The Ripe and Bearded Barley
Nov. 22nd, 2010 09:09 am1.
In preparation for the![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
purejuice Seventh Annual Winter Memoir Marathon, to which you all are invited to contribute, I started reading my father's 1952 letters home from Liberia this morning. It is stunning to hear his voice again, and to fit the puzzle of his grownup account to the jigsaw pieces of my memory. Christmas in Liberia. Let's see if I can get it written by then. It entails unpacking the entire garage to fish out pix and docs and stuff.
2.
Seventh Annual purejuice Winter Solstice Memoir Marathon
Deadline, January 1, 2011.
http://purejuice.livejournal.com/tag/memoir%20marathon
One of the things I like best about it is that it goes back to the days ofwhitelinefever, johnshade and doctor_gogol. Many other talented people have contributed and I hope you will too.
I don't believe in prompts, but I am very fond of meditating on these six words:
From my mammoth 2007 craftapalooza Advent calendar.
3.
Waverly Fitzgerald, in her School for the Seasons Harvest E-book, writes about autumn equinox festivals as having originated with the Eleusinian mysteries -- where earth goddess Demeter mourns the departure of her daughter, Persephone, who has to go spend six months with her husband, the king of the underworld.
Eleusinian mysteries, then -- nine stations of the transformation mystery ritual, entail (according to Waverly, via Deena Metzger) the following :
I am abducted [to Hades]
I am separated [from the mother]
I am grieving [for the daughter]
I am in the dark
I am barren
I embrace death
I am fertile
I am reunited [with different parts of myself]
There is light
I like this very well. Sacred and healing herbal beer all around.
Lawrence Durdin-Robinson, per Waverly, describes the Eleusinian mystery rituals spreading over several days, starting with a parade to the temple led by matrons carrying baskets with figs and snakes and barley, bathing in the sea, followed by donning of new garments, sacrifice of pigs (sacred to Demeter), incense, pouring of libations, crossing a bridge at night during which the goddess' skirts are lifted by Baubo, to make the unhappy goddess laugh, a password leading into the temple where the Kore (daughter, Persephone) is invoked with torches, games and races after the revelation, winners awarded barley, libations of water poured east and west.
Waverly recommends several pagan/Michaelmas activities for this time of year, during which, as the Japanese acknowledge, because the days and nights are of equal length, the spirits and humans can, with Persephone, cross back and forth into each others' worlds, among them baking gingerbread, weaving corn [wheat] dollies to be buried in the first furrow you plough next year, making baskets for Demeter, transforming fruit and grain into wine and beer, playing with yeast bread, praying to the archangel Michael, or his Afro-Cuban counterpart, Eleggua, god of the crossroads.
I have a pomegranate. And an Eleggua infusion for a bath. Ellegua and Godzilla at the door. And some orange candles. Meanwhile, Acey and I are typing this in bed. She has had a warm bath, which she liked almost as much as being toweled, is wearing all 10 of the santeria collares. As befits her Puerto Rican heritage.
Eleggua at the bridge
4.
ALL AMONG THE BARLEY
Now is come September, the hunter's moon begun
And through the wheaten stubble is heard the frequent gun
The leaves are pale and yellow, and kindling into red
And the ripe and bearded barley is hanging down its head
All among the barley, who would not be blithe
When the ripe and bearded barley is smiling on the scythe
The spring is like a young man who does not know his mind
The summer is a tyrant of most ungracious kind
The autumn's like an old friend, who loves one all she can
And she brings the bearded barley to glad the heart of man
The wheat is like a rich man, it's sleek and well-to-do
The oats are like a pack of girls, laughing and dancing too
The rye is like a miser, it's sulky, lean, and small
And the ripe and bearded barley is monarch of them all
Now is come September, the hunter's moon begun
And through the wheaten stubble is heard the frequent gun
The leaves are pale and yellow, and kindling into red
And the ripe and bearded barley is hanging down its head
5.
Nigella Lawson's grandma's awesome barley/parsnip/bean/parsley soup, smiling on the scythe.
In preparation for the
purejuice Seventh Annual Winter Memoir Marathon, to which you all are invited to contribute, I started reading my father's 1952 letters home from Liberia this morning. It is stunning to hear his voice again, and to fit the puzzle of his grownup account to the jigsaw pieces of my memory. Christmas in Liberia. Let's see if I can get it written by then. It entails unpacking the entire garage to fish out pix and docs and stuff. 2.
purejuice Winter Solstice Memoir MarathonDeadline, January 1, 2011.
http://purejuice.livejournal.com/tag/memoir%20marathon
One of the things I like best about it is that it goes back to the days of
whitelinefever, johnshade and doctor_gogol. Many other talented people have contributed and I hope you will too.I don't believe in prompts, but I am very fond of meditating on these six words:
From my mammoth 2007 craftapalooza Advent calendar.
3.
Waverly Fitzgerald, in her School for the Seasons Harvest E-book, writes about autumn equinox festivals as having originated with the Eleusinian mysteries -- where earth goddess Demeter mourns the departure of her daughter, Persephone, who has to go spend six months with her husband, the king of the underworld.
Eleusinian mysteries, then -- nine stations of the transformation mystery ritual, entail (according to Waverly, via Deena Metzger) the following :
I am separated [from the mother]
I am grieving [for the daughter]
I am in the dark
I am barren
I embrace death
I am fertile
I am reunited [with different parts of myself]
There is light
I like this very well. Sacred and healing herbal beer all around.
Lawrence Durdin-Robinson, per Waverly, describes the Eleusinian mystery rituals spreading over several days, starting with a parade to the temple led by matrons carrying baskets with figs and snakes and barley, bathing in the sea, followed by donning of new garments, sacrifice of pigs (sacred to Demeter), incense, pouring of libations, crossing a bridge at night during which the goddess' skirts are lifted by Baubo, to make the unhappy goddess laugh, a password leading into the temple where the Kore (daughter, Persephone) is invoked with torches, games and races after the revelation, winners awarded barley, libations of water poured east and west.
Waverly recommends several pagan/Michaelmas activities for this time of year, during which, as the Japanese acknowledge, because the days and nights are of equal length, the spirits and humans can, with Persephone, cross back and forth into each others' worlds, among them baking gingerbread, weaving corn [wheat] dollies to be buried in the first furrow you plough next year, making baskets for Demeter, transforming fruit and grain into wine and beer, playing with yeast bread, praying to the archangel Michael, or his Afro-Cuban counterpart, Eleggua, god of the crossroads.
I have a pomegranate. And an Eleggua infusion for a bath. Ellegua and Godzilla at the door. And some orange candles. Meanwhile, Acey and I are typing this in bed. She has had a warm bath, which she liked almost as much as being toweled, is wearing all 10 of the santeria collares. As befits her Puerto Rican heritage.
Eleggua at the bridge
4.
Now is come September, the hunter's moon begun
And through the wheaten stubble is heard the frequent gun
The leaves are pale and yellow, and kindling into red
And the ripe and bearded barley is hanging down its head
All among the barley, who would not be blithe
When the ripe and bearded barley is smiling on the scythe
The spring is like a young man who does not know his mind
The summer is a tyrant of most ungracious kind
The autumn's like an old friend, who loves one all she can
And she brings the bearded barley to glad the heart of man
The wheat is like a rich man, it's sleek and well-to-do
The oats are like a pack of girls, laughing and dancing too
The rye is like a miser, it's sulky, lean, and small
And the ripe and bearded barley is monarch of them all
Now is come September, the hunter's moon begun
And through the wheaten stubble is heard the frequent gun
The leaves are pale and yellow, and kindling into red
And the ripe and bearded barley is hanging down its head
5.
Nigella Lawson's grandma's awesome barley/parsnip/bean/parsley soup, smiling on the scythe.
