The other day, I was pulling clothes from the dryer and found a curly piece of dried seaweed I had forgotten in my jacket. My mind flashed back to when I'd found it -- the weekend of March 28, when I had attended my first ever pagan festival. The Aquarian Tabernacle Church holds an event every Easter weekend called the Spring Mysteries Festival (SMF), which takes place on the Olympic Peninsula and draws hundreds of ritualists from all over the Northwest (some even farther). I had heard of this event from friends, and I was drawn to finding out about it. The morning of the festival I threw into a sack some warm clothes and ritual wear, a few sassy numbers and a sleeping bag. My pockets jingled with tokens for the trip: stones, bones, teeth and charms, an old sparkplug. I boarded the ferry just as early day was brewing in the sky. I climbed to the deck and asked the gods for inspiration. I was soon to find it.
The location was perfect, a beautiful park complete with woods and a giant field overlooking Puget Sound. I located the barracks, with bunks for the more than 300 festival attendees. The weather was moody and intense. Woods encircled the park; within, trees shared space with small edifices and bonfire sites.
To the south, a vast field overlooked the sea. Early grasses and wildflowers grew covered the field and banks. The elements were at their best! An assembly of people moved across the lawn, clothed in long, dark hooded cloaks. Any doubt whether I was in the right place was gone. I picked some spiky plants and twigs for my hair and joined the exodus.
These cloaked figures and I headed for the opening ceremony, the Festival Invocation and Parade to the Sea. We gathered in Apollo's Theater and were greeted by members of the ritual cast. As I sat there, I began to wonder what this festival was about and why I had come. Then Demeter came to the stage to greet the crowd. She spoke of the origin of the ritual, saying that the Spring Mysteries are an adaptation of the ancient rites of Demeter and Persephone celebrated for thousands of years in Greece. These mysteries were once, and remain still, an important ritual whereby we honor the Goddess of the Growing Earth and share the knowledge of "loss, change, death, rebirth and the blessings of love." Demeter then asked us to bring our own power and blessings to the festival, reminding us of the strength of the gods and myths to connect us to one another as we uncover the meaning in our lives.
She asked if we were willing to be active participants in the experience. The room shouted Yes! The ritual had begun, and within moments enthusiasm nearly burst from the hall. My questions of what this festival was about and what I would learn lost their urgency as we marched to a gathering space on the lawn. As people formed a circle, I felt in my belly a twinge of deep excitement, and at the same time profound calm moved through me. I recognized why I had been drawn to this festival. I wanted to be in a space made sacred by people who share a conviction of ritualizing and blessing this life, of honoring and celebrating the natural, the alive, the magickal. Here was an event to do just that. For so long, such celebration was something I did on my own. Here was a chance to explore the mystery and the eccentric beauty of life with others. In my pocket, I jingled my charms. I thanked the deities and wild creatures of the universe for guiding me to this place.
By the afternoon, I had found my friends and laid my sleeping bag out on my bunk. I talked to interesting pagans from here and yonder, I lingered by the vendor booths, falling in love with the bikini tops made of silvery metal. I walked the beach, weather moody but respectful -- no rain. Someone commented, "It's always like this. What do you expect when you get this many witches together in one place?" I spent time in the many shrines, thrilled at all the spaces dedicated to the act of worship. I was given a blessing by Hestia, goddess of the hearth; I took in the mighty presence of Zeus at his altar; and I paid a respectful but mischievous homage to Pan. Later, I would come back to spend time in the darkness of Hekate's shrine, mindful but truthful to the dance with fear. Later still, I would pay a befitting and pleasurable homage in the libidinous, voluptuous temple of Aphrodite.
The next day began with the Lesser Mysteries. Those who had been through this rite before could go on later to the Greater Mysteries. Although I can speak little of the details of this rite, as we took a vow of secrecy, I will say that it was a transforming experience. It acted out the story of Demeter and her daughter, the Kore.
As we followed the drama, I connected to a sacred space with the countless numbers of people, who, throughout the ages, have come together to tell this story. I felt I was in the midst of an endless circle of humanity as it enacted a myth to examine and find expression for the ecstasy and blessedness, the sorrow and marvel and quandary of our existence.
I entered the story. I cried when Demeter screamed in anger at Zeus. I shuddered when dark creatures snarled for the blood of my vulnerable mortality. I felt fear move within me as I walked into the belly of darkness. I grew within myself when Persephone emerged from the darkness and spoke with power to the knowledge of her part, her fate, the fruit of her truth.
As the Lesser Mysteries came to a close, I felt that something inside me had been awakened and transformed. In the space created by this festival -- by the community, the earth, the rituals -- I had been safely escorted to a new depth, where I could be awake with the creatures of my inner world. I was challenged to kneel before my own deepest loves and longings, entrusted to stand open to my fears and shadows and be present with my power and truth. Being in the presence of so many people who were open and versed in the language of the sacred mysteries of the self, of the world, is what allowed me to make such explorations. There was no pretense that I would be closer to any answers, or some concept of nirvana, or promise of one perfect understanding. Instead, I felt empowered by the richness of life, the joys and pains of our lives as they unfold -- the human (or divine?) experiences that have been shared and experienced for many lifetimes. I paid respect to that which is unanswerable, difficult or dark or undefined or light beyond measure.
I had come to Spring Mysteries to find such things. And as I closed the dryer and held my seaweed token, I sent out a true, kind blessing to all who made SMF happen, and to the mischief and love and sanctity of the earth space that housed it. I put my hand in my pocket to hear the clink and jingle and paid respect to my stones and bones and charms, and to every bit of seaweed and twig and bramble that got tangled and braided into my hair.