Imbolc and Betwixt

Many of us enjoy connecting with the Wheel of the Year and seek to mark the changing seasons with gathering and ceremony. Nature connection naturally brings us towards an awareness of the changing seasons and a marking of migration and return – or endings and beginnings, if you prefer (for me an ending implies a nothingness beyond and a beginning implies a disconnection from what was before, so I rather like the idea of transformation). So, it is a very natural thing for us to be drawn towards rituals and ceremonies that honour these changes.

I have lived most of my life, from birth in the mid-1970s until today, in the suburbs of London in the UK, so it is from that perspective that I write this. I have not found a local community who mark the seasons with ritual or ceremony and so my options have been to go online, travel or to go it alone. For me, the prescribed rituals and ceremonies have often felt somehow disconnected from the Land – maybe because they are just words in a book or on a screen for me and so I turned to the Land to see how I felt moved to participate. I believe that this is what our ancestors must have done – to notice the changes through the seasons, the different characters emerging and energies and the cycles of the Sun and Moon and other stars.

Firstly,  the thing that really strikes me is that gathering goes beyond Human communities – it includes the wider Nature. At Imbolc, I am sitting with the chatty Song Thrush, Blackthorn with her tiniest pale green gem buds, Snowdrop, Blackbird and joyful Hazel catkins and, of course, the returning Sun. From my River sit spot, the Sun has just started to emerge above the Bramble thicket during the time when I sit. This is the ritual for me – sitting at the same time most days in the same spot, catching the “news” on my local patch. So I am aware that these festivals are not really a moment fixed in time – they are very much a window. I am very fortunate to be able to sit like this most days at the moment, but even just poking your head out of the window at opportune times and noticing the world outside for a minute or two most days is good enough.

I have missed the Sun through the darker months. Sat in my sit spot, even on a sunny day, the Sun was not making it high enough into the sky for me to see. Now, however, the bright light has reappeared. Maybe, with modern lighting, we notice these things less and less. For our ancestors, the returning light would have made it possible to see well for more of the day. Night slips away and the frost recedes. The shadows grow shorter. So, my ceremony is to celebrate and feel gratitude for the Sun again on my face, but at the same time, I am savouring the other stars. I can still see them on a clear night, without having to be awake at a crazy time. I will miss them later in the year. There is something very special about these jewels of light. The Sun is much gentler in the low sky. The night-time stars are like dear friends that connect us through space and time with one another and those who have come before and will come after us.

Then there are the awakening plants. Blackthorn has the tiniest, barely visible buds forming, like droplets of rain. Snowdrops are out and a few Daffodils too. Oak buds are dark brown, but clearly present. Birds, too, are starting to become livelier. It’s the Thrush family for me at the moment – the Song Thrush especially and the Blackbird. Song Thrush populations dramatically declined from the 1960s, but have seen a slight return in recent years, so they are an especially welcome voice in this urban riparian soundscape. Be careful what (or whom) you take for granted!

As well as cultivating an awareness of seasonal changes, and perhaps how they are impacted by a rapidly changing climate, this belonging to the Land brings with it other intriguing facets. For one, I have a strong sense of a missing festival. It feels to me like there is a time in early to mid-January, which has its own energy.  I liken it to watching your child as they sleep, just before they awaken. It’s still a time of stillness and quiet, but also one of wonder, awe and anticipation. It’s a “just being” time, breathing with the Land, listening to the quiet whispers and gentle shufflings. I have a name for this – I am calling it Betwixt! And why not? If we are really learning from the Land, then who says that we have to follow tradition?

I really hope that you will be inspired to venture out at this time and see what your experience is to be. In my eyes, the only necessary ingredients for ceremony are connection, awareness and deep listening, love and gratitude and then some way to express these.