Beltane

Here, bonfires and blossoms; where you are, what is too alive to contain?

Beltane is not subtle. The hawthorn explodes into white blossom, indecent with fragrance. The fires leap. The cattle are driven between twin flames for blessing. Everything that winter held back now surges forward, unapologetic.

This is the hinge between spring and summer, the moment when possibility becomes expression. What was seed is now shoot. What was bud is now bloom. The energy that Imbolc whispered, Beltane shouts.

Practice

If you can, light a fire. Even a candle, even a match held until it burns your fingers. Fire is the heart of Beltane.

Walk between two flames—two candles on a table will do. Pass through them. This is an old blessing: you emerge cleansed, protected, charged with summer’s vitality.

Gather flowers. Weave them into something—a crown, a chain, a loose bundle for your table. Don’t be precious about it. Beltane doesn’t need your good taste. It needs your enthusiasm.

If there’s a hawthorn blooming near you, visit it. Don’t pick the flowers (ill luck, they say) but sit beneath it. Let the scent do its work.

Reflection

Where in your life are you holding back when you could be blooming? What would it look like to be unapologetically alive?

Notes

The maypole is Beltane’s most recognized symbol—ribbons winding around a central axis, dancers weaving in and out. It’s a spell of binding and connection, community and celebration. If you can’t dance a maypole, dance anyway.