beltane

This was my first Beltane in about twenty five years that didn’t involve a Maypole. This year, I spiraled around Bernal Hill as my homage to this ripe and fertile season. I filled my house with flowers and friends, and gave thanks for the magic that went into the conception of my son, and to the national Beltane miracles; Stephen Colbert’s bravery and brilliance at the White House Correspondent’s Dinner, and the stunning May Day marches of immigrants around the country. Almost all the establishments in my neighborhood of the Mission closed up shop, with huge signs on the doors explaining why. Everything feels different now. There’s a palpable sense of pride and hope in the air. The power of the life force is strong and shimmering. Without participating in a formal ritual, I feel satiated with Beltane magic. The Great Turning is picking up speed.

My son Casey had been dead set against attending any mayday celebrations, and this was the first year we didn’t go to Anne and her kid’s annual party. At fourteen, the dorkiness of witchcraft has really gotten to him, and his teenage rebellion/individuation looks like it’s going to center around distancing himself from my form of spirituality. What better way to rebel when you are a child of anarchist pagan parents than to go to Catholic school and play football?

It could certainly be a lot worse. Conceived at Beltane, born at Brigid, this kid came loaded with innate psychic powers, or maybe the way he was raised allowed the innate power we all come wired with to blossom and bloom. Most likely, it’s combination of the two, nature and nurture being inextricably bound. In younger years, if we were waiting on someone, we’d ask Casey to imagine where they were and how long it would be until they arrived. He was amazingly accurate. He had a set of animal cards and gave awesome and insightful readings by age seven. Right now, even reminding him of this invokes his distain. His biggest longing at the moment is to be “normal”.

Beltane eve found me with my friend Patrick and my son catching up on the Sopranos (I love that show!). When we started watching it, something started to go awry with the transmission – the picture was breaking up. After doing all the fiddling with knobs that you can do on a television, I was ready to turn it off. “Alright,” my son said begrudgingly, “I’ll fix it”. He stood up, and began moving his body in what looked like a cross between Native American and hip hop dancing, something I’ve seen him do once before, two Samhains ago. At that time, it came across as some kind of shamanic movement all his own. Here on Beltane, he was doing it again. He did his dance, and the picture righted itself. I knew at the time to not make a big thing of it, but to simply say “Thanks, Casey!” The show we were watching was the third one of the season, where Hal Holbrook is a scientist who expounds on the interconnectiveness of everything. If you’re going to watch a Soprano’s show on Beltane eve, this is the perfect one. Even more perfect to be able to watch it due to your son’s dancing intervention.

This morning, as we drove to school, I brought up the dancing, as carefully as I could. “Don’t you think it’s a kind of magic?” I said. “No”, he answered, “it’s not magic, I’m not doing any stupid calling in things and making a circle or anything, I was just dancing to the TV.” I didn’t quarrel, grateful to have some window into his thinking. If he never castes a circle or calls in the quarters, so what? He has the gift of dancing, and that’s magic enough. More than enough, really!

What a Beltane!