Lucky Moons for 2017

New moon of spring, photo by Alyss Broderick

An important part of doing magic is being in touch with the flow of energy as it expresses itself through the universe, especially through the cycles of the stars, the sun and the moon. Keeping track of these cycles is easy if you have any one of the popular calendars which list the moon sign like the WeMoon Almanac or the Pocket Astrologer or the Moon Phases card.

During every lunar cycle (or moonth, the term Donna Henes uses to remind us of the root of the word month), the moon passes through your astrological sun sign. This is often a time of personal power, when you feel truly in sync with your personality. Helen Farias noted that wishes (prayers, affirmations, spells) expressed on the day the moon was in her sun sign were usually granted. If you know your moon sign, you may also notice a shift of energy when the moon moves through this sign, which will also happen once every lunar cycle. Often this is a time when you are sensitive and aware of your feelings.

Full harvest moon, photo by Cate Kerr

You also have several other moon power points during the year. The moon will be new in your sun sign once a year and full in your sun sign once a year. The New Moon, when the moon is dark or invisible is a seed point, a time for going deep within and attuning with spirit. Since it always happens near your birthday, you can use it as a time for setting an intention for the upcoming year. The full moon in your sign is more likely to be the time for a party (too bad it’s half a year away from your birthday), a time for going out into the world, connecting with other people and expressing yourself creatively.

The moon will pass through all of its phases in your sign during the year. You might also want to note when it is in your sign in the first quarter and the last quarter. The first quarter moon in your sun sign would be a good time for initiating a project or casting a spell, planning or going on a vision quest. The last quarter moon is a time for reflecting on your achievements, evaluating your experiences and grieving your losses (perhaps with a ritual of letting go).

Now that you know the principles, you can also pay attention to these power points when they fall in the same sign as your natal moon or the sign of your Ascendant. Each one can be occasion for a ritual.

Charting Your Moon Power Points

The chart below can help you identify your Moon Power Points for the coming year. Dates are taken from Jim Maynard’s 2017 Pocket Astrologer for Pacific Time. Leos get two fresh starts with two new moons, and they’re going to need it with all those eclipses in their sign. Aquarius and Pisces also have eclipses paired with their moon power points. For a great description of how eclipses affect you, see this article by Susan Miller. https://www.astrologyzone.com/all-about-eclipses-a-guide-for-coping-with-them/

Moon Phase New Full First Quarter Last Quarter
Seed point,
make wish
Celebrate Initiate a project,
state intentions
Reflect, evaluate,
let go, banish
Aries Mar 27 Oct 5, harvest moon Jan 5 Jul 16
Taurus Apr 26 Nov 3 Feb 3 Aug 14
Gemini May 25 Dec 3 Mar 5 Sep 12
Cancer Jun 23 Jan 12 Apr 3 Oct 12
Leo Jul 23 &
Aug 21, eclipse
Feb 10,
eclipse
May 2 Nov 10
Virgo Sep 19 Mar 12 Jun 1 Dec 9
Libra Oct 19 Apr 10 Jun 30 Jan 8, 2018
Scorpio Nov 18 May 10 Jul 30 Jan 19
Sagittarius Dec 17 Jun 9 Aug 29 Feb 18
Capricorn Jan 16, 2018 Jul 8 Sep 27 Apr 19
Aquarius Jan 27 Aug 7
eclipse
Oct 27 May 18
Pisces Feb 26
eclipse
Sep 6 Nov 26 Jun 17

References:

This article first appeared in the Winter 1998 issue of The Beltane Papers: A Journal of Womens Mysteries.

Farias, Helen was the founding mother of The Beltane Papers. Until her untimely death in 1994, her wisdom and scholarship could be found in every issue. She frequently wrote about calendar customs and working with lunar and solar energies.

Henes, Donna, Celestially Auspicious Occasions: Seasons, Cycles & Celebrations, Perigee/Berkley 1996

Ask about these calendars at your local bookstore. If you can’t find them there, contact the publisher directly.

Pocket Astrologer is a handy guide created by Jim Maynard containing detailed astrological information for the year. It is available in a wall calendar, an engagement calendar, or, my favorite, the little pocket-sized book, for either Eastern or Pacific time. Order it from Quicksilver Productions, www.quicksilverproductions.com

Lunar Phases card: A simple tool for tracking the moon’s cycles, a one page card on stiff paper which can be ordered from Snake and Snake Production at www.snakeandsnake.com.

WeMoon Almanac, a lovely engagement calendar, featuring original art, good writing and astrological lore, published by Mother Tongue Inc. For more information see:www.wemoon.ws

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Hanukkah: Festival of Lights

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA This blog was originally written for the holiday lore blog at Amber Lotus. The Jewish holiday of Hanukkah, like the stringing of Christmas lights on trees and houses, and the lighting of the Advent candles, celebrates light during the darkest time of the year. The Jewish holiday calendar is still a lunar calendar and that means that the theme of light and dark can play out in the timing of the moon as well as the sun. Hanukkah always begins on the 26th of Kislev, three days before the dark moon closest to the full moon that is closest to the Winter Solstice, so at the darkest time of the moon and at the darkest time of the sun. Most Jewish holidays are linked to a pivotal moment in Jewish history. For Hanukkah, that moment is the victory of the Maccabees against the Hellenistic overseers of the Land of Israel who outlawed Jewish religious practices (and punished them with death) while reinstating pagan rituals. In 166 BCE, when the Maccabees recaptured Jerusalem, they chose the 26th of Kislev as the day to purify and rededicate the temple which had been desecrated three years earlier. But the temple contained only one sealed flask of oil, only enough to light the lamps for one day. Miraculously that oil lasted for the eight days of the ceremonies. But as Arthur Waskow points out in his wonderful book on Jewish holidays, Seasons of Our Joy, the Greeks were probably celebrating a Winter Solstice ritual on that day and by claiming the same day for their festival the Maccabees

were rededicating not only the Temple but the day itself to Jewish holiness; were capturing a pagan solstice festival that had won wide support among partially Hellenized Jews, in order to make it a day of God’s victory over paganism. Even the lighting of candles for Hanukkah fits the context of the surrounding torchlight honors for the sun.

The main ritual for Hanukkah involves lighting candles in the menorah, a candelabra that contains eight candles in a row. The first candle on the right is lit on the first night (December 25 in 2016) and each night an additional candle is lit until all eight are burning. Since the lit candles are not to be used for any practical purpose, many menorahs have a space for a ninth candle, a shammas or shammash, which is set above (or below) the others and used to light them. The candles are lit just s night falls and are left to burn for a half an hour. No work is to be done while the candles are burning (just as the candles are not to be used for practical purposes). Instead this half hour is a time for contemplation, for saying blessings and singing songs, eating special foods and playing games. In some Sephardic communities, women do not work at all on the first and eighth days of Hanukkah, and in some places, they don’t work on any of the eight days. Just as the Sabbath is the day for rest provided during the week, so are the eight days of Hanukkah a time of rest at this pivotal point in the year. hanukkah geltHanukkah foods are cooked in oil: potato latkes and fritters and jam-filled doughnuts, all recall the miracle of the long-lasting oil. Children play with a dreidl and are sometimes given gifts, particularly Hanukkah gelt. I’ve always loved those thin gold-foiled chocolate coins which remind me of the gifts of money so common at New Year festivals (the Romans, for instance, gave coins as New Year Gifts) and certainly,with the return of light in the darkness, the new year is born. Photo of Hanukkah gelt was taken by Liz West and posted at Flickr. Photo of the silver menorah (found at Wikipedia) was taken by Ladislav Flaigl and released into the public domain.

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An Advent Garden

by Erin Fossett

The December holidays can be a hectic if festive time of year, a season that can leave us ungrounded and disconnected from our natural rhythms. And yet, this season can also be a call to strengthen these connections, while paying tribute to some of the most fundamental relationships in our lives: our connections to the earth, to plants and animals, and to the people around us.

One way we try to honor these connections in our home is an advent garden, a tradition that has become an anchor of my family’s celebration. It is also a tradition that can be adapted to your own beliefs and traditions, expressing what the season means for you.

To make our garden, I spread a starry blue cloth on a corner table at the beginning of December, and then add four unlit votive candles. Other people might want to use an advent wreath of pine boughs, though I admit that I’m too intimidated by florist wire to try this myself. Instead, I arrange a spiral of small stones to symbolize the first week of advent, the Festival of Stones, which commemorates the earth in its most basic form.

The first light of Advent is the light of stones,
Light that lives in seashells, in crystals and in bones.

This verse is one I learned at my son’s Waldorf school. It can also be found on a wonderful collection of holiday music, The Christmas Star, by Mary Thienes-Schunemann. Every evening, we gather before bedtime around the garden. We turn out every light, even the Christmas tree. Then, singing this verse, I light a single candle for the first week of advent. We might sing a song, and I might read a fable or myth of the earth, including creation myths from various cultures. One source of wonderful stories for the solstice season is The Return of the Light, by Carolyn McVickar Edwards.

This first week, our focus is on our connection to the earth. We try to go on a hike or snowshoe, and my children keep an eye out for special rocks that they can add to our spiral. In years past, I have also wrapped individual stones, seashells and crystals in tissue paper. Each night, my children choose one to unwrap and we add it to the garden. We end our ritual with Silent Night, or another song, and I lead them upstairs by candle light.

The second light of Advent is the light of plants
Plants that reach up to the sun and in the breezes dance.

The second week of advent we celebrate the Festival of Plants. I add pine boughs and moss to the garden, and I may wrap up some pinecones for the children to open, as well as seed packets that we can plant in the spring. I try to keep most of the garden natural, but my children like to add their own touches, and it’s always interesting to see what they come up with. We’ve had the plastic pine trees from my son’s train set, bits of orange peel and a pomegranate. The important thing is to make it personal, an expression of what has meaning for you.

This week, we talk a lot about plants, celebrating the bounty of the earth and expressing gratitude for the people who grow our food. We also pay special attention to our garden, thanking the sleeping plants outside. This year, we’re even talking about planting a tree during the holiday season. We light two candles this week, and continue with our stories of the natural world, reading stories such as The Miracle of the First Poinsettia by Joanne Oppenheim.

The third light of Advent is the light of beasts
Light of hope that shines in the greatest and the least.

The third week of advent, we celebrate the Festival of Animals. Our garden is starting to take shape now, and the children get excited adding figures of favorite animals from their toy collections and our nativity set, as well as small animals that I’ve felted. We may set out a bowl of birdseed, or a bit of hay, to represent caring for animals.

Last year, we also made bird feeders from pine cones dipped in peanut butter and bird seed and hung them out in our backyard. We leave carrots out for the bunnies and pumpkin seeds for the squirrel who visits our back door a few mornings a week. We tell animal stories and think about how much we appreciate all living things. One group of stories that my children particularly love is James Herriot’s Treasury for Children, which includes a family favorite, “The Christmas Kitten.” We light our third candle and celebrate the growing brilliance of our garden.

The fourth light of advent is the light of you and I,
The light of love and friendship, to give and understand.

The final week of advent is the Festival of Human Beings. Add to the garden pictures of special people: relatives and historical figures that have inspired you. My children like to include doll house people as well as figures from our crèche set. By the end of the week, our garden is quite crowded. My children often play in it, moving the figures around.

I set up a pathway of little gold stars leading to the table, and each day move Mary and her donkey a little closer to the garden. All four candles are lit and their brilliance is reflected my own children’s faces. Books I like to read this week include All I See is a Part of Me by Chara Curtis and The Shortest Day by Wendy Pfeffer, which also includes some craft ideas for celebrating the solstice.

Since this final week usually includes the solstice, I try to focus on how we can bring more light into the lives of those around us. We may visit a soup kitchen, go to a nursing home, or take small homemade gifts to neighbors and friends.  On the day of the solstice, we try to forego electric lights as much as possible, and spend a lot of time outside (weather permitting). Last year, a friend gave each of us large white votive candles and we wrote our wishes and intentions for the coming year on the outside of our candles before lighting them. Another favorite solstice memory is of the snow cave we dug in the back yard one year. We set out votive candles in that sheltered space to represent the birth of the light. We left them lit in the snow as long as they lasted, long after my children went to bed, and it is a memory that still means a lot to each member of our family.

If the idea of the advent garden doesn’t appeal to you, you can think of other ways to incorporate your connections to the natural world into your holiday celebrations. Hike or snowshoe together with family and friends. Plant a tree or some indoor bulbs that you can enjoy during the winter months. Do something special to honor the animals, and to help the people around you. The important thing is to make the season meaningful for you and your family, celebrating traditions that will create memories and connections into the years ahead.

Erin Fossett is a freelance fiction writer and editor living in Colorado. Her fiction has been awarded by the Colorado Council on the Arts. She provides writing coaching and editing services through wild Word Writing and can be reached at wildwordmedia AT msn DOT com.

Erin Fossett provided the photos of her Advent Garden. The snowy scene was taken by Mary Claflin. Originally posted in November, 2010.

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Embracing Darkness

by Erin Fossett

 

We had a power outage one night a few weeks ago, when my children were in the bathtub and my husband was working late at the office. I managed to dress the children in the darkness before I went to find some candles. When my husband arrived home a bit later, I was telling them a story in the candlelit bedroom. My husband raised his hands and made a shadow puppet rabbit on the wall, and then a bird flying across the half-lit ceiling. My children were enraptured. Do it again, Daddy, they said. We all tried it then, and what started out as something of a frightening experience for my children turned magical by the time they settled down to go to sleep.

The lights went on again sometime after midnight, but the evening has settled into my children’s imagination, something they’ve talked about many times since.

 

Remember the night we made shadow puppets?
Remember the night when Daddy lit all the candles and it was so dark?
When can we do that again?

The event made me think about how few times we truly experience darkness in our modern lives. True darkness, like true silence, is a rare thing. And yet I think my children, and the children inside all of us, hearken back to some distant ancestral memory…winter nights made magical by storytellers spinning tales in the darkness, the only lights the stars and the embers of a fire around which everyone gathers, seeking warmth. There is something magical for me about such a scene, people clustered together for heat and light, rather than scattered to their various corners of the house, to their various devices and diversions and pursuits. Since that night, I’ve tried to think of more ways to bring this feeling into our home, while at the same time accepting and even honoring the encroaching darkness of the coming winter season.

 

A moment of darkness: As the days shorten, and we eat our dinner after dark, I like to turn out the electric lights and then light a beeswax candle at the center of our table, a single point of light in the surrounding darkness. As I light the candle, I say the following verse that I learned from my son’s preschool teacher:

 

Though daylight wanes, our flames burn bright;
Our candles glow in darkest night.

We share a moment of silence in this circle of candlelight, and then we may talk about what we are grateful for, or of someone we miss or want to send special blessings to. I find that this interlude seems to draw us closer, and brings a mood of reverence to our table and a sense of gratitude for the meal we are about to share. On some nights we eat the entire meal by candlelight, and something about that circle of light within the surrounding blanket of darkness seems to nourish us as we face the coming season.

An hour of darkness: Lately, I’ve also tried to honor the darkness with a special moment before bedtime, extending a ritual we’ve followed in past years during the Advent season. I light a candle in the kitchen and lead my children upstairs to bed by candlelight. Then we use the candle to light another in a special glass fronted lantern on a shelf in my daughter’s room. We say our prayers or blessings by candlelight, or briefly talk over the events of the day. There is something about the candlelight that seems to invite my children to voice wishes or concerns they might otherwise find hard to share.

I’m also experimenting with reading stories by candlelight, or, better yet, using this candlelit interval to invent a story, making a creative leap into storytelling that feels easier in the darkness. With my children’s help and input, I’ve recently been shaping one story about a fairy and a magic raccoon. The story takes twists and turns that I would never have expected, helped along by their suggestions (We need two red haired princes, one good and one bad. We need a factory that builds giant Legos…) It’s a way for us to share in the act of creating, of making something from nothing, while carrying on the dreamy tradition of long winter nights.

 

I also find that when I finally blow out the candle, my children seem to accept the darkness, and coming sleep, as a friend, rather than as something to be feared or fought. It makes me think of another blessing I used to say for my daughter when she was a baby, a verse I found in Shea Darian’s wonderful book on family rhythms, Seven Times the Sun.  It begins….

 

The dark comes like a blanket,
Protecting us at night…

This is a season to think of darkness as a blanket, a friend, an ally, not as something to be overcome.

NOTE: Remember, adults should never leave a candle or lantern unattended, especially around children. I often keep our candle in a glass fronted lantern when I read to my children, and keep it well away from books and other things. I also keep my hair tied back. I try to teach my children that fire is both a magical and a powerful force, one that requires care, thoughtfulness, and respect.

Erin Fossett is a freelance fiction writer and editor living in Colorado. Her fiction has been awarded by the Colorado Council on the Arts. She provides writing coaching and editing services through wild Word Writing and can be reached at wildwordmedia AT msn DOT com.

Reference: Seven Times the Sun, Shea Darian, Gilead Press, 2001, p. 140.

First published November 7, 2010

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Celebrating Advent

by Waverly Fitzgerald

The period of Advent, which means “to come,” is a period of anticipation, of looking forward, of waiting. What are we waiting for? In the Christian tradition: the birth of the Christ Child, who will be recognized as the Son of Light at Candlemas (February 2, when Mary presents him at the temple). In the pagan tradition, the rebirth of the Sun, for the Winter Solstice is the moment when the sun is at its nadir (for those of us who live in the Northern Hemisphere). For a few days, the sun appears to stand still, and then begins its northward journey again, bringing more light into the world with each passing day.

In the Church calendar, the first Sunday in Advent is the beginning of the Liturgical year. Advent is celebrated on the four Sundays before December 25, Christmas, beginning with the Sunday closest to November 30, St. Andrew’s Day. This period was first observed, as a time of solemnity and fasting, in medieval times. At the time of the Reformation, it became part of the liturgical calendar of Anglicans and Lutherans, and was subsequently adopted by other Protestant groups. According to Father Reardon, in Orthodox churches, Advent begins on the feast day of St. Phillip, November 15, and last for 40 days, echoing the 40 days of Lent in Spring. In fact, it is often called the Winter Lent or St Phillip’s Fast.

If you prefer to celebrate the rebirth of the Sun instead of Christmas as the turning point in the year, you could mark the beginning of Advent four Sundays before Winter Solstice (which is calculated astronomically and can fall on December 20, 21 or 22). This year, both Christian Advent and Pagan Advent begin on Sunday, November 28.

Most Advent customs have to do with marking time: opening doors in an Advent calendar, lighting candles in an Advent wreath, putting symbols on a Jesse tree. All of these customs are fairly modern. Though both evergreen wreaths and candles were important symbols during the winter holidays, the Advent wreath is first mentioned in the 19th century in Germany and spread to the United States in the 1930s. The first Advent calendar was also created in Germany in 1851 and the first printed versions were made in Munich in 1908. (We also have Germany to thank for the concept of the Christmas tree.) The idea of marking time with a Jesse tree (a symbol of the tree outlining Christ’s lineage on which symbols are placed that correspond with Bible stories) is even more modern, developed in American Protestant churches in the twentieth century. Before we used these devices for marking time, there were simpler customs, for instance, marking the passing days with chalk on a doorway, lighting a candle every day, or marking lines on a tall candle (like the one on the right which I found at the Wikipedia article on the Advent wreath) and burning it for a short period each day.

Although I remember Advent from my Catholic childhood, it was a minor celebration, easily overwhelmed by all the emphasis on Christmas (presents, decorations, etc.). But I have been a big fan of celebrating Advent ever since I read The Advent Sunwheel by Helen Farias (available at my store). She outlines a weekly ceremony to be performed every Sunday (Sunday being the Sun’s day) in which you light one candle on the Advent wreath, read a story (I love the stories Helen wrote but you could use any holiday or light-in-the-darkness tale), spend a few minutes enjoying the candlelight, then indulge in seasonal food and drink. This is a lovely tradition to share with family or friends. At our house, the grand finale comes on the Sunday before Solstice, when we host our annual Winter Solstice party and St. Lucy arrives to light the Sun candle in the center of the Advent wreath.

My particular spin on the tradition is to make my own Advent wreath from evergreens I collect in my neighborhood. It is part of my goal of living seasonally and knowing what is available at this time of the year. I go on a long walk on Wreath-Making Day, the Saturday before Advent begins, to gather the greens, returning every year to the same trees and bushes. In my neighborhood, I can find cedar, holly, pine, fir, spruce, and, I hope this year, my new best friend, cryptomeria japonica.

Another Advent-related holiday (which I have not celebrated) is Stir-Up Sunday, the Sunday before Advent begins, celebrated this year on the full moon of November 21 in 2010. The name comes from the Church of England collect for that day which begins “Stir up, we beseech thee, O Lord, the wills of thy faithful people.” That became a reminder that it was time to start stirring up the Christmas puddings and was parodied with this verse.

Stir up, we beseech thee
The pudding in the pot
And when we do get home
We’ll eat it piping hot.

Charles Kightly in The Perpetual Almanack of Folklore mentions the belief that Christmas puddings should always be stirred with a wooden spoon and all present should take a turn in order, mother, father, children and babies, by seniority, then visitors. I like it that the mother comes first in this list! Not so in Roman customs where the paterfamilias usually takes the lead.

I do observe another cooking-related Advent custom recommended by Helen Farias, and that is the baking of 13 different kinds of winter holiday cookies, including Lucy cats, Advent pretzels, gingerbread men, cinnamon stars (Zimsterne), and shortbread. Because that’s a lot of cookies, I begin baking them at the start of Advent, making three or four different kinds a week so that they will all be done in time for the Solstice Party. You can get my cookie recipes and a schedule for baking that will allow you to serve the appropriate cookie each Advent Sunday if you buy my Thirteen Cookies for Christmas book.)

Waverly Fitzgerald is a writer, teacher and dancer. She founded School of the Seasons, edits Living in Season and is the author of Slow Time: Recovering the Natural Rhythm of Life. First published November 07, 2010.

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The Advent Wreath

[Excerpt from the Yule holiday e-book]

by Waverly Fitzgerald

Gertrud Mueller Nelson in To Dance with God talks about how people in the far north removed wheels from their carts during the depth of winter. They brought these wheels into their homes and decorated them with evergreens and candles. This, Nelson says, is the possible origin of the Advent wreath. Although a charming story, I suspect it was invented after the fact to explain the circular shape of the Advent wreath.

An Advent wreath is a circle of evergreens with places for four candles. When I was growing up, our Advent wreath had three violet candles for penance and one rose-colored one (lit on the third week, which is called Gaudete (Rejoice) Sunday) to symbolize the coming joy. Nelson says her family uses the traditional red candles and red ribbon to decorate their wreath.

Helen Farias in The Advent Sunwheel, her book of suggestions for pagans wanting to celebrate Advent (which can be ordered at my website), points out that the Advent wreath, made of greens in a circle shape and lit by candles is a potent symbol. The circle with the dot inside has long been a symbol for the sun and is still used that way in astrology. Helen suggests putting a fifth candle in the center of the Advent wreath, to be lit on the solstice, to make the symbolism more apparent.

I make my Advent wreath on Wreath-Making Day, the Saturday before the first Sunday in Advent, by going on a walk through my neighborhood, collecting evergreen boughs. Often there’s a big windstorm around this time which knocks off branches so I don’t have to cut them. When I do cut branches, since I will be using them with a spiritual intent, I always ask permission of the tree and leave an offering (usually cornmeal) at the base of the tree.

Many years ago I bought a circular styrofoam wreath form which is the base for my Advent wreath. I hollowed out cavities just the width of standard candles and I cover the styrofoam with tin foil and then with evergreens, usually bound to the form with wire, ribbon or ivy. I like to use candles in the colors of the four directions: yellow for east, red for south, blue for west and green for north.

There is another kind of wreath which is found in Germany and Scandinavia, made of apples and dowels (chopsticks would work too). Three apples with dowels connecting them in a triangle form the base and the fourth apple is suspended by dowels above the rest, forming a pyramid. The triangle and pyramid are also both sun symbols.

This is an excerpt from the Yule holiday e-book which contains much more information about winter holidays, including folklore, recipes, instructions for making luminarias and pomanders and Yule songs. To order go to the Living in Season store.

First published November 2010

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Mid-Autumn Moon

On the full moon of the eighth Chinese lunar month, women celebrate the Moon. This moon is usually the full moon closest to the Equinox, and the same as the Harvest Moon in the West.  It corresponds with the Full Moon of September 16 in 2016.

In China, this is the beginning of the yin part of the year, when the dark takes precedence over the light, and the Moon is the symbol of yin energy, which also includes water, women and night. In the old Chinese agrarian system, autumn and winter were the women’s seasons.

The Moon Goddess, known as Hengo or Chang-o rules the Jade Palace of the Moon. Sometimes she is associated with a rabbit, sometimes with a toad. She drank the elixir of immortality meant for her husband and floated up to the Moon.

To honor the Moon, the women build an altar in the courtyard and put a figure of the Moon Hare in the center. Also on the altar are 13 moon cakes (to represent the 13 lunar months in the year), incense sticks, candles and plates of pomegranates, melons, grapes, apples and peaches. The pomegranates and melons represent children, the apples and grapes fertility and the peaches long life.

According to Anneli Rufus in The World Holiday Book, another popular fruit for the altars is the grapefruit-like pomelo, whose Chinese name, yow, is a homophone for “to have.” She also describes the filling of the moon cakes: sweet bean paste or lotus seed with a boiled egg at the heart to symbolize the moon.

When the full moon rises after sunset, the woman of the house approaches the altar and bows to the moon, followed by all the other women present. They sit in the courtyard all night long, feasting and drinking, some studying the moon for auguries, some composing poems about the beauty of the moon and the night, some playing the game of “Capturing the Moon,” by trying to catch her reflection in a bowl of water.

In Korea, to the north, this is a harvest festival. In Vietnam, it is celebrated by children who march in the night, carrying lanterns shaped like animals, birds, and fish, moving with a swaying motion, and chanting nonsense rhymes.

In Japan, this holiday is called Tsukimi. People gather at lakes or in special moon-viewing pavilions and eat “moon-viewing noodles”: thick white udon in broth with an egg yolk floating on top.

Photo by Cate Kerr of Beyond the Fields We Know

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Michaelmas Daisy

The Michaelmas daisy, among dead weeds
Blooms for St Michael’s valorous deeds

Any of the various asters can also be called a Michaelmas daisy, so named because they are members of the Daisy (compositae) family and they bloom through Michaelmas, providing a late show of color and bloom in the garden.

There are species of asters native to America, Switzerland and Italy. The aster amellus or Italian starwort is the original plant dedicated to Archangel Michael, whose holiday we celebrate on Michaelmas, September 29. (For more on this holiday, see this article.)

The 16th century herbalist, Gerard, commented on the aster native to England, the sea starwort (aster tripolium) which grew along the coast but flourished when brought into the garden. He called it tripolium because “It was reported by men of great fame and learning [he was referring to Discorides]..that it doth change the colors of his flowers thrice a day.”

In the 17th century, the plant collector, John Tradescant Jr. began bringing asters from North America to England. In 1633 he brought over the Virginia aster (aster lateriflorus). Later he introduced the very popular New England aster (Aster nova-angliae) and New York aster (Aster nova-belgii). These plants have since been reclassified; they are still in the tribe of Asters but under the genus name of Symphyotrichum (from the Greek words for “growing together” and “hair”—poor plant, aster is a much more appropriate and glamorous name).

Still if you were looking for one in a nursery, you’d probably say you were looking for an aster. There are many varieties available, most of them hybrids of the New England and New York asters, in many colors and sizes, with names like Harrington Pink (an heirloom aster dating from the 1930s) and Persian Rose, September Ruby and violet Carpet, Purple Dome and Wood’s Pink.

Aster Etymology

Asters are named for the stars they resemble—the name comes from the same root word as astrology and asteroid, asterisk and disaster–and in England, they are sometimes called starwort (wort simply means herb or plant with healing properties). Several legends are told about their origins. One says that Virgo scattered stardust on earth and they became asters. Another attributes their origin to the goddess Astraea (often associated with the constellation Virgo) who withdrew from earth out of sorrow and looking down wept. Her tears became asters

Aster Folklore

In ancient Greece, aster leaves were burned to keep away evil spirits and drive off serpents. Pliny the Elder recommended a tea of aster in cases of snake bite and an aster amulet to ease the pain of sciatica. Virgil wrote about it in the Georgics:

There is a useful flower
Growing in the meadows, which the country folk
Call star-wort, not a blossom hard to find,
For its large cluster lifts itself in air
Out of one root; its central orb is gold
But it wears petals in a numerous ring
Of glossy purplish blue; ’tis often laid
In twisted garlands at some holy shrine.
Bitter its taste; the shepherds gather it
In valley-pastures where the winding streams
Of Mella flow. The roots of this, steeped well,
In hot, high-flavored wine, thou may’st set down
At the hive door in baskets heaping full.

Helen Baroli in her book about Italian holiday food mentions picking yellow Michaelmas daisies on the beaches near Rome. She also made a yellow sponge cake called “Margherita” (daisy) on Michaelmas.

I don’t think the cake has any asters in it but the Plants for the Future website gives aster amellus, the native Italian aster, a rating of 2 for edibility and 2 for medicinal qualities. The roots have been used to make medicine for coughs, pulmonary infections and malaria. However they warn that although the native aster is probably safe to eat, the hybrid decorative varieties may not be.

The aster is considered a herb of Venus and like the daisy, which belongs to the same family of Compositae, it has been used in love divinations.

Growing Asters

Asters are easy to grow. I just saw a meadow full of three-foot high purplish-blue asters in a marsh on Puget Sound, where I presume they were growing wild. Although the plant can grow in poor conditions, it likes moist soil and lots of sun. Asters should be divided every three years.

One of my favorite garden writers, Paghat, offers a selection of aster photographs and tips on cultivation (at least in the Pacific Northwest) at her website.  Check her index for other asters.

She’s also the person who referred me to Picton Garden in Worcestershire, the site of the original Michaelmas Daisy Nursery founded in 1906 by Ernest Ballard. He was an English plant breeder who specialized in Michaelmas daisies.

China aster painted by Redoute

Chinese asters come from a different genus Callistephys, but they also bloom in autumn at the same time as the Michaelmas daisy. Their name means beautiful crown from the Greek kallistos (beautiful) and stephanus (crown). They were often planted in Chinese gardens in pots and arranged in a row with one shade blending into one another to produce a rainbow effect, something that might be fun to do with asters in your garden.

The sheer variety of China asters in shapes and color, is why aster means “variety” in the language of flowers. Asters are also associated with elegance and daintiness.

References:

Barolini, Helen, Festa: Recipes and Recollections of Italian Holidays, Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich 1988
Gerard’s Herbal, edited by Marcus Woodward, first published in 1597, reprint by Studio Editions 1994
Martin, Laura C., Garden Flower Folklore, Globe Pequot Press 1987
Martin, Laura C., Wildflower Folklore, Globe Pequot 1993
Martin, Tovah, Heirloom Flowers, Fireside 1999
Parson, Frances Theodora and Mrs William Starr Dana, According to Season, A Celebration of Nature, Houghton Mifflin 1990
Ward, Bobby J, A Contemplation Upon Flowers: Garden Plants in Myth & Literature, Timber Press 1999
Wells, Diana, 100 Flowers and How They Got Their Names, Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill 1997

Illustrations:

The lovely picture of the purple aster was taken by Heather Oetkin’s elementary school students and featured at the Human Flower Project website, where Julie Ardery admits that asters are on her hated plants list.

For Cecily Mary Barker’s depiction of the Michaelmas Daisy Fairy
First published on September 9, 2011

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Bon Odori Dances

For years, my holiday calendar contained a reference to the silent, gliding dances of the Bon Odori perfomed during the O-Bon festival in Japan. The image always seemed marvelous to me, and even more so, when I read this fantastic description of the dances written by Lafcadio Hearn, in 1894:

And at another tap of the drum begins a performance impossible to picture in words, something unimaginable, phantasmal—a dance, an astonishment. All together glide the right foot forward one pace, without lifting the sandal from the ground, and extend both hands to the right, with a strange, floating motion and a smiling, mysterious obeisance. Then the right foot is drawn back with a repetition of the waving of hands and the mysterious bow. Then all advance the left foot and repeat the previous movements, half-turning to the left. Then all take two gliding paces forward, with a single simultaneous soft clap of the hands, and the first performance is reiterated, alternately to right and left; all the sandaled feet gliding together, all the supple hands waving together, all the pliant bodies bowing and swaying together. And so slowly, weirdly, the processional movement changes into a great round, circling about the moonlit court and around the voiceless crowd of spectators.

The Bon Odori dances are part of the O-Bon festival honoring the dead, who return to visit their families at this time of the year. The festival is celebrated on the 15th day of the 7th month in Japan (July 15; although in some parts of Japan it’s celebrated on August 15), but it used to be celebrated on the full moon of the seventh lunation in the Chinese calendar, which would be the full moon of August in 2016).

Like our Western festival of the dead, Halloween, this holiday mingles several elements: the traditional end of the summer retreat for Buddhist monks, the Full Moon of the Hungry Ghosts, and a midsummer lantern festival. The dances were designed to welcome and honor the spirits of the ancestors; one can see that reverent and otherworldly aspect of the dances in Hearn’s description.

A few years ago, my friend, Susan told me about the O-Bon festival held at the Betusin Buddhist Temple in Seattle. And I finally got a chance to see the dances. My first impression was that they were not particularly gliding. And they are not silent: each is accompanied by recorded music, which is played on a loudspeaker, accompanied by a drummer. The crowd gathers in the street and makes a long shuffling circle around the yagura, a temporary stage set in the middle of the street, from which the dances are announced and where the drum is placed. In Seattle, everyone is invited to participate, even if you don’t know the dances, and so the crowd is diverse, with people dressed in traditional summer kimonos and people in jeans and flipflops, some who perform the dance elegantly, others who look lost and are always off the beat. Some of the dances are quite playful and whimsical.

The Wikipedia article on Bon Odori describes some the various dances, some of which are quite old and others which come from popular culture, for instsance, the Pokemon ondo. Another website, which calls the Bon Odori dances, the spiritual dance in the midsummer night (I love that phrase), describes and provides videos of several types of bon odori dances.

I was a little disappointed in my first Bon Odori, although I enjoyed the friendly crowd, the camaraderie of the dancers, and the generosity of the Buddhist temple which opens its doors to make this festival possible. It has the atmosphere of any small community event, complete with princesses (beautiful young women wearing tiaras and kimonos), food booths, a beer garden, a display of crafts (including ikebana arrangements and bonsai trees), and little kids sitting on the curb to watch the dancers lining the street.

But the following year, I attended the festival again with my niece, Shayla, and this time I really did see the gliding dances of my fantasy. Perhaps this was because the temple sponsored practice sessions during the weeks before the event (you can see one in this You Tube video) and more of the dancers knew what they were doing ahead of time. Perhaps it was because of the elegant grace of the dance leaders, women in pink kimonos who walked alongside the dancers, demonstrating the movements. But suddenly, I could see how the gestures were intended to welcome and honor the spirits. I watched the dancers move slowly along the street, in a gliding, undulating line. And I saw all the elements Hearn saw in 1895: the swaying, the supple hands, and most of all, that sense of otherworldliness. No silence, but the beat of the drum and the repetition of the movements that began to have a trance-like, hypnotic effect. I even got up and danced to one song and felt I had truly honored the ancestors.

This video was not taken in Seattle but at the Bon Odori at the Senshin Buddhist Temple in Los Angeles. I think it gives you the feel of the dancing. In LA, they were dancing in concentric circles, which creates an interesting effect. Several of the dancers are very elegant and attentive to what they are doing; others have that dazed look of people just trying to keep up. And from time to time, passers by, oblivious to the camera wander by, making you feel like you are there.

First published 7/20/2010.

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Flowers of July: Lotus & Water Lily

lotuses4Every Fourth of July, the talented pyrotechnicians who create the firework display that decorates the sky over Lake Union in Seattle devise new fireworks and the year I was working on this article, I was pleased to see fireworks that looked like lotuses, with outer petals fading from white to pink and central rings of rose deepening to red. The lotus, after all, is the flower for July in China. And the water lily, the flower of July in England, blooms in water. What could be more cool and refreshing during the hot days of July than contemplating the water lily?

From the earliest Indian collection of Buddhist sutras, from the reign of Ahyu, comes this description of the beginning of the world:

“Between the mountains there were many rivers, flowing in all directions along 100 different routes, moving slowly downhill, without waves. The rivers were shallow and their banks weren’t steep, making them easy to ford. The water in them was clean and pure, and flowers floated on the surface in abundance. The currents were full of them…”

According to this passage, the lotus was the first flower appearing in a world of water.

Natural Facts about the Lotus & the Water Lily

Although there is a botanical distinction, the lotus and water lily are often used interchangeably in folklore and mythology. Generally lotus refers to the water lily of India or the plant depicted in sacred art and stories, while the water lily is more often used by naturalists. As an example of the confusion, the World Book actually has two entries, one for the lotus, one for the water lily, both clearly referring to the same plant and neither referring to the other entry.

The lotus of India belongs to the Nelumbo genus (Nelumbo is the Sinhalese name for the plant). It has large flowers and leaves that sometimes grow up above the water. The plant’s thorny stalk discourages fish from nibbling on it. The upper cupule or fleshy capsule of the lotus dries out at maturity and separates from the plant. Floating about, it scatters seed from the many perforated holes in its surface.

In Asia, there is only one species of lotus with red and white blooms. Yet early Buddhist scriptures, referring to the seven precious lotuses, mention blue and yellow flowers. The water lily, native to Egypt, has blue flowers but the yellow-flowered water lily is native to North America. This mystery may be addressed in this Buddhist sutra:

“The lotuses of heaven can change according to people’s wishes, flowering when needed. In this way they bring joy to the hearts of all. There is no need to declare one false and the other real. Both are called the wondrous lotus flower.”

The water lily belongs to the Nympha genus, derived from the same word as Nymph. The Greek word nymph, besides being used to describe the feminine spirits of water and trees, also means something young and budding (like the larva of certain insects) and is the name for the labia minora. In Europe, the common white water lily, the one painted by Monet, is Nympha alba while in North America, we’re more familiar with Nuphar lutea, the yellow water lilies, also called spatterdocks or cow lilies. The English sometimes call the plant “brandy bottle” because the flowers smell like stale wine which attracts flies, the pollinators for the plant.

According to Chelsie Vandaveer, the Amazon Water Lily (victoria amazonica) imprisons its pollinators. The pure white flowers open in the evening and release a fragrance like pineapples. Beetles attracted by the smell find their way to the pale flowers on the dark water and feast on the central petals, while the flower closes over them. Then the anthers ripen and shed their pollen all over the trapped beetles. By the second evening, the flowers have turned pink and lost their fragrance. They open again and release the pollen-covered beetles which fly off in search of more white flowers with that incredible fragrance. Thus the lily is never self-pollinated since it can only be pollinated when the flower is white and fragrant. I love this description of the flower that changes colors and fragrances overnight, all in the service of sex. No wonder it’s considered a magical plant.

Yellow water lily

Growing Lotuses

The Sunset New Western Garden Book does distinguish between lotuses and water lilies.

Water lilies, listed under the genus Nymphaea, have round leaves with a notch at one side where the leaf stalk is attached. The flowers float on the surface of the water or stand above it. Water lilies sold in nurseries are hybrids. Hardy water lilies come in colors ranging from white through yellow to red. Tropical water lilies come in more colors, including blue and purple, but are more sensitive and prefer (no surprise!) to live in areas where orange trees flourish. They can be grown in colder climates, especially if the roots are stored in damp sand over the winter.

Lotuses, in the genus Nelumbo, have perfectly round leaves that spring up in summer above the water level and large fragrant flowers on separate stalks. Lotus roots should be planted in spring in 12 to 18 inches of fairly rich soil, which is then covered with 8 to 12 inches of water. They often will not bloom the first year, unless the summer is warm early. If the water will freeze in your area, the pond should be covered or filled with more water in winter. Nelumbium luteum is the American lotus, with pale, small flowers. The Indian or Chinese lotus, Nelumbium nelumbo, usually has pink flowers although white, rose and double varieties are available.

To make things even more confusing there is a genus called Lotus but it’s a completely different plant, a member of the pea family. Let’s not even go there.

Lotus Engraving
Engraving of a lotus from an old herbal.

Sacred Loremohenjodaro

When the white lotus descends to this world, it changes everyone’s life for the better. Chant from the White Lotus Sect, Ming dynasty

Jonas Balys, a Lithuanian folklorist writing on the lotus for Funk & Wagnalls Encyclopedia of Folklore and Mythology provides a great summary of the significance of the lotus through the ages.

The oldest representation of the lotus was made centuries before anyone ever wrote about it: a statue unearthed at Mohenjo-Daro showing a wide-hipped goddess, lifting her breasts with her hands and wearing lotus blossoms in her hair.

The Hindu goddess Laxmi, is also called Padma, Kamia and Kamalasana, all names for the lotus. She emerged from a lotus which sprang from Vishnu’s forehead (an improvement on Athena’s method of birth, I think). Vishnu himself is pictured holding a conch, a wheel, a mace and a lotus in his four hands.

lakshmiThe earliest written reference to the goddess in a supplement of the Rig-Veda describes her as born of the lotus, standing on the lotus, garlanded with lotuses. She is the hue of the lotus, lotus-eyed, lotus-thighed. She is often depicted flanked by white elephants who pour water from their trunks over her and the lotus she holds. Supposedly elephants love to eat the steam of lotuses.

In India, the Lotus also represents birth. Vishnu puts forth from his body a single giant navel on which Brahma, the lotus-born Creator is seated. This lotus has 1,000 golden petals from which mountains rise and waters flow.

Buddhism borrowed the lotus pedestal from Brahma. The Buddha is often depicted sitting on a lotus or holding a lotus. Yoga students and meditators sit in lotus position.

Legend says that when the Buddha was born, he walked seven steps in ten directions and with each step a lotus flower appeared. Look closely at the soles of his feet when you see a statue of Buddha — you may see the imprint of the lotus.

Buddhist periods are initiated by the appearance of a lotus, which indicates the location of the sacred tree of the Buddha. If there are no blossoms, no Buddha will appear. At the beginning of the current era, the Bhadrakalpa, there were 1,000 blossoms, signifying the birth of 1,000 Buddhas.

The Buddhist sutras say that the lotus has four virtues: scent, purity, softness and loveliness. Yet as Chang Chin-ju notes, many other flowers are soft, clean and fragrant. The lotus was singled out because Chinese botanists once believed that it flowered and bore fruit at the same time, thus symbolizing the ability to transcend the limitations of time.

In China, even before Buddhism arrived bringing its special devotion to the lotus, the lotus was honored as the plant of summer. One of the eight immortals holds a lotus, the “flower of open-heartedness” or a lotus-pod wand. It was an emblem of purity, fruitfulness (because of its many seeds) and creative power.

The Lotus Sect of Chinese Buddhism believes that people can be rewarded for virtuous acts by leaving the cycle of reincarnation and going to dwell in the Western Heaven. This paradise contains the Seven Treasure Pond which brims over with the Water of Eight Deeds and Virtues. The bottom of the lake is covered with gold dust and the lotuses are as big as carriage wheels. The blue flowers give off a blue light, the red a red light, the yellow a yellow light and the white flowers a marvelous fragrance. The different colors have different meanings. White represents purity, blue goodness and red enlightenment.

The Sacred Lake of Lotuses is often depicted in Temple Courtyards. Each soul has a lotus on this lake which will open to receive them after death and where they will wait until the time of its opening. The flowers thrive or droop according to the piety of the individual on earth; for the devout they open immediately when he dies, admitting the soul at once to the divine presence.

In China, the envelopes given to the family at a funeral are impressed with the outline of a lotus. And in rural areas, people still burn incense to the Spirit of the Lotus. In Chinese Buddhism, the goddess Tara is also called Lotus. And Kwan Yin, the Buddhist Goddess of Mercy, is often depicted holding a lotus which she gazes at with downcast eyes, or reclining on an expanse of lotuses.

In Chinese Buddhism, the lotus became a symbol of purity. “Bathing in the clear water of the spiritual pond, the lotus’ roots dig deep into the soil.” It represented being able to distance oneself from vulgarity. But Mahayana Buddhism takes this symbolism a step further: “This flower doesn’t grow in the highlands, but rather it blooms in the vile swamps.” In other words, purity is no different than pollution—the spirit can bloom in any circumstance.

The lotus became a popular symbol in Chinese folk custom. Pictures showing fat dancing babies holding lotus leaves or flowers are purchased in the hope that people will give birth to several boys in succession (because the Chinese word for lotus sounds the same as a word meaning “one after another”). And since lotus leaves protect the goldfish under them, the lotus also symbolizes abundance year after year.

Long before the classical Hindu scriptures wrote of the lotus, the lotus was an important symbol in Egypt. In fact, the lotus may have come to India from Egypt. It was associated with the sun because it opens in the morning and closes at night. Horus, the sun-god was often depicted sitting on a lotus (like Buddha and Brahma). The lotus was also the flower of resurrection, used in funeral rites and depicted on tombs. Mourners would pray that the deceased would have the chance to bloom again, “like a water lily reopening.”

The water lily appears all over the tomb of King Tutan-kamen which was built in 1361 BC. Water lilies adorn the tops of columns. The oar King Tut is using to row to the land of rebirth is made in the image of a half-open water lily. A beautiful woman who resembles Cleopatra offers the water lily she holds in her hand to another woman to sniff.

A Dakota legend tells about the origin of the yellow pond lily common in North America. A Star Maiden came down from the night sky and wanted to live with the Dakota. The chief, Red Strawberry Man, sent his son with the maiden to consult the tribe’s advisor who lived across the lake. While rowing across the lake in the darkness, the son’s canoe hit a log and the Star Maiden tumbled into the waters. In the morning, the first yellow water lily appeared at the same spot.

Lotus Holidays

The sixth moon of the Chinese lunar calendar is called the Lotus moon. In Peking, the birthday of the lotus is celebrated on the 24th day of the sixth month, according to Burkhardt. People flock to see the pink lotuses blooming in the lakes around the Winter Palace with the same enthusiasm the Japanese bring to cherry-blossom viewing. The sight of the lotus blooming in ponds and moats signifies that prayers to the Dragon-Prince have been answered and there will be sufficient moisture for an abundant harvest.

On two Chinese lunar holidays that usually fall in the month of July, the Chinese celebrate with lotus flowers. During the festival of Tanabata, the weaver woman, on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month, children carry lotus flowers. And lotus lanterns are lit for the Ghost Festival on the first day of the seventh lunar month.

Thoreau wrote an entry on June 25, 1852, that implies it was the custom for young men to bring water lilies to church on Sundays while they were in bloom:

“The nymphaea odorate, water nymph, sweet water-lily, pond-lily, in bloom. A superb flower, our lotus queen of the waters. Now is the solstice in still waters. How sweet, innocent, wholesome its fragrance. How pure its white petals, though its root is in the mud! It must answer in my mind for what the Orientals say of the lotus flower. Probably the first a day or two since. To-morrow, then will be the first Sabbath, when the young men, having bathed, will walk slowly and soberly to church in their best clothes, each with a lily in his hand or bosom, with as long a stem as he could get. At least I used to see them go by and come into church smelling a pond-lily, when I used to go myself. So that the flower is to some extent associated with bathing on Sabbath mornings and going to church, its odor contrasting and atoning for that of the sermon.”

June 2

Heat lingers
As days are still long;
Early mornings are cool
While autumn is still young.
Dew on the lotus
Scatters pure perfume;
Wind on the bamboos
Gives off a gentle tinkling.
I am idle and lonely,
Lying down all day,
Sick and decayed;
No one asks for me;
Thin dusk before my gates,
Cassia blossoms inch deep.

Po Chu-I (772-864) Autumn Coolness, translated by Howard S Levy and Henry Wells

Lotus Dreams

Jian Nan Shi Gao, a Song dynasty poet, was 78 years old when he had the following dream: He met an ancient man who told him: “I am the lotus scholar and responsible for the mirror lake. But now I am leaving, and I was wondering if you could take my place minding the moonlight, wind and dew and protecting the lotuses? Every month you will receive 1000 jugs of wine in payment.”

Lotus & Palm
Lotus & Palm border from the Palace of Darius 1 at Susa. Pesian, 6th century BCE in the Musee du Louvre.

Lotus Medicine

Indian folklore prescribes the leaves of the lotus to cool the fires of ardor. Pliny says the same thing: “According to tradition nymphaecea was born of a nymph who died of jealousy about Hercules, and therefore those who have taken it in drink for twelve days are incapable of intercourse and procreation.”

Huron Smith (quoted by Coffey) noted in 1933 the medicinal use of the yellow pond lily (nelumbo lutea) among the Forest Potawatomi who call it pine snake, because of the way the roots look when exposed. The roots were cut in quarters to dry, then pounded into a pulp to be used as a poultice for inflammatory diseases.

Michael Moore, the noted North American herbalist, prescribes it for exactly the same thing that medieval herbalists did: cooling of too much heat (appropriate during the heat of the Dog Days!) Moore recommends using the dried seeds and tea made from the root for soothing inflammation of the intestinal and urinary tract, caused by “too much sex, three days driving in a subcompact in the summer—or the jalapeno syndrome.” The fresh root is especially good for soothing the reproductive organs, whether used internally or externally. Moore cautions that the root is for cooling and shrinking hot, inflamed and sharply painful conditions, not for dull, congested, subacute and achy conditions that need stimulation. The root can also be used as a poultice or bath for inflamed joints.

Warning: Although I’m convinced by the reports of reputable herbalists and the ancient folk tradition that ingesting lotus root is safe, Jeanne Rose in her herbal marks the water lily with her symbol for highly toxic. And David L Spess, in his book on Soma, posits that plants from both the Nymphaea and Nelumbo families were the source of the divine hallucinogen, known in the India tradition as soma. He says that both plants are psychoactive, as well as having rejuvenating and healing powers.

Lotus Panel
Assyrian carved stone panel of a lotus blossom from the 6th century BCE

Lotus Food

Every part of the lotus found in India (Nelumbo nucifera) is edible. Seeds are roasted to make puffs called mahkanas. The plant’s roots are ground up to make lotus meal.

Native Americans also used the ground flour of a similar plant, Nelumbo lutea. Thomas Nuttal (quoted by Coffey) made notes in 1821 of the way the Quapaws of Arkansas used the plant. The young leaves were cooked, the tubers baked, the young seeds eaten raw or cooked and the ripe seeds of winter roasted, boiled or ground into meal. Furthermore they extracted an edible oil from the seeds.

You can eat the seeds of yellow pond lily. Moore offers a recipe from an Alaskan herbalist, Janice Schofield, for Pond Lily Popcorn, made by popping 1/4 cup of seeds in 2 tablespoons of oil and flavoring them with butter, nutritional yeast and whatever else you fancy. He comments that it sounds more palatable than the way the Assiniboin and Micmac ate them: fried in bear fat.

Lotus border
Lotus border painted on cornice moulding on the Portico of Thersilion at Megalopolis

How to enjoy the water lily in the month of July

  • Rent or borrow a canoe or kayak and go out on the water near some water lilies
  • Chant Om mani padme hum (a lotus wishing-spell)
  • Sit in lotus position
  • Create a pond (perhaps using a barrel—but don’t use redwood — it discolors the water) and plant some lotuses
  • Burn incense to the spirit of the lotus
  • Make an offering to the Buddha or Laxmi of a water lily floating in water

Resources

Burkhardt, V.R., Chinese Creeds and Customs, Hong Kong: South China Morning Post, 1982
Chang Chin-ju, translated by Jonathan Barnard, “Lotus, Flower of Paradise”
Coffey, Timothy, The History and Folklore of North American Wildflowers, Houghton Mifflin 1993
Jenks, Kathleen has a wonderful section on the lotus sutras, plus beautiful lotus paintings at her fabulous website, Mything Links
Kear, Katerine, Flower Wisdom, Thorsons 2000
Moore, Michael, Medicinal Plants of the Pacific West, Santa Fe: Red Crane Books 1993
Sunset New Western Garden Book, Menlo Park: Lane Publishing Company 1979
Rose, Jeanne, Herbs & Things, Grosset & Dunlap 1972
Spess, David L., Soma: The Divine Hallucinogen, Inner Traditions 2000
Vandaveer, Chelsie, “Why does the Amazon Water Lily imprison its pollinators?”
Ward, Bobby J, A Contemplation Upon Flowers: Garden Plants in Myth and Literature, Timber Press 1999
Wells, Diana, 100 Flowers and How They Got Their Names, Algonquin Books of Cahpel Hill 1997

 

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