Three candles, one protected in a jar
That housed honey from Kew Gardens
A rose maracon
Linen sheets, a ukelele made out of mahogany, a soprano, so small and resonant
I lit my candles and made the rest of the marigolds we will use for day of the dead and offer to the children to remember the spirits of those they loved who are passed with joy and unity.
I sang a song and had
Lemon balm and sage tea from my mother's garden steeped in a mug from my mother that talks about living the life you've imagined
On a book about How to Read Water
I'm tuning the ukulele and watching the candles flicker. I have already been embalmed and anointed with argan oil, saved from Morocco
I prayed to Venus and the first stars I saw, in cynus and in aquila, both beautiful white power birds soaring above me as the night fell.
I had seen you - I saw you at breakfast and watching the children play
I saw you in the back seat with Coco and Felix
A moment of actually noticing them together with you back there. Your beautiful round face, dark brown curls and stunning eyes, kind and open like your sister and brother. I sobbed in the car about not getting to meet you, and my glimpse of God was brief and transient
As fleeting as time
And just as I peeked forward with my entire heart and soul it vanished like the sunset
It was a quiet, perfect crisp fall sunny day
So so warm in the sunshine
We had Toro and blue crab and king salmon and had a date to honor the moment and whispered together
The cramps are starting and I will ride them, with my lemon balm, and know that this is as ancient as birth itself, This has it's women's wisdom as ever
The potions that set girls free and the dark flowy magic of the underworld which is in its kindness as true and whole and grounding to the core as any magma underneath it all, land of magnetism
I did a tai chi movement dance at sunset after singing and with the candles
To ritualize
I hadn't had a clear head for weeks
I had felt my brain starting to turn limbic and full witness of gentle submission to the thick blinding progesterone fog
It cleared already in hours
Like a sharp rendering
Me jumped out of my transitional body, awake momentarily
A witness of one of those stretchy moments in existentially magnificent doors in life swinging open with a gust, just slamming shut again
I'm at the window sill preparing my breakfast on the train here with my family
Watching the landscape cross under me like the earth itself spinning just as I close my eyes
The rose macarons have been bitten
There is a new sheepskin rug Alex brought in and unraveled tonight, an absolutely gorgeous later Nordic fir to protect the youngest of all, and soothe mothers who are the literal holders of death and birth and the powers of destiny in between.
I have been carried here, sitting up but carried along the way like in a hospital wheelchair between laboratory and waiting rooms
I have been carried here like a ceremonial honor where I am recognized as mother not crone
Space as mourning mother and wise woman
I am grateful beyond words
I'm not certain at all, never was and never could be
The view is so fleeting
The key is waking up the spirit to listen
Amen
