I have never been through an Imbolc quite like this one, before.
Oh, each Spring is different, has its own unique flavour – but this one has more a personality than a flavour.
I was standing in the doorway after Sunday lunch. The clouds, the paler tint of the sky: they spoke to me of Summer. The barest touch of moisture in the air, and the fact that the Cape Ash has no sooner lost its leaves than the buds are visible – all this gives a slightly onrushing feel to the start of the season.
From coming down with a ‘flu which created black shadows in the periphery of my vision to my home branch of Standard Bank literally disappearing overnight without a word, to the 5-year-old geyser element giving up the ghost, necessitating baths with water boiled upon the stove…my body feels exactly like it feels before I burst into long-pent-up floods of tears.
But there’s more than a Bustle in the Hedgerow in Joburg today.
There’s a wind-rushing, rain-sprinkling, hero-calling sense of Immanence to the city.
Will it be a Robin – the wild god of the woods – or an Arthur – the half-deified peoples’ sovereign who was, and is, and yet will come? We create gods as easily as we breathe. And that’s not necessarily a Bad Thing. On days like this I’m half convinced that we need them to Be as much as they need us. That this whole wild ride is the mingled breath of gods and humans, making and shaping and creating and destroying each other. Together. For ever.
But the Moon is full tonight in Aquarius/Leo,and I foresee myself out in the ritual area, craning up at it through the bare Ash and leaning Cycad, hoping to see that glimmer through the green fans and clouds and lunar light that says I’m Alright, and So Are You.
Image: by Neelaka