Scythes and Surrender

Last updated on: July 26, 2017 at 4:40 pm by Sonja Sadovsky

Scythes and Surrender 2017-07-26T16:40:22-05:00 Sonja Sadovsky

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This summer has been an exercise in surrender. In May, I took my children to visit their father for six weeks. This was the longest period of time they had been away from home, and the transfer was not peaceful. He has moved to an area in Appalachia that I have loved for many years. I used to run those hills as a child, visiting family and going on road trips with my mom and brother. Used to own some homes up there as well. Going to that area and feeling unwelcome was a bitter day. Although I have good friends and strong ties there, driving away felt like a knife in my heart. Like giving up my claim, on my kids, my memories, my connection to the hills. As a Witch and a Priestess I am well acquainted with the Scythe, the curved sickle that harvests the grain. It’s easy to say that no sacrifice is offered without pain, but harder to embrace that slice when it’s your time to fall.

Wheat field -photo by Sonja Sadovsky

To distract myself I had set up some book signings. First at the lovely Raven and Crone in Asheville, NC, and on for new adventures and a visit with some friends in Virginia. Work is always my antidote to emotion, as it keeps me moving through the tears. I drove. I screamed. I listened to music I haven’t heard in years. Road tripping is time travel for me, moving through space and hours takes me to all kinds of strange dimensions. This was the first time I was really free from my maternal obligations longer than a festival. I had left the kids with family before, but not like this. It was a strange feeling. Is this what the wheat feels like separated from the stalk? An abrupt cut, disorientation, flying through the air, wondering where it will land? Or is it a relief? Does the wheat surrender to the scythe, and enjoy letting go of the struggle to climb towards the sun in a crowded field?

Altar at Mystic Moon – photo by Sonja Sadovsky

My destination was Mystic Moon in Norfolk, Virginia. The ladies at the shop were soothing balm to my frayed nerves. They reminded me that this too shall pass, and these struggles are the new normal of our times. That perhaps we are the pioneers of a new experience in human evolution, and that every year this sacrifice will become simpler, if not easier. I left that place feeling a sense of external calm, but chaotic inside. I was grateful to be among friends, and drove to their quiet neighborhood in Yorktown. Cherries growing in the yard, a tidy kitchen garden, mulch and massive oaks tended with care. These things spoke of structure, balance, a lifestyle I have never known. It was discordant and soothing at the same time. I was conflicted, surrounded with the evidence of what can be accomplished through teamwork, but angry at the mess and noise that seem to flavor my own incarnation. I doubt I was good company, but I tried. My friends were surprised at my willingness to sit outside and watch the rain as the lightning flashed across the sky. I am from Tampa, and it suited my mood. I had a good moment, giving my energy to the storm, letting it blow through me. I surrendered, to the thunder and the wind. The rain beat down as I was hollowed out. Emptied, I was peaceful and finally able to sleep for the first time in days.

Surrender Field – photo by Sonja Sadovsky

The next day we opted to go for some sight seeing. This was crazy, as I had a very long drive ahead of me to get to the next point in my journey. Yet something told me that there was a lesson somewhere in this area for me, and so we trekked over to the Yorktown Battlefield. This historic site was very close and I got a quick lesson in early American politics. For those who are unaware, this is the place where the British surrendered, and the bid for American independence was won. Acres and acres have been preserved, and the energy here is astonishing. So fresh, so clear. Without cement and iron and roads that signify human progress, the ghosts are not muted. The land echoes with the blood and trauma of struggle of those that died and those that survived. It leaves a mark on the spirit of the land. It flavors the wind. It has become sacred ground and truly is the birthplace of our nation. I was humbled at the thought of how many people were united by being present at that moment. The power of that act of surrender, how it changed the course of human history. There comes a point when strife can no longer serve, when sacrifice is necessary to preserve the future. Surrender is an act of bravery, for no one knows what peace will bring. War is predictable, no one really wins. They just run out of bodies and resources. Peace is terrifying, as anything can happen. A heavy lesson, but one I needed.

We left the area soon after, but I would like to revisit someday. Once I got the message, I decided to drive home. Again, insanity, it is a thirteen hour drive but was worth it. I needed the solitude to unpack my thoughts. In the spirit of Lammas I share them with you. Be grateful for the harvest. Be mindful of the sacrifices that create continuity, peace, and sustenance. Be open to surrender. That pain is the reminder that you are alive, and have so much more to give. What is simple is not easy, but is necessary. You can do it. Let go, and you can shift the tide. This is how the course of history creates the seed of the future. Let go.

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