THE RITUAL

Jory Farr
Jory Farr
Aug 24, 2017 · 1 min read

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.

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