This Story
Rushing gets you nowhere fast. Is that profound? It has that tone, doesn’t it? LOL Lately rushing feels ugly. Like when I was rushing to pick up Sasha from the groomer and get her dropped off at home to make it to my hot flow class within the two hours that Walter has dinner with his father every other Thursday evening.
Spoiler alert, I didn’t make it. Hence, the profound statement above.
Turned out beautifully, though. I had some of the chicken I’d roasted when I forgot it was one of those Thursdays and did remember that roasting a chicken leads to bone broth afterwards.
And I did my full moon, limiting beliefs ceremony.
I took my time. Poured a little bordeaux. Started with some sandalwood incense. Then, I lit my amazon charcoal in the clay fire bowl from my sister watching it spark and crackle...an upside down clay pot seemed like the perfect elevation to the altar. Let me see, some sound bowl and vocals on spotify...thank you, god. I was breathing, I was feeling...sweetness.
I read from my list out loud. I felt powerful and surrendered. Loved. And I watched the paper burn. I don’t know if people have ever been this free to move differently and uniquely in the world - and still the elements have power and beauty that are without compare. I like the smoke. I like the fire. I like that we can change. (Context matters, sure. We can address that another time.)
I’m feeling the release and space when Walter comes home. He stumbles sleepily from the car and I excitedly encourage them to get a glimpse of the beautiful moon. My ex glances up at it (moon=science=manly) and gets some alfajores from the car. Hands me a sweatshirt and sweatpants for Walter as it’s cooler today. I don’t know that he’d planned to share the cookies, but I take them and wish him safe driving. He wants to forget his stories about my villainy or a part of him does. And after the IAT meeting earlier in the week, I’ll probably get a few more days of his civility before the next round of complaints. Let’s see.
Walter comes in and I explain that I was having a little ceremony. “You can write down on a piece of paper something that is bothering you. Or even a dream or a wish to God. And then you burn it as a sort of prayer.” It resonated with him immediately and he asked for supplies. We sat in the glow on a couple of pillows as he wrote out “To God [fire emoji]” on one side, “I don’t like how my dad is mean, from Walter” on the other. He folded it into a heart for burning and we placed it on the alter with some palo santo. “Did something happen this evening?” I asked softly. “No,” he sighed, “I just felt like that’s what I needed to put there.” He took another small sheet and switched to cursive. We both were feeling the extravagant beauty of the moment and adjusting, “May love win always, from Walter” crept onto the page with swirls and curlicues and sweetness. “I’ll fold this one into a star.” We swirled ourselves with the palo santo like true mystics and sat. “I like this ceremony,” he says laying his head in my lap and falling asleep. Tomorrow we will be different. But if we weren’t, that would be ok too.
