Beltane Week

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Beltane is my new year; it represents my first sabbat, my first foray into the world of paganism. It’s special to me, and for that, I tried hard to focus on the new season.

Last Monday, I redressed the altar, bid farewell to the season of Ostara, and welcomed Beltane. And, of course, the week went to hell after that.

I’ve written before about living with an anxiety disorder and how that can affect me. Little things can set me off in negative ways. I am fully aware that my responses are not rational, but that knowledge doesn’t stem the tide of panic. Tuesday night, our landlord told us that they would be replacing our hot water heater the next day, because the one in the suite next to us, the same age as ours, was constantly leaking, and it was easier to change them out both at once. The unexpected event, coupled with people I don’t know well or at all needing to be in my space without much warning, led to me frantically cleaning and then collapsing on the living room floor to breathe slowly because putting away the dishes involved touching knives and knives were too much of a temptation. I slept very poorly that night, and was bouncing off the walls the next morning.

I had to take a couple days to resettle. I read a few books, took Eowyn to the park a few times, drank tea, fixed the vacuum, lit candles on the altar when I remembered, and didn’t get much work done.

Yesterday, we went hiking, along the same trail we visited last year at Beltane. The trail leads along the river and ends up at the unimaginatively named Crystal Falls. It’s a beautiful place.

The forests I know are the forests of the Pacific Northwest. At this time of year, they are green. The maples have leafed, the cedars and pines are, as always, green, and the trunks and branches are so covered in moss it’s sometimes difficult to tell if the trees even have bark. The bleeding heart is blooming, its pale lavender-pink lightening the green. The vivid pink blossoms of the salmonberry bushes are everywhere. Wild ginger has sprouted up at the base of many trees.

The river, a salmon stream, runs along the trail and fills the hiker’s ears with its music. The trail is muddy, and criss-crossed by small streams finding their way to the river. And at the end of the trail, there’s a waterfall. It’s not a big one, but it is beautiful. It’s easy to climb to the top, since the erosion from the water has left a lot of exposed roots and crevices in the rocks. At the very top, before the water churns against the rocks and spills over the edges, is a quieter pool of water. I like to sit here and watch as the river flows from calm to chaos.

Now here I am, a week after Beltane, settling into the new season, and remembering that losing focus doesn’t mean I can’t find it again.

Last year, Beltane was the start of something new. This year, it’s the continuation of a cycle, as I continue to fumble through a new practice. It’s messy. It’s chaotic. And sometimes it’s calm.

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