How the Creek Helps

Not a very good job of writing today. I’m freaked out because I set myself the task of talking about something that I feel ashamed and vulnerable about, so instead of writing, I took out the compost and put away laundry and did my exercise ­ all good and virtuous things, but the whole time the drumbeat of “not writing! still not writing!” beat in my head. The creek helped though. I went down to the creek and stood on the salmon bridge and tried the spell that Ariadne taught me: looking downstream, letting go of my fear of talking about this, of anything that keeps me from speaking out and telling the truth about trying to live a wild and beautiful life and all the ways that I do and all the ways that I don’t…then looking upstream, and letting in something that I want, which today was feeling out there, all the families in this watershed, their pain and also their laughter and togetherness and spills and make-up sex and first steps and last kisses, pouring down with the rain into this creek, this water beneath my feet.

Sometimes it feels like I do more spells than are really called for. Do I have to do new magic every two days? Really? But today, when that thought occurred to me, I thought about all the other stuff that is coming in every day- the traffic and Fox news and Kelly Ripa. Yes. Calling in the elements, letting the water wash it out, wash it in. Can’t do that enough.

But now it’s 4:39 and I have to pick up my kid in 20 minutes. Tonight we are going to play games and eat grilled cheese and have a sleepover. So I’ll write about what Brigid said tomorrow. (Scarlett O’Hara, eat your heart out.)