Ritual For The Waters of Life BY Circle Cithaeron In a non-metal vessel of your choosing, collect water from the first Spring rains or meltwater from the Spring runoff. Store the water until the time of the ritual. At the appointed time, make your way to your chosen Circle site, bringing the vessel of water with you. Ground and center according to your personal practice. If it is your tradition to formally cast a Circle, do so now. At this time, you may invoke the Four Directions with these runes or runes of your own devising: In the East:
Guardians of East! Powers of Air! Spring winds carrying the pollen of new life; bless this Circle with your seminal power that our works may be ever new. In the South:
Guardians of South! Powers of Flame! Fires of Time that burn away the dross of the past, bless this Circle with your renewing power that our works may be ever changing. In the West:
Guardians of West! Powers of Water! Secret pulse of glacial blood, bless this Circle with your nourishing power that our works may be ever nurtured. In the North:
Guardians of North! Powers of Earth! Bones of rock upon which all life rests, bless this Circle with sustaining power, that our works may ever endure. In the Center:
Guardians of the Center! Powers of Spirit! Threads of action that bind all things to each other, bless this Circle with your power of connection that we may ever understand the consequences of our works. Take the vessel of water to each of the Four Quarters, meditating with that Direction. Ask for its particular blessing on the water. Return with the vessel to the center of the Circle. Raise power using methods familiar to you, chanting the following rune or another of your own devising: Rising waters, powers pool,
Suckle roots within thy well Allow the power to build and then ground it into the water. Imagine tendrils of living energy pouring into the water, charging it with the powers of the Nurturing Goddess and the waxing moon, turning the water milky white. Visualize the strands of energy coalescing into a mass of fine root hairs and rootlets, pale eldrytch roots calling forth the life spark from the living twig. Use this water to start the roots of the willow twigs you have collected (see below). When the rootlings are sufficiently grown you may transplant them to an area that will support them—willow trees, Witches' trees. To collect the willow twigs you will need, find a native willow in your area. Cut three green twigs about inch in diameter and about 18 inches long. First, select the tree—keep in mind that some common willows such as pussy willow and weeping willow are not native to North America. Extend your consciousness to the tree; let it know what you need and ask for three twigs to reveal themselves to you. Extend your consciousness to the twigs; mentally picture the sap congealing, clotting, and making a place for you to cut where the three won't lose much liquid. Using a sharp knife, athame, or shears, cut the twigs and immediately wrap them in a damp towel or wet newspaper. Keep them moist until you get them home and can put them into the charged water. Most willows will form roots in water in a matter of a few weeks. They root a little better if placed in a container of clean sand that is soaked with the water. Cover the pot or jar and twigs with a clear plastic bag and put it in a warm (not hot) place in bright light (but not in direct sunlight). The twigs should be ready to plant out in a moist sunny place in about two months (an excellent Midsummer ritual in itself). Pathwork: An Arbor Day Ritual Relax, breathe deeply. When you feel relaxed, shift your awareness to the areas of your body touching the ground. Focus on the pressure between the ground supporting you and the weight of your body pressing down. This pressure begins to take on texture—and then form. You are reclining comfortably against the gnarled bark of a beautiful, old tree standing alongside a field. Notice what kind of tree it is. You wonder how old it is. How old can a tree be? What does a tree remember from its life? Close your eyes and let your mind drift along these possibilities. A bird calls close enough for you to open your eyes to look for it. Instead of the open field you are surrounded by a forest, deep and cool. There are large trees, some you don't recognize. Other trees you begin to see are old, old individuals you can identify—only here they are in their old skins, so different from the young bark with which you are familiar. From the lay of the land you know you still are in the same place but nearly everything else has changed. There is a silence that is the absence of distant engines and sounds of civilization. In this brilliance of sound, birds call—some familiar, some not. Beside you in the soft forest floor a rare animal has left tracks. There is a feeling of completeness here among these trees that is palpable, so much so that you feel you could take a piece of it into yourself and be whole in a way you had never dreamt possible before this moment. Spend some time sitting quietly in this new environment. The old tree you rested against has become a slender sapling, and you realize that the landscape is different because the tree is sharing a memory of its youth with you. Walk among the ancient trunks of the surrounding trees—entire generations of trees that lived and died before you were born. One catches your attention, large and old at the end of its life. It is the Grandfather Tree, weighed down with life—an ecosystem in itself. Even in death it will be alive with the communities it supports. Layers of life depending on the life—and death—of the tree. Limbs support songbirds along with birds of prey, salamanders and snakes, rodents and beetles, lichens, mosses, fungi. Pockets of water remain from rains. Patches of rotting leaf litter settle into to crotches. Very young trees wait patiently in the shade. They wait for the fall of the grandfather, the influx of life-giving light, the rush of growth, and the stampede to fill the place of the fallen. You pause, realizing you've rarely, if ever, seen a tree at the end of its natural life cycle. Meditate with the tree for a time. When you feel ready, retrace your steps to the sapling. Again sit resting against its trunk. Close your eyes and feel yourself returning to the present. When you open your eyes, the tree and the field are as they were. Thank the tree for choosing to share its memory with you and know that this memory now also is your memory. This ritual is from MoonWeb, a periodic mailing of rituals and pathworkings designed to be worked simultaneously by Pagan solitaries and groups across the U.S. and Canada. MoonWeb is not copyrighted, and they encourage sharing this ritual. You can subscribe to MoonWeb for the cost of postage only, at the rate of two U.S. first-class stamps per issue (or check equivalent, payable to MoonWeb). For subscription inquiries, please send a self-addressed envelope with two stamps to: MoonWeb, Circle Cithaeron, PO Box 15461, Washington, DC 20003. | 
