Cleansing Tools at the Autumn Equinox
Charge, cleanse, and protect
These storks,
These beads,
And those things upon which they do their duty.
In many of my rituals I use three main elements: salt, water, and bread.
There are several reasons to cleanse tools at the autumn equinox: to restore balance at this time of equal night and day, to reap the benefits of the season’s harvest and fold them back into the tools used during that harvest, to release like falling leaves and fading days anything no longer needed, and to prepare them for the new, more internal and introspective work of the dark half of the year.
Though I work primarily through a Slavic lens, these last few days I have felt a pull from my Gaelic grandmothers. Perhaps from digging through @jayeltontoro ‘s landscape photos from Aberdeenshire and realizing in conversation that three times great-Granny Jane was a neighbor (hailing from Invernnisshire). So to work in the idea of balance, I did this ritual in two parts with two personifications of the Gaelic divine feminine. The first half violent and energetic and the second half quiet and calm.
My intention in this ritual was three fold: to cleanse, to charge, and to protect.
Though I tend toward a gentle nature and gentle practice things in my life have been stagnant and I wanted to shake things up. So this time for water I waited until the first thunderstorm after the equinox to use the power of thunder, lightning and a hard rain to shake things up and to charge my tools with some serious energy. I invoked the Cailleach in this part of the working.
At the first drizzle, as the sky turned to charcoal and the wind picked up, I carried my two sets of beads and my two pair of stork scissors (one for my devotional embroidery and the other for harvesting and kitchen work) to the birch tree. I have been working with the birch this year, and chose it for its symbolism in both Gaelic and Slavic folklore for rebirth.
Cailleach Bheur,
Mother of Mountains,
Mother of Storms,
The sacred Three,
To save,
To shield,
To surround.
The salt,
The water,
The bread.
Charge, cleanse, and protect
These storks,
These beads,
And those things upon which they do their duty.
This morning,
This dawn,
Oh! This morning,
And every morning,
Each single morning.
This afternoon,
This midday,
Oh! This afternoon,
And every afternoon,
Each single afternoon.
This eve,
This night,
Oh! This eve,
And every night,
Each single night.
Amen.
(Adapted from a prayer/incantation in the Carmina Gadelica)
I left the tools nestled in twiggy branches near the bottom of the trunk overnight, through a tornado watch and pounding booms of thunder. In the quiet morning hours before there was even a sliver of light I broke through the tall wet, grass to the beloved birch carrying my ribín Bride to retrieve my tools.
Removing the wet beads and storks from the birch I wrapped them in St. Bride’s gentle protection. The ribín Bride goes by many names and is a bit of cloth or ribbon that is left out on the night of St. Bride (Jan 31st) for her to bless as she makes her rounds.
Ribín Bride left outside on St. Bride’s Eve earlier this year and my tools laid upon it in the wee hours of this morning.
I laid my tools out in the beautiful corner and placed a tiny candle in a shot glass (blue for Mother Mary and with fish scales for Christ Jesus) filled with resurrection salt (salt blessed in a personal ritual on Holy Saturday). I chose the salt for its symbolism of rebirth. I also utilized the home-made (by my hands) yeast bread in this second stage of the ritual representing energy and growth (see first photo).
I repeated the above prayer/incantation but this time addressed it:
Bride,
Bright Lady,
Lady of the Mantle,
I’ll now leave the tools in the beautiful corner until their first use. Which for Granny Lorraine’s rosary will probably be shortly—when I complete the first stir of the day of the wild fermenting muscadine wine and loop it around the top for blessings.
To any of my friends who follow a Gaelic path please be patient if my ramble down this path was at all clumsy. My Scottish and Irish ancestors don’t seem to call as often, so my knowledge is leaner.