August Moon, 2015: Que Será, Será, Part 2: The Mushroom Moon Shrine

Mushroom Moon Shrine, 2015.
Que Será, Será

Que Será, Será

Whatever will be, will be.

Things do not always go as we wish. 
Things cannot always be explained. 
Things are often beyond our control.

The Esbat found our family very ill with the annual/inaugural first-of-the-schoolyear plague. This must be how we celebrate, or something. Somehow I missed that memo. 

Because I am the mother, I always go down last. It is the unspoken rule that we mothers will remain well until the rest of the brood is on the mend, then we will succumb. This makes me very leery of a zombie apocalypse as I do not relish being one of the last left standing. It also left me the one in the clutches of an achy, phlegmy disaster as the Esbat arrived. 

Flying in the face of ritual illness & bioregional changes, we managed to drag our sorry team into the forest to perform our annual procession through an equally sorry neighborhood of fungi. 

On this trip, my husband wandered astray to leave an offering of steel cut oats at the site of the Gyrfalcon's (Falco rusticolus) decay site. It is curious, the things that stay with us, move & motivate us as reflective critters. While I cannot bear to revisit that spot, he makes a point to return there with some regularity.

State of the shrine site upon our arrival. 

At the end of our procession, we arrived at the site of the Mushroom Moon Shrine & began our ceremonious assembly of this idiosyncratic offering of gratitude. Our basket contents looked like we had made a lackluster attempt to find assemblage supplies. A scant few withered fungi inadequately littered the bottoms of our compact wooden baskets. Yet, this was not for lack of effort, it was for lack of fungi. 

In my cold-suppressant haze, I left my purse behind at the house. This found me without my drinking water, pencil, poetic resources, or my consecrated mushroom knife adding to the general feeling of lacking that the circumstances already provided. At least I had found the presence of mind to bring supplementary offerings from home -- dried Amanita muscaria caps, fuchsia blossoms, rose petals & the Papaver pods from 2013's devotional garden. 

I stood for a moment resisting despondency. Then, in my mind came the voices of Takashi & Matsuko Yamada from Isao Takahata's "My Neighbors the Yamadas" singing Que Será, Será. In the film, the song follows a protracted wedding speech by Takashi which, to the momentary horror of the entire wedding reception, highlights the futility of human existence. Somehow he manages to turn it around at the end into a statement on the power of human relationships & from there he & his wife Matsuko launch into a not entirely talented rendition of the song. 

I decided to wander further while the rest of the family worked with what was in the baskets & in my sense of absurdity, I considered cuing up the Yamadas' performance. But, as is the way of the internet, my search bought me something very different. Doris Day. As if handed to me with a smirk by some ironic, virtual hipster, there it was. And I had to laugh at this terribly out of context music as I followed the path further, dodging into the brush from time to time in the hopes of... something. 

Less than halfway into the song, I heard what I thought at first was Ravens recoiling at Doris Day & her child-populated chorus's saccharine vibes. But turning down the sound, I realized that what I was hearing was something I had never heard before...

Who are these birds? Cranes? Herons? There's a message here (at least one): don't forget to look beyond where you spend most of your time. For me, this means get my face out of the duff & look up from time to time. It also means don't bring Doris Day into the forest, she doesn't belong there. Nor does the internet in general.

I reckon it also means that there are other treasures to be cherished, not just the ones you think you want.

But first you need to discover & know them.

I went back the family that I treasure -- all of whom were clucking over the large, long-necked flock of birds which had circled the area & then continued on their journey. The shrine looked pretty nice, despite the scant resources & general withered nature of everything. Perhaps it is really the heart, intention & Love put into a creation that engenders true beauty.

Shrine with Papaver pods from 2013's devotional garden
bound with a strand from my Summer Solstice belt. 

Message of gratitude
carved in a Birch Polypore (Piptoporus betulinus)

Message of gratitude carved in a
young Tinder Polypore (Fomes Fomentarius). 

Message of surrender on birch bark --
in purple sharpie. Because that's all we had.

Eyelash cups (Scutellinia scutellata)

Desiccated Rosy russula (Russula rosea)

 

 

Que Será, Será...

And yes, despite it all, we are most grateful.

Cultivating Tradition: Mother Hulda's Night

Welcoming Mother Hulda's Ascendancy, 2014.

tradition |trəˈdiSHən|noun1 the transmission of customs or beliefs from generation to generation, or the fact of being passed on in this way -- Apple Dictionary

To cultivate tradition is to work with repetition & consistency. Not really my forte if the truth be told, yet here we are, three years in the making of a new tradition: Mother Hulda's Night. 

What is this about, really? What began as an act of intuition shows layers of meaning, symbolism & import. There is a strengthening of familial bonds, a sense of shared ceremony -- one which includes the children in essential roles, a recognition of changing seasons & the passage of time, a recurrent reinforcement of values through the wisdom of fables -- the lesson books of the Ancestors.

I believe this one works in part because of its simplicity & clarity. It must be available to happen when Hulda makes her move, there is no room for elaborate elements or preparations. We must be ready when she is.

Two more years of memories, each a reflection of the other, yet always the differences brought about by the passage of time.

***

In 2013, Mother Hulda's enduring, fat flakes arrived on November 10th. The Changeling had the honor of being "officiant." Hulda's welcoming ceremony didn't change much from the inaugural event in 2012...

First, pyjamas. Next, the same filigree, wheel-trimmed bowl with candle nestled in freshly fallen snow,

The Changeling with Welcome Light for Mother Hulda, 2013.

Followed by a short procession to the windowsill (a new one for us in 2013) to place the votary as a sign of heartfelt Welcome,

 

Then to bed for the reading of Grimm's "Mother Hulda," illustrated by Arthur Rackham.

Illustration from "Mother Hulda" by Arthur Rackham.*

And when we are finished, we talk about the new snow, Winter & the story -- what it means to be helpful, conscientious & thoughtful of others. We all lay back to imagine Mother Hulda shaking her fluffy white bedcovers & thusly, we go to sleep.

***

In 2014, Mother Hulda's enduring, fat flakes arrived on November 29th, but because we were not at home that night, we celebrated her arrival on the evening of the 30th. This year the Little Lad (who isn't so little anymore) did the honors...

Little Lad with Welcome Light for Mother Hulda, 2014.

And because this is tradition, you know what came next...


*To read the story (in a variety of languages), visit "Mother Hulda" at the Grimm's Fairy Tales website.

Leaf Ceremony: Autumn Equinox 2014, The Tradition Continues

Autumn Equinox Leaf Ceremony: Gratitudes printed on the leaves,
spoken on the breeze, floated on the water.

On September 26, 2012, I wrote the following about our first Leaf Ceremony at the Equinox:

"...One by one, the leaves & their messages flitted to the water & meandered down the stream. One by one, we gave thanks & shared our hopes for the future. Our voices carried over the stream & blended with the humming voices of many -- many who undoubtedly also carry hopes, dreams, wishes & thanks of their own..." -- For the Files: Autumn Equinox 2012, Family Style

It is now 2014 & the ceremony continues, thus qualifying it as a tradition I suppose. 

We missed documenting last year's Leaf Ceremony because of the technological breakdown, but perhaps I can take a moment to reflect upon that one too, maybe using it to explain how it is we actually do this thing. Later, of course. For now, this year's recollections.

This year we saw the return of many familiar gratitudes...

Gratitude of a devoted partner.

Thanks of a devoted young scholar.

plus some new & very novel wishes...

Be careful what you hope for little one...

Always some for the greater good, as well as the more personal...

A wish for all creatures.

A more personal sense of gratitude.

Wishes & gratitudes spoken from the same small bridge, into the drifting, chill breeze, onto the swiftly passing water. A tradition continues...

And of course, the libation as offering. This year the last bottle of Black Currant mead from the Ring of Fire Meadery -- this bottle, the last of its kind as this meadery has closed its doors & sold off their equipment. 

Autumn Equinox 2014: Leaves & Libations.

Into the water, into our bellies. From the gods to the Earth to us. From us to the Earth to the gods. We are deeply thankful, to be such blessed creatures. May our words be heard on the Waters & beyond.

Another Year, Another Mushroom Moon Shrine. (As all beneath the Moon decays...)

Mushroom Moon Shrine, 2014. This year's was in miniature.

A whirlwind of days have passed. Birthdays, guests, gatherings, travels & fungi, of course. But the Decay Moon's happenings shall not be left unmentioned:

We began our procession around the lakeside trail, baskets in hand as usual, not knowing how this project will manifest (also, as usual). Ours is an improvisational process driven by cues fed to us -- in the moment -- by the forest floor.

This is our tradition.

Miniature, in vivid colour was the theme we were assigned. 

A vibrant, bijou ornament collected for the shrine.

And we processed -- unfortunately with some sadness & disruption due to the loss of a familiar feathered face on this tour -- in time, completing our collections & arriving at our traditional site with baskets ready to begin arranging the assemblage. 

Baskets readied for the Mushroom Moon Shrine composition.

The boys worked together steadily & carefully -- a remarkable thing given their knack for disagreement -- as I wrote the words of this day on a piece of birch bark. 

"I know that all beneath the Moon decays..."

And when it was complete, we had three layers of teeny micro landscapes. An almost unremarkable view from afar,

But increasing nearness & changing angles,

Allowed for a peek into a variety of small, fanciful, fungal worlds...

And as I looked upon another year's shrine, I reflected on the variations from year to year; the changing availability of various fungi, the tasks & roles assumed by various family members, the different outcomes... I also wondered how we will adapt when the time comes to find a new location for this shrine. It will not last forever. Like everything else under the Moon, it too shall decay.

Remember-Who-You-Are-Moon: Another Mushroom Moon Shrine. Cultivating Tradition.

"The Moon now rises..."

True traditions take time to develop.
We cannot get them from someone else's book.
They are organic & take on a life of their own...


The Wheel still turns. How do we know? Traditions. Once again we found ourselves constructing a Mushroom Moon Shrine. How quickly the helix that is Time winds & unwinds.

Traditions.
We breathe life into them from our spirits, with our hearts.

All the signs were auspicious. All the signs were just right. We entered the dripping forest, rubber-clad to find one welcome after another. Old friends, new friends. Just right.


"Welcome to the forest," they whispered...

Artillery, or Cannonball Fungi with Moose dung & the loyal dime.

"...the rich, fertile, viscosity of fruit & decay awaits..."

Fungi & slime. Auspicious indeed.

Something new, long anticipated emerges from the duff. Auspicious.

Hydnum umbilicatum, the Sweet Tooth or,
perhaps Hydnum repandum, the Hedgehog Mushroom.
Hooray, either way.

Old friends arise...

Amanita muscaria. One among thousands.

...& rise to epic proportions. Playfully auspicious.

A. muscaria tabletops.
Befuddlingly large & abundant this year.
(The camera is a healthy SLR size.)

We arrive at our shrine site. As before, it is just right...

& still with remains of last year's shrine,

Last year's Aritst's conk (Ganoderma applanatum).

& again with the fruit of the Wolf's Milk. So auspicious.

Wolf's Milk Slime.
Keeping with Tradition.

We get to our work & this time, this time no mess, no fuss. Hubby is with us & the Changeling nods off & the result makes my heart sing & I gasp & squeal like a suckling pig. We are all smiles in the drip, drip, drip of the weeping treetops. 

This is all for Her...

...& all of them 
& Them 
& ourselves 
& you.

This is the bud of Tradition.

The Wheel has turned, Tradition tells us. "The Moon now rises to Her absolute rule..." (H. D. Thoreau)