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On a whim the other day, I did an image search for “Yule ornaments.” What I found dismayed me.

Or rather, what I didn't find dismayed me.

Pentagrams, runes, Thor's hammers, witches on brooms: pagan schmuckerei for pretty much every taste and tradition.

Out of the first two screens, maybe 150 images in all, I found one Sun.

One.

For a moment, I felt a sense of vertigo, as if I were falling: a giddy kind of kinship with the “Keep Christ in Christmas” folks.

Solstice is relationship: Earth, Sun, Us.

“The only religion that really makes any sense is Sun-worship,” a (non-pagan) friend once said to me years ago.

Name of the Sun

What the Sun's Name to himself may be, we do not know.

(Let me relent and say here, Deep initiates to the Sun there may be who know that Name. If so, I myself am not among them.)

The Sun's Name to us, though: this we know, for it is a relational Name, and we know it of and by our own relation.

What's the single most important pagan ritual that you can ever do?

Hint: you don't need either a temple or a magic circle to do it.

Here it is: Go forth and watch the Sun rise, or set.

Do this as often as you can, and better it be if you do it from a wild place.

At sunset, I often blow a horn when the Sun first touches the horizon. As the Sun sets, I address him. (You can call this prayer if you want to.) This is also a good time to pour out a libation. Then, when he slips entirely below the horizon, I blow the horn again. Then I sing a hymn.

You can elaborate if you want to, but you don't have to. The watching is all that's really necessary.

We have it from the ancestors that the most auspicious time to address oneself to the Sun is when he is on the horizon. In my experience, this is a time of special face-to-face intimacy, not usually present at other times of the day.

If you don't know where to go in your area for a clear view of the sunset and sunrise horizon at various times of year, what kind of pagan are you? Real pagans, being people of the place, are territorial beings.

Monotheists have it easy. They never have to ask: Which god?

For the rest of us, things get rather more complicated.

In time of plague, as now, to Whom do you turn?

Well, when you need help, who do you usually ask for assistance? The near-by, those with whom you already have good friendship: kin, friends, neighbors.

In time of epidemic, for protection for you and yours, you turn to your luck-god, Whomever that may be.

(Bear in mind, of course, that intangible protections are always best used in partnership with tangible ones as well.)

But collectively, to Whom do we turn for aid in time of plague?

In the Old Ways, there's no wall of separation between reality and mythology. Let us start with a simple fact: sunlight kills covid.

This is the second in a series about the MMP pantheon. Find the list of the full series of posts here.

We're on a journey, working our way through the Modern Minoan Paganism pantheon one deity at a time. This time, we're discussing another of our three mother goddesses: the Sun goddess Therasia. (Yes, I capitalize Sun just like I capitalize the names of other stars like Sirius and Aldebaran. I also capitalize Earth, just like I capitalize the names of other planets like Venus and Jupiter. Respect.)

Silent, ineluctable, the golden shaft of light streams into the darkness of my room.

Because the street-grid of Minneapolis is laid out East-West, on Evenday mornings the Spring (and Harvest) Sun rising due east shines in through the eastern windows, down the hall, and into my bedroom on the west side of the house.

It's like living in Newgrange, but with heat and running water.

They say that Zeus appeared to Danaë in a Shower of Gold.

They say that Shiva revealed himself as a Lingam of Fire.

I jump out of bed and stand in the Lordly Light. His godly touch gilds my naked skin.