Yesterday was one of those days when it was just Sam Hill foolish to be out in a car driving around. We got a glaze of freezing rain that just made every surface stone cold perfect for a hockey game.
This can put quite a crimp in a Druid Grove ritual if your members are stretched out over a 70-mile radius.
I suppose it was last Friday that I suggested our Grove meet at my house pending the precipitation. (We usually meet in a gorgeous state park in Pennsylvania.) I live just a few miles east of Philadelphia.
Considering the elements, we had a nice turnout ... six brave gals who live in the general vicinity of Philly, or within the city limits itself.
Everyone was late, of course. This was one of those afternoons when you had to de-glaze the car before you could move it. But eventually we assembled, had lunch, and contemplated doing our ritual in a little swath of county park near my house. (Former home of the dread Tiki, now banished.)
Our group faced two stumbling points. For the first time we had no Male Druid to read the Male Druid lines. And we had no mistletoe. The Druid who planned to bring the mistletoe lives in Allentown, PA, where every kind of frozen thing the sky can dish out was falling in quantity.
Hmmm. Mistletoe is central to the Solstice ritual. What's to be done?
This is what I love about having a religion that has no written record dictating every little picky thing. It happened that I had a swag of silk mistletoe. I said, "Would the ancient Druids object to our using this? I think not." So we used it.
EXHIBIT A: SKIP COULDN'T MAKE IT
Male Druid. On this date we were an all-female company. So I went to Mr. Johnson's home office, where he sat hunched over his email.
"We need a Male Druid," I said.
He said, "I haven't washed."
"Doesn't matter," I said.
He said, "You are kidding, right?"
I said yes, of course, I long ago had enough of trying to push religion on family members who haven't washed. So he begged off.
I did the Male Druid part myself. Again, do I think this offended the bored gods sacred to the Celts? Of course not! They're thrilled that anyone would gather in a woods and pray for peace from the Four Quarters! They even showered our ritual with unexpected sunshine! When I turned to face West, that big old star just beamed right into my eager eyeballs.
If your religion is written in stone so you can't adapt to changing circumstances, perhaps you're in the wrong religion. There are many, many, many bored gods and goddesses out there with the big, broad, flexible outlook. Silk mistletoe? No prob, my dears. Gender imbalance? Who cares? Everyone's equal in the love of the bored gods.
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