lamas/ lughnassadh 2022

What is it about these in-between times? I love them. The hazy, mysterious dark greys of November (Samhain), the clarity of the winter sky after Christmas, the angle of light that breaks through the darkness at Imbolc and is liturgically marked by candles and crosses on St. Brigid's Day (February 1), the possibilities for bounty at Pentecost (Beltane on May 1), and Lughnassadh that ancient cross quarter day midway between the summer solistice and the autumnal equinox. Historically this is the feast of first fruits where the wheat harvest is brought in from the fields throughout the Northern Hemisphere. Olde English spoke of it as the "Loaves Mass"  (lamas) as sheaves harvested in the morning became loaves of fresh bread for supper. The more I listen to the energy cycles that ebb and flow withiin me, the more Mother Nature helps me own my charisms as a child of the in-between seasons.

Mystics and others outside the status quo tend to favor the dominant and bold high holy days of the circular and/or Christian calendars. Our cycle of seasons is influenced by the wisdom and experience of the ancient Celts. At its best, this trajectory honors the feasts as well as the fasts of reality, the journies as well as the arrivals, the sowing alongside of the harvest. To be sure, popular culture is still shaped by our major feasts: Christmas (Yule), Easter (the spring equinox of Ostara), the start of summer's fertility rites in May (as in the May poles of Beltane or the picnics that mark the arrival of summer vacations over Memorial Day), and then summer's finale as September slips into both Labor Day in early September or Mabon (September 21). These feast days are beloved but I somehow resonate more with the cross quarter days that invite us to notice the "thin places" and the in-between times. 

For the better part of this month I've stepped away from public reflection. It was simply time to be in the garden, wander with my family in Montréal, care for my loved ones, and be still. As i look out of my study window tonight, the clouds are pink. The fairy lights are all in place. And I sense it is time to reconnect. I will cut grass tomorrow - and then bake bread. I haven't given time to the spirituality of bread baking for the whole pandemic. It was enough to stay safe and reasonably healthy. Now, despite the surge of covid variants (and the uncertainties of monkey pox), I feel the urge to make safe, loving, creative connections again. The new/old band will regroup. and play another house party at the end of this month. A new musical duet will start to practice - and work to get some local gigs, too. And I will share my bread - and prayers as Small is Holy returns to live streaming next Sunday @ 4 pm - with those who are open to receiving these simple gifts. Apparently, I experience insight and even a bit of transformation during these in-between times. Small wonder I've always cherished this tune...