Last evening, I joined friends around a fire for the Rites of Bealltaine led by Father Powl. It was quite the party, in the best of Druidic traditions. Powl’s rites of spring, cast in the image of the old rites, have plenty of offerings to the patron gods/goddesses of his order, the fey, and the spirits of the natural world. And, too, naked and gorgeous men jumping the fire, recognitions of new members of his grove, a good deal of carousing, bawdy jokes, and ribaldry. . . all the best of human shenanigans which make my naughty heart so happy.
Each year, spring rites generally remind me of why I am on the “pagan” path. But, Powl’s rites are truly special and remind me of why I’m on the particular path that I have now chosen. I leave these rites feeling so much love for a good sacred circle. The best circles are. . . not just people coming together to recite words and go through the motions (as so many “rituals” end up being–read from a page, bloodless and thin). The most memorable rites for me are always in some sense a party. . . Whether they happen in the day or in the night. Whether or not there is drinking or some sort of social afterward. They don’t just gather people who believe in magic, fellowship, and a connection to nature as a spiritual thing–the best circles gather us to engage in a form of sacred play.
And to get to this sense of play, they go almost completely off script.
Are we a circle? Aye.
Going off script means a number of different things. It might simply entail the leader of a circle having memorized the lines of the rite well enough that they deliver the lines from memory and with some focused attention on dramatic meaning. Or it might (more dangerously?) mean inviting everyone in the circle to share a blessing or an offering in the moment. I’m a HUGE fan of both tactics. I have learned from my own experience leading circles that there is more power in the act of ritual when I am paying less attention to the actual words (which do have some import, sure) than to the intent and energy that is conveyed via intonation, pacing, and posture.
I also want to ask everyone to contribute in some way. I want to make space for the unexpected, the extemporaneous, and the improvised. This does means opening the possibility of someone faltering a bit as we seek a phrase or to clearly articulate the feeling and related energy necessary to carry a moment into the next moment and the next moment. And, many of us are easily tongue-tied when we are put on the spot. And, yet, doesn’t deep magic live in exactly that spot we typically fear? (The peripheral or vista just over the edge. . . the thing that is just out of our line of clear vision.)
Without risk, we cannot dare to be better than we think we can be. With this risk, we offer the gift of authenticity and presence. It is a gift we give one another: being who we are in the moment, revealing ourselves and allowing others to reveal themselves. That is some pretty potent magic, my friends.
As I do more and more works of my own creation, leading and participating in circles of all sorts, I’m beginning to think that it is almost impossible to raise true deep energy when reading from a page. Our brains are simply not wired to do more than one thing at once and reading is a complex cognitive act that keeps us trapped in the head instead of a space of full, unified embodiment. The human mind is simply too fully occupied when reading to attend to much else–more attentive to correctness than flow, too focused on what’s on the page instead of what’s in the body, the circle, or the ether all around the circle. While a dramatic reading is always possible, when reading ritual from a page we cannot help but still be too attentive to the words on the page over the energy we’d like to have fully flow. If I believed in absolutes, I’d say that. . . reading from a page kills deep magic.
Are we a CIRCLE? AYE!
Yes. It takes a good deal of energy to go off script. Especially for the leaders of a group who need to make the time and space to prepare well in advance of a ritual (a time I do not always myself have). Personally, I need to have several things in place already to do a rit without aides: the intent of the practice, a strong sense of the overall structure of the rit (grounding, opening, rite, closing), a general sense of the working vocabulary I’m drawing upon (vernacular), a general sense of the poetic imagery or stylistics I’m drawing upon, an authentic understanding of the feeling I want to bring into the circle, and then, the precise language I want to draw on. If these are not fully fleshed out in the back of my brain, I will struggle to bring them forward into a now.
So, to some degree a sense of THE WORDS, does matter (especially when we are asking for something; then, it is especially important that we are precise). In another sense, however, and for many celebratory and group rituals, the words just don’t matter as much as we might think. In fact, as I practice in more and more circles with others over time, I’m more confident that it is not the exact wording that really matters for most ritual (again, this may be different for other works like blessings or spells)–it’s the energy we bring forward and open for others to step into that most matters. And, yes, every time I do go off script, it feels risky. I feel like I’ll forget the important part. I worry that one of my little darlings won’t get to the ears of those I want to hear it. I worry that I’ll forget a whole line or two and have to pause, regroup, and reveal myself for the imperfect being I have always been. But, I’m getting better and better over time at this move from page to just letting it flow as I practice my own circles at home, increasingly off script.
The pay off for going off script is immeasurable. In the moments where I stop paying attention to whether I’m doing it right and just trust that whatever it is that I’m doing is exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. . . well. . . that experience changes everything.
I step into a moment of authenticity. The intent shapes what comes into being. I channel the energy. The energy channels me. The current expands beyond me and, if I’m leading a circle, then, moves through others, who in term pick it up and share it with those beside them.
We become the circle. And the circle becomes. . . a sacred moment.
ARE WE A CIRCLE!!! AYE!!!
We open sacred spaces to remember our connections to all things–as Father Powl said last evening, “the drum beat of the earth is our heart beat, the fires of the earth are our fires.” We stood as a circle around the fire last evening, the light of the flames coloring the world around us umber-dark and rich. We stood within our bodies, the quiet circles of our lives, and opened these, revealed these–in actual nakedness, in authenticity, in a desire to connect to the old ways and the old ones, in a quest to reclaim our place within the long history of people who worshipped the earth, the seas, the skies. . .
Moments in these sacred spaces, surrounded by people who I hope will be my life long friends, people who I admire, trust, and love. . . these moments remind me again that we are the deep magic. When we are calling up this thing we call magic, we are calling on those who stand around us and share energy with us. If we are recognizing that these forces are already within us–moving the ghosts of ancestral memory in our cells, blood, and bone–we have to also allow for the unscripted. EVERYTHING UNFOLDS MORE PERFECTLY THAN WE COULD IMAGINE. The elements rise at our call because we are the elements. What we call the gods, the fey, the spirit realm awakes to our call because they are of this earth as we are of this earth. Cousins in this web of breath, body, and inspiration that we call material and also sacred.
We just have to trust that we know what to say already. We just have to recognize that we are always already the most perfect circle. . .
Our longings may be deep, but that is why they keep us warm until next year’s spring rites.
We open to them. We speak. Our words and actions are of the moment. Which is perfect.
Tree of Many Feathers: 