Not surprisingly (for this east coast WASP woman who has held virtually everything inside), the hardest part was actually allowing myself to wail. I came up with every excuse in the book. There were houses and people in the vicinity who might hear me. Sound would carry because the wind was calm. I didn't want to hurt my voice. I was feeling lulled into calmness after five or ten minutes of gratitude (and in truth, I think perhaps when I do this again, I'll do the wailing first!) But in the end, I was constricted by old tapes telling me that nothing I have experienced was really all that bad, and even if it was, "people like us" don't shriek or wail under any circumstances. Never mind that the people who consider themselves "people like us" wouldn't claim me as part of their tribe in a million years. My grandparents and great aunts were regularly in the society pages in New York City back in the early 1900's, and such a heritage dies hard.
I realized something important on Saturday, however. I love Lake Superior, and more than that, I am a creature of the water's edge. I must literally live on the water, whatever that might be (even a small brook or pond). I have missed that squishy place where my bare feet simultaneously experience water and sand/rocks. I have missed the light on the water, and the wind over it. I have missed the sound of the waves. I grieved that I ever left, although I know why I had to.
For the third part of my ritual, I threw three pieces of driftwood into the water. The first was my recognition that, in this lifetime, I will never have a child. But I sent out with it the prayer that I give birth to whatever I am meant to in this time remaining to me. The second piece of driftwood was for "home" -- I threw into the arms of the Goddess how hard that concept has been, and sent with it a prayer that I soon find a home that sustains, in some long-term way, me and my sensitive spirit. Lastly, I threw out a piece of wood representing England and church music. I just said, Divine one, help me know how to use this passion from this point forward. Where does it fit in my life?
What was so fascinating is this; it was calm enough that these three pieces of wood ended up literally in relationship with each other, bobbing near one another (indeed, the "home" and "England" pieces almost seemed in dialogue, but not quite touching, which seems somehow apt). I watched as they made subtle moves in the water, from almost a straight line, to a clump, eventually to an equilateral triangle.
After the sun came up, I took a number of photographs, and I'm going to try something here that I haven't done before...share a photo with you. By this time, the only thing "wailing" was the power and beauty of the sun.
