FULL MOON RITUAL: ???<P> Ritual Leader: ???<P>

   “It does seem odd to welcome a harvest moon at the ocean,” Pomb thinks as she trudges over a dune, but something about all the astrological action in Pisces - including the full moon there - has drawn her to choose this place. “Who is calling? Neptune, Yemaya?” And with Mars now, staying in Pisces so long.. is it that fire within the depths, one that can't be extinguished, that pulls her? As usual under Pisces, the psychic signals wash over as strongly as ocean waves, and just as disorienting, tugging in all directions. It's just an East Coast beach town after the summer crowd has died down - the scaffolding where amusement park lights once shone are bare as bones, the ice cream stands are boarded up, the illusions are revealed, the summer magic is gone.

   Or is it?

   For in the East, over the ocean, the moon is on the rise.. its light glowing with promise, mystery.. can we make magic rise again with it?

   Pomb sets out hurricane lamps in the four directions, and sets a few large, shallow ceramic and iron bowls in the center, to hold incenses and herbs and offerings. One will be used to hold scraps of paper. She's thinking maybe people can write down their troubles and pains and offer them to fire. As she works, she scratches at her legs. It seems to her all she's harvested this past season is a bumper crop of mosquito bites. Pisces again.. the mysteries of the twelfth house are those of wounds, pain, sacrifice. “Can wounds actually be a harvest to bring home? To transform? Can we sacrifice our pain, give it away to make room in our lives for the abundant harvest to come? Am I on to something here, or do I just think I am?”

   "Arrrghhhhh!!! And it's not even ‘talk like a pirate day..’ yet!” Pomb shouts at the sea. "Is this a revelation or am I full of crap? Damn you, Neptune!” An answering wave washes over her feet. The water is surprisingly, tropically, warm. OK - whatever else, she has a car full of fixings for Irish coffee and hot cider and cookies to unload.. at least in the off season, there are plenty of places to park. But the closest spaces are starting to fill up now as the magical beings arrive...

   …Cailean arrives at the Ritual site and pulls the rented car into a parking space, muttering under her breath. She is really cranky and annoyed because the trip had been awful. First, there was the idiot security screener at the airport who absolutely insisted on opening the plastic bottles, tightly screwed and wrapped with several layers of plastic wrap, each tied into its own little plastic bag simply because he couldn't understand why anyone would want to lug two jars of ocean water all the way to the east coast where they have plenty of ocean water of their own!

Then all the flights were delayed because so many planes were cancelled for lack of passengers over the 911 anniversary.

So she finally gets here, scrambles up to give Pomb a big hug, apologizes for being so late and .. looks around for the others...

   …Pomb goes to the center of the circle and starts a mix of dried herbs smoking. Whatever grew well in this strange, rainy season - pineapple sage, southernwood, lemon balm, the funny little patchouli plant she hadn't expected would grow.. the scents mix, sweet and earthy, and dissipate into the air. She cups some smoke in her clasped hands and begins to build the sphere.

   The energy in her cupped hands builds until her hands gently part. The sphere grows larger, expanding in all directions like a bubble, to enclose the bowls at the center, going beyond them into the sand, into the stars, encompassing the people who have begun to form a circle on the sand, ready to hold more.. the sacred sphere can be large enough to hold the energy of the earth and its moon or small enough to protect one heart. And all who gather give some measure to its energy and strength. Some bring their joy, and some bring their pain. Even one tear is an offering of energy to make the sphere that holds us together and protects us and creates a vessel for the healing energy we will raise tonight.

   "Spirit of the East, the rising, yellow moon, spell out your message in light on the waves, in the wind on our faces, in the sand at our feet. Let us read it, heed it, and move on, as you sail out from the ocean and into the sky. Blessed be."

   Pomb finds a place in the east of the circle, near a crumbling sand castle, and waits for the one to call the spirit of the south and the god...

   …which is Deer, who stands at their circle's southern point with a sparkler in his hand. Lighting it from the hurricane lamp found there, he calls: "Fire, spirits burning in the night. To ward this quarter I invite ye. Stir deep in our hearts, and deeper in our loins to assure our own fires are well lit as summer winds down. Bring to our minds the heat of intellect which will guide us through that which approaches - both the thinning of the veil and the darknesses of Winter.” Then, Deer turns his attention to the Lord. As usual, closing his eyes and turning in that direction brings the loss of focus from time – a welcome event as, perhaps due the afterimage of the sparkler's dancing specks of fire, Deer finds himself reliving the evening just prior:

   Strolling about his yard, Deer had experienced a feeling that something was very different about this night, but couldn't put a finger on it. "Plenty here is out of the ordinary,” he'd thought, savoring the fragrance of a Southern Magnolia which should have bloomed in May. All the more amazing that this tree had bloomed at all this year, as the drought last year had nearly killed it. In fact, he'd had to cut it back from over eight feet tall to just a bit over four. Just across the yard a lavender althea, which should have given its major summer show back in June, was making quite a spectacle of itself. And all about the edges of the yard – wherever the wild vines hung from the wood's edge – each step brought the sweet scent of ripe black grapes from underfoot. Again, normally an experience of late midsummer.

   As twilight had set in, Deer strolled over to the grandfather oak. More than two decades of moons they'd shared together and, more than most others, this was a tree with which he shared a particularly close relationship – one which sometimes seemed to verge on co-consciousness. "Tonight I'll dance beneath your canopy, and again trace what portion of the channels followed by your roots which you choose to reveal to me,” Deer had stated to the old one, with one hand upon his bark at chest height – just below where his massive trunk split in two. It was never difficult to see the old one in his shadow form – hunkered down to the ground on all fours, with his head up and unbelievable wings spread wide to frame the southeastern sky. Usually, this took only the slightest squint, the merest turning of a corner from one reality to another. But again, tonight felt different, and the old one was simply there.

   A full moon peeking out from behind the clouds had found Deer already in the beginnings of a dance, moving slowly back and forth as the path shown him by the old man wove out and away from his massive trunk and then back in again. After several turns about the tree, with each step up until that time firmly planted in his mind, Deer had been brought to a sudden stop by an almost imperceptible and definitely indefinable scent. So faint, on the one hand, that Deer couldn't believe he'd actually sensed it. But, on the other hand, even in its faintness so evocative that every hair on his body had immediately stood at attention. Deer had shuddered, caught in the realization that this scent spoke to him of sensuality, sexuality and procreation all in a single note – again a note which would have been more in place at high summer than here on its trailing edge. Having still found himself unable to peg why it had such power over him, nor why it seemed familiar at some deeply entrenched level, Deer then looked up into the old oak's shadow face for answers.

   As he'd stared into the old one's eyes, Deer noticed a faint flicker far up in the tip of his left wing. Greenish-gold… on, off… on on on, off… on, off. Deer had then swung the focus of his gaze skyward and was immediately able to identify the scent, or at least its source. For the first time, he paired it with the greenish-gold light. Not the product of her luciferase itself, but of that same fey creature who – perched on a twig high above him - was blinking on and off. Truly imperceptible as a scent in and of itself, but unbelievably powerful in its impact. An experience many go a life without. Yet one which he'd already been privileged to experience as a child and a man, yet without ever having identified the scent itself (or, at least, its impact on him) because of the glory it would soon evoke in the sky above him. It was an olfactory song – spreading its melody out into the night. Calling those of like mind. And soon enough, they had come.

   First a random additional blinking – on, off… on on on, off… on, off. Then another. And another. Soon they had begun arriving by the dozens – each taking up a place in the widespread branches of the grandfather. And having seen this, Deer had wondered if there were more to this dance than the science he'd read. Supposedly this scent called mates to dance – but the only explanation for what Deer saw was that the first call was to sisters. Why else would those arriving early to the fete take up positions so far flung among the old tree's branches? In awe and wonder, he'd given up tracing the channels of grandfather's roots, and sat down with his back to the old one's bark and his gaze heavenward.

   But his wait had not been long. Soon the arrivals by the handful had grown into arrivals by the dozens. And those into seemingly endless streams coming from all directions, but now with a different rhythm. On, on, off… on, on, off… on, on, off. For what had seemed hours, specks of green fire had arrived from miles around – each attempting to outshine the last as they jockeyed for position in the old oaks branches. And by the time the streams had diminished to the occasional late arrival, Deer estimated there must be tens of thousands of individual lights flitting about in the tree above him. Perhaps more. The sheer light of that spectacle was both so bright as to cast a shadow of his upheld hand upon the ground, and so otherworldly as to make him question his rationality in perceiving it. But whether this were a shadow-sight or no, Deer had *known* that what he was sensing was real. He'd witnessed this dance before – but never so completely from its beginning.

   As the glory of their dance washed over him, the moon re-emerged from her cloudy hiding place. Full, but very nearly overshadowed by the spectacle around him, she also seemed to take on the pulsating rhythm which emanated from the tree into the very heart of night. In that moment, Deer had realized that though the world about him was vibrant with light and motion and scent it was also utterly silent. So completely absorbed in the dance so old that its rhythms have no audible beat, he had closed his eyes. Determined to remain a part of this ancient Caracole, he had wished fervently to share this experience with those he thought might most appreciate it. Having cast the net of his thoughts wide, he launched visions of this moon to many friends. "No quarters, no watchtowers, no summoning here tonight,” he called to kith and ken, "unless perhaps it is the night which summons us!” Then – as casually as he could – Deer had lain back against the bole of his favorite tree to watch this dance unfurl in all it's splendor, determined to see it through to conclusion even if that should not be until dawn approached…

   Suddenly, Deer opened his eyes. Somehow, upon the air, is that *scent*. Knowing it arrived from the night before he has no expectation of a repeat performance. Deep within, however, Deer feels the incessant beat – on, on, off… on on, off… on, on, off. He realizes that the scent is not around him but within – and at the same time *knows* that the Lord is here among them. Tonight the tannist dances upon the sand. Tonight the young Holly King – randy as ever was his predecessor – calls to all in the circle from his own youth within the long slide towards darkness.

   Comfortable that both Fire and God are met well and welcomed, Deer relaxes a bit and turns toward the West…

   …Cailean moves to the West. Here she is in her element. She undoes all the wrapping that were much more slipshod after having to redo them at the airport. The 911 anniversary weighs heavy on her heart. Nephew Kevin was involved in the ceremony at Ground Zero, reading names of victims with the other children. Cupping a hand, she pours some Pacific Ocean water in and flings the drops throughout the sphere, and on all gathered here. “I bring you water from one ocean to water of the other ocean, hoping to symbolically unite us as a nation, as a people, as brothers and sisters.”

   She had contemplated calling upon the goddesses of justice, for those who had died and for those of her brothers and sisters gathered who seem to be going thru so much lately - Windwalker, Typo, and all the others. Problem is that as much as she tried to focus on justice, it was compassion that kept stealing into her mind and heart. Ah yes, Kwan Yin, on her carp. Compassion for those who lost loved ones, not only in the attacks but ever- for anyone who mourns, let us comfort them as we mourn with them. Compassion for those who are ill or suffering from emotional distress, let us give them a shoulder to cry on, a strong arm to lean on as we support them. “We all need a helping hand, some compassion, at some time in our lives. Let us give of it freely, so that it may be freely given in return.”

   "Spirit of Water. Guardian of the West. We welcome you. Help us to embrace our emotions. Sylphs, we welcome you as join us and protect us in this rite.”

   “Kwan Yin, Goddess of Compassion and Kindness, fill us with these qualities. The nobility of it, the humanness of it, the naturalness of it. Mother, join us us. We welcome you.”

   Cailean has finished with one of the jars of ocean water. She smiles a little as a few of her friends seem to have gotten sprinkled a little more than others. “Ahhhhhh,” the mischievous water sprites will not leave her..

   She steps back to her place in the Circle, with one more silent prayer and waits for...

   …Jess, who opens her mouth to speak, but no sound follows. “Hm? Wierd,” she thinks, and tries again. “Squeek.” Nothing. “But I had this wonderful North thing to do? Why silence me now? It was downright poetic! O Cruel Muse! You gifted me with song, but took away my voice! You bitch. Ah, well.” Silenced, she moves to the brazier and throws in some blessing incense. For all who need it, even if they don't think they do. She returns to her spot and wonders if she rolled up her car windows…

   …so Pomb heads to the north of the circle to complete the ceremony and open it up for petitions. That prickling along her arms hasn't let up - apparently there's a lot of need for petitions - and there's a growing sense that we'd better get our message out to the universe and get our butts off the beach! The winds are picking up, despite that supernaturally beautiful clear weather you always get as a hurricane approaches..

   "Spirits of the North, of the Earth, and of our ancestors who walked this earth.. You who have endured so much, seen so much, lived so much - please be with us and teach us what you've learned so we won't have to make the same mistakes. Gift us with courage and common sense. That which is remembered never dies, and we remember you.."

   Pomb goes to the center of the circle, where the herbs and offerings have long blown away, but the energy lingers.

   "This sphere of protection is now open to petitions, energy, and healing! Make what you need known and give what you have to make it happen! We'll wait out the night, but tomorrow morning, everyone head inland to a cozy place. And don't miss your plane, Cailean!!!"

   "I have a petition: A call for safety for those on the east coast who may be in Isabel's path. Let the winds and water bring what they must, but no more than that. Blessed be the mother of winds and water."

   Pomb steps back into the circle and waits to see if others will make their petitions...

   …Adrianna moves to the altar to stand a moment in silence.. “For all that has occurred, or has been felt by all of us during this Summer Season of Growth and Harvest.. release of all that we are able to release of that which does not serve.. and with thankfulness for all the rich blessings large and small which have been also a part of this Cycle. The richest of these by far is the friends which surround us. Nothing else, no matter how wonderful has the enduring blessing of that.. deep, true, heart to heart friends.. even when they yell at us, unable to find another way to get their message through to reach us and shake up the stagnation of things gripping our lives. That too is love! Only those who love care enough to try..”

   "Silver Lady, we have not the wisdom to always know what to do, or say; but, we do know that we are forever your children and from you and your balance partner we always are forever loved and gently led into full life and happiness.. true joy. Help us to treasure our earthly walk, and the light and dark shadows it brings.. along with the truly amazing insights and wisdom. We are here, shoulder to shoulder.. hand in hand.. heart to heart.. all one! It matters not if at any moment in time we are with a partner, or without.. Life has a way of moving us in and out of those relationships through death, divorce, change, distance.. Through it all, love continues. We keep learning deeper and deeper levels of love and connection. Each one gives us another clear vision of the Divine. Yes! Help us to be a shoulder.. a presence.. a strength for each other! Thank you for this ritual.. time not bound by any boundaries.. to make our connection to the Mother Water.. to wash away and cleanse all that needs to be cleared.. to be re-birthed! And now cleared, we join hands again with strength.. not to drain each other, but to help each other truly build!”

   With that prayer, Adrianna takes off the crystal heart she has worn for all the testing and healing years, and her work, and leaves it with a full heart. Its place is here! With a smile, she retakes her place among the hands .. within the love.. and energy.. and peace of connection with a whispered "Goddess Bless!”

   "This has certainly turned into a very unusual Full Moon! Typo, let Owl kick your butt and get moving! Take courage! Grab hold of the connection.. share your feelings, but don't bog down! Glad you're getting help with your challenges…”

   …As the sun comes up - not exactly red skies, but orange ones - over the ocean, Pomb looks around the circle to see how everyone has fared the night. Reinforced with food and drink or fasting, some have visioned all night; some have cried themselves out; some have talked themselves out (and some never will). The dawn light is harsh but hopeful. "Gods and Goddesses, Elements and Ancestors, thank you for holding us safely through the confusion. Be with us as the confusion, inevitably, continues. Sometimes we just need to be picked up and spun around and put back down.”

   “It's a Dorothy thing,” she thinks - and immediately adds that she doesn't mean to invoke any tornadoes. She feels the sphere of energy around the group expanding like a bubble and sees the petitions, thought forms, intentions, energy forms floating within it like tiny stars and planets. As the sphere expands, these are pulled as if by gravity to the places they are most needed, and they start their work - sometimes slow as a seed, sometimes as fast as lightning. Someone in the circle starts the chant:

   "She changes everything she touches,
   and everything she touches, changes.
   He changes everything he touches,
   and everything he touches, changes.”

   As always, the chant changes:

   "change us..
   touch us..
   change is..
   touch is..
   changes..
   changes..
   changes..”

   It settles to a whisper and flutters away on the wind. “Blessed be and get home safe...”

   Later.. sometime later.. as the wind and water make it truly time to go.. a long look outward, over and through the foam, building agitation, and swirling sky.. Dawn whispers, "Peace, Mother! We would prayer peace for those humans threatened and battered by this storm, if You would grant this petition.” Hand outstretched.. the energy flows to connect with that of the Ocean.. slowly the other hand turns downward to connect with a staff found within a cave overlooking the water. For long minutes the energy flows, until an indescribable tranquility and deep feeling of connection with All That Is settles in and around. "Peace, Mother.."

   Her outstretched hand comes down to join the other on the staff. With reverence, she lays the staff on the ground, given back to the Earth. "Thank you!” She breathes deeply of the salt air.. filling her lungs and whole being. Bathed by the mist of the waves, she turns to climb the trail to the top, and back into the world of Man. "Peace, Mother.. Humans are both frail and immensely, wondrously strong! What paradox and delight wrapped within that contrast!”