Writing Prompts and Rituals for Mabon (Autumn Equinox)

Mabon, or pagan Thanksgiving, is celebrated on the autumn equinox. This post contains witchy writing prompts for fall equinox, Mabon rituals for writers, autumn correspondences, history, and the meaning of Mabon to help artists connect their craft to the season and find more creativity and inspiration. They can be used as autumn creative writing prompts or Mabon journal prompts. Use these fall ritual ideas to spark your imagination and decide how you want to celebrate the autumn equinox.

Mabon, or pagan Thanksgiving, is celebrated on the autumn equinox. This post contains witchy writing prompts for fall equinox, Mabon rituals for writers, autumn correspondences, history, and the meaning of Mabon to help artists connect their craft to the season and find more creativity and inspiration.

Change is in the air, here. Each morning on the drive down the hill to school, my daughter calls out, “It’s looking a lot like fall out here!” from her carseat. As much as I may be resisting it, she’s right. Mushrooms are coming up. The sky feels crisper. The aspens are turning pink. If I embrace the present at this time of year, it really is beautiful. 

In our garden, we currently have more than we can eat. I have been trying to get everyone I see to take my kale. But it is also becoming clear which plants will not have the chance to ripen before the temperatures drop (I’m looking at you, winter squash and peppers). 

What is Mabon?

Mabon, which happens on the fall equinox, is the time of year when the earth is balanced between summer and winter. It’s known as the pagan Thanksgiving, the season of feasting and harvest, and a season to begin to prepare for the winter. There is balance between the light and the dark.

It is the first official day of autumn. In the northern hemisphere, Mabon falls between September 21 and September 24. In the southern hemisphere, it takes place around March 20th. (Note: Google will let you know the exact time of balance for this year!) When it is Mabon in the northern hemisphere, it is Ostara in the southern hemisphere and vice versa. 

Mabon is the second harvest, situated on the Wheel of the Year between Lugnasadh (the first harvest) and Samhain (the last harvest). It is the height of harvest season. We are reaping what we have sown this year, and feeling the abundance that has come as a result of our hard work.

Mabon, which happens on the fall equinox, is the time of year when the earth is balanced between summer and winter. It’s known as the pagan Thanksgiving, the season of feasting and harvest, and a season to begin to prepare for the winter.

Meaning of Mabon

“Mabon” is a relatively new holiday, the term being coined in the 1970s(!). It was named after the Welsh god Mabon ap Modron, which means “great son of the great mother.” Legend has it that Mabon was stolen from his mother, the earth goddess, and held prisoner. This is a story which resonates with the tale of Persephone, who is taken from her mother in fall, held in the underworld through winter, and brings spring back to the land when she finally returns.

That being said, many cultures celebrate, and have celebrated, the autumn equinox. There is a lot to celebrate at this time of year. And when you live as far north as I do, it seems like something that you have to mark. The tilt toward winter has begun. It’s time to harvest, slow down, and prepare. 

Mabon is a day of balance: there are twelve hours of light and twelve hours of darkness. On this day when the sun fleetingly finds equilibrium, we can begin to take stock of where we are out of balance, and what we can do to bring more harmony into our lives.

This is a time of gratitude because we are harvesting the fruits of everything we’ve worked for through the previous seasons. But as the earth tilts closer toward darkness, we are also called to think about which of our plantings we are going to harvest and preserve (metaphorically), and which we are going to let wither. It’s a time of looking at whether we’ve done enough to make it through winter or whether there is more to do. 

It’s time to harvest, but it’s also time to preserve the harvest. How can we set ourselves up for future success? Mabon is an opportunity to turn inward and reflect on what is working and what isn’t.  

Because of this, we have to think more seriously about how to prepare for winter. Mother nature is getting ready for the season: seeds are dropping, leaves are changing, and fruit is coming ripe. These are all signs that we, too, should be thinking about how to get ready for the cold.

When we look around us, we can see the trees letting go, telling us to do the same. As the wheel turns this time of year, we are in a prime position to let go of those things that have not served us, give thanks to those things and let them fall away to make space for next year’s growth. 

Mabon Correspondences and Symbolism

Mabon is a celebration of the sunny side of fall. It’s a time to honor the beauty that comes when the sun begins to wane: autumn leaves, mushrooms, late summer flowers, and the abundance of the garden. All of these make excellent symbols of the season.

Any of these correspondences and symbols can be used to decorate your workspace, as your desktop or phone background, or even as something to wear. You might pull some of these correspondences into your Mabon altar, your desk, or the colors of pens you use.

Colors of Mabon

The colors of Mabon are the colors of autumn: red, gold, orange, brown, and a deep, dark green. This is one of the times when the earth is screaming out in the colors of the season, bursting with the hues of a setting sun. You only need to look out your window this time of year to decide which colors you can use to celebrate Mabon. Bring those most beautiful fallen leaves inside, decorate your home and yourself with the gilded forest.

Foods for Mabon

Berries! Apples! Grapes (And wine!)! In fact, a whole cornucopia. No, actually. Cornucopias are symbols of Mabon too. This is the height of the harvest season. Everything is coming ripe. Apple pies, cider, berry cobblers, any kind of food that uses what’s coming ripe in the world around you would be a perfect celebration of the season. 

Crystals for Mabon

You might have guessed that many of the crystals that correspond to Mabon also correspond to fall colors. Yellow citrine, amber, tiger’s eye, ruby, and jasper can all be used to honor this time of year. You can connect with these stones by wearing them, or setting them on your writing desk or on your altar. Sometimes a little bit of sparkle that catches your eye can be a powerful recurring reminder of what you are trying to cultivate this season. 

Mabon, which happens on the fall equinox, is the time of year when the earth is balanced between summer and winter. It’s known as the pagan Thanksgiving, the season of feasting and harvest, and a season to begin to prepare for the winter.

Mabon Rituals for Writers

There are quite a few writing-oriented ways that you can use the energy of the autumn equinox to further your writing practice, and especially to hone your craft as an artist. It’s a great time to practice gratitude, take stock, let go, and set yourself up for the rest of the year. Here are some ideas for Mabon rituals that can also support your writing and creativity.

  1. Get balanced. Take some time to think about the balance (or lack thereof!) in your life. Do you have a good balance between your creative life and your practical life? Do you have balance between time to work and time to play? How can you bring more balance into your writing practice? Make a plan to make it happen.
  1. Take stock. What had you hoped to harvest by this time of year? What have you harvested that’s unexpected? What worked well and what didn’t help as much as you’d hoped? Take some time to journal for Mabon reflecting on what you are harvesting, what you still wish to harvest, and how the direction of your writing might have changed.
  1. Let go. Autumn reminds us that there is beauty in letting go. What do you need to let go of so that your creativity can thrive? Have you been holding on to fear? Excuses? Bad habits? Write about what you want to let go of. Write key words on leaves and burn them in a fire. Let your own leaves turn as bright as you can and let them go.
  1. Clear out your writing space. Just like spring, fall can be an excellent time for a general clear-out. While you are letting go of what you don’t need, you can also spruce up your writing space. Clear out that desk so you have room for new ideas. Make your space cozy so you can get yourself ready to dig in for the winter and get writing. Making a writing space that’s your favorite place to be will draw you to the desk as winter starts and put you in the mood for creativity.
  1. Finish Projects. (This one is particularly hitting me this year, as I am trying to finish a book by Mabon!) It’s time to tie up loose ends before winter. How can you get the most from the next harvest? How can you finish the year strong? Which projects can you complete and how can you re-apply yourself? Which projects might have to wait for another time? Get clear on what you want your writing life to look like and focus on that.
  1. Make a writing simmer pot. This one is especially for all of you who are writing at the kitchen table. Fill a soup pot with some water and your favorite scents. You can use apple, cinnamon, and/or sage for seasonal scents. You could use creativity-boosting scents like lavender or lemon. Or any essential oils you like. Write your writing wishes on bay leaves. Simmer the water and scents on low and let the steam send your wishes to the heavens. 
  1. Host a literary feast. The autumn equinox is a time for celebration and gratitude. What better way to honor all the things you have to be thankful for than a thanksgathering with your nearest and dearest? Invite your friends and family to bring wine and something to share—maybe the piece of writing they feel most grateful for.

Mabon Writing Prompts

Here are 30 Mabon writing prompts to help harvest your ideas. I have created these prompts to be interpreted in many ways, so don’t worry about “what it means.” Just let yourself write and see where your creativity takes you. 

Many of these fall writing prompts are intended as inspiration for creative projects like poetry, short stories, or memoir. However, I’ve tried to leave them open-ended enough that they can also function as autumn equinox journal prompts. How can you explore yourself through these lenses? Have fun with it!

  1. Savor your favorite food. Treat yourself to your favorite food and eat it slowly, paying particular attention to the details of what eating it is like. Write about it in detail. Make it our favorite food, too. 
  2. Write about gratitude for something unexpected. 
  3. Write about something gained by letting go.
  4. Go on a nature walk and collect what sparks your interest: acorns, pretty leaves, even human-made debris. Write a piece in which one of these features prominently. 
  5. Write about a child being held in the underworld.
  6. Write about the longest sunset.
  7. Create a recipe for getting through winter.
  8. Write about using the first artificial light.
  9. Write about what’s hidden under the fallen leaves.
  10. Choose one of the crystals associated with Mabon. Research its properties. How is it formed and transformed into the stone it is? Write a character undergoing the same transformation.
  11. Write about harvesting a forbidden fruit.
  12. Write about being stuck in the middle. 
  13. Mine your memories. Think of a time when everything felt in perfect harmony. Start your story there.
  14. Write about something blossoming too late.
  15. Write about a god making their exit.
  16. Find a place with a lot of fallen leaves and explore in the detritus. Write about what you find.
  17. Write about the takeover of pumpkin spice.
  18. Write about a harvest that’s not enough.
  19. Research a mushroom. Use its properties to develop a character personality. Is it deadly? Beautiful? Parasitic? Psychedelic? What would this mushroom be like as a character? What would they do? How would they act?
  20. Write about someone tilting toward the dark side. 
  21. Find several colors of one kind of leaf and order them from newest to oldest. Describe the change that the leaf goes through in detail, from the perspective of the leaf. 
  22. Check out the Justice tarot card (if you don’t have your own deck, here are a ton of images of the Justice card). What is the story that you see in the picture of this card? What is the meaning? Show us how this relates to balance, to equinox.
  23. Write a story about perfect timing.
  24. Write about the biggest blessing of the year.
  25. Write about something that needs to be preserved, and how to do it.
  26. This photo by Mohammad Gh on Unsplash. 
  1. This photo by Dmitry Vechorko on Unsplash.
  1. This photo by Phil Hearing on Unsplash.
  1. This image from Providence Doucet on Unsplash.
  1. This image by Annie Spratt on Unsplash.

The sun is setting noticeably earlier, which also means there’s more chance of seeing the aurora borealis. We are using the lights more, and seeing the stars more. There are plants that need to go outside and will die, because it is clear they are not going to fruit. There are plants that need to come inside and will be nurtured, because I can’t get through a winter without greenery. 

If we can live in the harmony and the balance of the present moment, we can see just how beautiful the cycles of the seasons are. The way each one can leave us with new fruits and new wonders. But there’s also a call to look inward, to prepare yourself and your writing for the changes to come. There is so much to be grateful for, so much to preserve, and still so much work to do. 

If you are looking for more prompts and rituals based on the Wheel of the Year, you can find them here. For more creative writing prompts, look here. For more ideas about how to deepen your writing practice with rituals, check out this post. And if you’re in the southern hemisphere, you can find the

Submission Bonanza!: Second Time Around

So, you might have noticed that it’s October 19th.  You might have also noticed that it’s not September any more.  In fact, it’s nearly three-weeks-not-September already.

Way back in July, I set myself a challenge to do a Submission Bonanza!  It was incredible and successful.  I learned so much, and I’ve been published in three magazines so far (more on that to come later!).  It was so successful that I resolved to do it again in September.

Some of my cohorts looked at me like I was insane — and with good reason.  In September, I started an M.F.A. program, began lecturing on writing at university, and moved to the frontier (Why, hello, Alaska!) all in the same month.

It’s true that I didn’t finish my 30 litmags in 30 days.  It’s an ambitious challenge amidst so much transition.  I have, however, finally finished!  It took me much longer than I had hoped, but I still got work out to 30 litmags and ok, it took me 50 days, but better late than never, right?

So, in true Submission Bonanza! fashion, I’ve pasted below links to all the literary magazines that I submitted to.  They’re all magazines that accept submissions online and accept submissions for free, because those are some of the restrictions that I’ve currently set for myself.  You’ll notice that some of the magazines here are quite ambitious for such a fledgling like me to be submitting to (cough, cough, New Yorker, cough, cough, The Atlantic).  One of the things I learned during my first Submission Bonanza! was that I needed to be more choosy.  Once a piece gets published, those First Time North American Rights that all the magazines are asking for are gone, gone forever.  Because of this, I figured I’d start with the big boys and get real about racking up the rejections.

So, here it is, ladies and gents:  an incredibly ambitious September Submission Bonanza! 30 litmags in 50 days.

1. Glimmer Train
2. Subtropics
3. American Scholar
4. Podcastle
5. Writing Tomorrow
6. New Haven Review
7. AGNI
8. Nashville Review
9. A River & Sound
10. Journal of Compressed Creative Arts
11. The Pedestal
12. Poetry Magazine
13. Kenyon Review
14. Shenandoah
15. Devil’s Lake
16. The New Yorker
17. The Atlantic
18. Tin House
19. Cincinatti Review
20. TriQuarterly
21. A Public Space
22. Bomb
23. Chicago Review
24. One Story
25. West Branch
26. New Ohio Review
27. Willow Springs
28. Third Coast
29. Southeast Review

30. Pleiades

Full Pink Moon

It’s the golden hour, and all the plants are glowing as I make my way up the hill.  The sky is shocking, pink and blue and purple, as if suddenly bruising from its collision with the earth.  I want to reach up and comfort its throbbing beauty.  The turning leaves soak up the last bits of sun and radiate as if they were autumnal lanterns.  They light my way as the air turns dark.

The turning of the season and my northern-hemisphere body are at odds.  It’s nearly Beltane.  My blood wants to dance around fires throwing the cozy scarves and mittens of hibernation wantonly to the wind.  My skin is expectant with the warmth of new beginnings, and yet the gusts here are becoming harsher.  I push on.  It’s not fall for me.

As the final rays of the day tuck themselves in behind clouds and hills, I reach the well.  The very sight of the clearing tugs at something inside me.  I finger the stones, making them melt and turn to sand, as if they were an old lover who’d been waiting for my touch.

In response, I remove my shoes and socks.  My toes dig into the dirt and rocks dig back into my soles.  The breeze lifts my shirt and grazes my belly.  It’s all the impetus I need.  The wind keeps nibbling at me, encouraging me, and so I tie my clothes to the hawthorn tree.

It’s cloudy tonight and I know it’s no accident.  The moon is hiding in the shadow of the earth, tucked in the darkness of her cave as if in hibernation.  She’s just waiting for her moment.  It’s an up-side-down celebration here.  The leaves are beginning to saunter away from their branches.   The night is still pregnant with the potential of sprouts and seedlings, even as Antarctic winds raise mountain ranges of goose bumps on my skin.

I start a fire and I know you will be here soon.  I wonder how many logs and how much kindling we will need to last through the night.  The moon is flush and full.  Beneath my feet, the phlox creep further and further from the well.  The pink moss stretches its feelers toward unknown lands, testing whether those grounds hold lives that it can live.  The dainty flowers look up to the moon and howl, reflecting her full, surprised face back in their flushed cheeks.  They beam on a night like tonight.  They gather in such numbers and their blushing blazes so brightly that even the moon blushes back.

You come with logs for the fire and no words.  Before long we have our own sun flickering before us. “Ne’er cast a cloot ‘til Mey’s oot,” they warned us.  It’s not quite May, but it is time to cast our clothes.  The cold of the April wind nibbles at our skin and makes it blush, in brazen mimicry of the pink moon.  The light is deafening, and I am exposed, as are you.  The heat of the fire makes my frontside glow.  The cold of the April wind turns my backside pink.  I am round and glowing, a perfect salmon moon.

We dance in circles, falling into orbit around the fire.  I am drunk on the pollen wafting through the air, and red, yellow, and brown leaves swirl around me.  I can no longer tell whether I am surrounded by flames or trees or both.  Stars leap from the fire, embers fall from the sky.  I collapse into the embrace of the infinite.

Lost in space like this, there is no north and south, no spring or fall, only the endless expanse of new fires being lit.

 

 

Creative Commons love to phil dokas from flickr for the stunning photo!

Fall in the Long White Cloud

It’s a wet kind of cold, the kind that still allows things to grow.  The cloudy sky and diffused light makes the green of the plants more striking and they glisten with the drops of rain.  Actually, the rain doesn’t quite drop.  The air is so thick with water that it falls in a mist, mot even heavy enough to be a drizzle.  It makes me feel like I am walking through a long, white cloud, as if I am so far above the earth that I am inside the sky.  Only the moss reminds me that I am at sea level.

The tree outside my window has been dying all summer, but now, in the cold of the autumn rain it has begun again to grow.  It also seems confused by these antipodean seasons.  It lost its leaves in the shining sun of the summer drought, and now that it’s fall, it’s sprouting new life.

The koru seem unsure about whether or not to open.  I am sure I’ve seen the ferny tendrils on my path tentatively stretch open, and now they’ve closed again, as if pulling back from the abrupt, damp, winter.  Their spiral fractals seem to contract and breathe, opening timidly and closing again.

It’s on days like this I long to be outside, to feel the growth and life.  The plants and ground feel full with the potential that the rain brings, bursting with possibility and expectant growth.  I want that potential, that possibility, that growth.

 

 

This is a little birthday present from New Zealand for my awesome, amazing, inspiring cousin, Janelle.  

 

Also, Kiwi Creative Commons love to Brenda Anderson for the photo.  Thanks so much!

I want to feel (Colorado. Winter 2002.)

I want to feel

your arms

spinning me as we dance

until the sun rises

and we must

fall as autumn

rays sneak over mountain tops

and caress our faces

lulling us to lay down

in grass sweating dew

 

I want to feel

your chest

sleeping pressed

against

my back

assuring

me of your presence

with no sheets between us

as I tell the secrets

you knew when we met

 

I want to feel

your hand

cradling my head

tangled

in my hair

so that he cannot leave

until my strands relax

safe

and let him go

Fall(ing) Breeze (Colorado. Fall 2002.)

 

 

I

 

This autumn wind is gold tinted

from the dust, remains

of a dry summer floating

in the air, pulled

into my nostrils, and settling

(for) on windows that have not been

opened in months.

 

Or maybe the wind is

doing his own interpretation

of the yellow wilting leaves

of trees happily surrendering

to sleep, well-earned, long awaited;

for these aspens have not slept in months.

 

But it cannot be –

the wind does not sleep and

he does not happily surrender.

 

II

 

The leaves are tossed

in a migrating gust

letting go to dance in a breeze

that could take them anywhere.

Let go, for even the ground is better

than someone else’s limbs.

 

How can these fair-haired leaves

dance freely if someone else

is spinning them?

Say goodbye to your tree.

The restless wind is calling you.

 

 

 

Creative Commons love to http://www.flickr.com/photos/vbenedetti/ on flickr for the photo! Grazie!