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Chairs set up around an altar.

There's an ideal image of a witches' coven in ritual: A group in matching robes standing around an altar in the moonlight. The altar would be laid with a lovely cloth and be bright with candles with incense smoke curling around simple, beautiful, matching tools. The coven's hands are held high and they are ready to chant and dance and work magic. It's an image seen on many Pagan books and magazines. It's an image I was trying to recreate in the first rituals I did... often to the detriment of the ritual's content and focus.

Over time, I've moved towards focusing on substance over style in my rituals, and the practical needs of my spiritual community has overridden any desire to have our rites look like a magazine cover. Robes went first; we simply didn't have the desire to all get any sort of special clothing. Next to go was the moonlight; rituals, even ones centered around the moon, sometimes had to be in the afternoon or right after work. Incense was given up due to allergies. Most recently, we've given up standing and dancing, at least temporarily. At this year's Lammas ritual, out of the six people who were able to attend, three were unable to stand without pain and one had her tiny baby with her.

Over the course of adapting rituals to the needs of a group with mobility issues, we've learned a few helpful things:

- I've found that both the group energy and the mechanics of the ritual work best if everyone's on the same level: all standing, or all seated in chairs, or all seated on the floor. We try to have chairs that are roughly the same height. If we're sitting on the floor, an altar that is very low or even just a cloth right on the floor is important so people can see each other and what's happening.

- If the ritual is going to include holding hands or passing items, it is important to place the chairs close enough together and to choose an altar small enough to fit in the centre, rather than having an altar that's too big and having people too far apart.

- Getting in and out of a circle of chairs can be awkward, so circle casting is best either done from a stationary position or by walking around the inside of the circle of people if there's enough room. When planning, be aware that chairs take up more room than standing people, so your room will fill up very quickly.

- If possible, encourage people to sit up straight and at the edge of their chair to keep energy and physical attention on the ritual.

- Cross-calling the quarters: The person calling East sits in the West, therefore facing East, and so on. I saw a group use this technique when doing very large outdoor rituals because it made it easier for the whole group to hear, but it is also really effective in a group where people can't easily turn to face the quarter being called.

- Dancing might be out, but a lot of other energy raising techniques work just as well in a seated ritual: drumming and chanting, meditations and visualizations, etc. If more movement seems required, there are lots of options with a bit of creativity: clapping, stomping feet, passing items around, and hand and arm gestures.

At Lammas, we made for a very different looking circle than that Wiccan 101 book cover: jeans and t-shirts, sitting in kitchen chairs in a ring around an altar covered with a sarong and cluttered with a diverse collection of tools and a bottle of cinnamon whiskey. But the magic was undeniable.

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Bread with wheat design decoration I didn't do particularly well in university philosophy, so on the scale of depth, this will be closer to a stoner's "what if this is all just someone's dream, man" than to a real treatise...

The Allergic Pagan has a brilliant post called "Why I'm Boycotting Lughnasadh". Reading the comments section, the response post from another Pagan, and the comments section on that post reminds me of why I don't usually read comment sections; a lot of people seemed to miss the point of the post, or didn't read it at all and were reacting to the title. The boycott article reminded me of articles about understanding Baudrillard using pumpkin spice lattes and FaceBook and the hyperreal.

To philosopher Jean Baudillard, a simulation is when a representation of something takes the place of the thing it originally only represented: where pumpkin spice flavouring take the place of real pumpkins, where digital representations take the place of real people, and where the grain festival mythology takes the place of what is actually happening in our backyard. These simulations act in the same way as the things they've replaced but they're ultimately empty of substance, without juice or depth. According to Baudillard, there are four steps in the process of separating simulation from reality. To use Lughnasadh as an example:

1. First is a faithful image, where rituals of early August are created to reflect the weather and seasons of the local climate right in front of the creators.

2. Second is when images do not faithfully reveal reality to us, but hint at the real reality which the image itself is cannot completely include, such as when the early August rituals are labelled as "Lughnasadh" and created into a tradition that transcends the actual weather or activities in any given year.

3. Third is when the image pretends to be a reflection of reality, but it is a copy with no original, such as when those Lughnasadh traditions are exported wholesale into completely other ecosystems and eras.

4. Finally comes pure simulation, in which the image has no relationship to any reality whatsoever. Images merely reflect other symbols, as where a ritual is constructed around the theme of sacrifice where the God of Grain dies in order for the wheat to be harvested... when there's no actual wheat ready to be harvested where you are. Of maybe no wheat grows in your area at all, ever.

Our Pagan rituals are at risk of becoming mere simulations. It isn't about faking connection; we may still be participating fully in our rituals, but as Emile Littre says "Someone who feigns an illness can simply go to bed and pretend he is ill. Someone who simulates an illness produces in himself some of the symptoms" but that doesn't make them sick.

Baudillard continues to say that when simulations interact, they create a hyperreality - a web of interconnected simulations that separates us from reality. A simulation of the wheel of the year does not celebrate the changing of the seasons, but puts a layer between us and the real, sacred earth.

The Allergic Pagan says it well: "Bend down and touch the earth." If it is around the beginning of August, you can call the result Lughnasadh, or Lammas, or first harvest, or nothing at all, but try to celebrate the actual dirt under your hands and not an image of a season from another place and another time.

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A sky in transition from blue to stormy.

It is a modern metaphysical puzzle of sorts: I'm never where or when I am.

At my day job, I start my day dealing with yesterday's paperwork. Towards the end of the day, I work on tomorrow's paperwork. In between, I send emails that put my words into some indeterminate future when the recipient reads them, and I am on the phone, metaphorically placing me where the person at the other end of the phone is. I am never fully in the present.

I live as much in cyberspace as anywhere else and the nature of that - words written one day on one side of the world and read on another on the other side - means I slip around time and space casually. I need Pagan ritual to ground me into the present time and place. Never mind "this is a time that is not a time and a place that is not a place": I need to be right here and right now. I don't create a Circle to set space aside; I want the Circle to centre me right there.

It is typical of me that, as we head to Beltane, I'm writing a Lammas ritual. It is what my group needed of me this quarter, and I was struck with inspiration this past weekend... though I do question the authenticity of inspiration for a harvest festival found when the fruits we will be harvesting is still buds and blooms. By the time the wheel makes its graceful turn to Lammas, hopefully I will be there too.

Branches of ripe plums

Yesterday, a member of my Circle ran a sweet little Lammas ritual on the theme of "as you sow, so you shall reap". That got me thinking about Pagans, the wheel of the year, and its relationship to nature.

One of the wheel of the year stories we can tell through Pagan rituals is of planting and harvesting: we plant in the spring, the crops grow through the summer, we harvest in the fall, and then everything rests in the winter. Many rituals will draw connections between these literal agricultural cycles and metaphorical growth: starting new projects, nurturing their growth, reaping the results, and then resting to allow for new inspiration.

What is striking me as interesting right now, though, is that the human version of this story is almost exactly opposite nature's version.

The human version is based on agriculture and food. It is based on what we have done for ten thousand years to feed ourselves. Nature's version is even older, though. In nature's version, Lammas and Mabon are not the harvests, but the plantings.

All the luscious fruit and golden grains coming our way over the next couple of months are full of the seeds of the next generation. Imagine a wild apple tree, outside of a tidy orchard. Birds and animals eat the apples and distribute the seeds in their droppings, thus creating the next generation of apple trees. The tree is planting; the tree is creating new life and celebrating fertility; it is in its Beltane, not its Lammas.

Those seeds will not grow much immediately; they will rest in the earth, biding their time over the winter hibernation. When spring comes, the tree reaps her reward - seeds spread and the future of apple trees secured - in the spring. Nature harvests not for consumption, but for the next generation. Spring time is the tree's Lammas, not its Beltane.

I work in organic food. Every year, it is the same: we get some warm and sunny weather in May or June, and people start asking me where the local food is. They want to know why we've still got tomatoes and nectarines and strawberries from California during the summer; shouldn't we have BC products? So every year I have to educate people about the growing seasons: the local fruits and veggies are still on the trees and in the ground in May and June. That sunny weather that means summer to people is just the start of their growing season. Locally, the best harvests aren't until August and September, and sometimes later if we have a long, wet, dark spring. So I think that honouring our agricultural wheel of the year is very valuable, as it connects us to our own bodies and needs and reminds us to what extent we are still dependent on nature.

But if we consider nature to be sacred and beautiful in and of itself, not just in how it is useful to us as people, then maybe we will want to honour this contradiction between the agricultural cycle and nature's cycle. I don't know what this would look like yet, but I think it could be an interesting theme to play with. I do know we are sometimes so far away from our food, but maybe we are even further away from the wild.

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