Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
Wheel Dance
At the very heart of our Yule each year turns the Great Dance of the Wheel, the dance of the Sun's Rebirth.
Listen while I tell of it.
Wearing holly, the circle of men faces outward. Wearing ivy, enclosing, the circle of women faces in.
The two circles take four steps toward each other, then four steps back.
Then the circles wheel. One moves sunwise, the other, widdershins.
(There's a metaphor to be savored here, but that's for later.)
Again the concentric circles expand and contract. Once again they wheel, reversing direction.
Then repeat.
The song that accompanies the dance tells the seasons of the Sun's life: winter, spring, summer, fall, and back again to winter. In one infinite instant, the Sun is begotten, born, begets, and dies. Like the dance, the song wheels, returning again to its own beginning. In the end, it becomes a round, turning and turning on itself.
In this way, we work our magic.
The dance is both a begetting and a birthing: systole, diastole, expansion, contraction. Around and around we go.
In every ritual, I look for the moment when distinctions fall away and together we become one, while all the world wheels with us.
Every year, Yule after Yule, I meet it again in the Great Rite of the Wheel.
Comments
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Wednesday, 02 January 2019
Good question, Ian. I would think that what you wanted to wear and where you wanted to dance would be up to you. Tradition is fixed only to a certain degree; it's our responsibility to remain in dialogue with it, that's all.
In a like position, I myself would consider wearing mistletoe. As for the Dance: there's always room in the Center. -
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What would you do if a non-binary person (like myself) wanted to dance?