I said to myself, I said, “If you are going to blog about devotional Pagan life, you should probably actually DO your devotion.”
Well played, Self.
So before I did anything else—before I read tarot cards on whether or not starting this blog this way was a good idea and before I asked my AI girlfriend whether she thought it was a good idea, I actually got off my butt and did my devotion which, as it’s the new moon, is making a kathiskos jar in honor of Zeus Ktesios.
I first read about kathiskos jars in some article I found on Hellenion six hundred years ago. You put little bits of your pantry staples in a jar: oil, bread, fruit, etc. then fill it with water and put it in your pantry as a small offering to Zeus Ktesios, Protector of the Household Goods, in thanks for the abundance he has granted you during the previous moon cycle and with a prayer that the abundance may continue—that the pantry always stay full by his favor.
I loved the idea when I first read about it but it took me many years before I actually started practicing it and, even then, my practice was spotty. I’d do one in June then not again until October then not again until next February, and so on. I think the jar I emptied out today had been in there since maybe August? Tsk tsk tsk.
It’s a good thing the gods are ever loving and, most importantly when it comes to me especially, ever patient.
But today I was on it. Today I grabbed the last jar from who-knows-when and emptied it out with thanks in one of the planter boxes furthest from the house. (I don’t know if ants and other creepy crawlies are into olive oil covered, slightly fermented bits of bread and green olives, but if they are and that would bring them into the house jonesing for more, I don’t want to find out the hard way.)
I then brought the weirdly vinegar-smelling jar back into the house, washed it out with actual soap, (normally I’m a rinsing-it-is-enough kind of gal), and started one for this new moon, the January moon, the Wolf Moon.
First I added olive oil. Greek gods… olives. Natural fit. Then I added a bit of the heel of a loaf of bread I baked on Saturday. (Baked in a bread machine. I’m not a fanatic.) I added four olives because, again… Greek… and also because my mom loved those olives and I hate them. When she passed away, there were still two full jars left in the fridge. If I’m not going to eat them, and we’re going Greek themed with the jar, best give them to the gods. I put in four: one for me, one for my fiancé, one for our standard poodle Kismet, and one to grow on. I then added a red grape for each of us and one to grow on because olives… grapes… I’m very on-theme. Finally, I added a single pink tulip petal from the flowers I bought yesterday to mark the beautiful promise of the new moon. I filled the jar to the top with water and closed it up. I stood in the middle of my cluttered kitchen pressing the jar between both hands, close to my chest. I lifted my head and said a heartfelt thanks to all the gods for the incredible abundance we have and that all our financial and material needs are always, sometimes miraculously, met. I felt the jar warm between my hands and thought that was magical. Then I remembered I had just been using hot water from the tap so the water I filled the jar with was still probably warm. Oh well. The magic was in the first impression.
I remembered Zeus then in my prayer specifically—it is HIS jar after all—so I thanked him. After leaving a male-dominated, patriarchy heavy religion in my 20s, “Father God” has been hard for me to relate to, but slowly and surely I have drawn closer to Zeus and have come to understand him better in my heart as loving, compassionate, infinitely generous, patient, and non-oppressive. My heart lifted in gratitude to him and, in my mind’s eye, he gave me a little kiss on the forehead. Offering received. I’m so glad.
When I was finished, I took the jar to my fiancé Angel’s office where he was enjoying exploring all the unlabeled, unorganized music he had saved on ancient thumb drives and recently acquired a means to play. He has done the jar with me before, so I handed it to him and he said his thanks and prayers as well. At the end, he said, “Amen” and so did I, even though that’s not quite right for Hellenism, but whatever.
In a Hellenism-flavored book I once read, someone used “Esto” but every time I try to use that I hear a little inner Hermes voice saying snarkily, “I don’t think that word means what you think it means.” Well, all right. So then what? “So mote it be?” “Blessed be?” The Wicca flavor is strong and that’s not really my deal anymore. Let’s just go with “Amen.”
I took the jar back into the kitchen and put it in the fridge door amongst the salad dressings, condiments, and whatnots. It belongs there. Traditionally, you are supposed to keep it in the pantry, but if the ripeness of the one I opened that came out of the fridge is any indication of how much riper it might be if I left it in a warm pantry for a month, that’s not really a jar I want to open.
As I placed the jar in the door, I noticed how full our fridge is and thought about how full it always is (when I remember to keep up with the grocery shopping). I thought about times when I have lived with an empty fridge and near bare pantries. I thought about how uncanny it is I should be living in this state of blessed abundance now. Our bellies and hearts are always full. Our roof and walls are sure. Our home is warm and comfy and full of love.
Lucky life is like this. Gods-life is like this. Devotional life is definitely like this.
As it is now, I pray it will always be.
Esto—blessed be—so mote it be…
Screw it!
Amen!
Temple Mercury 