Normally, today I would be writing an article about the current sabbat, Ostara, the celebration of spring. But as the flame of a large pillar candle flickers quietly beside me, I find myself speaking of another subject, one that weighs heavily upon my heart even now.
At this very moment, on this Wednesday of Ostara in 2012, the oldest seer in my family is dying, drawing her final breaths in this life.
She is my grandmother—a fortune-teller, healer, and seer who has been part of my life since I was a small boy. I cannot say that I ever truly came to know her well. Despite her many ailments and the difficulties brought by illness, she lived to a great age. Although her body grew old, her walking weakened and finally ceased altogether, and her hands eventually stopped working, her mind remained crystal clear until the final year.
Only after illness confined her to a hospital bed did she begin to withdraw into a world of her own, a place made from a mixture of reality and dreams.
At this moment, several dozen kilometres away from me, my beloved grandmother is drawing her final breaths. Her kidneys stopped working yesterday after a long fever took away her consciousness.
The only comfort I can find is knowing that her passing will be painless, and that she will finally be able to leave—a release my grandmother wished for many times during the years she spent imprisoned within her failing body.
My grandmother was one of those traditional Finnish seer-women who could once be found from time to time within village communities. She read fortunes from cards, received and saw premonitions, and healed with her hands.
Although I was never formally taught by her, I had a few small opportunities to speak with my grandmother about matters of faith. I remember especially well something she said to me when I was much younger, at my sister’s wedding:
Every person carries their own god within their heart.
At the time, I did not yet understand what she meant. With time and whatever wisdom I have gained, I understand it far better now.
For this reason, I dedicate this day, this Ostara, the beginning of spring, and this article to my grandmother—to the oldest seer and doer in my family.
I know that, as a person and as a mother, she was not always the easiest presence in the lives of her children or those who knew her. But to me, she has been, and will always remain, my own beloved grandmother.
As a witch, she is also my connection to the roots that others tried so hard to cut away from me when I was young.
May your crossing be gentle, my grandmother.
Although we never truly spoke about premonitions, visions, or healing, the knowledge that we have walked similar paths gives me courage to continue walking mine.
A blessed Ostara to you, my beloved Grandmother Aino.
And a blessed Ostara to all the other wanderers of nature who celebrate it.