Last year, I was in the process of observing all of the neopagan festivals- ones that were taken from old source, and given new and fresh perspective.
The story of Mabon is a child stolen from his mother after
three days of life, who then goes on a journey in the underworld until the sun
starts to return in the next spring. Its about high harvest time, saying goodbye to the
sun who has been ebbing away, and making sure you are prepared for the dark of
winter. Its about getting lost, so you
can get found.
It’s the first celebration, pagan or otherwise, that deals
with the summer ending, and the wheel turning towards the dark, towards rest,
towards deeper connection.
So, I made mayonnaise.
I make very good mayonnaise.
Rosemary mayo is my favorite. The
principle is easy enough, its just the making of it that puts people off, that
is, unless you have a food processor or blender or whatever. I like the old school technique, which is all
about continuing to whisk away while you dribble the oil in.
2 cups of oil.
Drop by drop.
Your arm gets tired, but you have to be careful to dribble it in slowly, or the mayonnaise will
“break”. I thought the idea of
mayonnaise breaking was funny, just such a dramatic way of stating it.
It was a Saturday, and I had worked until five. Now I was trying to prepare things so that I
could go walk in Tualatin Hills Nature Park (part of the ritual for the evening.), and I wanted to make sure I had ample time before the waning sun
had gone down.
And I was making mayonnaise when the phone rang. It was my doctor. A very, very nice doctor. Great bedside manner. But he was getting on in years, and I am
pretty sure he is going to retire any day now.
I wasn’t expecting a call. I was expecting another office visit to
discuss the curious thing that had happened.
Five months had gone by with test after test, all that agreed there was a big lump in my throat that shouldn't be there, but the one word that always came up was INCONCLUSIVE.
I had undergone a fine needle biopsy(more about that later), and the doctor was calling to give me results.
The status had changed from inconclusive to suspicious, and
I was to get an appointment as early as possible with an otolaryngologist- an
ear, nose, and throat specialist.
The
mayonnaise broke that evening. Twice.
I
was invited to a friends Mabon ritual today, and I told her that I
couldn't. Couldn't face the day and people in that sort of mindset.
The ritual that I had planned that night was four chairs facing outward,a nd asmall table with candle and stones on it. You sit in each chair and acknowledge that direction, speaking to your gratitude. This I did, after getting drunk on hard cider, and stopping several times to break down sobbing.
How poetic of me. How dramatic. How much I want to bury this day, and keep one foot going on in front of the other. But it keeps on popping up, like a scab looking like its ready to come off, and when I grab and pull, I realize too late that its not healed. And I start bleeding all over again.
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