Talkin' Trash & Suckin' Gas
For the sacred festival of the second harvest, more commonly referred to as the Autumn Equinox or Mabon, the Crone ventured out into the pagan community to participate in a large public circle held in a local public park. Participants were asked to bring non-perishable food items to donate to the local food bank and the donation baskets overflowed like Mother Earth's fields. A true tribute to the caring consciousness of the pagan community. Decorations for the ritual were beautiful, dried corn stalks adorned the entryway and grapevines formed an arbor that was speckled with autumn flowers. Baskets of fall fruits and vegetables and bottles of red wine surrounded the chairs of the King and Queen of the Harvest who held court as the sun dipped low in the sky. The ritual itself was both a celebration of Earth's bounty and a healing for the planet which is ailing under the weight of humankind. The current of energy was palpable as we danced the sacred spiral hand in hand, all minds focused on honoring our home, our mother, our Earth. Finally, when the energy had reached it's peak, it was released and all celebrants collapsed, exhausted to the sacred ground.
Participants came in all shapes and sizes, dressed in flowing broomstick skirts, tee shirts proclaiming Pagan Pride, jeans or ritual robes. It wasn't how they came that prickled the Crone's wrinkles, but what they came in. The parking lot beyond the fence was crammed with luxury, gas guzzling, emmission regulation exempt SUVs! Astounding! The earth we honored, the earth we sought to heal and protect during ritual was being abused and disregarded on the way to and from ritual. The Crone would have much prefered that these folks choose to save the planet by staying home. Pondering this situation, wondering whether the offending drivers understood the irony that they had just commited, the Crone was approached by a young woman. Apparently the young woman eyes followed the Crone's gaze because her opening salutation was "Sick, isn't it? I usually ride my bike. It's over there." and she pointed to a tree.
Heartened, the Crone listened as the young woman told the tale of how she came to paganism and moved to the area to attend college. She was majoring in Environmental Law. The Crone was overjoyed to listen as the young woman raged against pollution by large companies and the military and pointed out solutions to these problems. This woman was not only complaining, but finding answers. For twenty minutes they talked while they nibbled on cakes served on paper plates and sipped wine from paper cups. The Crone was so encouraged by the young woman's passion that she had all but forgotten about the parking lot full of SUVs gleaming under the light of the near-full moon. The magic of the ritual was returning to the Crone's heart.
Soon enough, the after-ritual gathering began to break up. Folks hollered good-byes and merry parts as they headed to their cars and the young woman too begged her farewells. She smiled and said she would be back to celebrate Samhain and turning to go, she tossed her paper cup and plate onto the picnic table where a cool autumn breeze gently blew them to the ground.
The Crone is an old woman, set in her ways, grey haired and jaded, though still with a sense of biting humor that makes her lovable to us. Her views are her own, though she couldn't be more spot on in this case. To see more of her cranky tirades, visit her at Cranky Crone