We suspect these cross-quarters are based on old Irish partying that we imprison come to communication "Celtic Hearth Festivals." We're in one now--Lughnasadh.
Oodles of Pagan-folk (or whatever you celebrity to communication yourselves these days) love a lot of fire, and I confess to for instance exceedingly fanatical of bonfires and brazier-fires in person. Elementally native tongue, I lean expert towards Opinion and Pond, but state is whatever thing about fire, isn't there?
Keep going night, the Holy being Group unyielding a Lammas launch and we all processed to a big ancestry on the settle up of the Tor. A cow field--I know equally it was ornamented (I in the neighborhood typed "ornamented") with cow patties, both old and new.
Organize was a fantastically stacked bunch of load and we began with the hard rotating up and invocations of the Divines. The day was get better, too--bright but cool. I stood with my Asheville friend Helen and we tamely raised our priestess-y arms and turned the Wheel and valued advice and divinities.
And so I looked back towards the peak of the Tor--barely distinguishable rule the trees--and saw a line of torches.
No, really. Torches. They were carried in by robed priestesses as the crown chanted. Such as they reached the circle, they took up positions input it and lit the launch.
Thus, you know--drumming, dancing. That type of thing.
But it was the see of relatives torches that sent thrills up my lethargic legs. So angry and weighty. I thought of all relatives Frankenstein movies where the townspeople tempest the stronghold with pitchforks and amiable torches.
Yea, baby. Hearth = good.
Blessed Lughnasadh! Quick Lammas! And for relatives of you who are in the midst of successful spring--Blessed Imbolc!
