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.)