Just like the trees.

I'm writing this beside a roaring fire, with a certain happy dog stretched out on his sheepskin rug before it. Outside, heavy thundery showers keep passing over; it's dark, and it's cold. I'm feeling very grateful for all this cosy warmth.

It's a bleak time of year here in New Zealand. I find it hard going to work when it's still dark, and coming home after sunset. I even have to do most of my hooping inside at this time of the year.

A friend and I were walking our dogs at Kowhai Park last week, on one of those rare fine, windless, winter days. I confided to him that I often feel depressed at this time of the year, no matter how positive I am or how mild the weather is.

"I feel stripped bare," I said.

I didn't really understand my own words, but as we walked on I watched clouds of dead oak and liquid ambar leaves drift down to rest on the grass below. Some trees were only just starting to shed their leaves while others were nearly bare. I love the trees that fully lose their leaves in winter. They may appear to be naked and lifeless but they have a certain majesty about them. Without its covering of leaves, you can see a tree as it really is.

Maybe I am like the deciduous trees in winter. My leaves have been stripped from me, leaving only my bare branches. In winter, I see things - I see myself - as I truly am. Which is not always a comfortable thing.

I like this analogy.

The next day during my morning devotions I picked up Caitlin Matthews' wonderful, wise book, The Celtic Spirit {which I recommend to any Pagan with an interest in the Celtic world}, and the reading for that day contained the following paragraph:

"At this time of the year, when the trees look dishevelled, when growth stops, we may feel the loss as a personal thing and cross the threshold to depression. Yet the roots of renewal lie in the contemplation of the way in which this year's leaf mould on the forest floor will become the rich earth for next year's glorious growth."

I still long for warm sunshine and long days. Yet I feel I've been given a different perspective on winter: without the cold, the dark, the depression, the being stripped bare, we cannot experience the growth of spring.

My first Samhain.

Samhain altar, which includes photos of grandparents and great-grandparents.

At the end of April I celebrated my first Samhain {pronounced SOW-en}.

Samhain marks the start of winter and is one of four major pre-Christian Celtic festivals {the others are Imbolc - start of spring; Beltane - start of summer; and Lughnasadh / Lunastal - the start of autumn}. Of course, Samhain is supposed to be celebrated at the end of October, as it still is in the northern hemisphere, but there seems little point in celebrating the start of winter in October in New Zealand! So southern hemisphere Pagans switch the Celtic seasonal festivals around by six months.

Our modern festival of Hallowe'en originated with Samhain. One of the beliefs about Samhain was that it is a night when the veil between the living world and the Otherworld was open and if you weren't careful you might be harassed by all sorts of ghouls and ghosts and bad spirits. Fires were lit to drive them away.

Another less sinister custom of Samhain was that it is the night when our ancestors draw close to us. Pagans will often decorate their altars with photos of the beloved who have died. A group of local Pagans I know go to the local cemetery at Samhain to clean gravestones.

Many Pagans have great reverence for their ancestors; so Samhain - while it was originally an agricultural festival - has become a sort of "day of the dead". In New Zealand and Australia Samhain falls very close to Anzac Day, which is really appropriate because Anzac Day is a holiday to remember those who have died in wars.

I marked Samhain by placing photos of both my immediate ancestors and John's immediate ancestors on our home altar. I made a nice meal, lit some candles and set an extra place at our table for the ancestors. After dinner we drank mulled wine and ate Anzac biscuits {a delicious cookie which many Australians and New Zealanders bake at this time of the year}, and I said some prayers.

It was a very simple celebration, but it was meaningful and it felt good.

A Pagan year.

Crescent moon at sunset, Castlecliff beach.
Photo by Anne-Marie MacDonald

All my life I've been a spiritual seeker, searching for the Divine.

I grew up with a devout Catholic faith, in a close Catholic community. Until I was a teenager I barely knew anyone who wasn't a Catholic {except for my dad, and he went to Mass with us anyway}. I could go to Mass or say the Rosary right now and feel immediately comforted by those familiar prayers.

As an adult I tried hard to remain a Catholic, but eventually the realisation that I was lacking such essential beliefs as the divinity of Jesus and the authority of the Bible caught up with me.

Later, I felt comfortable with the Quakers. After a while, though, I felt like I was at a Green Party meeting; the Divine was an optional extra and seldom mentioned. For me, the Divine is front and centre. Not optional.

More recently, hooping has been the place where I encounter the Divine. But I never lost my interest in religion. I love to learn about other people's religious beliefs. If I'm honest, part of my interest comes from the desire to put a label on my own beliefs.

One evening last spring I came across the website of the Pagan Federation, based in Britain. I read their Three Principles:

1. Love for and kinship with Nature. Reverence for the life force and its ever-renewing cycles of life and death.
2. A positive morality, in which the individual is responsible for the discovery and development of their true nature in harmony with the outer world and community. 
3. Recognition of the Divine, which transcends gender, acknowledging both the female and male aspect of Deity.

There it is - my own core beliefs and spirituality written out in three short sentences. You can read more about the Pagan Federation's Three Principles here.

I had heard of Paganism and was familiar with the solar festivals, known as The Wheel of the Year. But beyond that I didn't know much about it. Were Pagans witches? What was Wicca, and Druidry? Do you have to cast spells to be a Pagan? Is Paganism even a religion? What's the theology of Paganism?

I didn't know the answer to these questions so I decided to spend a year living as a Pagan, beginning with the festival of Beltane last year {1 November in the southern hemisphere}. What do I mean by "living as a Pagan"? Celebrating all the solar and lunar festivals, reading and meditating and exploring exactly what Paganism is and how it might fit into my life.

It's been interesting so far. I've discovered I don't really want to find a Pagan community - I'm quite happy to be a solitary {which is an acceptable thing to do in many strands of Paganism}. That may change later, though. I've discovered that I am not interested in staging elaborate rituals, I prefer simple rituals with meaningful prayers. I've even written prayers myself. I've discovered I have no interest in doing spellwork, again I'm open to that changing. I'm reading about Pagan theology and I find it fascinating.

I've discovered nothing is off-limits to me in Paganism - I feel comfortable praying the Rosary, meditating, doing yoga, and bowing to the Moon.

So what will happen at Beltane when my year of living as a Pagan is up? I have no idea. I'm open to whatever feels right for me.

For more on Paganism, visit the Pagan Federation's description here.

Bluebell.

It's my third hoop anniversary, or "hoopiversary". On this day three years ago, I picked up a hoop for the first time, and I haven't put it down since!

I decided to celebrate my hoopiversary with a new hoop. I choose the beautiful hoop you see above, a 37-inch five-piece sectional polypro hoop in blueberry from Trinity Starr Hoops. The colour reminds me, not of blueberries, but of bluebells; those beautiful, delicate flowers that pop up all over my garden in October.

I was surprised to realise this is the first hoop I've ordered in about six months. I used to have a terrible hoop-buying habit - well, actually, it was a really good hooping-buying habit, as in, I was really good at buying hoops!! I started, like most people, with a big heavy hoop. Then I felt I needed something smaller and lighter. Then I wanted a polypro. Then I discovered coloured polypro - oh boy! Suddenly, I wanted ALL the hoops. A polypro in every colour was a must.

If you are a hooper, this probably sounds familiar to you.

The last six months, though, I seem to have gone the opposite way. I don't want lots of hoops any more; I just want one. My one and only dance partner, the hoop that I can use for waist hooping or hand spins, the hoop whose moves I know inside and out. The hoop I feel totally comfortable with.

A 37-inch polypro is it for me - and even better if it happens to be in my favourite colour and is really easy to break apart to travel with. I've decided that for every hoopiversary I celebrate from now on, I will buy myself one hoop, and that hoop will last me all year.

Do you have one favourite hoop that you love to death, or do you have lots and lots of hoops you like to play with?

Happy hooping,
Anne-Marie x

PS. I should point out that I do still have multiple hoops, but only so I have spare hoops to take to Monday night hoop jam.

Hoop hate.

What hoop move do you hate most?

For me, it's angled waist hooping. It's awkward and ugly and uncomfortable, and the hoop keeps twisting me around. You have to stick your bum out to do it. It just feels silly.

But I practise angled waist hooping every day, even if only for 30 seconds.

I know from past experiences that hating a move means it has something to teach me.

I used to hate isolations. Isolations require such precise and controlled movements to look good, and I couldn't be bothered with that. I'd rather go do something messy, like a pizza toss. But I kept practising isolations, and I learned that persistence pays off. Now I love isolations! I can do them well, and I use them a lot.

I used to hate knee hooping, because I couldn't do it. I would practise for hours on end but that hoop kept sliding to my ankles, no matter what I did. I watched tutorials and asked people to help me. Nothing worked. I decided I had to let knee hooping go - my body would decide when it was ready. So I practised each day for just a minute or so, then moved onto something else.

And it was one day when I was least expecting it that I realised - wow! - I could knee hoop.

So from these two moves I learned that sometimes you need to be persistent with a move. Sometimes you need to let a move go. And the wisdom comes from distinguishing between the two!

I don't yet know what angled waist hooping has to teach me. Right now, it feels like it has nothing to teach me other than how to be really awkward!! But I'm sure the lesson will come eventually.

Next on my list of hated moves? Wedgies. Ugh... let's not go there yet.

Happy hooping,
Anne-Marie x