The Year-Fire
Nearly a year ago I wrote an overview of the themes we touch on at our rituals throughout the year, which was a bit of reference material for folks interested in helping out with rituals. It only scratched the surface of what our ritual cycle strives for. Now it's time to go deeper.
The Conflux ritual cycle weaves stories from the movements of the sun, of nature, and of our day-to-day lives, reminding us that there's more to all of those than what we see on the surface. I call it the Year-Fire, because I live in a place where the fires of the sun make themselves very clear in their annual progression: The days of summer are warm, bright, and fully twice as long as those in the depths of winter. The same pattern shows in the lives of the people (human and otherwise) who live under that sun. Blazing bright in the summer, barely holding onto glow in the winter. The story of the year in Cascadia is the story of making the most of the times when the fire is strong, and then carefully banking the coals, so that something can carry us through the dark.
That's one sort of story, the simple twelve-month-long one that frames so many of the other stories we tell around the literal fires at our rituals: Stories of building community when we have the energy for it, finding meaning when things turn, and singing back the sun when all seems lost. But talking about that big story as simply the progression of the sun, or even metaphorically as the tending of the fire, risks losing sight of the breadth of an animist world full of beings. The Wanderers feature in those seasonal stories, but let's ask a different question: What is that found-family pantheon doing, every year, as the daylight wanes and waxes?
Imagine them here and now, at this time shortly past the Equinox, heading into the dark. The Dancer-Between is active in this time of change, dancing in the swirling leaves and oncoming rains. Their younger sibling, the Singer-in-Silence, is getting a little restless. Change is harder on them, and they're facing down the oncoming dark as a thing to merely endure. Fellow youngster the Player-with-Light keeps the Singer's spirits up by pointing out the bright shifting colors… but their guardians the Sculptor-of-Pieces and Writer-with-Flames know that shelter and coziness will be important soon. Fortunately, the gods of structure and warmth are more than up to the task. As for the Swimmer-Within and the Painter-in-Rust, Fading Fire is their time: They are the ones who always stay closest to the ancestors, and even if they keep to themselves most of the time, the rising of the water table and falling of every ruddy leaf ensure they're always with us as well.
As Fading Fire gives way to Glowtide, the Wanderers get busy, almost in defiance of the darkening and cooling year. Someone has to, after all. If they don't keep each other's spirits up, who will? The preparation for Glowtide means there's plenty for the clever Crafter-of-Wonders to plan, and the old stories of Glowtide itself tell of what the Wanderers still like to do. The personable Wanderers host gatherings, and the solitary ones on their own sojourns to find personal meaning in the season. As with many holidays, the kids are the most active, likely to the point of wearing themselves out: the Singer singing, the Player gifting. They'll both need a lot of support from their family as the season turns and the really cold months arrive, but that is, after all, what families are for.
The wait through the winter for Kindled Fire is long and hard for most folks, time for practice, contemplation, or simply settling into acceptance of the time of year when things seem sleeping, if not dead. It's often the Writer-with-Flames who starts to rouse the others when the days are getting visibly longer; it's that or go stir-crazy. Their stories are a spark of joy as winter loosens its grip, and the nearly-as-restless Dancer is likely to go out, both enjoying and heralding the changing of the season with their changing nature. Their sibling the Singer, in turn, can finally relax, now that the sun is definitely back, and warmth is on the way.
Evenlight is one of the times when the Dancer is the strongest and easiest to see; the world is coming back to life and the sun's balance is shifting so rapidly in the sky. The Player-with-Light dances along with them, exulting in the colors of all the flowers. All that flourishing of life makes the Swimmer-Within in spring a joyful presence, and the Crafter and Sculptor are starting to spin up new projects, enjoying the balance of light and dark and knowing that more folk will soon be out and about to see their work.
As the sun strengthens over Fire's Gift, the Writer-with-Flames is flaring brightly, their stories weaving together with the work of their closest ones (Crafter, Sculptor, Player) to create works of art, ritual, and experience that none of them could do alone. The Singer, meanwhile, is finally joining back in their older sibling's dance now that the days are bright and steady. This is the time when it's easiest for the Singer and Player to just be kids together, freed of the divine responsibilities that sometimes weigh on them the rest of the year.
Blazetide brings the height of summer, at least in terms of the longest day, and it's a time for all the gods to rejoice in each other and all that gather with them. Everyone sees this as a time to be their clearest selves, whether it's the Crafter guiding a ritual, the Swimmer bringing the water and nourishment that sustains everyone, or the Painter sitting back, watching, and mildly pointing out that the longest day means the year is turning, and entropy will be having its way once more.
Fire's Need is when that reminder starts to hit the other Wanderers too, the later summer and its earlier sunsets reminding everyone that this time is precious. The Singer and Player are undaunted, well-supported by their older kith and kin, especially the Sculptor, who has so much practice with balancing needs and tending to connections. And the Dancer is once again picking up their movements, feeling the rhythm of the changing seasons.
And that's how we wind around back to Evendark again, the Dancer's movements and the Painter's entropy rustling the leaves in the trees as they start to turn gold, the Player doing their best to keep the Singer from fretting too much about all that will need to be done to endure the winter's cold. The Sculptor is feeling the strain of support more and more, but the Writer is here with them now, bearing the warmth of the stories that help thread the year together. And so all the Wanderers keep up their efforts, making space for each other to come to the fore or curl up in the back, everyone working things out as well as they can.
There's certainly more to it than this; there are even other Wanderers unnamed in this accounting who have their own parts to play. Every season has its possibilities and its challenges, those who thrive and those who need help. As you go through this season of change, try and notice: Who's there with you? What parts do they play? Who's supporting you, and who are you supporting? This is how we all keep the Year-Fire ebbing and flowing, together.