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Brightening 2024
Today is the midpoint between what I term Midwinter (the winter solstice) and High Spring (the vernal equinox): thus, Brightening. Or Imbolc. Or Brighid. Or–my choice–Riverain, the Festival of Water. Depending on where you live, you might have different names or associations with this point in the Wheel of the Year. (or, in the Southern Hemisphere, this could be Dimming or High Summer for you) It is raining torrentially today, so we have good thematic weather this year. And I find myself thinking about the disparate pieces that make up my traditions for this Sabbath: bits of themes from back when I was practicing (if not believing in) theistic Paganism,…
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Brightening
It interests me that the new dawn in American politics comes at the same time that it has become evident (in the Northern Hemisphere) that the days are lengthening. We are no longer in the darkest of winter; the February Sabbath approaches, and the Sun, though young, is definitely returning. A member of the Atheopagan Facebook group dubbed the February Sabbath (or, in the Southern Hemisphere, the August one) “Brightening”, and though in my region I celebrate this as Riverain, the Festival of Water, I like that characterization a lot, as it is so universal. And who knows? It might even share a word root with Brighid, the Irish goddess…
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Coming Up Dry for the Festival of Water
In my Wheel of the Year, the February Sabbath is Riverain, the Festival of Water. This is because ordinarily, it rains torrentially in late January and into February in my region. The hills grow emerald with new grasses and the creeks swell and thunder. It is a beautiful time, the time of burgeoning life. But then there are years like this. It was 73 degrees F. here (nearly 23 Celsius) today. In mid-January. There is but a shower or two in the forecast for the next two weeks. On the day after SLOGG, no less! It’s about two weeks until the February Sabbath—roughly the midpoint between Yule and High Spring—and…
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The February Sabbath
The February Sabbath always seems a bit elusive to me. I don’t believe in the goddess Brighid, who is often celebrated at this time, and I don’t live somewhere where first, small indications of spring are appearing. No, I’m in coastal Northern California, and here in this Mediterranean climate it is wet and the mountains are a beautiful emerald green at the height of its intensity. That green will transform to gold in May as the grasses go to seed, so this is a lovely and fragile moment. So while snowdrops are indeed blooming here, soon too will be crocus and daffodils and milk maids. And they aren’t coming up through…
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The Moment of Brightening
There comes a time in the winter when, finally, you realize: the days aren’t so short any longer. That point may coincide with the first sprouts of Spring peeking up from the ground, or the first buds on the trees. Or not: maybe it’s just snowing and freezing and wintering like hell, and Spring seems the farthest thing from possible. Still, the light is growing. It’s not December any longer. That brightening (thanks to Kendra Hicks of the Facebook Atheopaganism group for this term for the season) is the entire point of the seasonal Sabbath that is upon us now. It goes by many names, and that is apt, because how…
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The Ritual Cycle of the Rain Baby: An Example
So, last year I wrote about a new tradition for Riverain, the Water Sabbath, which is how I celebrate the holiday that falls between the Winter Solstice (Yule) and the Spring Equinox (High Spring). Riverain comes at the height of the wet season in California’s Mediterranean climate, when the hills are green and the creeks and rivers are running high. Riverain is an example of my firm belief that the Sabbaths (holidays) we celebrate around the Wheel of the Year should be rooted in the actual climate, culture, growth cycles, and land where we live, rather than reflecting some other culture or place in the world. The traditional Pagan holiday at the…
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Reflections on a Rainy Day
Thankfully, it appears California has dodged drought conditions this winter. Heavy streams of moisture-laden tropical air have been pouring over us, delivering the life-giving blessing of water. It is indeed the season I celebrate as Riverain, historically the wettest time of year around here, and in the squishy sodden turf and puddles and lovely pouring wetness I see blessing and joy. How crisp and clean the air is! How cozy to duck indoors as it steadily falls! Elsewhere, of course, it is still dry, even in parts of California. Or buried under snow, which is its own deep and mysterious magic. But I was born and spent my first years in…
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The Wheel Turns
The days are a bit longer now. The area where I live has been beset by storm after blessed storm, so-called “atmospheric rivers” pouring onshore to deluge the parched land of California. We smile beneath our rain hoods and grumble cheerfully about knotted traffic. And despite the dark, pendulous clouds, it is palpable: the days grow longer. It isn’t December any more. Meanwhile, of course, the greater Darkness we knew was coming after November 8 is now manifesting itself. The petulant toddler we have elected is swinging a wrecking ball in every direction, cheerfully making a mess of all that is decent. This will continue. The wheels are turning: astronomical forces…
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The Sabbath of Water
In my Wheel of the Year, the cross-quarter which lands around the beginning of February is Riverain: the Feast of Water. That’s because where I live, in Northern California with its Mediterranean climate, that time of year is the heaviest with rainfall. The mountains grow emerald green with winter grass, the creeks gush, filled to their banks, and the wetland areas fill into lakes. However, we’ve been in a drought for the past five years. Last year, we had a few good storms before the New Year, and then the sky shut off like a tap. Riverain rolled around and the hills were still a sickly yellow, the reservoirs were empty,…
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The Wheel Turns
The Moment of Brightening
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The Spring Fast
John Halstead over at Patheos has an idea that I think is so great I am adopting it for myself and want to it capture here so other Atheopagans can consider it: “Lent for Pagans”, or what I am calling the Spring Fast. February and March were historically the leanest time for Europeans: the stores were growing thin, the good stuff had been eaten already, nothing had yet grown which could be gathered, and the party of Yule was long past. No surprise that customs of giving things up for religious reasons developed—culture, after all, is often driven by practical economics. The Catholic Church got something right with its conception of Lent. It’s…
