review
by Dianus Blackcat
The autumn season heralds change all around us. Leaves change from green to bright hues of gold, tan and crimson, as daylight wanes early in the workday, immersing us in darkness for the evening commute. Seeing all of these changes around us, it's natural to look at changes within our lives as well. The loss of a loved one, the ending of a relationship or even a career change herald the end of one state and the transition to a new one. Sometimes we feel helpless and fearful about change, especially when it's sudden, like a car accident or a spouse who leaves us for another. If we can acknowledge endings as transitions to something new, we can more easily meet these types of life challenges. The Hecate's Sickle Festival, hosted by the Aquarian Tabernacle Church (ATC), is a timeless place in which to acknowledge all of life's changes and become better prepared for its challenges.
The image we most often see of the goddess Hecate, for whom this festival is named, is an all-wise and powerful crone-goddess of antiquity. Yet, to the ancients, Hecate was not typically portrayed as old. Rather, she was often depicted in art as beautiful and queenly. This multifaceted imagery can provide us with a key to understanding the mystery of death. While the death of a loved one or the ending of a long-term romantic relationship can be very painful, the death of a bacterial infection or even a bad smoking habit can be joyous. The festival, held over the first weekend of November, gave participants an opportunity to both mourn and celebrate the passings in their lives.
Set against a backdrop of deep emerald forest at Washington's Deception Pass State Park, the festival drew nearly 150 people from all over the U.S. Northwest and Canada. The lodgings were warm, cozy cabins, and the site offered good meeting and kitchen facilities. Meals are difficult to prepare for such a large group because of the many different dietary requirements. The food at this festival was much improved over that of some previous ATC festivals. The theme and main ritual of the festival were built around the Celtic tree calendar, a calendar system where each month is named for a tree. Each sacred tree had a clan and a god or goddess figure to which that clan was dedicated.
On arrival the first night, the participants were divided up into clans, small groups to support and guide them through the main ritual the following night. The first night was event-packed, however, with what has become a standard of Northwest festivals: a sky-clad ritual led by Queen Betsy, and also the premiere of the ATC's public full moon ritual. The ATC has held open, public ritual during the crescent moons for many years, and this marked a welcome expansion to their ecumenical service.
The main festival ritual was the following night. Everyone gathered at the fire pit in his or her respective clan. All had spent the day preparing for the evening, and eager anticipation was felt among the crowd. We were welcomed by a priestess cast as Hecate herself and presented with three pathways of self-discovery on which to journey. The forest around the site had been transformed with luminarias lighting the narrow wooded pathways among the trees. Each clan journeyed out into the cold, calm night. We walked in darkness, first approaching one glade and then another. At each, we were greeted by one of the great Celtic goddesses or gods, or mythic heroes or heroines. Festival attendees participated in these rituals. Each was asked probing questions to help home in on his or her own fears, pains and desires. The god Dagda asked, "What challenges you?" "Relationship issues," said one. "I've moved to a new town and can't yet find a home," said another. "The mother of my child and I are enemies," said yet another. For the attendees, these mystery rituals weren't pretend. It was real life, real pain, real learning.
At another glade on a the cliff face, a gift of healing was offered in the form of sweet, golden apples, while the journey to the final glade brought mystery and fear. It was the dark glade of the Morrigan, the harbinger of death to the warrior Celts -- a goddess of power, destruction and death. As her symbol is the black crow, she awaited each clan with crow feathers strewn about the ground. Her defiance and dark radiance emanated from the young priestess. The crux of the festival came rushing in for me here. Did I have the fortitude to continue in knowledge of my inner darkness? Did I have the strength to face my fears? One by one, in private, we expressed our fears to the Morrigan, and one by one, we shouted a defiant, powerful and chilling primal yell into the ominous black forest around us.
Our magnificent clan leader, who had prepared us well with information on the Morrigan, took a few minutes to help us become grounded after the mind-altering experiences of the bulk of the ritual. All rejoined at the fire pit.
The ritual was punctuated with a traditional dumb supper, a way of honoring the dead. A token meal of bread, honey and milk was eaten in complete silence. The posthumous attendance of the noted author and Craft elder, Stewart Farrar, added significance to this year's festival. Stewart was a regular ATC supporter and bequeathed a portion of his ashes be interred at the Hecate shrine at the ATC retreat house in Index, Washington. I remember meeting him at previous ATC festivals, and it was strange to experience him so directly at this dumb supper.
But the climax was still before us. After the meal, we processed in silence back to the fire pit. Here, each participant could take a candle and name someone who had died, or something that had died, light the candle and cast it into the blazing bonfire. The names began to sound out -- a father, a lover, a child, a sibling, an inspiring teacher -- and the tears soon followed. The wailing of the release went up into the night sky, catching many of us up in the emotional swell. Acknowledging these things head-on has a way of releasing them from us. When we keep something blocked up inside of us, it stops us from moving past it, keeping us locked in depression or inertia.
After the conclusion of the ritual, we enjoyed the proper dinner feast that awaited us. Later, amped by the energy manifested through any magickal, creative and transformative experience, many danced late into the night. Live music, accented by drumming and exotic rhythms, left the building hot, with sweat dripping off of bodies and windows. Likewise, old friends had gathered to share profound, reflective discussion, and new friends were made through the sharing of a kiss or a smile. The bonfire roared until the smell of breakfast bacon chased the last of the night owls (me) off to the cabins.
The next morning came quickly for all. The cleaning of the buildings and the closing circle were held under gathering clouds. It would seem that the fair weather of the weekend had taken its turn to transform, as well. The staff and cast of the festival had once again given so much. The ATC's whole festival program is like a turning spiral that recurs time and again, but each time it is new and refreshed. The festivals are like a great work, healing and serving the needs of the community.
Special acknowledgement must be given to the staff and crew, who worked for months in preparation on this labor of love, and who offered this gift of insight to those who came seeking. The Wheel of the Year turns, and the time of death is now. How wondrous it is to see death inside a divine and perfect context. Death is a taboo subject in our society. We speak of it in soft tones and disguise our words in gentle expression: He passed away, she's not with us any more, he went quietly in his sleep.
Hecate's Sickle confronts us with death and brings us to look on the myriad of endings in our lives. The ending of a relationship, the breaking of a bad habit and the final achievement of a long-sought goal are all little deaths in their own way. By reflecting on the place of death in the life cycle, we are left changed; prepared for life's challenges. Hecate's Sickle cuts deep into the soul to reap the harvest of a conscious and fulfilled life.