A Weekend of Fire and Magic

What's a cauldron if you can't light a fire under it?

This weekend proved to be interesting and quite satisfying in many ways. On Saturday, a local organization called Rewild Portland was hosting a free (by donation; I donated since I, 1. could afford to for once, and 2. give a shit) workshop on friction fire making. This ancient method uses a fast rotational-energy conversion to create enough friction to give off small smoking pieces of dust and sparks, which can then be cradled to kindle a fire. I'd seen and known about it for years. Here was a chance to learn first-hand.

All the tools and books laid out for our edification! We gathered under the trees in Colonel Summers Park, and Rewild Portland teacher and organizer Peter taught us the basics of each piece of the friction-fire kit, plus tips on how to make the process easier and more successful: How deep to carve a notch, what woods to use, how to tie knots on the bow drill, spindle shape, and so on . . . stuff a caveman or Indigenous human would learn and master early on, no doubt, but which we butane-spoiled moderns have to relearn over again from those in the know --- hence, Rewilding.

The tools, parsed out into fire-making kits. We split up into little knots of adults and in many cases children, so as to practice what we'd learned in the lecture and demonstration. Literally everything was hands-on, except the hot coals . . . and we got pretty close to those, what with having to kindle the sparks in shredded, fluffy jute and cedar bark held in our hands! Soon, people were fluffing and drilling and kindling (or trying to) all over the park court:

This clearly takes a knack, in addition to a lot of cranking back and forth. What's also clear to me is I need to make my own tools, so I can practice whenever I want. Mastery is impossible in a two-hour class with all of us sharing tools! But if we each get one try, we at least get a feel for it.

The instructor had a cool shirt on:

This was a class for young and old alike to learn the skills of our forebears. Friction fire requires a lot of persistence and not-very-magical elbow grease, but there is something magical nonetheless about producing fire out of nothing but wood, air, and physics!

Held in the hands, fanned mostly by the breeze and too fragile even to blow on directly, a spark begins to ignite a "nest" of fluffy fibers. . . .

At the end of the class, something cool happened. Everyone put leaves in an old hat with names written on, and the name drawn would get a complimentary hour or two of one-on-one fire making instruction from the teacher. I only half-listened; we were all milling around looking at stuff and chatting still, and I never get picked in drawings anyway. But I put a leaf in at the very end before the drawing --- and I got picked!! So at some point, I'll have to go claim my free instruction in friction fire. I might even try making some tools first, so the teacher can give me tips on what to do better.

By now I had little time to get home, finish a commission spindle I was making, eat, and then make it to the Hekate Dark Moon rite at Raven's Wing in Sellwood.

The spindle I finished painting is for an acquaintance of mine, Carrie, who told me she got called to work with the goddess Arianhrod (meaning "silver wheel"), a Celtic goddess of the Moon, stars, Milky Way, cycles of time and fate . . . and spinning. "I want to see if a spindle will help me connect with her through meditation," Carrie told me.

Sometimes I need to just sit down, focus, and do nothing but a single project if I'm going to start at all, much less complete it. I need an unbroken channel. That's what I did here. I researched Arianhrod, got a feel for her energy and imagery, and then wove those various energies and symbols into a design over the body of the spindle as I worked:

A spindle whorl is obviously a tiny flywheel, so I put a wispy starlit Celtic cross-type wheel on the flat side, and an eight-spoke wagon-type wheel on the other: 4 seasons, 8 sabbats. . . .

On the rest of it, I just put the stars, moon and Milky Way in a swirling design, round and round, and also the Big Dipper on one side, with the point of the spindle being the North Star, which is part of the symbol and cycle of Arianhrod's spinning heavenly wheel:

Stars and more stars!
I decided not to bother with the goddess' totemic animals, like wolf or owl, so as not to muddy the design. Since this is a meditative tool, I wanted the design to be as meditative as possible, which is also why I didn't paint the whorl as overly assymetrical --- the way I'm more inclined to do with a practical working or high-volume spindle.

A couple coats of varnish, then it was off to Hekate. We cast circle by passing the sacred keys as usual --- I love the sound and feel of those keys! Tonight we made talismans with Hekate's labyrinth or strophalos, a symbol of multiple things including the crossroads, the turning wheel, and the serpent of rebirth. It was fun and not too daunting, thanks to my hand-skills. Paint pens are usually a pleasure to work with. The idea is that we can meditate or charge items with power using this talisman.

https://holographicarchetypes.weebly.com/hekate.html