Once in a while, I revisit a favorite book and read it again for a renewed perspective. Recently, I decided to delve into “Drawing Down the Moon” by the late (and great) Margot Adler. I first read this book 14 years ago and it had a huge impact on me. Back then, I was beginning my “pagan awakening” and this book validated a lot of feelings I was having at the time and it helped me feel as if there were possibilities, and hope for my new journey into the unknown. It also was (and still is) an invaluable resource for learning about the rise of paganism in the United States. I decided to revisit this beloved book because I have been feeling a disconnect with myself and my path. I am not sure why, but I suspect “COVID fatigue” may be a factor. This has certainly been a challenging year for my family, as well as for countless others. It has impacted all of our lives in different, yet similar ways. I have this strong desire to get back to my “pagan roots” – whatever that may be; and I figured this book is kind of where it began so it was a logical choice for a re-read.
One passage in the beginning of the book really struck me with a force of recognition and comfort, and it moved me enough to want to write about it. It was about the simple, fulfilling ritual of honoring the full moon. Here is the quote:
“Do it, perhaps, on a full moon, in a park or in the clearing of a wood. You don’t need any of the tools you will read about in books on the Craft. You need no special clothes, or lack of them. Perhaps you might make up a chant, a string of names of gods and goddesses who were loved and familiar to you from childhood myths, a simple string of names for earth and moon and stars, easily repeatable like a mantra.
And perhaps, as you say those familiar names and feel the earth and air, the moon appears a bit closer, and perhaps the wind rustling the leaves suddenly seems in rhythm with your own breathing. Or perhaps the chant seems louder and all the other sounds far away. Or perhaps the woods seem strangely noisy. Or unspeakably still. And perhaps the clear line that separates you from bird and tree and small lizards seems to melt. Whatever else, your relationship to the world of living nature changes. The Witch is the changer of definitions and relationships”
Reading this passage awakened something in me. When I first read this book all those years ago, I really didn’t know anything about magic or ritual or what tools were best used. I was a beginner and had just set foot on a path that was completely unknown to me. I was an avid reader at first (I still am!) and I devoured any book I could get my hands on that interested me. I began with the often recommended titles from Scott Cunningham, Raymond Buckland, Starhawk, etc. My practice eventually evolved into Hellenic polytheistic worship with Hekate as my goddess and guide. But one thing that always worked for me over the years and stirred my soul like no other was the simple practice mentioned in the excerpt above. Of course, I performed formal rituals when needed. But most of the time, my rituals were wild, unscripted, and under the night sky.
I love stepping outside when the sky is dark and the stars are twinkling. The moon may or may not be in the sky, depending on the phase. That first look at the night sky always takes my breath away. I love to gaze at the stars, imagining what they look like up close and if they communicate with each other. The wonder of it all is awe-inspiring to me. We on Earth are but a grain of sand in a vast, infinite universe where the possibilities are endless.
After being out there for a little while, I begin to focus. My breathing becomes steady and measured. My third eye awakens, and my body begins to tingle. Often, the words roll off my tongue and flows like a river. I lift my arms in praise of nature, the moon and stars. I sing a song of love and wonder. I don’t often plan ahead any of the words I speak. They are raw and spontaneous and honest. Sometimes I don’t “feel” in control; the words are coming out of my mouth but I often feel like a vessel or an oracle.
As I speak, the tingle in my body that I felt earlier grows stronger until my whole body is humming with energy. I can feel the energy shift within myself and my surroundings. The sky grows darker, and the moon and stars grow brighter. The creatures of the night may increase their sounds or become still and silent, depending on the time of year. In the winter, there aren’t many animals out in the cold nights. I live in northern New York, and our winters are cold and snowy. I may hear the distant call of an owl during the winter, or a wolf howling. During the summer it’s different. There is a small pond just beyond my backyard, and it is often alive with creatures when it’s warm out. The chatter of the frogs can become very intense, as does the snapping turtles and Canadian geese. Sometimes a soft breeze will rustle the tree limbs of the massive oaks and maples that fill my backyard, whispering their secrets. Lightning bugs will be visible, sometimes dozens at once, when it’s really hot. When this happens, it feels like these wondrous creatures are joining in my chorus of praise. It is an amazing, unifying feeling, and I feel a kinship with the land and those that share it with me.
Whenever I am singing my song of praise and wonder, I acknowledge those creature sounds as the goddess making her presence known. Especially if it was silent before I began. I always get chills down my spine when I am speaking praise of Hekate in the still, silent night and a wolf begins howling in the distance. Sometimes, I will see a shooting star as I am chanting.
When these informal, raw moments occur it is just me and nature. I don’t light a candle, or use any tools or burn incense. I stand barefoot on the earth and ground myself, and I always touch the ground when I am finished and return that energy I raised to the earth. Often, my dreams that night may be very vivid and I keep a dream journal to record them.
Reading that excerpt from “Drawing Down the Moon” inspired me to share my experiences with bare-bones rituals that can be done literally anywhere and any time you are moved to do so. Connecting to nature this way is so raw and primal and empowering and at the same time intimate. I hope that you may be moved to try this as well whenever the opportunity presents itself.
☆☆☆
Source:
Adler, Margot. “Drawing Down the Moon: Revised and Expanded Edition”. Penguin Books. 2006.
The Torch and Key 