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Today is the dies natalis Sanctae of Virginia Woolf in 1882; it is also Robert Burns Day, which you can read more about on my entry from last year linked previously. But, it is also the Ekklesía Antínoou’s first day of the two-day observance of the Roman holiday of Sementivae, which (according to Ovid) is the same as the Paganalia. It was a moveable feast, set by the magistrates of a particular city, that could occur during the period of the 24th to the 26th of January. As the “acting magistrate” (!?!) of the Aedicula Antinoi, therefore, I’ve decided to fix the festival on the 25th and 26th, so that the 24th is not overshadowed in its major significance for the Ekklesía Antínoou.

On the first day of Paganalia, spelt cakes were offered to Tellus Mater, the Roman “earth mother.” (The following day is dedicated to Ceres, and a similar offering is given for her.) Ovid’s Fasti I.655-704 has this to say on the 24th of January, but in relation to the Paganalia/Sementivae:

After Lyra vanishes into obscurity, the fire that gleams
At the heart of the Lion will be sunk in the sea at dawn.
I have searched the calendar three or four times,
But nowhere found the Day of Sowing:
Seeing this the Muse said: ‘That day is set by the priests,
Why are you looking for moveable days in the calendar?’
Though the day of the feast’s uncertain, its time is known,
When the seed has been sown and the land’s productive.’
You bullocks, crowned with garlands, stand at the full trough,
Your labour will return with the warmth of spring.
Let the farmer hang the toil-worn plough on its post:
The wintry earth dreaded its every wound.
Steward, let the soil rest when the sowing is done,
And let the men who worked the soil rest too.
Let the village keep festival: farmers, purify the village,
And offer the yearly cakes on the village hearths.
Propitiate Earth and Ceres, the mothers of the crops,
With their own corn, and a pregnant sow’s entrails.
Ceres and Earth fulfil a common function:
One supplies the chance to bear, the other the soil.
‘Partners in toil, you who improved on ancient days
Replacing acorns with more useful foods,
Satisfy the eager farmers with full harvest,
So they reap a worthy prize from their efforts.
Grant the tender seeds perpetual fruitfulness,
Don’t let new shoots be scorched by cold snows.
When we sow, let the sky be clear with calm breezes,
Sprinkle the buried seed with heavenly rain.
Forbid the birds, that prey on cultivated land,
To ruin the cornfields in destructive crowds.
You too, spare the sown seed, you ants,
So you’ll win a greater prize from the harvest.
Meanwhile let no scaly mildew blight its growth,
And let no bad weather blanch its colour,
May it neither shrivel, nor be over-ripe
And ruined by its own rich exuberance.
May the fields be free of darnel that harms the eyesight,
And no barren wild oats grow on cultivated soil.
May the land yield rich interest, crops of wheat
And barley, and spelt roasted twice in the flames.’
I offer this for you, farmers, do so yourselves,
And may the two goddesses grant our prayers.
War long gripped mankind: the sword was more useful
Than the plough: the ox yielded to the warhorse:
Hoes were idle, mattocks made into javelins,
And heavy rakes were forged into helmets.
Thanks to the gods, and your house, under your feet
War has long been bound in chains.
Let the ox be yoked, seed lie beneath ploughed soil:
Peace fosters Ceres, and Ceres is child of Peace.

While I am not a planter, farmer, or even gardener myself, it seems quite obvious to me that the earth–whether we personify her or not, whether we accept her as Gaia or Tellus Mater or any number of other goddesses (or, in the case of Egypt, as the god Geb!)–is the foundation of our lives, full-stop. Being that this is a planting festival in origin, I am thinking about what I’ve sown recently, not only in practical terms but in the context of my relationships with others, both long-term and casual. Have I sown discord, or concord? Have I sown friendship, or strife? Have I sown hatred and dissension, or have I sown the seeds of love? It’s something any of us can ask ourselves…

I also would be an advocate of pagans across theological lines honoring a festival that is named after us and has direct relevance to almost all of us: Paganalia, a festival of “paganism” in its original meaning, i.e. rural people of the fields and of the earth. And, since the significance of the holy occasion is the honoring of two major earth goddesses, and the thing which (in interfaith circles) paganism is touted as bringing–almost uniquely when it comes to Western religions–is the importance of the feminine element in divinity, perhaps this should be a holy-day that is more frequently reckoned in an intrafaith manner, not just among Roman-based practitioners. (Yes, many would say, “Oh, but we don’t need to, because Imbolc is a goddess festival and it’s a week later…but, why not have “both/and”?)

So, that’s my reflection for the day. I will have a further post after this one relating to something intriguing, which I’ll say more about therein.

Ignis Corporis Infirmat, Ignis sed Animae Perstat for Virginia Woolf! Happy Robert Burns Day!

Ave Tellus Mater! Ave Ceres! Ave Pax! Felix Paganalia!