what happened in the beginning

I'm back from witchcamp. There was no internet there, but I was planning to write each day. Those plans were dropped by the third day. After a rest, I'll write about the upshot, but in short...it was fabulous! The last ritual ended up being priestessed by the Crone affinity camp, unplanned and spontaneously, but it worked...but more of that later. here's the beginning report:

Day One

Yesterday we arrived at Claymont, a 360 acre retreat center in West Virgina, near Harper’s Ferry. The energy of the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers can be felt here, and I’m wishing I knew more about this land’s history, as I’m starting to feel it. There are two big buildings to house us, The Barn and The Mansion. The Barn is actually a renovated school, with two big wings of bedrooms. I feel blessed that I have a room to myself, with four beds. Three have all my witchy ritual wear laid out on them, so the room has become quite festive. My Elvis tapestry is also up. I haven’t made it to the Mansion, build by a grandnephew of George Washington, but I’ve heard it really is a mansion, replete with a ballroom. The whole place has a nice feel, clearly being run by citizens of Freak nation who have befriended the various nature spirits.

It’s been dreadfully hot and sticky, and I’m not acclimated yet. I’ve wanted to explore the grounds, but each time I’ve walked out of the air-conditioning, I’ve wilted quickly. As some witch friend at some time pointed out; the problem with being a nature religion is the nature. It’s green and lush out there, but damn hot and, of course, there are bugs.. Being here reminds me just how temperate my city by the sea is. Rarely do we break a sweat in San Francisco, and hats and mittens are not a part of the typical winter wardrobe. No wonder Northern Californians have such a reputation as mellow wimps….we are!

Being on the east coast, where the climate has extremes, makes me aware of just how much a difference a few degrees of temperature makes. In the last few weeks I’ve noticed just how often people are bringing up climate change. It’s no longer an argument or debate; everyone seems to have settled into the awareness that the weather is changing. A few degrees higher and lower can truly make some places uninhabitable, and being in this climate, I can’t help but think about it. I’m also thinking of how incredible it is that people wage war in heat. I haven’t read the news for several days, but a part of my awareness is praying for coolness in the Middle East, and being here on this land makes me think about how miserable it had to be to fight in the Revolutionary and Civil War. Those wars still haunt this land. Another thing about my city, it’s never been under siege, never torn by war.

War and the changing climate are haunting me here... I’ve been thinking about the Yeat’s poem, and how I have lost my passionate intensity of years back, my sureness of what our magic and actions will bring about. Now, I have many more questions than answers. So, here I am, preparing for a week of magic, unsure of what the heck it will yield, dedicated to making it as open to possibility as possible. How will this land receive us?

Day Two

Last night we did our opening night ritual, and I’m feeling hopeful for the week. It helps that so far, the food is incredible, much of it grown on the property. The team is buoyant, I think hugely because of the fact we are all being paid the same. It is such a simple thing, doing an act that literally reflects the belief that everyone on the team is of equal value, but it is such a profound thing. My politics demand it, but thankfully, it truly feels this way, and I’m amused by everyone I’m working with, the best way to feel, in my book. Having a sense of the arc of the week’s rituals has also steadied our nerves. This story is so darn hard! We are doing the Southwestern story of La Llorrona, a cautionary ghost tale in which a spoiled woman ends up drowning her children and then herself. She is a ghost of the Southwest, heard in the arroyos and along rivers, still crying for her children. We could turn this into a week of caterwauling and despair, and thankfully, we all are determined to do otherwise.

She’s not deity, she’s a ghost, so this story is being worked as a story…one which we will witness but not inhabit. Last night I did a trance to the heart to the chamber where all the stories are held, the library of myths and legends. We set the stage for approaching the story as a mirror to look at our own personal stories and the community stories that haunt us. We hope to learn from each other’s cautionary tales, and to bring personal and community shadows into the light. The grooves of old Reclaiming rituals are deep, and I’m also determined to not create rituals in which we transform all our pain and change the world with one cone of power. I truly do believe that what happens between the worlds does change the world, but I’ve noticed the smallest and most mindful steps sometimes take us on the wisest journey. I’m thinking of cranial sacral work…those small movements that shift everything.

Reclaiming witchcamps have a tradition of “affinity groups” which meet daily. Most times there is randomness to this “affinity”, the only real affinity being in that all are participants at witchcamp. At Spiralheart there is power in the large affinity group of crones, of women past childbearing age. They played a central role in last night’s ritual, and it was potent, all of them looking into a fire, feeling and sensing the portents of the upcoming story, of where it might lead.

I’m feeling more and more between the worlds, with all the time bending that happens at witchcamp and the opening of chakras. The fireflies transport me, and the lushness of the land is settling into my bones. The internet isn’t working here, but calling home I found out today that the bay area is having a heat wave, so even in my temperate city, I would have been thinking about the changing weather. Things are heating up.