Tag: Three

Three years ago, a woman in my online coven chat typed six words that started a small war: “I’m boycotting Samhain this year.” Her cat had died in early October, her altar cloth was still packed from a move, and she’d decided — reasonably, she thought — to just skip the whole thing. Within an hour, four different people had replied with some version of the same meme: one does not simply boycott a sabbat. She laughed. Then she lit one candle at 11:47pm on October 31st anyway, because the Wheel of the Year doesn’t check your calendar before it turns. That’s the whole article, really. What follows is just the long version, with the moon charts, the herbs, and the reasons why “skipping” a sabbat almost always turns into something else entirely.

9 min read

The Night I Tried to Skip Samhain (and What the Wheel Did Instead)

I tried it once myself, in 2019. I was exhausted, my grandmother had passed in September, and Samhain felt like one more obligation stacked on grief I hadn’t processed. So I did nothing — no altar, no candle, no cider left on the porch for the dead. By 3am I was awake anyway, sitting in the dark with my hands wrapped around a mug of cold tea, doing the exact thing Samhain is for: talking to someone who wasn’t there anymore.

That’s the trick of a sabbat. It isn’t a task you check off; it’s a doorway that opens whether or not you walk through it on purpose. The sun still crossed 15° Scorpio that year, the veil still thinned, and my body still knew it. I just did the ritual without the ritual trappings — no crystals, no incense, just grief showing up at the hour it was always going to show up. I’ve since learned that a genuine “boycott” of a sabbat is nearly impossible; the energy arrives regardless. What you’re actually choosing is whether to meet it with intention or get ambushed by it at 3am.

What you’re actually choosing is whether to meet it with intention or get ambushed by it at 3am.

What “Boycotting” a Sabbat Actually Means — and Why the Wheel Doesn’t Care

The eight sabbats — Samhain, Yule, Imbolc, Ostara, Beltane, Litha, Lughnasadh, and Mabon — mark solar stations, not personal preferences. Four are solstices and equinoxes, fixed by the sun’s ecliptic longitude (0° Aries for Ostara, 0° Cancer for Litha, 0° Libra for Mabon, 0° Capricorn for Yule). The other four are cross-quarter days, roughly the midpoints, traditionally set by folk calendar rather than exact degree, though modern practitioners like myself often split the difference and celebrate Samhain when the sun hits 15° Scorpio (around November 7th) rather than the folk date of October 31st.

Here’s the part people miss: you can skip the celebration, but you cannot skip the transit. The sun crosses that degree whether you light a candle or not, the same way the tide comes in whether you’re on the beach or not. What you’re really deciding when you say “I’m boycotting this sabbat” is whether you’ll process that shift consciously — through ritual, journaling, a walk under the appropriate moon phase — or unconsciously, through mood swings, restlessness, or the free-floating anxiety a lot of witches report in the 48 hours around a sabbat they tried to ignore.

I’ve watched this pattern in three different covens now. Someone announces they’re sitting a sabbat out. Two days later they’re irritable, sleeping badly, picking fights over nothing. It’s not superstition — it’s unprocessed transition. A sabbat is a pressure change. You can open a window or let the house creak.

The Astronomical Reality: Sabbats Are Fixed, the Moon Isn’t

This is where the moon complicates things in a way I find genuinely useful. Sabbats are solar — locked to the sun’s position — but the moon phase riding alongside each one changes every single year, and that shifting lunar backdrop changes the flavor of the ritual even when the sabbat itself stays the same.

Take Samhain 2024: the sun crossed into Scorpio on October 30th, but the moon was a waning crescent at roughly 2% illumination, sliding toward the New Moon that landed November 1st at 12:47 UTC. That’s an unusually dark Samhain — almost no lunar light at all, which in my experience makes divination sharper but grief heavier, because there’s nothing reflecting back at you. Compare that to Beltane 2025 (May 1st), which fell three days after the New Moon of April 27th, giving us a waxing crescent around 15% illumination — a much lighter, more forward-leaning energy, appropriate for a fertility sabbat.

I track this every year in a paper ephemeris (I use the free one from Astro-Seek.com, cross-checked against timeanddate.com for rise and set times at my own latitude). If you’re serious about sabbat work, do the same before you decide to skip anything. A sabbat landing during a void-of-course moon or a deep waning crescent asks something very different of you than one landing under a fat waxing gibbous.

A sabbat landing during a void-of-course moon or a deep waning crescent asks something very different of you than one landing under a fat waxing gibbous.

Void-of-Course Moons and Other Reasons Your “Boycott” Might Backfire

Void-of-course periods — the stretch of time after the moon makes its last major aspect in a sign and before it enters the next one — are notorious in astrological practice for making decisions and rituals fizzle. Traditional astrology, going back to William Lilly’s 17th-century horary work, warns against starting anything important during a void moon; things started then tend to come to nothing, or come back around later in a different form.

Here’s the twist that made me stop trying to skip sabbats altogether: I checked, and a surprising number of my “successful boycotts” actually happened during void-of-course windows. On Imbolc 2022, I skipped ritual entirely — and the moon was void from 4:12am to 7:38pm that day, sitting in late Sagittarius before shifting into Capricorn. Nothing dramatic happened. I felt fine. But the following month, at the next New Moon, I found myself doing an unplanned, almost compulsive cleansing ritual that was clearly the Imbolc energy I’d deferred, not avoided.

• Void-of-course sabbat: skipping tends to just delay the work, not cancel it — expect it to resurface at the next New or Full Moon.
• Active moon (not void) sabbat: skipping is riskier — that energy has somewhere to go, and if you don’t direct it, your nervous system will.
• Waning phase sabbat: easier to “boycott” gently, since release energy doesn’t demand as much active participation.
• Waxing or Full Moon sabbat: hardest to ignore — building or peak energy wants an outlet, and Beltane, Litha, and Lughnasadh most often fall in these windows.

Ritual Actions for the Reluctant Celebrant (Minimalist Sabbat Rites)

You don’t need a two-hour ceremony to honor a sabbat you’re dreading. I’ve built what I call the “five-minute sabbat” for exactly this situation, and I use it more often than the elaborate version.

The Five-Minute Sabbat

1. Light one candle in the season’s color — orange for Samhain, white for Yule, green for Ostara, red for Beltane, gold for Litha, amber for Lughnasadh, burgundy for Mabon, silver-white for Imbolc.
2. Say one sentence out loud naming the transit: “The sun stands at [degree] of [sign]. I mark the turning, even briefly.”
3. Hold whatever crystal correspondence you have on hand for 90 seconds — no charging ritual needed, just contact.
4. Blow out the candle. You’re done. The Wheel got its acknowledgment; you got your five minutes back.

This isn’t a lesser version of “real” practice. In my own log, the five-minute sabbats I did during genuinely hard months — grief, illness, a move — often produced clearer journal insights than the elaborate ones I did on autopilot. Scale down; don’t skip out entirely.

This isn’t a lesser version of “real” practice.

Crystals and Herbs for Grief, Burnout, and Resistance

When a sabbat arrives and you’re the one wanting to boycott it, the correspondences shift slightly — you’re not just marking the season, you’re supporting yourself through the resistance itself.

• Smoky quartz — grounds the irritability that comes from suppressed transition energy; hold it during the five-minute rite above.
• Black tourmaline — absorbs the “everything feels like too much” static; keep one in your pocket the full 24 hours of the sabbat.
• Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris) — burn a single dried leaf for dream clarity if you skip a Samhain or Imbolc rite; it tends to deliver the message you avoided, gently, in sleep.
• Chamomile (Matricaria chamomilla) — brewed as tea before a Litha or Lughnasadh you’re dreading; calms the nervous system enough to sit through even a minimal rite.
• Rose quartz — for Beltane specifically, when the boycott is really about grief around love or fertility rather than the sabbat itself.
• Selenite — charge it under whatever moon phase accompanies the sabbat (check illumination percentage first) for 4 hours, then wrap it in black cloth and set it on your altar as a stand-in presence if you can’t do more.

Journal Prompts for the Sabbat You Don’t Want to Show Up For

Shadow work around sabbat avoidance is some of the most honest writing I’ve done in fifteen years of keeping a moon journal. These prompts work best written by candlelight, within the sabbat’s 24-hour window, even if you never light the “real” altar.

• What am I actually avoiding by avoiding this sabbat — the ritual, the season, or a memory attached to both?
• If I gave this sabbat exactly five minutes, what is the one thing it would ask of me?
• Where in my body do I feel resistance to this turning of the Wheel — tight chest, clenched jaw, restless legs?
• What did I do instead of ritual, and does it rhyme with the sabbat’s actual theme (release, growth, harvest, rest)?
• A year from now, on this same sabbat, what do I want to have let go of?

Building a “Boycott-Proof” Altar (5 Minutes, No Guilt)

I keep a small tin — an old Altoids box, honestly — with one candle stub, a pinch of dried herb, and one crystal, already correspondence-matched for the current season. It lives in my nightstand drawer specifically for sabbats I know I won’t have the energy to celebrate properly.

The rule I set for myself: the tin altar counts. Full stop. No comparing it to the pinned Pinterest boards with the elaborate spreads, the fifteen crystals, the hand-pressed candles. A sabbat marked with one stub of candle and ninety seconds of honesty outperforms a Pinterest-perfect altar built on resentment, every single time. I’ve tested both. The resentful elaborate version left me flat the next day; the honest tin version left me lighter.

So here’s what I’d actually do the next time you’re tempted to skip one entirely. First, check the moon phase and whether it’s void-of-course that day — an app like Astro-Seek or a printed almanac takes two minutes. Second, do the five-minute sabbat instead of nothing; it costs you almost nothing and prevents the 3am ambush. Third, write one journal prompt from the list above, even if it’s just three sentences scrawled in the dark. The Wheel turns whether you show up or not — the only real choice is whether you meet it standing up or get knocked over by it later.

Can you actually skip a sabbat with no consequences?

You can skip the celebration, but the solar and lunar transits still occur regardless of your participation. Many practitioners, myself included, notice the deferred energy resurfacing at the next New or Full Moon, often as mood shifts or unplanned rituals. It’s not punishment — it’s just unprocessed seasonal transition looking for an outlet. Treat it as a delay, not a cancellation.

What’s the minimum ritual needed to honor a sabbat I’m dreading?

One candle in the seasonal color, one spoken sentence naming the solar degree, and ninety seconds holding a correspondence crystal is enough. I call this the five-minute sabbat, and in my own fifteen years of practice it has consistently produced clearer results than elaborate rituals done without real presence. Scale is optional; acknowledgment isn’t.

Does the moon phase matter more than the sabbat date itself?

Both matter, but for different reasons — the sabbat marks the solar station (fixed by degree, like 0° Aries for Ostara), while the moon’s phase that day determines the emotional texture of the ritual. A Samhain during a 2% illumination waning crescent, as happened in 2024, feels far darker and more introspective than a Samhain landing near a Full Moon. Check both before deciding how, or whether, to celebrate.

What if a sabbat falls during a void-of-course moon — should I skip it?

Void-of-course windows, per traditional horary astrology, tend to make new undertakings fizzle or reroute rather than fail outright. A sabbat ritual started during a void moon may feel anticlimactic, but the seasonal shift itself still happens; you might just find the real processing arrives at the next lunation instead. It’s worth checking your local void-of-course times through Astro-Seek or a similar ephemeris before planning elaborate rites that day.

Is it disrespectful to do a shortened or symbolic version of a sabbat rite?

No — a shortened rite done with genuine attention consistently outperforms an elaborate one done on autopilot or through resentment, based on my own comparison over several years of logged rituals. The sabbats were never meant to be measured by candle count or altar aesthetics. Presence, even for ninety seconds, is the actual currency here.

Sources & further reading

• 1 (en.wikipedia.org)
• Observation of the rare $B^0_s\toμ^+μ^-$ decay from the combined analysis of CMS and LHCb data (arxiv.org)