Circle Stories Most Wiccans have `circle stories'; i.e., tales of events that have unexpectedly occurred during ritual. Some of these experiences may be deeply moving and highly spiritual, such as a visible appearance of the Goddess within the circle as She is called. Others may be rather magical: points of light flying through the air; candle flames dipping or growing incredibly high; cauldrons boiling with no fire beneath them. Still other circle stories, however, may be of a totally different nature. It's these that are most often shared with other Wiccan friends who appreciate a good laugh. Yes, a laugh. Despite our best intentions, mishaps do occur within circles. Though they can happen in a solo rite, they're most common during coven meetings. With eight or ten (or more) persons in a small space, surrounded by candles and sharp knives and big swords and hot censers and lots of things that shouldn't be touched or knocked over, accidents do occur. When they do, the healthiest, most Wiccan thing to do is to laugh, let that energy subside, and begin again. What are some examples of circle stories? I've already written of one memorable night. There were only five of us in the circle. Everything was going smoothly—until I mispronounced the name of the elemental ruler of Earth?until the huge labrys fell from the side of the altar, narrowly missing a foot?until we banged our hands into the lamp hanging over the altar. By the time the third mishap occurred we were weak from laughter. There are other circle stories. Once I was being initiated into a tradition that I'd studied for about a year. I was kept in a rear bedroom with the other neophytes while the initiates cast the circle in the living room. One by one they the neophytes were led out. Finally, I was alone. The messenger arrived for me. She was a vision of gentle power in a flowing white robe. I took her curious expression to be an indication of her highly spiritual state. Anyway, the messenger rigged me into the cable-tow" and led me into the circle. After various actions were performed there, it was time to unbind me. Her razor-sharp white-handled knife glistened in the candle flames. She knelt and cut the cord that secured my ankles. Unfortunately, her hand slipped at just the wrong time: the knife dug into my ankle. I laughed. It was a memorable rite. (It turned out that she was quite nervous.) Another time, in the same coven, a young woman was waiting in that same room to receive her 1st degree and was petrified with fright. Finally, the messenger arrived for her—and the poor woman fainted. She slept for over an hour. I vividly remember a skyclad ritual that we held on October 31st, 1973. Four of us were present. We had a pleasant ritual (except when one unruly male covener spun and accidentally walked right into the end of his grand piano—ouch) and, afterward, sat down for cakes and wine. The cool, highly polished bare wood floor was a great contrast to the hot atmosphere of the circle itself. We blessed the crescent cakes and the wine and had a good grounding. Then we tried to stand up—and couldn't. Our naked, sweaty bodies had partially melted the shellac on the highly polished floor. We were stuck. It was some time before we could close the circle (no one had thought to bring a shoe horn to ritual). There are many other circle stories. How many robes have gone up in flames when their wearers bent too close to the altar candles (or the bonfire)? How many skyclad Wiccans have accidentally backed into burning censers? I've heard tales of high priestesses trying to bless wine—and ramming their athames into their high priest's hands. I've heard of fingernails bursting into flames in ritual (greatly impressing the coveners in attendance). I've heard of matches that wouldn't light, charcoal blocks that refused to take a flame, incense that wouldn't burn. High Priests and High Priestesses may accidentally switch parts during rituals. Coveners trip over their feet during sacred dances. On one memorable night, two Wiccans suddenly decided to leap a bonfire at precisely the same second from opposite directions—and barely missed smacking into each other in midair over the roaring flames. Ours is, indeed, a religion of spirituality and magic, but it shouldn't be completely solemn. You show me a ritual where a Wiccan casts a square `circle,' knocks over the altar and gets dizzy from the incense smoke and I'll show you a Goddess that's laughing with Her children. So what if we forget to bring the matches? So what if we suddenly can't remember how to pronounce all those difficult Goddess names? So what if our crescent cakes are so rubbery that we play a game of handball with the extras after ritual? So what if the incense smells like a dead horse? Such experiences happen to the best of us—at some time, at some place. Proficiency in Wiccan ritual doesn't ensure that no circle mishaps will occur. Chaos will always have its day. When it rears its smiling little head, we're faced with a choice: will we allow this absurd incident (accidentally lighting the flowers instead of the candles; cutting a big `Z' on a covener's robe with that incredibly heavy sword; banging a toe into the cauldron) to ruin our ritual? Will we get angry and end the circle? Or will we accept the humor of the moment, enjoy it, let it pass, and get on with things? The choice is yours, but here's some things to think about: every Wiccan that I know agrees that Wicca is a religion with solemn moments, not a solemn religion. Rituals should be filled with light and love as well as invocations and ritual actions and the proficient use of tools. When something so absurd, so incredibly funny occurs, laugh! That's probably why it happened in the first place: too much solemnity was bogging down the ritual. (Some folks say that there are no accidents—that everything happens for a reason.) And so, the next time you spill the red wine on your best white robe, you forget that 47-page Gaelic invocation, and you accidentally torch your Book of Shadows half-way through the ritual, smile—and realize that you'll soon have another circle story to share with others. c 1992 by Scott Cunningham. All rights reserved. | 
