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It’s Imbolc again, or Groundhog Day, if you will. Thinking of the latter, I’m reminded of the clever Bill Murray movie. Also realizing that February itself can make one feel like they’re trapped in an endless time loop of drudgery–repeating the same thing day in and day out, ad nauseum. February might be the shortest month, but it can be a tough one to get through, especially if you don’t have anything to look forward to. Grey days with not enough sun, especially in the Midwest–we’ve all been there. I have things to look forward to this year, many in fact. I must remind myself of them repeatedly as I inch ever closer to spring and the best month ever, March. OK, it’s my Birthday month, but that’s beside the point. That’s when spring is officially sprung, and the real thaw and signs of life begin. Along with new hope, new beginnings, new ideas. All of which, I have a boatload of this year. I just have to be patient and see what takes hold and what falls away. I know intellectually that it’s a good practice to let go of things, materially and otherwise. It’s just the figuring out of when to wave the white flag officially, that perplexes me somewhat. I’m stubborn and a fighter, so sometimes “giving up” doesn’t come quite naturally to me. Perhaps some of you can relate?

 Imbolc Rituals

This Imbolc, perhaps we could all stand some extra moments of quiet reflection to truly meditate on what to let fall away from our lives. What no longer serves us, what doesn’t fit, what cherished piece of clothing has grown so many holes it needs to be repurposed as a cleaning rag. Just needed to interject a bit of levity there. I think that’s another thing to keep in mind this February, the longest and shortest month. Keep some laughter in your life. Don’t take things too seriously, and let stuff roll off your back whenever possible. They say it’s the best medicine, and they’re not wrong. Think of Bill Murray in that movie, when he learns to find joy and take delight in the simplest pleasures, where once he only found monotony and annoyance.

Imbolc brings an invitation into change,
to step into the forge of transformation,
to sink into the holy well of healing,
to open ourselves up to an evolving path
of growth and discovery.
It is now that we remember
we are our own seeds of promise
and while there is time yet
to stay in the waiting place
biding our time
and strengthening our resources
so we have what we need to grow,
soon we will feel the wheel
urging us onward,
the call to set forth
becoming unmistakable and strong.
Let us settle ourselves into center,
nestle into trust and determination,
and extend outward from here
feeling the sweet wind caress us
and the fiery forge beckon us
as we heed the summons to roll on,
the path opening up before us as we move.

I've always thought a little introspection was good for the soul, and the sabbat, Imbolc, certainly lends itself to that. If creativity can play a part in your ritual, all the better. The last two seasons of my monthly personal podcast, "Women Who Howl at the Moon," I've turned the recording device on myself. I make a point to ask aloud some challenging questions and try to be honest and open with my spontaneous answers. In a way, it's not all that different than when I used to employ my favorite toy growing up, a tape recorder. I'd record everything with that beloved instrument, and rarely—if ever—edited myself. I'd record friends, my younger brothers, conduct interviews with grandparents, act out beloved movies or spoofs on TV shows, all in the form of  a free-wheeling radio play. In some ways, little has changed, although I do admit to cleaning up too many "ums" or "tsks" if they bug me. All in all, it still remains one of my favorite communication devices of choice. You don't get hung up on the visual and distracted by that but are forced to listen closely and imagine what story you are hearing unfolding.

So Many Ways to Look Inward

In the past, I've suggested going on a peaceful winter cross-country ski in a nature setting, turning up the heat and meditating with a cup of piping hot herbal tea, or simply embracing the act of unplugging—literally all electronic devices and unnecessary noise. You can hug your inner introvert by way of a mini silent retreat with yourself. Or this year you could dim the lights, make sure you're in a sound-proof setting where you won't be disturbed, and hit record for a little self-talk. You certainly don't need any fancy recording devices or software to do this. Most Smart Phones come equipped with a recording device. Whether you choose to share your innermost thoughts or no, is distinctly up to you. At the very least, play the recording back to yourself at a later date—perhaps at the Spring Equinox, or even Lammas, since that is one of the four major sabbats, and opposite Imbolc on the calendar wheel. Check in and listen to you express your thoughts privately. See what's changed and what's remained the same. Take note in your journal and act accordingly.

 "It is the Washin' o' the World's Face."

(R. García y Robertson, The Spiral Dance)

Our story so far: The Chinese have invaded America and then (for reasons never specified) pulled out again. The East Coast literally walls itself off from the rest of the Continent and becomes a stuck-in-the-head techno-megalopolis.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Continent reverts to tribalism. Foremost among these tribes are the Latter-Day Witches who call themselves "Circle", or "Coven", who through centuries of inbreeding have achieved mastery of the art of direct mind-to-mind communication, what they call lep.

(If you suspect that this has something to do with telepathy, I think you're probably right.)

That's the universe of Marvin Kaye and Parke Godwin's Masters of Solitude series, some of the earliest (late 70s/early 80s) popular literature to be profoundly shaped by the emerging Wiccan movement.

Being, in effect, our children, the people of Circle observe the same Wheel of the Year that we do today. Part of the fun of the novels for pagans lies in extricating the names of the firedays from what 1000 years' worth of linguistic erosion have left of them.

For Circle folk, Eostre/Ostara/Easter is Leddy. (I myself can remember back when, in the early days of American paganism, some folks knew Spring Equinox as Lady Day.) Then comes Belten, Sinjin (< “Saint John['s Day]"), Lams, Milemas ( < Michaelmas), Samman, and Loomin for Yule. (I'm guessing that this latter is probably a worn-down form of illumine, drawn perhaps from Doreen Valiente's quintessential Yule chant Queen of the Moon, Queen of the Sun: "Golden Sun of the Mountains,/Illumine the Land, Light up the World,/Illumine the Seas and the Rivers,/Sorrows be laid, Joy to the World." If so, it's a nicely folkloric touch.)

Their Imbolg/Oimelc/Candlemas is Grannog.

We have been in the long dark for the past few months. Cold, snowy weather and the now-ever-present threat of serious disease have kept us inside our homes, bundled in cozy clothes and blankets, sipping our tea or coffee or hot cocoa. We’re expecting yet another snowstorm here in the eastern U.S., more to add to the snow that hasn’t left us from the last one. We yearn to step out into light and warmth, feel soft grass beneath our feet, but not yet. Still, the time of long light will come again. The days are already beginning to gradually unfurl like the fronds of a fern.