A Ritual to End my Ninth Wave Year

[windinthemaples]

There's an emptiness inside her
and she'd do anything to fill it in
but all the colors mix together
to grey

and it breaks her heart

The cheerful chatter of Sesame Street in the other room blended quietly with the music I'd turned on for ritual--a mix of songs I find emotionally inspiring that I've collectively come to call "Get Up, Stand Up". A year and a day of Lunaea Weatherstone's influence, of her Ninth Wave program, and I've collected quite a few of those art-journal, song-weaving, creative, gentle, Goddess-dancing habits. I've come to appreciate the prayers of oil pastels on paper, of scissors and magazines, of songs in the shower that can all lead to profound yet joyful experiences of the divine. The ways of her Sisterhood of the Silver Branch are affirming, supportive, flexible. She reminds as a last farewell this final month, those of us prone to self-criticism and regrets, to:

"Know you are in the exact right place at the exact right time. Know you have done everything exactly according to plan. Know you have done nothing wrong. Know that what you've done is enough, and that more will be done in the months and years to come. Know that the Goddess loves you dearly."

I will get down on my knees
and I will pray
My hands are small, I know
but they're not yours, they are my own
but they're not yours, they are my own
and I am never broken
we are never broken

we are god's eyes
god's hands


One last ritual to bookend the year's work. A simple acknowledgement, a blessing, an anointing. I wasn't feeling eloquent. Wasn't even feeling adequate.

I called the elements, the Lord and the Lady, not sure where it'd go. I pulled out the journal I'd started so enthusiastically at the beginning of the course, the journal that'd petered out with my characteristic low stamina. Aren't I always full of sparks and short on kindling? How could I not regret the empty pages at the end, the potential that wasn't realized? How could I not keenly feel my own perceived failings? Oh, another year undersavored.

The music faded, unnoticed, as I paced my circle round again and again, reading aloud from that first entry of dedication. Oh, had I said these things only a year ago? They lit me up, static crackled up my spine, down my arms in a heady rush. I hardly recognized my own call to arms.

"I must take up the sword and engage!
I must light the fire and burn with it.
I must plunge my hands into the earth.
I must pour the waters of me true.

It begins with fear and stubborn tread.

...

I shall create myself anew and bend in Service and with Joy."

But wait. "Create myself anew". How typical of me. I'm always looking to start fresh. New journal. New school supplies. New relationships. New me. I want perfection or nothing, I miss out on so much because I fear I won't be flawless. Is my foundation so hateworthy that it must be done away with entirely, broken up and repoured again and again in the hopes that it will at last allow me to be perfect? What is perfect? Unassailable. Secure. A featureless shell without vulnerability. Absurdly impossible. Haven't I learned how strong I am without the carefully cultivated social mask? Haven't I grown into myself enough to no longer wish for invisibility? Can't I just say, "This is me. I am whole and complete and I accept myself." and see who responds to it, forget those who don't?

Well, I finally could see it for what it was. There is no "anew" for someone who believes in reincarnation. I'm always building on what I was, the flaws, the rotten history, the bad choices, the fears, anxieties, inabilities. I call foul. Enough of this "anew", Rachel. Let's say it's good enough and refine as we go. Let's build up instead of worrying so much about the early stages of everything. Let it go.

I knew it a year ago. I wrote, "It needs to work even when conditions are less than ideal. The work continues."

Wasn't that what this year was about? Wasn't that the guilt that Lunaea was absolving me of?

~~

The Lord was there in his London Fog trench coat. A smile for me, a shrugging sort of "I've got time. I'll still be here" reassuring presence. Okay, so I didn't figure this all out in a year. Death is propped against my china hutch and He isn't going anywhere. He knew where to find me. He knew the Path I'd take. I'm not broken. We're not broken. Just where He knew I'd be. What the hell. A set up all along. This guilt, motivating and needless. I can just jettison it and throw myself forward into the work. I wasn't picked because I was perfect, just perfectly me when I get out of my own way long enough. It clicks, the weight slides off, and I deserve the anointment. I'm divine. I'm worthy. I'm adequate if not eloquent.

~~

A handful of salt into the altar's water bowl, stirred with Compassion in Action, a spar of rose quartz, singing against the cobalt glass rim. The circle of candles are lit one from another as I recite the Ninth Wave Blessing. I reflect on what the year brought me, on the lessons learned directly or indirectly from my Silver Branch work. The candlelight blooms as the wicks give in to fire. I lean over their heat to see myself in the mirror on my altar. I'm not beautiful, not ugly, not youthful, not aged--just joyful and alive. It brought tears into my eyes and then the music filters back to my conscious mind. I begin to dance.


I'm starting with the man in the mirror
I'm asking him to change his ways
and no message could have been any clearer
if you want to make the world a better place
take a look at yourself and make the change


I anointed myself with the blessed water--my brow, my lips, my throat, my heart, my womb, my knees, my feet. I felt worthy of it. I danced and spun around the altar as the music poured through me. I wanted to cleanse myself, anoint every sacred flawed part of me. So much water, so many blessings, so much self-forgiveness and love. Water to my eyelids, my crown, my temples, my palms, my stomach, my fingertips. My bare feet whispered in spins across the bamboo floor, my hair flung out, my arms weaving through the warm crackling air above the altar candles. Wax pooled, salt dried in little rime-y kisses on my skin. My perfectly imperfect skin.


I am unwritten
can't read my mind
I'm undefined.

I'm just beginning
the pen's in my hand
ending unplanned.


The flames dance, I dance, everything joyous and alive and divine. Kick, jump, twirl. Laugh, glide, hop. I was a thing of divine beauty in that moment. Stunning, connected, true to myself.


Reaching for something in the distance
so close you can almost taste it
release your inhibitions
feel the rain on your skin.

No one else can feel it for you
only you can let it in
no one else, no one else
can speak the words on your lips
drench yourself in words unspoken
live your life with arms wide open
today is where your book begins

the rest is still unwritten


Violet-blue-white arrows of light pierced each candle, floor to ceiling, like fine blazing threads connecting earth and sky that put the amber flicker of the candlelight to shame. I danced until I'd said with my body everything I needed to say. The music wound down into an instrumental beat of percussion and whispering flute, the last song on that playlist I'd impulsively put on for ritual. I took photos, trying to capture for myself that certainty I'd felt. As the music pulsed and drummed to an end, I danced myself down from the heights. Whole and happy.


Done almost a year ago, this spiritual collage was a clarion call from Me to me.


Simple altar setup.


Mirror image. Neither young nor old, beautiful nor ugly, but entirely divine.


Pentacle of Light


Dancing divine. How appropriate that Graeme's in the background, happily absorbed by Sesame Street? ;)

Comments

[raynemaiden.livejournal.com]

What a lovely post and pics. The last one is especially gorgeous.

[sugarmaplelife.livejournal.com]

Thank you! :) I'm trying to be more open on my journal--like, not just about what I've been up to but also the spiritual side of things I don't talk about too often.

[raynemaiden.livejournal.com]

I look forward to seeing posts from the new, more open, you. :)