The Furious Spinner

What a day! We went to Falling Creek again. We walked the trail yesterday, too. Frost on the ground. Ice on the ferns growing near the waterfalls. I was having trouble breathing while I was on the trail. I stopped and the forest or the trees or the wind or my self said, "Why are you always in such a hurry?" And I thought, "That's a good question." So I stopped hurrying. And my breathing got better.

Today it was even colder, but Mario and I walked slowly, just listening and feeling and breathing in the world. I saw gold, so we stepped off the trail. We stood on the soft ground and stayed silent for a while, seeing what we could learn about the area just using our senses. A marvey exercise. A grand life.

We asked the creek if we could have some water for ceremony. The light flickered on one of the overhanging trees. Only flicker is the wrong word. Or maybe the right one. It looked like Tinkerbell did in the Mary Martin version of Peter Pan. Ice on the creek made geometric art pieces in some places. I got the water.

Next we drove Linda's campsite. It seemed as though every golden and yellow big leafed maple leaf had fallen and now covered the ground, like a quilt of fallen stars. We went to that creek and—with permission—I dipped my container into the creek and I got more water.

We went home and the day got colder and windier. Paul and Barbara came over so they could see the kids in their costumes. (They don't get any trick or treaters where they live.) We ate soup and dal and rice in-between getting up and going to the door to dispense sweetness for the new year. We had gotten a bag of chocolates that were shaped liked eyes, fingers, ears, mouths; the older children really liked those. I would say, "Would you like a finger, ear, or eye?" They'd blink and then look at what was in my palm; delight would spread across their faces. (I'm full of cliches, tonight, aren't I? Ah well.) When the older kids came to the door and they didn't look dressed up, I asked, "So what are you?" Come on. Entertain me or else no candy for you.

Yesterday and today I was calling around to get people to come to a Halloween ceremony: outside! I called people in town, so no one would have to come far on this cold night. By about 2:30 p.m. on Halloween, thirteen people promised to come down to the park. (We have several parks, but we'll just call this the park.) As the night went on and got colder and windier, I started wondering about what I was asking people to do. I went out and talked to the Wind. That just made it windier. I decided just to trust and do it. Barbara went home to get warmer clothes. Mario and I bundled up, and then we put the accoutrements I needed for the ceremony. My idea of what to do during the ceremony changed by the second. The colder and windier it got the less time I thought we should spend outside. I took cream and chocolate for the faeries, the 13 shells from the Old Mermaid from Santa Fe, a tiny altar cloth woven by Sandra Ingerman, a bone with a dolphin carved on it given to me by my friend Peggy, ice, two bowls, the water from the two creeks, and 13 glass animals—along with drums and rattles, just in case people wanted to drum and rattle. And I brought extra blankets and gloves.

We drove the few blocks down to the park. The river was choppy with waves. White caps reflected the half moon that lit up everything. The trees danced in the cold. A wind sculpture whirled and spun in all directions. The wind was definitely with us tonight. I tried talking to it again. Several of the women did. But it was going to town! I hurried down to the shore of the Columbia River, moonlight my only guide. The waves were crashing ashore, but I took my little bucket and got some water. I said thank you and hurried back to Mario. We added that water to the jar with the creek water in it. I spilled the shells and could only find twelve.

Twelve of us showed up. One woman was sick, so she stayed home. (Thus the twelve shells?) I had asked one woman to bring the skull of an elk she had found in the woods. I had dreamed of an elk a few days ago. The elk became out thirteenth. I decided it was too cold and windy to do anything more elaborate than us standing in a circle, holding hands, creating energy, and speaking out. I put the altar into a bowl and set that in the center of the circle, along with the elk skull and two flashlights and the water. I talked about Halloween, talked about this time of the year when the veil between worlds was supposed to be thinnest, about how some people believed this was the night of the Wild Hunt when the faeries or spirits came out and gathered up any of the souls who had gotten lost after they died—and this was the time to ask them and any of our ancestors for help. So we asked. The wind swirled around us, shaking the moonlight-drenched trees, but we began to feel warmer as we made noise, as we imagined, as we talked to the dead, to the living. We stood in silence and listened to what the world had to say to us. I poured out the water in a spiral as we imagined letting go of disease, sadness, anxiety, obsession, war. And more. We ate an apple cut in thirteen pieces. We nourished ourselves, taking in joy and health, peace, transformation, protection. People said what needed to be said. Then we opened the circle. I gave them each one of the animals, as their protector. As everyone left I poured out the cream in a circle for the faeries. I unwrapped three pieces of chocolate and left them there, along with the thirteenth piece of apple. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Mario and I went home to our cozy warm house. No one had smashed our pumpkins. (Mario had carved bats on one, ghosts on another. I carved a Celtic triple spiral.) I started writing a new novel. The Blue Honey Clan. I think it's going to be a thirteen book series. Young adult. It begins when the three girls are 13 years old. On Halloween. We'll see how it goes.

Then finally sleep. And dreams.

Hope you had a hallowed night. Or a fun night. Or both.

Blessed be. And blessed sea. Blessed you and me.

Ta, darlinks!

Labels: Falling Creek, Halloween, Linda, nature

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Wednesday, October 25, 2006

The Gathering