It had been years since we were all together. Ten to be exact. The last time, we laid across her bed while she nursed her first son. We were all so young. It was like a dream that she was the first mother. She called the circle again and we answered. Some of us arranged for sitters and some of us borrowed vacation days and frequent flyer miles and found people to feed our dogs and water the plants. We moved our lives around like a puzzle because the sisters were gathering and there was no way out of it. Three months later we all piled in and set sail on land. Divine timing I would say. Each of us knew it was time to shift the fault lines of our souls and be born again.
First we went to the desert where we dried out our spirits in ancient salt-turned-dust. We collected agave and flowers. She, the wise desert one, appeared to us with translucent brown skin, feathers from her hair, knee-high leather boots and a snakeskin rattle. She drenched us in a monsoon and demanded we shed our skin of all things that did not serve us.
We went to the mountains, where hot springs kissed the cold river. We heated then cooled, heated then cooled. We cried around a fire and drank tea and whiskey. We fell and scraped our flesh and kissed each other well. We laughed ourselves to sleep while the coyotes created the soundtrack. We woke up to bald eagles and mountain laurel. We gathered the roots and stuffed them in jars and knew that our healing had just begun. We saged and saged.
Finally we went to the sea. And what is there to say about the waters, the wild warm waters that tossed us and tore our skin and soaked our souls and wrung us inside-out until there was nothing left.
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