THE RITUAL
The moss on the redwood tree was like a woman’s pubic hair. I ran my fingers through it, feeling the silken, downy covering as if waiting to be caressed.
The ritual around me on the river in the forest was for a baptism — but not in any religious sense, just an immersion in the healing waters.
I heard screams, anguished cries and laments of the soul and then it was my turn to lie prostrate and dip my face in the river’s edge. I submerged three times
and asked for forgiveness.
So much depends on a
ritual in the forest.
So much depends on
intention.
My motives were clear. I wanted the wound in my soul
to heal. I wanted
to forgive those I held a grudge against,
those I envied. I wanted to forgive myself
to let go if it all, the weight
of hate carried far too long.
As I emerged with a bowl of river water I heard gorgeous
flute music in the distance. The ceremony was complete.