The Storm Wanes
The time will come when the storm has waned. The time will come when Winter is almost over. Sometime around 2025, if the pattern of the saecula holds true, we will come to the end of the Crisis era. This is the point when we say to ourselves, both as individuals and as a people, “Okay, what happens next?”
An era has ended. It’s time for a new one to begin. It may be hard to move on from Winter no matter how challenging it has been. This meditation is designed to help you leave Winter behind so that you may begin the next season.
Meditation: Ice Melt
For this meditation you will need an ice cube and a bowl of warm water. If you wish to play soothing instrumental music, you may. If you are doing the exercises in this book with others, you may wish for someone to read the following passage aloud. Otherwise you may simply read it to yourself.
Put the ice cube in the bowl of water. As you read, watch how at first it bobs to the surface and then begins to get smaller and smaller.
In winter, the world is locked in ice. Rivers and streams are frozen, their music stilled. The banks are encased in snow. Cold winds blow.
At night, the stars are pale and cold above the frozen waters, shining all the more brightly on the surface of the ice.
So too we are frozen in Winter, locked in the harsh realities of our world. We cannot move. We cannot become; not yet.
The night is cold. The ice covers the river, but beneath the surface currents are moving. Down in the depths, below the scoured surface, fish are stirring. The water is warming. Each day it warms a little more. Each day the ice thins a little bit.
Upstream somewhere, it rains. It may be ten miles away. It may be a hundred. But it rains. Warm water flows off streets and parking lots and houses, cascades down storm drains. Into streams. Into the river.
The stars are bright over the ice, and suddenly the stillness is broken by a great crack! Maybe you can see it. Maybe it’s beneath the surface, but the ice breaks. Crack! It’s a sound like tree limbs snapping, like cables tearing apart. Crack! There it is again.
And now you see it. The ice is moving.
The warm water beneath is carrying it. Crack! Another piece breaks.
Suddenly, the surface isn’t solid. It’s a bunch of ice floes, bumping and tossing against one another, jumbling downstream.
The river is free. No longer locked in winter, no longer bound by ice, the river sings again.
Each obstruction, each rapid or stone, speeds the breaks. Great pieces crumble as they leap down into the pools beneath. Little chunks float on the surface, diminishing as you watch.
Winter has ended. The ice has broken. It may not yet be spring, but it is no longer winter.
So too have we reached a place in the great year when it is no longer Winter. Spring will come soon. The ice is melting.
Continue to watch the ice until it has completely disappeared. Know in your heart that Winter is over.
Opening the Mundus Cereris
Consider the seed you stored back in the beginning of the Crisis era. Now is the time to bring it forth and think about how and when you will plant these seeds. Since every person will have a different collection of ideas, treasures, and institutions, exactly how you plant the seeds will be different. Some people may create based on the cultural treasures they preserved. Others may run for office in hopes of conserving or reinstituting programs or laws that they considered of surpassing worth. Still others may continue work interrupted—scientific or sociological research, artistic endeavors, or other forms of work that were disrupted by the events of the last few years. You may know exactly which seeds you want to plant on the first day of the new saeculum. Or you may have completely forgotten what you wrote on those little pieces of paper five years ago—that is also okay.
It may be obvious when it’s time to open the mundus cereris. The end of World War II was known to everyone—a national day of spontaneous celebration. Or it may not be obvious—conflicts may seem to trickle to a halt, problems may begin to resolve slowly so that one day it strikes you, “Hey, that problem hasn’t happened in a while.” A month? Two months? What day is it really Spring? When you know that it is, it’s time to open the gates of the underworld again—time for Proserpina to ascend with your seeds in her arms.
In the ancient world, this was one of the great mysteries. Life seems to have ended. And then it begins again. The Greater Eleusinian Mysteries were a complete cycle of holy days and celebrations around the return of the Lady of the Dead to the world above to become once again the spring maiden. While a full look at the mystery cycle is beyond the scope of this book, we consider her as the keeper of seed—one of her chthonic faces—and therefore, we must reclaim the seed from her. (If you do not have the jar or pot from the previous ritual, there is a variation that follows.)
The Rite
Now we are prepared to open the mundus cereris and prepare for Spring.
You will need:
the jar or pot that you prepared in the previous ritual
an apple
a glass of white wine or apple juice
a white candle
a burner and incense, preferably patchouli, sandalwood, or myrrh
Optional extras:
calendars, datebooks, or planners from 2019 through the present day
an image of Father Dis and Proserpina
Begin by lighting the incense. As you do so, imagine Father Dis as the winter king, an old man with flowing white hair wearing a rich robe of dark cloth, its borders worked with gold thread. He sits on a throne, and about him are all the hidden treasures of the underworld.
Say, “Father Dis, you have kept the seed in your treasury. You have protected it through all of winter’s toils. Thank you.” The incense is your offering to him. Let it burn for a moment, closing your eyes and imagining the deep, safe places where he has kept this seed for you.
Say, “Now it is spring, and it is time for your lady to return to us. Lady—Queen—Proserpina—please return to us with the spring, that these seeds may quicken.”
Imagine her, golden hair now loose on her shoulders, a circlet of spring flowers on her head. Clad in her white gown, she bids farewell to her husband and king, a parting that is of course temporary, for she will return to him with the turning of the seasons. She carries your jar of seeds in her arms as she turns and walks toward you. Behind her, the Gates of Horn close, shutting away the world below and disappearing. Where her feet touch, flowers spring up, the world greening at her approach. Smiling, she hands you the jar.
Say, “Thank you, bright lady,” and open the jar.
Inside are your slips of paper and the snakes you put with them, just as you left them years ago. Light the white candle for Proserpina and sit down. One by one, take them out and read them.
If you have calendars, datebooks, or planners from 2019 through the present day, open them up as well. Read through them. Remember who you were and what you were doing. Some of the entries will fill you with delight. Oh remember that! That was wonderful. Others will fill you with sadness. Perhaps they are times that you spent with people who are now gone. Perhaps they are places you wonder if you will ever go to again—places that may have irrevocably changed. Perhaps you will see doctor’s appointments before your child was born, or perhaps there are vet appointments for a pet who died two years ago. Perhaps there are vacations or plans with people you love. Or perhaps there are plans with people you love who you will never see again. Remember. Weep. Laugh. Absorb the changes that have happened to you since you stored this seed.
Then look at the seeds again. What did you value? What do you still value? What did you believe was in peril that has survived admirably? What did you wish to keep that you fear has been swept away? What do you look at and wonder what you were thinking when you wrote it? What do you look at with a smile?
Which seeds do you wish to plant? Organize them into two piles: the ones you wish to plant and the ones you don’t. It’s okay if most of them are ones you wish to plant. After all, you chose these things because you thought they were important, and very probably, five years or so later, you still do.
Now examine the ones you wish to plant. Choose three or four that you will take action on now. This can be complicated, like working for voting rights for everyone, or as simple as reminding people of a story or music that you love. But take action. Plan how you will plant these seeds. Imagine what will come of them five years from now when they have taken root.
Cut the apple and offer half to Proserpina. Say, “Thank you, bright lady, spring-born goddess who opens the doors of life.” Pour a libation to her in wine or apple juice. (You may pour it into a bowl and take it outdoors later.) Then drink the rest of the wine or apple juice and eat the apple or share it with friends or animals.
Put your seeds and your jar where you can see them—not in the deep places of the earth, but in the light where you will be reminded of the treasures you kept and that it is now time to plant anew.
Variation if you do not have the seeds you conserved
You will need:
paper and a writing implement
an apple
a glass of white wine or apple juice
a white candle
a burner and incense, preferably patchouli, sandalwood, or myrrh
Optional extras:
an image of Father Dis and Proserpina
Begin by lighting the incense. As you do so, imagine Father Dis as the winter king, an old man with flowing white hair wearing a rich robe of dark cloth, its borders worked with gold thread. He sits on a throne, and about him are all the hidden treasures of the underworld.
Say, “Father Dis, you have kept the seeds of all humanity in your treasury. You have protected it through all of winter’s toils. Thank you.” The incense is your offering to him. Let it burn for a moment, closing your eyes and imagining the deep, safe places where he holds rulership. “Now it is spring, and I have no seed. Father Dis, please allow me to take some from your deep stores.” Imagine standing before his throne, his solemn nod as he gestures to the brimming pots of grain that surround him. He will permit you to fill a bag, and it will be more than enough to sustain you. See yourself filling the bag. Then open your eyes.
Use the paper and writing implement to write down what those seeds are. Maybe they’re relationships you’ve nurtured through the long Winter. Maybe they’re skills that you hope to use in the new Spring. Maybe it’s a place you’ve protected, or a person whom you have cared for. Maybe they’re ideas that you believe and that you hope will guide the world to come. Write down all the seeds that you hope sprout in this new Spring.
Now address the Queen Proserpina, who sits beside her lord. “Lady—Queen—Proserpina—please return to us with the spring, that these seeds may quicken. Without you, these are simply words. Return to us so that they may be manifest.”
Imagine her, golden hair now loose on her shoulders, a circlet of spring flowers on her head. Clad in her white gown, she bids farewell to her husband and king, a parting that is of course temporary, for she will return to him with the turning of the seasons. She carries your jar of seeds in her arms as she turns and walks toward you. Behind her, the Gates of Horn close, shutting away the world below and disappearing. Where her feet touch, flowers spring up, the world greening at her approach.
Say, “Thank you, bright lady.” Light the white candle for Proserpina. “Help me plant these seeds. Please grant your blessings so that they will grow and thrive. Golden One, let us be filled with growing sunshine and light, and let the works we undertake be filled with the brightness of spring.”
Cut the apple and offer half to Proserpina. “Thank you, bright lady, spring-born goddess who opens the doors of life.” Pour a libation to her in wine or apple juice. (You may pour it into a bowl and take it outdoors later.) Then drink the rest of the wine or apple juice and eat the apple or share it with friends or animals.
Put your list where you can see it, where you will be reminded of the treasures that it is now time to plant anew.