have a little paganism, as a treat
February 1 was Imbolc, a pagan holiday that marks the earliest beginnings of spring—the prelude, if you will. This is the first sabbat I ever observed as a budding heathen (pun intended) and it remains one of my favorites. It’s a moment to acknowledge we’re halfway out of our climb from the darkness of winter.
Traditionally, Imbolc is around the time when lambing would begin in the Gaelic regions where the holiday originated, signaling the return of fresh milk and also, as a bonus, cute little lily-white lambs. In the UK, early February is when snowdrops may start to appear (pictured above). Here in Denver, our earliest flowers are usually crocuses — not native to the New World, but they thrive in Colorado’s tough conditions. I don’t think we’ll see any for at least another few weeks, but I like to imagine that I can feel them working their way up through the soil to the air.
Spring is a metaphor that can sometimes beat us over the head: new beginnings, melting snow, humans shedding their protective insulating layers, beauty and color returning from where they have lain dormant, not lost to us but merely resting, the whole second verse from that Hozier song, and so on. It’s not the season’s fault; she simply is that girl.
Since February 1, we’ve had a few days of gorgeous weather. I’ve been able to walk outside without a jacket and turn my face skyward and feel my skin warmed by the sun. Sublime. No notes. It has been necessary to bask in these short moments, when my time is otherwise spent processing the unceasing torrent of hideous developments that have poured out of Washington, D.C. since January 20.
Practicing the most basic and half-assed form of paganism imaginable helps me to take those moments, to come up for air. I tend to observe Imbolc — and all the other sabbats — in the simplest way possible, which is just to mark my body’s position against the turning of the Earth. These spokes in the wheel of the year are, for me, an opportunity to be still and say, “Okay, I’m here.”
But an essential part of being here is belonging here. Belonging, at least in this hippie-dippie nature-loving context from which I am writing, involves both feeling at home in a place or system and, perhaps more importantly, having a role in that system.
You can think about this in an ecological context, such as the reciprocal roles humans can play in their ecosystems. Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass is full of frankly rad examples of Indigenous cultures belonging to the land they live on, rather than attempting mastery over it. And I’d argue that even in urban settings, people find creative ways to belong to the natural world all the time — by planting trees or keeping gardens or, yes, even just plain old composting.
But also, you can (and indeed I am about to encourage you to) think about belonging in a social context. What does it mean to belong to a neighborhood, a city, a civic organization, rather than merely exist inside it?
So glad you asked! Here are some great examples just from Denver, just from the last week:
Organizers are making sure new immigrants know their rights and preparing vulnerable communities for confrontations with immigration and law enforcement. Their efforts are working: When ICE raided an embattled apartment building late at night this week, they left empty-handed.
Thousands of people gathered at the Colorado State Capitol on Feb. 5 — part of a nationwide series of decentralized protests — to demonstrate opposition to… well to the generalized horrors, which are too numerous to list here.
Workers at one of our major grocery store chains went on strike yesterday. Guess who’s supporting them by changing up their whole sales operation? The motherfuckin’ Girl Scouts.
I am proud to belong to these communities. And I’m finding places where I can lend a hand, plant a seed, belong more fully. I’m active in a local organization for housing policy reform, I’m a new member of the Denver DSA, I’m forcing my neighbors to give me their phone numbers. I’m riding the bus.
If I were to put my little spell (or meditation, or intention, or wish) for Imbolc in writing, it would look something like this:
Okay, you’re here. The sun is shining. Little green shoots are popping up all around your neighborhood, a promise that flowers will follow. Birds have started singing again, and the tree branches are fuzzy with buds. You belong in this world. What a gift, what a calling.