Eostara Ritual 2020

An Eostara Offering

from Karen Mulholland, March 2020

Our species is about community. We don’t spawn and move on, like fish. We make families. We make villages. We make schools and companies and clubs. We make faith communities. That urge to be together is dangerous right now. To the part of my brain that understands math, canceling our Eostara celebration was clearly the right thing to do. But to my cave-dweller brain, it was very frightening and sad. We will all be challenged to stay connected with each other. We will find ways.

I have been thinking about how other faith traditions reach people who can’t be physically present at worship. Some houses of worship televise or stream their worship services – but watching it on a screen feels very artificial, because you’re not experiencing the energy of it. I’m not sure how to make an online celebration work. So I’m doing what I know how to do: writing. I offer you this word-picture of an Eostara ritual, with my love and gratitude for our faith community.

Bless me, Mother, for I am Thy child. Now I celebrate, even in solitude and alone, as my Mother has taught me.

I wash my hands and face, that I may be purified.

By this door I set down my worries and troubles. They are very real. I honor their validity and I will pick them up again when I am finished, because they belong to me. But they are not part of my worship right now.

I am taking up this stone, a rough piece of limestone that my daughter found in a creek bed and gave to me when she was about eight years old. It’s heart-shaped. When I hold it, I feel my daughter’s love, and I feel Mother Earth beneath me, holding me up. Through my feet, tendrils of energy quest downward like roots to the rich soil below. My heartbeat pulses Earth-love into the space around me. I feel Earth-love rising like the tulip leaves just emerging from the soil.

I am breathing clean, cool air. A bird is calling. The trees are swaying gently. I feel Grandmother Sky holding me, reminding me that in my mind I can fly. The ducks and geese are my kindred, and the crows. Woodpeckers and owls and chickadees, sparrows, robins, red-winged blackbirds. They are all my cousins. Love enters me as I breathe in, and I breathe out love like a song to the birds and trees and wind.

I stand in the between-place. I belong to the Earth and the Sky.

I am facing Grandmother Sun, feeling Her warmth. One last tiny patch of snow remains outside my window. The Sun is back. There is more light than darkness now. The red-gold fire of dawn comes earlier each day, lighting a beacon-fire in me. My soul remembers the signal: as we see the beacon from a nearby peak, we light our own hilltop bonfire. Faster than a horse can run, the signal moves across the land. My heart feels the beacon-fire. I am the flame.

I think of my neighbors, all watching each other’s houses to make sure everyone’s all right. My friends and family, calling or texting, asking if I need anything. Love flows among and over us like water over pebbles in a river. Right now we choose to swim in it like fish.

I stand in the between-place. I belong to Fire and Water.

Goddess above, God below, I welcome you. Goddess below and God above, I welcome you. Goddess all around, God within, I welcome you. Ancestors, allies, fae, I welcome you. Behold, bless, consecrate, and protect the space in which I do this work. Hail and welcome all.

I belong to Above and Below. I stand in the between-place, between worlds.

The light has returned, but we are not gathering in celebration. This year as the sun grows stronger than the darkness, we emerge like butterflies. In solitude we emerge from our chrysalises and unfurl our wings in the light. Separately we dance in the sun.

This year the Goddess teaches us again that in each thing is its opposite. In community is the seed of solitude, as in solitude we find the seed of community. In grief is the seed of joy. In fear is the seed of courage. In life is the seed of death, even as death contains the seed of life. Creation in destruction is the way of the Universe.

But each seed that sprouts has its place upon the earth. Some will flourish, some will wither. Some of them will nourish us, others will not. As we emerge, solitary butterflies, we must seek out what nourishes us. Remember that some butterflies may thrive eating only rue, but others cannot eat it. Some of the seeds that sprout and flourish are not food for our spirits, even if they grow prolifically and seem to feed many. Recognize and avoid what is toxic to you. Right now our task is to take care of ourselves, in preparation for the time when we will gather together again.

We know that not every butterfly survives to join the autumn migration. We know that the great black bird may swoop down, hungry. But we know that in each thing is the seed of its opposite, and that our love and our community will outlive each one of us.

I visualize the tips of tulip leaves sprouting from the soft black dirt, and I pray that we may all come through this season receiving our best outcomes. I pray that medical professionals, first responders, delivery drivers, sanitation workers, grocery store workers, and everyone else who keeps the world running may be safe and healthy, and have whatever they need. So mote it be.

And I chant to the elements, that they may carry my prayers to those who need them:

The earth, the air, the fire, the water: Return, return, return return.
The earth, the air, the fire, the water: Return, return, return return.
Ayeh, ayeh, ayeh, ayeh, aoh, aoh, aoh, aoh.
Ayeh, ayeh, ayeh, ayeh, aoh, aoh, aoh, aoh.
The earth, the air, the fire, the water: Return, return, return return.
The earth, the air, the fire, the water: Return, return, return return.
Ayeh, ayeh, ayeh, ayeh, aoh, aoh, aoh, aoh.
Ayeh, ayeh, ayeh, ayeh, aoh, aoh, aoh, aoh.
The earth, the air, the fire, the water: Return, return, return return.
The earth, the air, the fire, the water: Return, return, return return.
Ayeh, ayeh, ayeh, ayeh, aoh, aoh, aoh, aoh.
Ayeh, ayeh, ayeh, ayeh, aoh, aoh, aoh, aoh.

It is done.

I take a bite of this nourishing bread, with gratitude. May you never hunger. I drink deeply of this good water, with gratitude. May you never thirst. So mote it be.

I bless the elements for witnessing.

Earth, powers of the North, in gratitude I release you.
Water, powers of the West, in gratitude I release you.
Fire, powers of the South, in gratitude I release you.
Air, powers of the East, in gratitude I release you.
Above and below, Goddess and God, allies and ancestors and fae, in gratitude I release you.
Come again when next I need you.

It is done. So mote it be.

My little bubble in the between-place opens gently, without bursting, and I step back into the here and now. I stop at the doorway to pick up that bundle of troubles and worries, as I promised that I would. They are valid and they belong to me.

Blessed be.