Night Talking

Came home today. Tonight, walked out into the dark drizzle, knew I didn't need a timer on this night to let myself relax into my time outside. Called gently down to the yard, and walked out away from the house. Passed the apple tree, paused outside the coop, listening to the rain on the compost bin, the blackberry leaves. Directed to the fire pit my husband and son built for me last week, ringed with the angular, broken rocks dug up over time from under the earth of our yard. A beautiful pit. One large, flat stone laid in the ground on the eastern edge as a stepping stone, an altar. Walked to the pit, carrying the sage and lighter I'd known to carry out with me. Smudged the pit, myself, giving thanks to the sage, to the fire. Crawled into the circle in the ground, knowing that this is counter to my relationship with fire places but feeling clearly and powerfully that this was what I was to do.

I curled myself within the ring of the fire pit, smelling both the chickens who love to visit the raw earth there and the ashes of the fire my family shared in it last week. On my side, the ring of rocks around me, I felt as safe as if I were in the earth itself, safe as a baby in its womb. I remembered our sweats down south with our spiritual community there, our Teoshpe, the power and sure safety of our sacred fires within the dome of the lodge. I felt cradled by Creator, cradled by the earth, in the center of all light and goodness.

*My time away from them has dimmed my memory of the term. Will enter it when it returns to me.