Every year, Poseideia comes up, and every year I decide that I really ought to be doing something BIG and elaborate, a nice, long drawn out ritual with offerings and flowery sayings, praise upon praise heaped upon Poseidon, the most beloved god in my life. It never happens that way, because the moment I start trying to plan something big and elaborate and fancy it stops feeling from the heart, and while that’s fine if there are more than just me involved (group rituals need something the group can focus on together) when it’s just me, it feels awful.
I am incredibly exhausted, incredibly overwrought, and incredibly vulnerable-feeling this Yuletide. I’m drawing in, drawing close to my immediate family of spirits, and not much wanting to step out beyond Their light into the darkness that this time celebrates. This year, for Poseideia, there were no words, no actions, just being with, just falling apart and being held safe. Mother Night has come and gone, and I hold dear in my mind the mothers that have led to my being here, but this year, with my grandmother’s passing being so recent, there’s really no room in my heart for more than love, grief, joy, gratitude for the woman that she was, and the influence she had upon my life.
That’s the best I can do this year, and somehow, I think that’s enough.