Pagan Journeys
Sabbats/Holidays and Esbats => Sabbats/Holidays => Lughnasadh or Lammas => Topic started by: Tirya on July 29, 2011, 12:12:45 PM
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Time for Tir's "What are you doing for the Sabbat?" thread starter! :) I need to re-think this one, because of recent happenings and (hopeful) new additions. What about you? If you're new maybe you can get some ideas, or feel free share what the sabbat means to you, even if you don't do anything "formal" to celebrate it.
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I will be at the beach for this - arriving late on the 31st. I am not sure exactly what I will do, but I think I will probably stick to devotions this year due to the moon phase and impending mercury retrograde.
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This is one of the holidays that I haven't ever been able to really connect to as it doesn't seem to fit the season around here. It tends to really sneak up on me because of that. Seeing as it is this weekend, I may end up celebrating by buying back to school supplies for the kids. :whistle:
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I will be at the beach for this - arriving late on the 31st. I am not sure exactly what I will do, but I think I will probably stick to devotions this year due to the moon phase and impending mercury retrograde.
I'll be there with her.
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I've already had two Lammas celebrations; one at a prison (I'm a member of the Indianapolis Pagan Prison Ministry) and one at CUUPS.
peace,
ES
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As it is the first harvest, I plan to pick wild berries or figs and make some jam or cobbler.
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I'll be at the beach for a simultaneous celebration of Lughnasadh and Shark Week. :whistle:
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Our group decided to do a celebration of bread, each of us is bring different fancy breads and we will prepare a corn dolly. The full out feast we save for Mabon. This is the first stirring of harvest and the whisper of the death of things just as Imbolic is the whisper of life.
I love the three Autumn festivals as the season progresses through fall. The fluid beauty of life is what strikes me. This is a poem by Carl Sandberg called, Autumn Movement.
" Autumn Movement
I cried over the beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The North West Wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come on the first spit of snow on the North West Wind, and the old things go, not one lasts. "
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Nice poem vordan! :D
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That is a beautiful poem, Vordan.