Last night, as I was sitting outside watching the sun set and listening to my world settle down for the day, I realized that I had absolutely no idea what phase the moon was in. Not only that, but I don't think I've used an altar or given thanks for over a month, and the only incense I've burned lately is the citronella scented mosquito repellent incense in the garden. And I'm fairly certain that while cooking (normally a spiritual act for me) I've only stirred liquids deosil out of habit, and not with any magical intent.
I go through this every year. Right around late spring, early summer, I hit a spiritual lull. Because the spring festivals Imbolc and Beltane are so much less...encompassing...than the autumn/winter festivals, I begin to wallow in the mundane and forget the magical. With work and school and family, it becomes easy to put off something which, on the surface, seems a waste of time, but which in reality is the most important thing I can do. I'm becoming the pagan equivalent to a Christmas/Easter Christian--one who only shows up to church for the big masses. Dare I say it? A Halloween Witch.
Fortunately this year the realization has hit before the Summer Solstice. Midsummer, when nature is blooming violently around me, is a great time to get back into the metaphysical swing of things. It's time to drag my happy pagan ass out of the air-conditioned comfort of the house and away from the computer, the television and the washing machine. It's time to head back outside, into the garden and into the light. I have to remind myself to be part of the world and not apart from it. Still, this would be more palatable if it wasn't 80 degrees Fahrenheit in the mornings.