I attended the ninth annual Hecate's Sickle Festival, held from October 31 through November 2, 1997, and sponsored by the Aquarian Tabernacle Church (ATC) of Index, WA.
The site chosen for the festival was situated at the picturesque end of an inlet bay on a Puget Sound island. It offered rich natural beauty in spite of its close proximity to private residences and the roadway. I made the quick journey from Seattle and found the campground surrounding a large clearing of spectacular fir trees soaring into the sky. As I surveyed the landscape, I noted jack o' lanterns dotting the doorsteps of the modest cabins.
Upon arrival at registration for the festival, each person was asked to select a stone from a basket. Each stone was marked with a totem for a clan. The clan would be our support system or "family" during the festival, and with the clan we would experience the main ritual. Reaching into the basket, I blindly selected the clan of the Cat, much to my Leo rising and Leo moon's satisfaction. A challenge in any such large event is how to provide an intimate experience for so many individuals - all at the same time. The grouping of us into the smaller clans would accomplish this.
The pace of the whole event was very natural, like it might flow at someone's home, rather than like at some controlled spectacle. Once folks had registered and had eaten dinner, all assembled for the opening circle. We gathered indoors, and upon entering the building, we were greeted and then passed through veils of black cloth; already our minds were being prepared for the upcoming ritual. There were over 100 participants assembled around the perimeter of the meeting hall, and the circle was practically bursting with anticipation.
Step by step, the circle was cast, and I could feel the energy rising in the crowded and shadowy room. Exuberant spiral dancing was followed by an explosive climax. We raised a tumultuous circle of energy to surround the entire campsite…. it felt as if the roof of the building was about to come off!
Later, previous complaints from people living near the campsite required us to keep sound levels down. To me, it wasn't the sound that these folks found distressing; it was clear that the power was so great from the opening as to affect everyone nearby. Each subconscious mind was standing up and taking notice.
It looked to be a ritual-packed weekend as the next evening there was a "skyclad" ritual. We cast the circle and raised energy with spiral dancing. Surreal and sensory, the main portion of the ritual was a "rebirthing" experience where we each crawled through a human birth canal formed by the participants' legs. Intimate and close, yet safe and supportive, it seemed a exceptional encounter for all. The dark theme of the festival was not lost here; in this instance, it was represented by the dark warmth and physical closeness of the birth process. We had to keep sound levels down due to the earlier complaints, but for me this did not dampen the spirit of the ritual. The attempted stifling of giggles was like the fun childlike energy we have all experienced with good times. Beyond fair description, it was an unforgettable feeling and special experience.
The following afternoon, workshops were held and some free time provided for introspection and personal work. I attended the workshop of the Dark Mother, a short informal discussion that gave me a fresh and much closer understanding of my own interactions with the Goddess. Bombarded with decisions every day, an improved understanding of the crossroads of Hecate has lead me to much personal empowerment.
Later that day, during pumpkin carving, we all gathered in our separate clans. Our individual clan leaders offered us information and preparations for the main ritual that evening. We also learned a bit about each of the Arthurian characters setting a backdrop for the rest of the event.
The image of King Arthur's court may, on the surface, appear to be too laden with patriarchal overtones for Samhain, but the holiday does mark a time for focusing on the male polarity. The familiar characters of the Round Table, here, were accessible to all as personifications of archetypes. This is the God's time, and so our main character was Arthur.
As the drama unfolded, Arthur, not wishing to face his current place in the world, is challenged for the throne by his son Mordred. Arthur kills his son, thus effectively killing the future. But in the conflict, Arthur is mortally wounded. He does not acknowledge the consequences of his actions. In refusing to let go, he is locked in stagnation. He does not heal, there is no growth… as such he is not alive. Arthur is representative of the land, which must be renewed. Our quest was before us, to seek the Grail, to seek the cauldron of renewal.
I can at this point only describe my personal feelings and impressions from what was to follow. The intensity of the event made a profound impact on my psyche. While writing this, two weeks later, I am still working through its effects.
Each clan had been dedicated to a particular shrine, and that night we would journey to that and all the other shrines. Clan by clan, we set out on our transformative journeys. As we moved on black wooded paths, the whole site took on a deep mystical feel. There was no moon to guide us on that cold, still and calm night. Candles sheltered from the wind in paper bags lighted the pathways and these "illuminaria" provided a seemingly mystical roadway of introspection and allowed the possibility of personal transformation.
We moved from one shrine to the next, and each was packed with an intense sensory experience. The shrines were each set in nature, in a glade, or at the base of a fallen tree or on a cliff face over the bay as in our meeting with the Lady of the Lake. Each shrine had a different tone and a different lesson. When it was time to move on, we were shown a wooden bead to examine in assisting our remembrance of what had transpired. We were instructed to treat these with great care.
Our clan had already traveled through several shrines, and I was beginning to fathom the profound challenges and complexity of this main ritual event. It was like a snowball effect. Each lesson and experience compounded like the gathering of our important beads. I was becoming further and further entranced, eagerly engaging with the ritualists and adopting this new dark land as my own reality.
For me, a particularly powerful shrine was that of Lady Ragnarole. A sacred shrine for the Clan of the Snake, it was a lesson of transformation and freedom of choice. Winding through the dark woods, following our eerie "elf lights" along the path, we came to a dark tree. The Priestess greeted us as an old "hag" woman. She stomped a gnarled staff and teased us: "I can be a maiden by day and a hag by night or a hag by day and a maiden by night; which do you chose?" Our clan leader rescued us with the answer- "My Lady, the choice is yours"- and with that, the spell broken, our hag transformed into a beautiful woman. It meant, for me, that we each may be responsible for our own joy and sorrow if we give ourselves that freedom of choice.
She asked: "What is holding you back?" while she held up a cauldron and instructed us to put that which was blocking us into it. She would keep this for us until the Rite of Release, later that night. I felt all the dread stifled psychological baggage I'd been carting around rise up inside me. It was all the self-doubts and times that I felt put down or powerless. The emotion built inside of me, and I felt my tears flowing across my cheeks.
The Priestess held out the cauldron before me, and at that she appeared to me as my mother, or as a nurse holding out this container. I could feel all this dark ichor come up and out of me, through my heart chakra area. It was like a spiritual vomit, unpleasant and sickening, yet necessary and cleansing. Tears streamed down my face as I stumbled out into the woods. I looked down the path of illuminaria, their eerie glow enticing and inviting us along on our night journey.
We continued in this fashion from shrine to shrine. It was like the forging of some great blade, blasted in fire and struck, to be blasted and struck once again - with each blow, increasing in strength, and resilience and beauty. After a moment of reprieve at our patron shrine, we all finally reassembled at the fire-pit where our quest for the cauldron had originally begun.
The token wooden beads, which were held so important for us to safeguard and remember, were callously tossed onto the fire for they in themselves were meaningless. And behold, in an instant we were encircled by black walls that suddenly and literally rose up around us. We had found the cauldron. We were in the cauldron.
To let go of that which is not needed can be a difficult yet necessary thing. It was at this point that all who felt the need to do so were invited to light a candle of remembrance… a time to acknowledge those who have passed. Our emotions building, our tears flowing, the wind whipped at us, right at that moment, hitting our faces and chilling us. Perfectly in time with the ritual, the elements, that had previously given us a still and somber calm, now responded with ferocity. The lit paths around the campsite turned black. People scrambled to collect props flying by.
After the names of the dead had been spoken, into the dumb supper we trudged anxious to escape the cold wind. As we were finding our seats, our first sight was that of the servers going about the already set tables. I saw that instead of adding food, they were taking away our dessert. Clanging utensils on plates only punctuated the bizarre lack of human voices over the dinner. I thank the Goddess for that homemade soup, which mended my body and soul.
An ache and nausea was almost upon me. I was weak and chilled to the bone, shivering. I was overcome. I had to shut down, to turn away from the bombardment of this dark and arduous realm. I rushed to my cabin and, removing my boots, jumped into bed still wearing my cape and coat. I pulled the sleeping bag over my head and in pitch darkness found the solace I so desperately needed.
A somewhat dulled feeling of resolution was over me the next morning for closing circle. As I bid farewell to my fellow participants, I could read the deep impact of the previous ritual experience on many of their faces: changed, somehow different. The ATC took well-known Arthurian characters, and in ascribing to them ancient archetypal images, was able to address real life issues of today. This event was flawless in execution. Every ritual was divine, every meal hot and delicious. The skill in planning and grand efforts of the organizers cannot be overstated.
Numb with emotion, I journeyed home lost in reflection. To grow; to learn; to live; in all these things, it is necessary to let go of that which we no longer need. Often a challenging lesson, its acknowledgment is required for change. Not the haphazard change of trauma, but of a directed change of growth. From the old comes the new, in death springs forth new life. I had found my quest, for the cauldron of renewal was inside me the whole time.
[Home Page | Other Articles in This Issue | FAQ | Local Resources]