I wrote this meditation in 2003, as part of my old coven's Lughnasadh celebrations. Although it may not appear to be complete, that was partially intentional. At the time of writing, it did not seem appropriate to write the whole thing. As is transpired, although the group assured me that the rest of the guided meditation was spectacular, I have no recollection of what I said. By the way, I don't normally speak as the narrator does in this meditation!

Scene setting:

It is a warm August afternoon, comfortably warm but not too hot. The few clouds in the sky are light, no hint of an August thunderstorm. You can hear birds singing as you crest the hill in front of you. The walk up the hill reminds you of all you have achieved so far this year, from Yule, through to Litha, how you have changed, and overcome obstacles, even as you have climbed this hill.

As you crest the hill, you see that there is a valley before you. It is a pleasant looking scene, fields of grain, cattle and sheep grazing, faint sounds of chatter, and laughter. A few children appear to be playing in the stream running past the houses. It seems a pleasant place, perhaps somewhere to stop for the night. As you walk down the hill, you notice that a fair few of the people living in this valley appear to have been working to complete the harvest of one of the grain fields.

The field has been cut traditionally, in a inward-moving spiral, until just the last sheaf of corn remains standing.  As you draw up to the edge of the field, one of the people turns to you.

“Stranger, would you care to make the final cut, in sacrifice to the spirits for their bounty this harvest.”

The villager’s words strike you as formal, almost as part of a ritual, which it may well be for them. The other people in the field turn to face you, and you are struck by the fact that they are all clothed in a similar fashion, but that each person has a half-mask, covering their faces. You cannot tell from the villager’s voice whether this person is male or female.

You leave your pack at the edge of the field and walk towards the group. They part to allow you into their midst, and you gaze down at the corn still standing. “A sacrifice”, the villager called it. “A sacrifice to the spirits for the bounty of the harvest”.

Another villager speaks: “The spirits have been generous with us. We are new come to this land, and we did not know whether it would be a land of plenty or a land of famine.”

A third villager also speaks: “It is a different land from the one we had left behind. We left family, and old friends. Some said that we were foolish to make that step, leaving behind the old and familiar, for something new and unfamiliar.”

The second villager speaks again: “But it seemed to be a good decision. And now the spirits have demonstrated their bounty. Our crops have been good, our livestock have prospered.”

The first villager speaks to you directly, in contrast to the others, who were addressing the whole group.

“So, stranger, but welcome guest also: will you join with us in our thanksgiving? It has been our tradition to give the spirits of the land a home in which to overwinter, that their bounty might continue over the forthcoming years.”

It seems to you that this is also a time for you to give your thanks.  Like them, you made a change to your life, which you hope has been for the better. You hope … your choice of words surprises you. But like these people, you dealt with the lingering doubts, and this was the right choice for you.

The first villager hands you a scythe. It is a formidible implement, and you realise that it is a tool with which you have no experience. You feel a slightly wild urge to giggle inananely. They had made it seem so easy as they had made their harvest, the easy rhythm of their movements, but not a movement that you can imitate or can you? You wonder to where your confidence of earlier has gone. What if I slip? This is sharp blade. This is not supposed to be literal sacrifice, but a symbolic act.  You touch the blade, and your finger stings, verifying the sharpness of this tool which is also a weapon.

“This too is part of our Rites.” Says the first villager. “It is only meet that you realise that there are things for which you may not be prepared. There are still things to learn, and patterns of behaviour that you will have to change, even as we, and countless others, have done when making a decision that affects our lives.”

The villager’s words make you think further. You have made changes, it is true. But as your crisis of confidence over the scythe has demonstrated, there is still more to learn, and still old habits that you might need to alter.

The villagers around you take a couple of steps back, leaving you standing there near the final sheaf, holding the scythe.

“Stranger, will you make the cut?” They chorus 

Their words seem to echo in your head. Will you, will you not? When you entered the field, it seemed so clear, but now you have in your hands a tool that could cause you harm. Is your contribution to this simple ritual too much to ask. Previous crisis seem to bubble up in your mind, and unbidden, they seem as thunderclouds on that previously clear day.

It comes to you then that at this juncture, this is a time of sacrifice. Sharp as the scythe is, and as capable of causing serious injury it may be, that is not its purpose here. Even as it is being used in this harvest, in this celebration of the sacrifice offered in the bounty of the land, it is a reminder to you of things you have changed and put aside in choosing this path.

"This is the way of sacrifice."

You hear the words of the first villager. "Our sacrifice is not a time of death. It is a time of life. We partake in a sharing of the bounty around us, but to do so, we must each give of our own effort, of our own time, to the benefit of others."

The villager pauses. "Ask yourself what have you given of yourself, that the world around you may thrive, and may continue to offer you of its bounty."

You rest the blade of the scythe on the ground, as you consider the villager's words. What have you given of yourself? Have you chosen this path with all due care, or because it seemed like an easy route? Are you prepared to sacrifice a part of yourself, even as the God and Goddess  give of their bounty so that we might all live?

Pause as you consider the nature of your own sacrifice and the harvest to which it leads you.

As your thoughts bring you back to this place, you recall your choices, for good or for ill, they are the choices you have made. From those choices stem the harvest that you will reap here today. Mayhap it is not the harvest for which you hoped, but it might be. You realise that this is the lesson of this encounter.

"Child of the Goddess and the God, you know your choice, and you know your harvest. It is meet that you should know us too." The second villager speaks.

As the mask is removed, you realise that you are looking at yourself. All around you, the villagers are you, all the different aspects of your personality that make you who you are. You realise that you are but at the start of your understanding of the nature of sacrifice. As you swing the scythe, and make the final cut, you know that this sacrifice is but one of many that you will make. But even as you gather up the grain, and form the final sheaf, you know that you will always carry the God and the Goddess within you as you journey. You are not alone.