“I am Matriarch,” she said. “I offer Calliope Jones the gift of self-knowledge: of your strengths and your weaknesses, of your many blessings, harvested from your life to date. I challenge you to find the power inherent in the conservation of your formidable energy and success in directing it toward that which is truly deserving. And may you share the abundance of your many blessings.”
Rose stepped into the circle and turned to face me.
I already felt taller, stronger, bigger.
“Calliope Jones, you are here as Priestess. It is especially fitting that we initiate you at this stage of your life. Behind you,” she said, sweeping her arm to the half-circle of women who had already spoken, “is an accumulation of power, a wide circle that places you on the precipice of descent into the deeper aspects of yourself, a descent made possible because you have chosen to align yourself with the company of women gathered around you tonight.
“This ritual marks the start of your vision quest. It is perhaps the first of many, and in this turning of the self upside-down, you shed that which no longer serves you. You will go beyond that which you know and make room for that which is coming. As you travel—alone but supported—may you come to know the union of power and compassion such that you extend it to others along the way. May you call upon your Circle to help you remain grounded as you rise into realms of knowledge, perception, and leadership opening to you in this very moment.”
While Rose spoke, my eyes closed. All the muscles in my face relaxed. My spine arched—heart lifted skyward—and my heels rose off the moss-covered mound until only the tips of my toes held me connected to the ground. The sticky net I’d felt earlier kept me suspended.
Memories swarmed across my forehead and filtered into my facial bones. My mother’s face came into focus, fingertips of both her hands stroked my cheeks.
Mama, too, wore a crown and a white ceremonial gown. A dry section of my heart plumped with the drops of maternal love radiating from her eyes. I arched farther, basking as I was cradled, wanted, and loved.
Other images moved across the movie screen of my forehead—some of them were definitely my memories; some of them were snapshots that could have been from my life, or my mother’s, I couldn’t tell and didn’t need to know—until I came to a moment I remembered all too well. The scramble to pack what belongings we could fit into a dented Volkswagen Bug and the long, long drive from the coast of Maine to the coast of British Columbia and our arrival at my mother’s sister’s house.
My mother’s death.
A crack zig-zagged horizontally across my chest. The flames that earlier had danced so pleasingly over the front of my body now branded the muscles between my ribs. I gasped and arched farther in an attempt to flee the pain.
Mourning. Going to school. My first period. High school, band of girlfriends. Dating. College. Environmental studies. Meeting Doug. The sense of inevitability around our courtship and marriage. Being forced to choose him rather than continuing my studies into graduate school and greater activism.
My magic shutting down.
The burning sensation across my chest turned to ash.
Mutual abandonment. The births of my two boys. The joy. My job. Finding my way. Autonomy. Becoming respected. The boys growing up. Doug and I growing apart. Divorce.
My determination to find my way.
The little bright and shiny bits and pieces I kept tucked away. The simple joys and pleasure of being with my plants. The compulsion to connect with living, growing green things.
Living, growing, green things.
Plants sprouting, seeding, dying, becoming loam for their offspring. Cool moss at my back.
The lightening sky that presaged dawn. Soft voices. Careful whispers, sent in my direction, pull me back into the circle.
“I am Sorceress. I offer the Circle the gift of time out of time and the powers of alchemy.”
“I am Crone, the old one. I offer the Circle the gift of listening and the power of divination.”
“I am Dark Mother. I offer the Circle the gifts of solitude, retreat and hibernation, and the power of destruction as it leads to rebirth and letting go.”
“I am Transformer.” L’Runa—I knew that voice. “I am the source of All. I offer the Circle the gift and power of fear as an ally, the power of courage as we embrace change. I am the Carrier of the Cauldron. I am the Cosmic Womb and the Oracle. I am Shakti, and I am breath.”
That final word—breath—lingered, repeating itself over and over in my awareness as I came more fully awake. I heard Rose open the circle. In unison, the other witches affirmed the ritual was over and that the door to the other world had closed. I was offered sweetened tea from a thermos, and many hands helped me to sit then stand. The whispered reminder to breathe buoyed me during the long, slow walk back to the tent and acted as a pillow for my heavy, empty head. Busy—I knew it was my tent-mate because of the gentle hum—placed a lightweight blanket over my chest and throat before zipping me into my sleeping bag. Before she left the tent, she also placed a heavier, folded blanket over my legs and belly. The added weight sent me over the edge and into sleep.
Chapter 13
I awakened to silence, slightly disoriented and unvisited by dreams. A few whispered greetings, a metal bowl of steaming oatmeal and a refreshed thermos of tea, and I was back in the Jeep and on my way home.
The logging road out of the park was gouged with ruts, and the chances of blowing a tire or being run off by a logging truck offered an ever-present danger. I didn’t have a moment to process the ritual until I hit the packed dirt
