Born of the Earth

This year I took on an incredible task--to forge my own magical blade. I was presented with a once in a lifetime opportunity and I was all too happy to seize it. One of my dearest friends teachers and Witches led a small group in the herbalism and metalworking skills we needed to craft an athame in the traditional way which he had learned as a young Witch. Little did I know that signing up to create my own magical blade was to have changed my very being in such a profound way before it was all over. I came right up against the limit of what I thought I could achieve... and I went beyond what my imagination could create. What began in late May with a hike in the woods and a few hard days with a hammer and files, has come complete with a quick sanding of the blade and refashioning of the handle on this winter's day.

To recount the story is a task for me to bite off a little at a time... for now, I will describe the physical attributes and work back from there. The blade is mostly made from iron and carbon. The iron began as half-inch rod. The carbon came from sacred willow charcoal which filled the forge. I had a troublesome knack for placing my metal in the hottest part of the forge. I also went about flattening the bar all wrong. I lost the tip of my blade and had to start all over again with a new iron rod. Once the blade was roughly shaped, additional meteoric iron was forged into the tip of the blade. This meteor brought with it minute amounts of silica. The blade was tempered with magical herbs in spring water. A copper hilt and a walnut handle was attached. The handle split when we were trying to attach the blade. This part of the creation was a sadness for me. I had deferred to my teacher for his expertise, turning over my piece to him. He broke my handle with brutish force. I knew better and I let him do it... believing that he saw (and knew) better than I. Was I too guilty and angry to heed the lesson in this? Perhaps nothing is more satisfying than when we get to break our own stuff? It left me not feeling right about things, but willing to go along and see what would become of my athame.

At Samhain, I consecrated the blade and covered in a special oil consisting of botanical resins, animal essences and herbs. I then hiked out into a Sierra Nevada watershed and found some friendly trees. I buried my blade at the east side of an oak tree until Midwinter (Yule). I returned on a beautiful Winter's day to retrieve my blade. It had seen freezing temperatures, light snow and much much rain. Water had scoured along the edge of the tree, but my blade handle was still tucked in the leaf debris. I found it corroded at the leading edges, but mostly as I had left it. I was very thankful, excited and distracted--I had to remind myself make a proper offering and pay due respect. All was well, but the handle had failed; it was not looking good nor holding the blade any longer. I returned home and sat with this task for a bit.

Do I put more work to save a compromised handle? Am I still angry and disappointed with myself for not having enough confidence to cease control of my work at the right time? I decided that I had to toss the handle and try again. It was odd to struggle as I did with the decision--feeling attached to what I had started and intended for this piece. So far, that has been the lesson of this work. I have a place in the outcome--the final piece--but I do not get to decide how it will be or get attached to any one idea until it is complete. I am a partner to something greater than me (or any other human) in making this tool.

Once I resolved to remake the handle, the energy shifted and I realized that this piece was finally very close to completion. I went out into the garage, found a small saw and proceeded to cut up my old walnut besom--which had failed in March after a boisterous parade and rally with the Besom Brigade. I found a good part of the handle that would accept the blade well and I went to work with my saw and some files. It came together in a few hours... so easy and fast that I didn't have time to even question it all. The handle took up the blade just as I wanted it to and I kept the quartz tip-which was original from the besom.

Blessed Be

What is a warrior?

My inner warrior self—that’s what our dance teacher was asking me to get in touch with. She was right—it was essential to the dance that we each go there, that we find our warrior self and express that in our dance. The first choreography I had learned with this loose group of women was a cheerful dance with big skirts that we waved about. I am admittedly a more masculine woman than most, but it was still pretty innate—the twirl in your pretty dress thing. I loved it on a superficial girly level, but also because I was rejoicing and thriving in a healing and fortifying community with dancing women.

I’m not a shy warrior and at the outset I was very excited and interested in a warrior dance. I had been part of a martial arts dojo and recognized some of our dance sequences from Kata martial arts exercises… front kick, side kick, back kick. I thought this was no problem until we had to do the entire dance with sticks in our hands. My big pretty skirt was a much more forgiving prop than this 3 foot bamboo stick. The stick was no prop, it was a weapon. It’s considerably harder to put someone’s eye out with your skirt. I was at a loss to handle this damned pole and even more confounded about ‘dancing with weaponry’. How could I get over the violence of thrusting a stick right in my partner's face and the fear of all these sticks flying around like this? How was this a dance? Why was I even hung up on this? That stick became my foe for some time… a warrior at battle with her weaponry. I must be special. That stick betrayed every pause and insecurity—damn that stick! Dances with sticks—this thing was worse than a cane dance. I kept getting hung up on the violence. To add to the challenge I had come into this dance with an injured hand and could not allow the stick to put pressure on a certain part of my palm.

So all the while, as suggested by our teacher and director, I’m wondering what it is that I can direct my warrior energy towards. No doubt such a dance and exercise would develop capacities in me and raise energy in its performance and receipt. Where was I to focus my warrior energy? Whose ass needed kicking? It was pretty much a 'no brainer'—the California Department of Corrections needs an enema. I settled on that colossal foe, since it has become our state’s default plan for mental health and drug addition treatment for select portions of our population. I couldn’t take it down maybe, but I could wound them and get their attention perhaps… me and my bamboo stick out there on that stage. I would fight the fight of fierce compassion—the fight of Tara, Kuan Yin and Mother Mary. But where in all that does it tell me... what do I do with this damned stick!?!

Over the 6 weeks that we learned and practiced our warrior dance, many people in my life got a taste of that warrior energy… mostly my husband. I’m already outspoken and obnoxious, so this just made me overpowering and intent in my manner about some things which meant a great deal to me. Nothing bad happened, but I was ‘different’ and I have been ever since. The pace was very fast for me considering I spent the first half of the classes getting over my stick. I struggled the whole way. I just barely got the choreography by the night of the second and last performance. Only afterward can I laugh at the whole thing—mostly my absurd attitude to begin with. I set out with a lot of arrogance and readied to meet my foe as warrior woman. What I found was that I had to work so hard and stretch so far out to what I wasn’t even sure I could accomplish—the focus or foe in the whole mental construct began to loose prominence. My goal then became to survive the experience and to somehow be stronger for it. I learned where to focus the force and will of my warrior self, but more importantly for me--how much needs be directed out and how much is best kept for myself as a fortress to meet the unknown and the difficult personal limitations, circumstances and entities I may encounter. It was a struggle. No one ever got hurt with a stick throughout all of this, but we had our moments collectively and individually. Getting the steps correct is a different experience than being changed by those steps and bringing that into one’s movement and expression. This dance--this awakening and refining of my warrior self--was a transformative experience that I will long benefit and grow from.

I still relish the finale of that dance as I came at the audience fiercely kicking and charging forward blocking any blows with my pole firmly and confidently braced in my palms. Fierce warrior cries came up from the depths of my being…

“Look you all!!! I learned this dance!!!”

“You see! My body, mind and will are stronger now!”

“You cannot get in the way of what I will accomplish!”

“Look out! Here I come!”

Thanks Pam

It's been a while...

It's hard to imagine that it was last October when I last posted here. So much has happened since then. I write a lot, but not here.
I've just returned from a long road trip--1600 miles to go see family in the Northwest. I didn't get the peace I had hoped for in the woods, but the interstate serves like a dynamic moving mandala for my meditation.