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Ancestral energy lives in the stars above us, the stones beneath us. Their memory gathers in oceans, rivers and seas. It hums its silent wisdom within the body of every tree.

Showing posts with label cleansing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cleansing. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 22, 2017

Spring Equinox Cleaning

Equinox is the mid-point between the longest night of the year and the longest day. We already feel the effects of the lengthening days but we can finally bask in the warmth of the light. We’re itching to throw the doors and windows open and air out our living spaces. We’re ready to shake out the cobwebs and clear out the dust.
In our lives we are constantly shedding skins and starting over. Shedding skins and reinventing ourselves. Shedding skins and letting go of what is no longer needed. I’ve been living that through my recovery.
I’ve found it extremely helpful to take stock of the layers of things I surround myself with, to see what I no longer need. Every spring equinox I tackle a room or two, going through my possessions and furnishings, culling what has gone unused or forgotten. It invariably parallels as a spring cleaning of my emotional house as I evaluate my attachments to the items I consider letting go of.
Two years ago, it was my office, my nest. Included in that room was the dreaded storage closet of doom. It was full of boxes that hadn’t seen the light of day in over a decade. I re-organized. I put hands on everything. I stopped to read through old letters and cards from specific places of my life, which revived memories I had previously left to whisper and rest.
I am at a crossroad, roughly halfway through the years I expect to live. Sorting through that closet, my life unfolded behind me, mementos of everywhere I have been and everyone I have loved. And I felt the firmament of those choices beneath me.
I smiled joyfully through most of it, as the memories rippled through me. What a treasure it was to remember, in my body, the friendship and love of such innocent times. It helped buoy the box of painful things that had been tucked away. But those memories didn’t sting so badly this time. Even that box held lessons for wiser eyes, ways to not repeat those mistakes. I read and I culled, and as I culled, I re-organized.
I found the hole the mice were using to get in and sealed it. I found the alien spider’s secret corner of egg sacks. I found a box of crafts and stories I thought had been lost. And I found the last card my Grandpa gave me before he died. Which made me pause again… He’s been gone 13 years and I find it hard to believe so much of my life has been lived without him, when he is such a firm part of my identity as a grown-up.
I still have so much life left to come. I will never stop missing him. It wasn’t just spring cleaning and de-cluttering. It was time travelling. I walked through who I was and the choices I have made, making more decisions about what to hold onto and what to let go.
This year I have been sorting through my clothes. I have a drawer full of fun and kooky socks I can’t wear because the elastic cuts into my scar tissue pretty bad still. I’m packing up my favorites for a couple of years, in case I can wear them again. I’m going through and taking out the clothes made of synthetic fibers that irritate my new skin. I’m getting rid of the shorts I am unlikely to wear for at least five years. I am accepting the limitations of this new body. I am grateful for this new body.
Shedding skins is a journey of healing.

I don’t regret the path I took to get here. I like who I am. I don’t regret the obstacles I have pushed through, climbed over, or swam under to get to today. I like where I am.



[Updated from “Spring Equinox Cleaning” originally published March 19, 2014.]

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Unwanted Ancestors

Every family tree has bad apples. It’s that simple. I mean, history is full of bad people. Every one of them had a mother and father, and perhaps siblings, and many of them had children of their own. If you go down far enough, some of us dangle at the end of those branches. This is a notion that commonly steers people away from ancestor work. They worry about what kind of spirits they’ll open up their world to.
Every apple tree bears some bad fruit. Every orchard sometimes suffers the rot of an entire tree. It happens. And sometimes blight will devour an entire orchard and kill off a species. You are who you are because of every person on your family tree that came before you.
Everything is interconnected. Everything. Just as you control who you open your front door to, you can control what spirits you open yourself and your heart to, without keeping that door locked. As long as you remember and believe that, you can work with or around your unwanted ancestors with ease.

When Bad Seeds Fall Close to Home
It’s hard for people to contemplate what sort of ancestors they might have had when the only family they’ve known were bad seeds. I have known people whose immediate families were so toxic they didn’t believe that they, themselves, were capable of being good people. In this way, reaching backwards into the line of ancestors can be healing. Every pattern of bad behavior starts somewhere, no matter the catalyst or reason. Remember that, because there were ancestors who existed before that pattern began. They are waiting for you.
In this world, we all have scars. It’s not a competition over whose are worse. It’s just a sad circumstance of our culture. For cases where the scars run deep, I heartily endorse and recommend therapy, as cycles of hurt are hard to overcome. It’s difficult to believe in a perspective outside of the world of hurt. Therapists, counselors and psychologists can offer that help.
It only takes one person to teach hate and fear, releasing it onto further generations. It also only takes one person to stop the cycle of violence, hate and abuse. If you can recognize the behavior, recognize the triggers that prompt it in yourself and/or prompted it in others, you can find the strength of will to stop yourself from repeating them. You are of your family, you are not your family.
Being able to see the cycle that your parent hurt you because their parent hurt them because their parent hurt them because… allows you to see the bigger picture and the larger energy. You can step back and see it without the personal attachment to it which allows you to decide that you don’t want to be a part of that energy. And your stepping out of it lessens its momentum. Sometimes we have to remove ourselves from one current of energy that’s polluting us, to a healthier one. It only takes one person. Gandhi said, “Be the change you wish to see in the world.” No one has said it better.
I do not argue nature or nurture. I believe in both. I have watched a boy, nurtured in a loving family struggle with his angry outbursts and violent tendencies. A boy who never knew his biological father and struggled with emotions he could not control until he was a man, meeting the mirror of himself in his father. Without being exposed to him, he struggled with the same fights he himself had. Growing up nurtured was one step of his evolution. Learning to nurture himself was the next. This is why it’s important to have a connection to something that reminds us of the length of time stretching before us and the length of time stretching after us. Our world is bigger than us.
You don’t have to do work with the dead who hurt you. You don’t even have to honor them. But if you allow your emotions to block their presence in your past in your heart, you block everyone who came before them too.

Ancestor Ritual of Self
Here’s a simple and symbolic ritual designed for attachment and detachment. It is specifically tailored here to help you disconnect from pain associated with specific spirits- not the spirit itself. This is not a cure-all, or a solution to feelings you have not dealt with yet. This ritual is not about forgiveness. A Buddhist teacher once told me that forgiveness is something you give when you need to because your anger is hurting you. It is never about absolving the other person.
Anger is a response our animal bodies have to situations that hurt us. It is supposed to act as that little burst of energy that propels us out of a bad situation. What it has evolved into, culturally, is something greater than it was meant to be. In that vein, this ritual is also about walking your body through a physical action of detaching to help change your actual brain chemistry and emotional response to the ghost of the person who hurt you, and, over time, to how you respond to being hurt in general.
Light a candle to focus your energy. Gather two slips of paper. If you need a stronger visualization, you can use pictures. On one paper, write the name(s) of the deceased family member(s) that caused you pain, and on the other paper, write your name. Put a hole in each paper and tie them together with a piece of red string or yarn, visualizing your connection.
Call on your ancestors, however elaborate or simply you wish, to offer support and witness. Concentrate on the red cord (this is meant for people who have done the internal work first). Acknowledge the hurt done to you from the deceased person. When you are focused and ready, and clearly see the thread between you, cut the red cord where it meets your name or picture, with the intention that you no longer accept the energetic hold the other person had on your heart.
Discard the paper with the cord still attached however feels natural in the moment. You can burn it. You can bury it. You can put it in the garbage.
Hold your name or image, free from tethers, and feel that strength run up your arms and into your heart. Then hold it in your heart and pull it down into your core. Remember that strength. This is where your magic lives.
You are not cutting these ancestors out of your family tree. Rewriting history never solves anything. But you are severing the cycle of hurt between the two of you, and passing peace onto your children and their descendants. The other benefit of doing this kind of work is that, as your ancestors see you working towards wholeness, you may be unknowingly equalizing a generational cycle of bad turns that will allow your ancestral energies some semblance of peace as well- and perhaps at last.


[Revamped from an article originally published November 10, 2010.]

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

When Spirit Walks Thickly

The Autumnal Equinox marks the first day of fall and opens a door into my favorite time of year. The leaves are dessicating and dropping, skittering across the sidewalk as the cooler winds blow in. In the northeast, we throw open our windows and let the new winds curl through our homes, licking at the corners and cleansing the edges of our rooms, and our minds.
We prepare ourselves to lower the storm windows and turn on our furnaces. We stock the woodpiles and harvest our fall gardens. We ready ourselves to turn inward and ride out the dark and cold days ahead. But they’re not here yet, and we relish in leaf piles and apple orchards, in pumpkins and autumn squashes.

The Equinoxes are balancing points. In the spring we tip both towards warmer days and the reality of shorter days after the solstice. After months of being closed up, we spring clean at the Vernal Equinox, sweeping out the cobwebs and dustbunnies and letting the warm air swirl through. In the fall we tip towards colder days and longer days after the promise of the solstice. At the Autumnal Equinox we also clean, consecrating and creating sacred space in the walls of the home we will depend on through the coming colder, dark days.
Cinnamon sticks simmer in a pot of water on the stove, the scent vibrating through the air, whispering to the ether in the house. Wake and walk, wake and walk. May all beings that wish us harm walk right out the front door. You are not wanted here.
Bundles of sage and rosemary are clipped from the garden and strung up in all the windows. May the ancestors protect all who dwell in this home. May the guardians watch over us. May they keep us healthy and safe.

Our cats run through the house, stimulated by the smells of the transforming world outside and the transforming home inside. And in their laps, the numbers grow. Two cats still of flesh and bone and two cats still beloved and every day missed. For the first time, all our babies are running together. It is a bittersweet sensation, both a gift and a heartache.
Have you ever been in a room with your cats, both sleeping, only to clearly hear another cat digging in the litter box? Have you ever reached out your hand to pet your animal, feeling them jump up beside you, before you remember that your pet is already behind you?
When spirit walks, we listen.
Equinox is a step closer to Samhain, towards All Hallows, towards the time of year when the veil between our world and spirit is thin. They walk all year, but this is the time of year that those who do not see may spy their shadows slipping past them. And this year, the spirits are walking more thickly earlier than I usually experience them, as my cats can attest.
My dreams are full of lost loved ones visiting and bringing me messages. Some of them are for me. Some of them are for people I love. And some of them are spirits who find me because I am an ancestral lighthouse keeper and I shine a bright light. Some messages I can’t deliver, some I won’t deliver, but I listen to what all the spirits have to say. Most of their messages are meaningful, but a handful of them are purely selfish. Still, I hear them out so they can move on.
This is my work and what I do. I listen to the living tell stories about their dead and I listen to the dead tell stories about their living, their loved ones, their descendants. And the spirits that follow the course of their family lines, a mirror of how I trace mine backwards, have just as much love for those they could never know as I have for those who came before me.
And this year, spirit is moving earlier than usual, reaches out to us and milling about, thickening the air around us. The only thing we have to fear from them is what they reveal to us that we have been trying not to look at, the things we have been trying not to see. The only fear is within us. Because they come with love. They come because they love us.
Call out to your loved ones as you close your eyes for slumber. Open yourself up to the spirit energy in the world around you. Open yourself to see what was previously unseen. And bring yourself to meet them in dream world with love in your heart.


(A note: I separate true hauntings and poltergeist activity from normal spirit world antics. Often what we think of as hauntings are spirits simply trying to get our attention. If they’re turning your iron or your stove burners on, that’s different than knocking over boxes, playing with your pets, and turning on lights around the house.)

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Death Grief Love

I’m at a familiar place in my life. Someone I love is nearer the end of their battle than the beginning of the fight. At the same time, I am juggling that knowledge against hope. I am sending prayers for healing out, because I believe in miracles. After all, I have read enough historical battles to know that the tide can turn, even moments after its possibility diminishes.
I have been here before, and will be here again, and in that, I am not alone. I came home the day after our Solstice celebration to a new blog post from artist/performer Amanda Palmer, about sitting vigil at the bedside of a close and beloved friend. She captured the surreal quality of standing on that edge of life and death.
I’m sharing the link to her post in the hopes that you go and read her words for me this week. The reverence alone, in how they cared for their dying friend, is moving and courageous. To look into the face of death takes courage. And the gifts are innumerable.
When I finished it, I was crying because she had captured words for emotions I had never been able to. And my heart was singing out: This is what death looks like. This is what grief looks like. This is what love looks like.


Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Spring Cleansing & Home Blessing

Equinox is upon us, mid-point between the longest night of the year and the longest day and we bask in the warmth like turtles on a log, like snakes on the rocks. Winter mostly behind us, we throw open our windows and curtains, letting the first of the warmer air blow through. Light hits the corners of our darkened caves.
If our bodies are the temple of our spirits and deserve the best of our attentions and care, our homes are the temples our bodies depend on. My home is more to me than wood and flooring, than roof and wall. It is not my property but it is my sanctuary, my resting place. It is sacred.
Spring is the best time to scrub your house of its dark corners. House cleansings and home blessings can be done to simply rejuvenate the space, as well as more specific reasons like moving into a new home or after a remodel, a traumatic death in the home, the loss of a loved one, haunting, feelings of being watched, etc.
I like to teach people how to do it themselves, because no one is better suited to build the temple of their home than the ones who live in it. Set up an altar in the room that you consider to be the heart of your home. All you need on it is a candle, to serve as a hearth. You can add items that are personal and meaningful for you, anything that warms your heart. Personalize it to suit your preferences and tastes. Intention is the most powerful magical tool.

Step One: House Cleansing
The purpose of the first step is to cleanse, clear and empty your home of unwanted energies. Start at the back of the home and sweep towards whatever door you use as your main entrance and exit. Use a broom to stir the air. Go through every room, pushing towards the main door. When you’re done, open the door and sweep it outside.
Now that the energy is stirred and moved, grab rattles, drums, pots and pans… anything that makes noise. Start at the back again, make some noise, and move towards and out the front door. This will chase out anything lurking in your home that wishes you harm or ill, be it an entity or a repository of negative emotional gunk. If you have trouble moving the energy it may be helpful to chant “bad energy out of my house” while you’re working.
To finish off, you can burn some white sage, commonly found in smudge stick forms (mind your smoke alarms). You can also use copal or camphor if you can’t find sage. Both of them are strong herb and resin purifiers.

Step Two: Resting
This is optional, but it adds a substantial boost to the cleansing. Burn a candle made with real cinnamon oil and walk it through your home. It’s not just for baking. Cinnamon, Cinnamomum zeylanicum, is the dried bark of the laurel tree. It’s native to Sri Lanka and was originally the only place it was grown. Most of the cinnamon we use today is Cinnamomum cassia, and comes from the cassia tree.

Step Three: House Blessing
            The blessing is the most important part, coming full circle, closing and sealing the gaps. It is about sacredly blessing the portals where energy comes in and out of your house. In doing it, you create a protective filter. Your altar candle is burning. You can set the cinnamon candle, if you used it, on the altar as well.
You will also need a bowl of salt water, a small dish or vial of oil (olive oil works fine). If it is just you, you will use each of these one at a time. This is a good excuse to invite some friends over and, sharing their love for you, to fill your house with warmth.
Work room to room and anoint every portal with a tiny dab of water, oil, and then smoke from the sage. By portals I mean electrical outlets, heating grates, windows, doorways, televisions, computers, faucets and drains, toilets, tubs and showers, etc. Do not stick your wet or oily fingers in the outlets- for the love! I just run a dab along the outer casing.
While you’re doing this, speak words to the effect of: Protect my home and family from harmful energies.
Be mindful while you are working the magic but do not be somber. After all, the intention is to fill the house with light and warmth. When you are finished, pour the remains of the salt water across the bottom threshold of your porch of stoop and ask the Ancestors to watch over you.
May it be so. Ase.



[A combination of “Home Cleansings and House Blessings,” originally published September 21, 2011 and “Spring Equinox Cleaning,” originally published March 19, 2014.]

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Spring Equinox Cleaning

Equinox is upon us, the mid-point between the longest night of the year and the longest day. We already feel the effects of the lengthening days and we bask in the warmth we finally feel from the light. We’re itching to throw the doors and windows open and air out our living spaces, to shake out the cobwebs and clear out dust.
In our lives we are constantly shedding skins and starting over. Shedding skins and reinventing ourselves. Shedding skins and letting go of what is no longer needed. Every year, at spring equinox, I tackle a room or two of my house, going through my possessions and furnishings, culling out what has gone unused or forgotten. It invariably also becomes a spring cleaning of my emotional house, as I evaluate my attachments to the items I consider letting go of. This year it was my office, my nest. Included in that room was the dreaded storage closet of doom, filled with boxes that haven’t seen the light of day in over a decade.
I re-organized. I put hands on everything. I stopped to read through old letters and cards from specific places of my life revived memories I had previously left to whisper and rest. I am at a crossroad, roughly halfway through the years I expect to live. Sorting through that closet, my life unfolded behind me, mementos of everywhere I have been and everyone I have loved.
I smiled joyfully through most of it, as the memories rippled through me. What a treasure it was to remember, in my body, the friendship and love of such innocent times. It helped buoy the box of painful things that had been tucked away. But those memories didn’t sting so badly this time. Even that box held lessons for wiser eyes, ways to not repeat those mistakes. I read and I culled, and as I culled, I re-organized.
I found the hole the mice were using to get in and sealed it. I found the alien spider’s secret corner of egg sacks. I found a box of crafts and stories I thought had been lost. And I found the last card my Grandpa gave me before he died. Which made me pause again.
He’ll be gone 10 years this Monday and I find it hard to believe so much of my life has been lived without him, when he is such a firm part of my identity as a grown-up. I still have so much more life left to come. I will never stop missing him. I am aware that part of my flurry of cleaning each spring is related to the uselessness I feel in the things I have no control over, like when someone I love dies. Cleaning- the wiping, the scrubbing, the scraping- delivers instant gratification. And it gets things done.
I closed that closet door, covered in grime and feeling elated. It wasn’t just spring cleaning and de-cluttering. It was time travelling. I walked through who I was and the choices I have made, making more decisions about what to hold onto and what to let go of. I shed skins, old versions of me that no longer apply.

I learned more about the person I am now. I learned that I can’t regret the path I took to get here, because I like who I am. I like where I am. It’s another Equinox cleaning come and gone. I’m standing at the crossroads, looking back over my shoulder, while prepping what is needed for the next move forward, weighing the roads ahead of me. Wondering what awaits in the next turning of the year.

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

To Honor the Recent Dead

When working with spirits, I don’t call upon those who are recently deceased. It feels cruel to call upon a soul that may be struggling to let go of it’s human skin. Or maybe it’s cruel to the human grieving. Maybe the more that time passes, the less human their spirits seem to us, and the easier we can open to them. Whichever side of the living or dead needs the time to heal, I don’t call upon or attempt to work with a spirit who has been dead for less than a year. In fact, with spirits who died unwell, I may wait many years before trying.
I keep that in mind in my daily practice, and again at Samhain and Halloween, when the everyday spirits who walk among us are more easily perceived. I make myself still my grief’s desire to call to those who have not been dead long. In my work, I refer to the spirits who die, from Samhain to Samhain, as the Recent Dead. This is the time when I call on my ancestors and ask them to help welcome and shepherd over the Recent Dead, specifically those spirits who might not yet have realized it is time to cross over.
I light my ancestor altar and call my ancestors, the lines of Eaton, Riddle, Ruston, and Art. I call out the names of some of the ancestors I have found on my family tree, calling in the ageless time that is the ancestral pool: Sibilia de Lea, Sir Henry Norreys, Captain Roger Clapp, Waitstill Wyatt, Heman Sears, Hattie Eva Dutcher; Gwethlin Wensliana, Robert Moulton, Rev. William Gylette, Freeborn Wolfe, Isaac-Etienne Paquet de Lavallee, Annatje Goedemoet, Thomas Ridel, Rosella LaRoche; Barnardus Jacobus Turner, Dafydd Riggs, Hester Mathieu, Albrecht Zabriskie, Emma Angeline Whitcher, Hiram King Wicker; Mary Dowd, John F. Pils, Katherine Maria Schmeelk, Margaret Loretta Burke.
I am because you were.
I call the names of my Beloved Dead, of those known in this lifetime, known and loved by me. They are the names of those I think of often and fondly, and though I miss them, I celebrate their memory in the act of reciting their names: Ruth Ruston Eaton, Harold Riddle, Mark Dutcher Eaton, Melinda Tanner, Elizabeth Fricke, Jeff Patterson, Willie Lingenfelter, Elsie Durant Riddle, Gabe Reynolds, Joel Pelletier, Victoria Eaton, Edward J. Jerge, II, Trent Illig, Donna Riddle, Jurgen Banse-Fey, Charles “Sienna Fox” Duvall, Jack Singer, Tommy Amyotte, Paul Seeloff, Richard James Riddle, Brett Elsess, Andrew Begley, Susan Alvarez-Hughes, Coswald Mauri, Norm Herbert, Jad Alexander, Dr. August Staub, Princess Leather Falcor, Martha Dayton, Melvin Chausse, John Croom, Karl Weber, Luna Jackalope, Thomas E. Malinowski, Albert Gritzmacher III, Luna the wolfe, Joshua Verity, Freya Moon Greenleaf.
            I am the better for having known you.
I pour water into a glass, offering a libation to my honored guests. I ask them to watch over and welcome our friends and loved ones who have died in this last year, and then I speak the names of the Recent Dead, known to me and my loved ones, lighting a candle for each person:
John M. Rosenburg, Jr.
Gary French
Patches
Joshua Fingerhut
Barbara Jean Schiffert
Bella, our beloved bear-cat
Russell Whitmire
Ken Koch
Soja Arumpanayil
Meow
After the candles are lit, I sing, because it makes me happy. I sing and I think about all of the warm, joyful memories I have with each of those I lit a candle for. I think about how much they meant to me, and my journey, and I let my heart fill. My heart becomes the focal point for the energy I radiate into the universe. Even in my grief, what I send out is love.
Afterwards, I thank the Ancestors with a Dumb Supper, a Feast for the Dead. We dine in mirror to what the spirits remember, from dessert to appetizer, offering them the first and best of each dish, our honored guests. What is left from the feast is offered to the animals of the natural world, as an offering to the living from the dead.
I owe my breath to all those who came before me. Good or bad, they are branches of living energy that feed down into me. I am because they were. My nieces and nephew are because they were. I honor and I remember.

What is remembered lives. What is remembered never truly dies.

Miss you and love you, Bella Bella.

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

The Graceful Birch


This time last year, a small accident derailed my day-to-day routine. Sometimes, we’re thick, and we don’t/can’t see the full path we’re heading on for what it really is. Sometimes, the universe has to kick us in the face before we can see it and alter our course. Growth, transformation, and evolution are at the heart of my spiritual practice, and I comforted myself with the knowledge that growth comes, even after a painful transition, if we can stay open to accepting it.
I spent the day after the accident going through old family mementos with my dad. In the box, among the cache of old camping photos, taken by my Great-Grandma Minnie, we found a piece of white birch bark, a lone keepsake among photos, pamphlets, brochures, recipes and news articles.
That find meant a great deal to me. Birch is my favorite tree. In my parent’s kitchen, I held a piece of the past, a pale piece of birch placed among collected bits, treasured enough to keep forever. Did my Great-Grandma Minnie pick it up? Was it a gift to her from one of her children on a family adventure? Was it something she loved instinctively, too?
That bark now sits among my treasures. Birch is a tree that we have attributed symbols of growth to over history. The Norse rune Beorc, named for the tree, means growth, and is one of my personal talismans. I have been meditating this last year on birch, pushing forward for my own healing and renewal, moving towards wellness.
Against the dark grey of seasonal winter, the white birch stands out in the forest like bones jutting from the earth. As they age, their bark splits and peels and curls away in beautiful rippling edges. If you have never seen an elderly birch tree, you haven’t experienced the full truth of their wisdom; that what is no longer needed gets sloughed away. I have seen birch trees bowed down by ice after storms. They bend but they bend under great weight. They bend but they do not break. Many old folktales say the birch was cut by an angry old man because it refused his command to break and fall.
I have leaned against a young sapling, and rested my weight against it. After a time, I could feel the slightest shudder of vibration, as if the tree beneath me were breathing. And I knew that ripple was the wind swaying the tree top, resonating down the trunk and against my chest. The tree folk have a rhythm of breath all their own and a stillness that I try to carry with me.
Peace, gratitude, growth, adaptation, evolution… these are the qualities I learn from the birch tree, a deciduous member of the Betulaceae family, native to temperate and boreal climates in the Northern Hemisphere. As one of the first trees to seed and spread after the receding ice glaciers, botanists refer to it as a pioneer species. It is often one of the first trees to seed and grow after disastrous fires, creating essentially pure stands of birch. After a generation, they are usually replaced by more shade-tolerant conifers or stronger hardwoods, and when they die, their bodies and fallen leaves will further nourish the recovering soil. There are so many birches in Umea, Sweden that it is called “The City of the Birches.” A devastating fire swept the city in June of 1888, and left 2,300 of the 3,000 inhabitants homeless. When the city was rebuilt, the buildings were placed further apart and silver birches were planted widely between buildings, so they might halt the spread of fire in the future.
There are sixty species of birch and they can grow up to 80 feet tall. Properly cultivated, they can live up to 140 years, though silver birches in the wild rarely live past 80 years. Currently, the oldest birch tree in the world is 101 years old in Wageningen, Netherlands. Each birch tree is male and female, carrying both the slender, male, drooping catkins, and the short, conical, wooly clusters of female flowers.
Birch bark is marked with long horizontal lenticels, making it quite distinctive and easily identified. The lightweight, chalky white outer bark is easily separated into thin strips. The bark is strong and flexible, as well as water-resistant, and can be bent, cut, and sewn, like cardboard. Full of resinous oil, birch bark is slow to decay, lending to it an air of indestructibility. Removing bark from a living tree leaves a permanent black band on the trunk, which will not harm the tree as long as this band is undamaged. Still, bark should always be removed from fallen trees first.
Birch bark was used as material for canoes, wigwams and other shelters, scrolls and writing paper, instruments, boxes and baskets, and even shoes and clothing by the indigenous peoples of North America, Northern Europe, Scandinavia, Russia, and Siberia. The water-resistant properties of it made it a valuable material in roofing. It is a good source of firewood, for whether it is frozen or freshly cut, it burns without spitting or popping. It even burns well when wet, because of the kind of and amount of oil it contains. In March, cuts can be made to the birch tree, from which thin sugary sap is collected, half as sweet as maple syrup. Moderate tapping will not harm the tree. Birch wine and other cordials are made from this syrup.

FOLKLORE
The word birch is said to derive from the Sanskrit word bhurga, meaning “tree whose bark is used to write upon.” It is also said to come from the Germanic birka with the Proto-Indo-European root bhereg, meaning “white, bright; to shine.” Where these language roads may overlap, I cannot say. The Germanic rune berkanan, or beorc, is named for the birch tree, which is known by many folk-names: Beithe, Bereza, Berke, Beth, and Bouleau. The tree has a prominent position in the history of Anglo-Saxon place names, like Birkenhead, Birkhall, and Berkhamstead, showing most commonly in Northern England and Scotland. The Gaelic word for birch, beithe, pronounced “bey”, is seen in Highland place names like Glen an Beithe in Argyll, Beith in Sutherland, and Loch a Bhealaich Bheithe in Inverness-shire.
            The birch is one of the earliest trees to bloom in the spring and as such, it embodies the energies of growth in general, but especially regrowth after destruction. To the Celtic people, birch represented inception and new beginnings. Twigs were used in May, at Beltane celebrations, to light bonfires marking the beginning of the new season. In October, at the festivals of Samhain, bundles of twigs were used to drive out the spirits of the old year. At Winter Solstice in December, birch brooms were used to sweep the house the morning after the longest night of the year, clearing the way for renewal. Birch was often used as a Yule log.
            Beltane bonfires in Scotland were made of a combination of birch and oak. Birch was often chosen as the maypole tree for the festivities, and was sometimes used as a living maypole. Scottish Highland folklore says that a barren cow driven with a birch stick will become fertile; a pregnant cow will birth a healthy calf.
            Birch was the Germanic tree of wisdom, and the holy tree of Frigga, the Mother goddess and wife of Odin. Frigga is associated with the Welsh owl goddess Blodeuwedd, and the barn owl is a familiar of hers. Birch, used in rune divination, known as beorc or bfarkan, is associated with Freya, the lady of the forest and goddess of fecundity. It is associated with the planet Venus, and all goddesses of love, like Freya and Frigga.
Birches were used to ward off evil spirits. Birch twigs were used to beat the energy left behind by witches out of the house. Twigs can also be used to gently strike a person or animal possessed by an evil spirit and drive it from them in exorcism. In its association with the dead and the Underworld a folk ballad from the 17th century, “The Wife of Usher’s Well,” tells of a woman’s sons returning from the Underworld in clothing made of birch: “It fell about the Martinmas,/ When nights are lang and mirk,/ The carline wife’s three sons came hame,/ And their hats were o’ the birk./ It neither grew in skye nor ditch,/ Nor yet in ony sheugh;/ But at the gates o’ Paradise/ That birk grew fair enough.”
            In Siberia, the Birch tree was considered to be the axis of the world. Siberian shamans hung other dead shamans in birch trees. They left the dead to the elements. The dead spirit would use the birch as a doorway to spirit world, and as a means of return when he was petitioned for guidance. Among the Eskimo of the Gold Coast, shamanic teachers climb birch trees, circling the trunk nine times to represent his ascent into Upper World. His students will each do so in turn.
In some Ojibwe communities, birch bark was a sacred gift from Wenabozho, a cultural hero and they buried their dead in bark wrappings. Birch bark rolls depict the symbols of the Grand Medicine Society of the Ojibwa and are a treasured possession According to other Ojibwe folklore, lightning won’t strike birch trees.

COMMERCIAL
Birch is used in furniture making. The wood is heavy, tough and contains a straight grain that makes it perfect for handles and toys. It was used to manufacture anything that required turning, like hardwearing bobbins, spools, reels, and herring-barrel staves. In the country, lighter birch twigs were used as thatching, to make brooms, and for wattle-fencing. Baby cradles were traditionally made from birch, as a means of protection from fey folk.
J.C. Loudon wrote in his Encyclopedia of Trees and Shrubs, in 1842, that the Highlanders of Scotland used birch for much of their household and farming production, and general building materials. They used the branches as fuel in distilling whiskey. The Scottish used the spray to smoke ham and herring, which was preferred against any other kind of wood. The bark was used to tan leather, and was sometimes twisted in rope to be used in the place of candles. The spray was used for thatching and dried in the summer with the leaves to be used as a bed when heath was scarce.

MEDICINAL
The leaves of the birch are both an antiseptic and a diuretic. The infusion, having a bitter taste, has been used to treat gout, rheumatism, dropsy, and mild arthritic pain, as well as urinary tract infections, specifically cystitis. Taken over a few weeks, birch leaf tea will detoxify and stimulate the gall bladder, kidneys, and liver. Cooled, it can be massaged into the scalp to accelerate hair growth.
Native Americans used bark tea for fevers, stomachache, and lung ailments. Birch bark and twigs have similar properties to Wintergreen and can be drunk to aid purification of the blood. It’s a good body tonic, helping the bowels with conditions of diarrhea, dysentery, and cholera infantum. In history, it was used to expel worms from the body. Taken internally, the tea can be just as helpful for skin ailments like warts, boils, and sores, as well as when it is used as an external wash for skin eruptions. Cover the bark in water, boil until it softens and mash it with a hammer or pestle into a paste. This can be used to apply to sores, abrasions, and inflammations on a daily basis until healed.
            The salicylates in the bark and the essential oil ease sore muscles and joint pain when applied externally. The oil soothes irritated joints and actively decreases the inflammation. Massage it in to relieve stiffness and reduce pain. The oil has a high concentration of acid that repels mosquitoes and gnats. Mix 25 drops with 4 ounces of water in a spray bottle for a natural bug repellent. The inner bark is bitter and astringent and has been used as a remedy for intermittent fevers.
            Birch trees have intentionally been planted in waste areas, like old mines and toxic ground. The birch is believed to purify the ground in the same way it can purify the body, paving the way for nature to return. When the birch dies, it’s own body will nourish and cleanse the soil beneath it. I don’t know if that is true or not, that the birch can cleanse a soil so quickly, but I do believe the birch to be a great Way-Maker. In my own life, it has seen me through new growth and challenges. In meditation with birch, I have learned to bend with change instead of breaking beneath it.

BIRCH FACTS & TIDBITS:
  • It takes 25 years for a silver birch to bear fruit.
  • The name Macbeth is derived from the word birch.
  • Beithe is first in the Ogham, an Irish tree alphabet.
  • The tree was dedicated to Brigit, the goddess of inspiration, healing, and blacksmithing.
  • Gardeners used birch brooms to purify their space.
  • Birch was the personal sacred tree of the Norse god Thor.
  • In Germany, young men would place decorated birch trees in front of the houses of their beloveds on May 1, to reveal their feelings.
  • In some Scandinavian countries, the leafing of the birch tree marked the start of the agricultural year.
  • In Sweden and Lapland, birch sap is used in place of sugar.
  • The Anglo-Saxon goddess of spring, Eostre, was celebrated from Spring Equinox to Beltane with birch trees.
  • In Wales, wreaths of birch were given as love tokens.
  • Birch boughs were placed over cradles and carriages to protect infants from the glamour of the Little People.
  • On St. Stephen’s Day, December 26/27, Robin Red Breast used a birch rod to slay the wren in a gorse bush.
  • Many countries make birch wine and beer.
  • Cattle and deer do not like the taste of birch bark, so they leave birch trees alone.
  • In folklore, tying a red ribbon around the stem or branch of a birch tree would ward off the evil eye. 
  • Birch was used for protection against lightning. 
  • The Paper White Birch is the New Hampshire state tree.
  • The Lieschi, or Lesovik, a Slavic Spirit of the Forest, lives in the top of birch trees. He wears a long green beard and casts no shadow, changing his size at will. He hibernates from October until the spring.
  • In Russia, the birch was worshipped as a goddess during Green Week in early June.
  • Russians plant birches outside the home to bring protection.
  • Modern Siberian shamans use birch for the center pole of their yurt, with nine notches carved on it.
  • The thin bark was widely used as writing paper in Northern India. The first written version of the Vedas, ancient Indian wisdom, were written on birch bark.
  • The sap is fermented to make birch wine.
  • Birch bark can be ground down and fermented in sea water to season the sails of Norwegian boats, made of wool, hemp or linen.
  • Baltic birch is sought-after for making speaker cabinets, due to the peaks of high and low resonances.
  • It is sometimes used for acoustic guitars and mallets in keyboard percussion.
  • Books bound in Russian leather, tanned with Oil of Birch Tar, are unlikely to mold. Asphyxiating gases have been sourced from birch wood.
  • Charcoal of birch is used for gunpowder.
  • Many indigenous people linked the birch with the fly agaric mushroom, amanita muscaria, a hallucinogenic mushroom used for spirit journeys, because it seemed to prefer growing beneath birch trees.
  • In saunas, birch twigs are used to ‘beat’ the body to stimulate circulation.
  • A tea of the twigs and bark aids in ridding the mouth of canker sores.
  • Softened birch has been used to form casts for broken arms.
  • The inner bark of the birch can be dried and ground into flour for bread or cut into strips and boiled like noodles in stews. 

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

The Notion of Forgiveness

There is something in the air right now. Ghosts are rising within me, and together we are revisiting old wounds. Many around me are experiencing a similar space for themselves. Old unresolved hurts may rise from the ether, but it’s never too late to heal them. Yet how do we heal when the one who hurt us, or the one we hurt, is no longer living?
If there’s anything my work with the spirit world has taught me, it’s that we put too much weight on the need for a physical body in cases where our journey concerns the emotional one. If what you want is for the other person to physically apologize to you or accept your apology and that is the only thing that will give you closure, you may be sitting in that pain for a very long time. Especially if they have passed. That is not healthy.
Whether or not you sit there is your choice. There are always choices in difficult situations. Choices to stay or go, to forgive or forget. Choices to accept or deny. To hold onto or let go.
The notion of forgiveness no longer has the shape that my early religious beliefs taught me. I took a four-day class in the Buddhist philosophy of LovingKindness as a means of healing my inner anger ball. I almost skipped the day on Forgiveness because my resentment towards it was so strong. When I told Whispering Deer that I thought it was foolish to forgive someone, as if you are supposed to forget what they did to you, she looked shocked that I would even consider it.
“Why would you forget what they did to hurt you?” she asked, and then she explained that you don’t forget. It happened. Forgetting what they did as if it didn’t happen is rewriting history, changing your experiences, and ignoring a painful lesson you learned.
We forgive others when we need to forgive them because the weight and anger of what we are holding onto is still harming us. Us. We do not forgive someone because they need it. It is not our duty to forgive those who have hurt us, for they can seek forgiveness without the weight of their actions evoking any true change in them. When it’s needed, we find a way to forgiveness so that we might rise ourselves out of the hurt that was done to us. We forgive, but we do not forget. And we forgive with the understanding that the other party must hold our relationship to a higher standard. By forgiving them we are telling them we believe in them. It is not an excuse to allow them to repeat the hurtful pattern.
Sometimes we can’t gift forgiveness because we are still trying to work past the event. Any forgiveness given before we’re ready would be false and the hurt would lay quiet, festering within. This is when we unleash the event like a weapon over and over again. Sometimes the path to forgiveness means removing ourselves from the situation, disconnecting from the hurtful party when that person shows no change. Staying to be hurt again would be the more foolish option. It’s important to always be honest about where you are in your process.
Reversely, when we seek forgiveness, we do it with the understanding that we wronged someone. Whether we believe we were wrong or not, we accept and feel regret for the hurt we caused. By seeking forgiveness we recognize a need for change in ourselves, perhaps within that specific relationship, and we are promising that other person that we will rise to meet that need. If we do not take responsibility for what we did, and change the behavior, our words are empty.
If we ask someone for forgiveness, we cannot be mad at the injured party for remembering what occurred. Forgiveness is not an eraser. It is not a clean slate. We have to earn it by not repeating that pattern.
If we seek forgiveness and it is not given, even if we have truly seen a change in ourselves, we have done all we can do. That has to be enough for our own healing. If we were honest in its seeking, we are at a place to accept that we may simply have to continue to show that we have changed and be patient while the one we hurt heals.
What if the person we injured is the one who has passed on? In some ways it may sound easier to forgive one who has died than to seek forgiveness from them. But they are two sides of the same coin. If one can be done, so can the other.
The answers lie within you and healing can be found. Ritualizing the action of it can be the structure we need to feel the shape of the magic of release. Making Amends with the Dead, coming next week, will speak more to manifesting forgiveness through personal ritual.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Crossroads: Spring Equinox

A crossroad is a place where two roads meet, where two planes intersect. It’s where dark and light find neutral ground. Where balance is born.
At the Spring Equinox, our days and nights are of equal length. We have successfully survived the short days and long nights of winter and we can smell spring in the air as we head towards the longest day of the next Solstice. For my practice, the Equinox is symbolic of the crossroads. It is at the point where they meet, where the breathing world joins with the spirit world. It is the place where the gateway exists. That gateway lives inside you.
We have the chance to touch the other side without walking through it, as the point of balance floats over our land like fog, obscuring lines and blurring edges. We stand in the tipping point, the grey space. Equinox is a time for feeling and reflection, a chance to catch our breath before moving forward. Around us, the world is waking.
Outside my kitchen window the flock of sparrows that winter in a wayward bush fill the air and the day with cheeps and chirps and silly songs, as they take turns at the bird feeder. They warm their wings in the sun and carry twigs and hair and roughage to fortify new nests for new life. After such a mild winter, my tiger lilies have sprouted early in the spring warmth and have risen four inches from the soil. The peppermint has begun to bloom and stretch and already must be chastised into staying in its corner of the garden bed. I spent Equinox morning enjoying the sunshine on my skin and the smell of warming grass in the air.
Sensation blossoms full as bulbs prepare for birth. My hands long to touch skin, fur, scales, dirt, worms and seeds. The soft breezes carry hints of fragrance and perfume across my senses- I may not know where from, but I know what’s coming. The wild is waking, heralding its return in the creak-clacking of the grackle’s birdsong in the morning sun. If you quiet yourself you will hear the sounds of creatures stirring.
            I have begun to shed the layers of winter, to cull my home of clutter and items unused so I might pass them on to others in need. The winter altar has been cleared of its evergreen bowers and turned over to spring with purple flowers. The windows will be opened and the house will be aired. The floors will be swept free of dust bunnies and house gremlins. The garden will be planned and the necessary seeds will be ordered.
            The world outside us is waking. And the world inside us is stirring, too.
            In mythology, at Equinox, Persephone rises from the Underworld, from her home with her husband, and in return her mother Demeter allows the trees to bud and flowers to bloom, her grief abated. Inanna resurrects in her sister’s domain below the earth, having passed through death to attain knowledge, and she returns to the world changed. Stories of transformation, of spiritual alchemy. It is the time of doorways, gateways, thresholds and promise. What dream do you bring with you from the darkness? How will you manifest it into reality in the lengthening days?

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

The Eulogy I Wish I’d Given

Grandma Donna & Grandpa Dick
After he passed, I realized that I was not sure what my Grandfather’s spiritual notions were. He was raised Roman Catholic and we all attended Sunday mass with my Great-Grandmother when she came to visit for the summer. But I spent enough Sundays with him to know he didn’t attend any church regularly. So, when my Grandpa died, we requested the minister attached to the funeral home to reside over a simple service.
It was humorous. The poor retired minister was so excited to be behind a podium again that he threw every bible story he could into discussing death, including Jonah and the Whale. Yet he couldn’t keep my Grandpa’s name straight. The minister meant well, but he lost me when he started talking about how death was like the small white dead skin cells that fall out of your socks at night. I’m sure everyone behind me thought my silent laughter resembled tears. I hope my Grandpa would have been amused at the absurdity, too.
I was so overwhelmed with the loss, I didn’t even think about talking. It never crossed my mind that I might look back later and wish the moment had been more personal, more about my Grandpa. He was the reason we were all there. One of my cousins spoke for him but I wish it had been more than just another funeral. We were just trying to get through it though; a strange service held behind stranger walls.

A teen Dick in front of his parents store.
Richard James Riddle
December 23, 1931 – March 25, 2004
My Grandpa was everything to me. He was every Saturday lunch, every holiday meal. He used to come over at noon on the dot. He would tease me with, “What’s for lunch this week?” and then feign surprise when I answered with the same statement every week; bologna, cheese, mustard and potato chip (salt and vinegar was the best flavor to add to the combination).
He and my mom would sit in the kitchen together, the only time the smell of coffee permeated our house. He had his own stash in our cupboard, waiting for his weekly visit. I loved listening to them discuss the world, the way it worked. I loved the way they talked their way into hope. My Grandpa tried the best he could to see the bright end of things.
Me & Grandpa.
When I was a little girl, I remember lots of summer afternoons at their house, playing in the cool basement and watching Grandma and Grandpa work their garden in the back yard, Grandma in her terrycloth one-piece and Grandpa in his shorts and sunglasses. In my memory they are summer, fresh vegetables and warm afternoons filled with the fragrant smell of roses. They were the spirit of growing things.
We would often have family dinners together and I believed my Grandpa to be an accomplished baker. Grandma cooked dinner and Grandpa cooked dessert. After each meal he would pull out his latest creation and go on about how he had even put it in a special box that he found, to make it nice for us. I was a bit innocent as a child and didn’t notice what a handy coincidence it was that he happened to have a Sara Lee Coffee Cake box the same day he made us one.
I’m not sure the grown-ups had any idea I was buying it. But my Grandpa could do anything. One night, He pulled out a cantaloupe and started telling us that he had grown it all up in one day, just for us. It was the first memory I have of recognizing the impish twinkle in his eye when he was teasing or pulling my leg.
Only then did my rational mind inform him that you couldn’t grow a cantaloupe in one day. In the moment that the grown-ups realized I had just accepted his stories all along, there was some well-earned laughter at my expense. One of my favorite desserts is still a quarter of cantaloupe with a scoop of vanilla ice cream using it as a bowl. After dinner we’d play the card game Scat together. He would lend my siblings and me pennies from his jar and at the end of the night, we’d pay him back what we started with if we won and the rest was ours.
Early generational- I'm the baby.
My Great-Grandmother Elsie spent her summers with my family and we would take generational photos while she was with us; her, my Grandpa, my mom and us. He adored his mom, as did everyone who ever knew her. We spent days at the Riddle cottage in Olcott on Lake Ontario. I remember the laughter, so much laughter, love and togetherness. It’s what I thought the world would be like when I was a grown-up. I know it’s possible, to be surrounded by that joy and love. It’s the greatest gift my family gave me, that he gave me. I won’t settle for less than that. I look for the spirit of my Grandfather in the hearts of the people I meet. I like to think that he would approve of my friends, just as easily as he took to my mother’s friends.
Grandpa Dick also had a beautiful Cadillac. I loved riding in it with him. Sometimes when he was watching us, he’d take us to his favorite diner for breakfast. All of the waitresses knew him and chatted him up. He’d happily introduce us and we’d hear how often he’d talk about us. I knew my entire life that my Grandpa loved me, even when he wasn’t with me. It’s such a thing we take for granted sometimes, but now that he’s gone, it means everything.
When his cancer came back, I went home to spend some time with him. I asked him questions about his parents, pushing through the awkward moment of both of us knowing I was asking him because he was dying. Because he might not recover and then there would be no answers. I picked up his prescriptions and took him some groceries one night, after copying old family photos. That was the night I learned that we shared a favorite flavor of ice cream… Black Raspberry.
He was every Christmas morning, all of my life. The very last Christmas we had together, I was 27. My nieces were opening presents and the youngest said “Thank you, Great-Grandpa!” To which the middle child said, “Don’t call him that. It’s rude!” My Grandpa smiled and said, “Why? That’s what I am.” And that’s who he was.
Dick & Donna's wedding.
Richard James Riddle was born in 1931. He had a brother and a sister. His parents owned a small store. He was a young boy when World War II began. He spent some time in the military. He was married twice, had one daughter, and three step-children. His second wife, my Grandma Donna, was the love of his life. He outlived her by three years.
He was the father of my mother and father to my aunt and uncles. He was a father to my own and to all of their friends. I heard stories all my life of him dropping in on my mother’s friends and helping them out. He was a good friend to one of my favorite high school teachers, who lived a stone’s throw away from him after he moved.
I see the ripple of his time on this earth stretching out in the wake of his loss, still. And when I sit quietly in the woods, I can hear the sound of his voice in the wind that blows through the trees. What is remembered, lives. What is remembered never truly dies.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

House Cleansing & Home Blessing

It’s Fall Equinox and the world where I live is turning towards longer nights and shorter days, more dark and less sun. We’re getting ready to close the storm windows and hang the heavier curtains, to put the fans and air conditioners away and clean out the furnace filters. In the Northeast it’s time for apple picking, baked apples, apple cider and homemade donuts. The earth is cold and leaves will begin to turn, to crisp and fall, swirling in the air until they cover the ground like a blanket. It’s my favorite time of year.
Winter is hard and in the spring we gleefully throw open our windows and curtains, letting the first of the warmer air blow through as we let the light hit corners of our darkened caves, our fortresses. So in the autumn, before I close my house up to the world, I do a special house cleansing and home blessing as a means to prepare our apartment to shelter us. Just as our bodies are the temple of our spirits and deserve the best of our attentions and care, our homes are the temples our bodies depend on. It is more to me than wood and flooring, than roof and wall. It is my sanctuary, my resting place. When it is full of clutter and cobwebs, and doubt and shadow I need to recharge, reboot the energy or I start to feel antsy in my apartment, like my skin is crawling.
My partner and I have performed house cleansings and home blessings for friends and loved ones for a variety of reasons: a new home or remodel, a traumatic death in the home, the loss of a loved one, haunting, feelings of being watched, as well as general otherworldly activity. They can be done in an afternoon or an evening, within a couple of hours, depending on how thickly the energy needs to be cleansed and laid. We teach people how to do it themselves, if they are interested. After all, no one is better suited to build the temple of your home than the ones who live in it.
What I share here is a three day cleansing that I have adapted for my personal use in the autumn. Set up an altar in the room that you consider to be the heart of your home. All you need on it is a candle, to serve as a hearth. You can add items that are personal and meaningful for you, including photos of your family- anything that warms your heart and fills you with that feeling. Feel free to personalize it to suit your preferences and tastes. Intention is the most powerful magical tool.

House Cleansing, Day One
The purpose of the first day is to cleanse, clear and empty your house of unwanted energies. Start at the back of the home and sweep towards the outside door of your house that you normally use as your main entrance and exit. I use an actual broom to stir the air and push it in front of me. Go through every room, pushing towards the main door. When you’re done, open the door and sweep it outside.
Now that the energy is stirred and moved, grab rattles, drums, pots and pans… anything that makes noise. Start at the back of the home again, make some noise, and move towards and out the front door. The purpose of this is to chase out anything lurking in your home that wishes you harm or ill, be it an entity or a repository of negative emotional gunk. If you have trouble moving the energy it may be helpful to chant “bad energy out of my house” while you’re working.
To finish off the first day, I burn some white sage, commonly found in smudge stick forms. You can also find it as incense sticks. I also use copal or camphor when I’m low on sage. Both of them are strong herb and resin purifiers.

Resting, Day Two
This day is optional, but it is simple and it does help add a substantial boost to the magic of the cleansing. Burn a cinnamon candle all day. I have also grated cinnamon sticks and burned the shavings over charcoal in a brazier, but if this isn’t something you use regularly, I’d stick with the candle.
Why cinnamon? It’s not just for baking. Cinnamon, Cinnamomum zeylanicum, is the dried bark of the laurel tree. It’s native to Sri Lanka and was originally the only place it was grown. Most of the cinnamon we use today is Cinnamomum cassia and comes from the cassia tree.
Use of the spice is found in Chinese writings back to 2800 BC and the Egyptians were importing it from China in 2000 BC, using it to embalm in the mummification process. The phenols in cinnamon inhibit bacteria growth and act as a preservative. In the bible, it’s an ingredient in Moses’ anointing oils. The Romans burned it at funerals and used it as currency. Think of the sacred vibrations of this spice as your home fills with the scent.

Home Blessing, Day Three
            The home blessing is the most important part, coming full circle, closing and sealing the gaps. It is about sacredly blessing all of the portals where energy comes in and out of your house, creating a protective filter. Light a candle on the altar you created for this cleansing and blessing. You need a bowl of salt water, a small dish or vial of oil (olive oil works fine) and sage. If it is just you, you will use each of these one at a time. This is a good excuse to invite some friends over and, sharing their love for you, to fill your house with more warmth.
Work room to room and anoint every portal with a tiny dab of water, oil, and then smoke from the sage. By portals I mean electrical outlets, heating grates, windows, doorways, televisions, computers, faucets and drains, toilets, tubs and showers, etc. Do not stick your wet or oily fingers in the outlets- for the love! I just run a dab along the outlet casing. While you’re doing this, speak words to the effect of:
Protect my home and family from harmful energies.
Be mindful while you are working the magic but do not be somber. After all, we are turning into the darker months of the year, yes, but the intention is to fill the house with the light and warmth we harvested through the summer months. When you are finished, pour the remains of the salt water across the bottom threshold of your porch or stoop and ask the Ancestors to watch over you.
May it be so. Ase.
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