Vernal Equinox, the border between winter and spring, is known by a variety of names; we chose “Ostara,” an easy-to-pronounce variant of the name of the Anglo-Saxon goddess said to lie behind an ancient seasonal festival. Historian Ronald Hutton examines the evidence for such a festival in his 1996 book The Stations of the Sun. He notes that the 8th-century English monk known as the Venerable Bede was curious as to why Germanic-speaking areas of Europe did not derive their name for this celebration from the Passover, a Jewish holiday translated into Christian observance, as was common in most other areas. Bede speculated that the Germanic name (which derives from an Indo-European root meaning “dawn” and survives in the modern terms Ostern and Easter) came from a pagan goddess called Eostre who presided over this time of year. However, Bede admits that this is entirely his own idea and is not based on any real research. Hutton writes, “It is therefore quite possible to argue that Bede’s Eostre was a Germanic dawn-deity who was venerated, appropriately, at this season of opening and new beginnings. It is equally valid, however, to suggest that the Anglo-Saxon ‘Estor-monath’ simply meant ‘the month of opening’ or ‘the month of beginnings,’ and that Bede mistakenly connected it with a goddess who either never existed at all, or was never associated with a particular season but merely, like Eos and Aurora, with the dawn itself” (p. 180).

Regardless, the Vernal Equinox does mark a time of new beginnings as we step back into the light half of the year. In constructing my graphic of the Wheel of the Year, seen above, I searched for an appropriate dichotomy to mark this axis and settled on Hello/Goodbye. In this sense, “hello” encompasses not just a greeting between friendly folks but also a sense of emergence—new life, new growth, new ideas. We’re on that boundary between “cold” and “life” and can let ourselves be open to the feelings that come with the imminent blossoming of spring. “Hello” can serve as a theme for Ostara celebrations; as we get ready to shake off our winter blues and embrace the return of the green—to come out of our refuge, rejoin the wider community, and start a new day. It makes sense, then, to name our celebration after a personification of the dawn.