A few days prior to May First, I posted a photo of a bundle of dried grape vines in a small copper cauldron to Instagram with the caption, “I will not light giant bonfires in my backyard on the Beltane Full Moon so that I can be ‘rescued’ by hot firemen.” I followed it up with the comment, “It could lead to dancing.”
One wrinkle in my domestic Pagan praxis is that Mark’s always described himself as a “religious non-participant.” Ahead of schedule, the oak, cottonwood, and willow trees filled the air with mucus-inducing pollen. And Mark’s never been a fan of flames larger than the ones on candles, indoors or out. So hot, throbbing, man-on-man sex between two bonfires in our backyard was definitely off the table. Probably to the relief of the neighbors. And the fire brigade.
Thursday night I watched a very close to full moon. The moon was lower and more southerly than I expected, and it skimmed over the tree tops east of our southern neighbor’s house. If I held my head in just the right position, I could frame the Rabbit of the Moon within an equilateral triangle of tree branches. I wanted to just look at the moon inscribed by branches and at the same time run over to a silver working bench and design a triangular bolo tie of silver with a jade disk displaying a rabbit. Since I don’t have a jewelry studio, I remained looking at the moon before heading inside to hide from pollen with Mark.
Fireman fantasies aside, one of the intentions for this seasonal station was to be more balanced with eros, agape, and amore, which means listening more closely to Mark. I may or may not have visualized cosmic erotic energy flowing through my second chakra during (ahem) certain parts of the night.
The plan for Friday was to hike up Spencer Butte and watch the sunrise. This was tricky because the parking lot for the park doesn’t officially open until 6 am and sunrise was 6:04, and also the low, overcast clouds enveloped the peak. So no rising sun in the east and no sinking moon in the west; only wildflowers, trillium, poison oak, cedar, iris, sword ferns with their sea-horse heads, and an ambiguous homo-social group of men (and their two small dogs) with sage (Mark thought it was marijuana) at the peak (I am uncertain if they were having a ritual of some sort or if we came across the aftermath of a group hug).
My favorite place to stand on Spencer’s Butte is a triangular slab of concrete where an observation station used to be. Mark noticed there were a lot of peanut and pistachio hulls littered everywhere, so I made an informal, impromptu ritual of gathering up the hulls while humming “Bring from the center of the sun…” under my breath. I may or may not have taken off my shirt at Mark’s request.
Back at home, Mark had to work, so I left the house and visited friends at the Cascades Raptor Center. Nike the Gyrfalcon had her back to me, which showed off the circular geometry of her feather pattern and wing arcs, so I took some photos to use as a design study. An elementary school group was also visiting, and I found myself explaining that one of the turkey vultures’ names, Lethe, was the name of the underworld river of forgetfulness from ancient Greek myth. As one does. The symbolism of teaching children about mythic forgetfulness in a bird sanctuary is left as an exercise for the reader.
Afterward, I had an early lunch at The Community Cup. I pulled out my Book of Art and wrote down some highlights of the day, and also did a kind practice-pull-no-specific-question of Tarot cards. I’m thinking the cards didn’t want to practice, because all five cards were reversed: the Ten of Cups, The Knight of Cups, the Seven of Swords, Strength, the Three of Pentacles. I suppose one interpretation is “pretending not to ask a question may hedge you from answers you don’t like, but it’s a bad way to practice discernment and divination.” I guess next time I’ll just pull cards from the top and review meanings flash-card style.
I got back home just before solar noon. By this time the clouds had lifted and most of the haze had burnt off, and the sun cast shadows through the branches of our backyard cherry tree.
There are four metal shepherds’ crooks staked around the circle of paver stones in our backyard. One, with wind chimes, is for the Moon’s South Ascending Node; another, opposite the circle, with a bird suet cage, is for the North Descending Node; a third, holding a sun-dangler-and-wind-chime, I moved to the southwest portion of the circle; and the fourth, with its crescent moon decoration, I moved to the northeast position. I put the Labyrinth Stone onto the north paver stone. I went to the south paver stone in the circle, placed the cauldron and grapevine bundle there, and tried to light a fire with the large magnifying lens.
After lots of white smoke, charcoaled burn marks on the vines, and some dark spots in my vision, I concluded the grapevines were too green to catch. I swapped out the grapevine for a beeswax candle and after a few moments had Cross-quarter Day Fire dancing on the wick. I pulled out two new candles and lit these; for an Instagram Moment I had three flames burning against the greeny grass. Eventually, I moved the newer candles into a glass lantern, but I kept the old candle in the cauldron in the station of the south, burning, burning all through the afternoon and into the early hours of moonlight.
Seated on blankets and pillows in the center of the circle, I harped a while, running through the regular store of Child Ballads and Filk, cobbled together Monteverdi, a mishmash of contemporary and improvised tunes, and tried to catch the wind in the harp strings, which is very cool when I’m able to manage it. The chimes tinkled and the fountain’s water babbled over its basalt column. I may or may not have woken up the three arbor vitae trees east of the circle.
Clouds rolled in. Mark and I laid down on the deck’s couch and spent the evening looking for the moon to rise (I swear!). The candle in the south twinkled in the grass, and the candles in the lamp melted down. Sometimes I thought I saw Arcturus, other times, maybe Spica; but all times there were clouds and no time was the moon visible. We rested. The south candle went out. The lamp candles went out. By city light reflected from clouds’ undersides, I gathered up the cauldron and lamp and harp and pillows and blankets, and shrouded the deck furniture with its covers.
