There are more of us out there than you think. We may not always be flashing our Pagan flair — sometimes we’re wearing worn old hiking books and mud-spattered rain coats instead of shimmering ceremonial robes, sometimes we put aside our pentacles and wands for a good pair of binoculars and a sturdy walking stick — but we’re out there. Walking the walk. Doing the work.

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Part of my identity as someone with a Celtic spirituality is the inescapable fact of exile. I am not only a person with Irish heritage living in the multicultural milieu of modern America, but I am also a polytheist and Pagan trying to connect with my ancestors across millennia of lost traditions from my place in a monotheistic, Abrahamic mainstream culture.

It is within that diaspora — that exile — that I will have to discover, or forge, an authentic spiritual life.

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Going into the future is like going into the dark.

That was the theme of our family’s solstice ritual this year, as the nine of us (grandparents, parents, four kids and one cool step-uncle) settled down into a circle in the darkness of the living room. It was several hours after sunset on the longest night of the year, and the kids were antsy with excitement over unopened presents. I struck a single match, and began to weave our sacred space.

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Let’s just say that life has been a bit stressful lately with everything going on. Back in high school and college when life was understandably a bit like being high strung on a high wire, I would throw myself into poetry. I spent long hours playing with words and sounds, line breaks and juxtaposition. Now, since writing is kind of a career for me these days, I find that I need some other creative outlet that I can throw myself into head first without worrying about being good at it.

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The outpouring of warm sentiments and fond memories on the internet today about the late Apple CEO Steve Jobs is a reminder that what we accomplish in this life is deeply colored by who we are. We are flawed, imperfect human beings. As T Thorn Coyle says, “You try to do good work in the world, and die when you die.”

This iMac computer that I write on is just a gadget, hardly better or worse than any other in the grand scheme of things. Many ethical and environmental compromises went into its making and marketing. Yet it has also opened up opportunities for conversation and community that wouldn’t have been possible otherwise.

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Out here in the rust and russet landscape of Utah, I’m taking a break from the afternoon heat by escaping with my husband into a tiny local café. Cold drink, lots of ice, wobbly ceiling fan — and in the distance, the rippling, pine-studded ribbons of sandstone cliffs beneath a hazy-brilliant, unbrokenly blue sky.

Best. Honeymoon. Ever.

Wildflowers in the garden, a riot of purples, pinks and golden orange among the feathery green in early morning sunlight.

Gorgeous skies cresting to a deep sapphire blue, a smooth, unblemished arch above the subtle scents of autumn, crisp and rotting, wafting on a breeze that all summer moved sluggish and hot but now finally dips into cool.

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We returned home from our wedding on the edge to discover that our backyard garden of wild flowers had been plenty busy while we were gone….

Amazing white blossoms nodded and danced in the cool and autumn-scented breeze, turning their faces towards the warm face of the sun.

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A few days ago, our landlord and his son asked us to clear our tiny front porch area while they worked on stripping and repainting the ceiling. Usually we have a small table set out front with a few candles and the odds-and-ends the kids bring back with them from the woods. We don’t always do a great job of maintaining this outdoor altar, especially during the cold months of snow and ice…

But today, I needed some spiritual down-time to ground in the textures and scents of the earth and replenish my soul a bit. Our landlord’s home improvement project seemed a perfect excuse to revisit our outdoor altar with fresh eyes.

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Another gray, rainy day here in Pittsburgh with a week of similarly chilly, damp weather to come, and while it may be good for our newly planted garden, such a wet, cold spring weighs heavy on the soul that longs for the warm touch of sunlight. (And of course, I worry about the Allegheny and the Monongahela joining the Ohio to swell the Mississippi River still further…)

Still, the azalea bush is finally blooming in front of the house. That burst of color brings a bit of relief to the dull, gray days.

What cheers you up in the midst of chill doldrums?

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