Drawing Down the Moon
The phrase “drawing down the moon” comes from a traditionally Wiccan ritual in which a priestess evokes the Goddess to use her body as a vessel. It conjures the image of a woman standing tall with arms outstretched to the full moon above. To evoke a deity is, of course, a sacred practice and one that I am not even close to emulating. My hopes lie within its symbolism. If I can view my body, my mind, and my spirit as part of the divine and worthy of care, then I will have won a lifelong battle with myself. Years ago, my spiritual awakening opened up an unexpected path to let me finally see my body as more than a burden. My resolution this year is to continue that journey with grace and determination.
Home can be a place, a person, a feeling. Childhood homes are altogether more complicated. For Elizabeth, childhood meant dirty feet after a day of play. Feeling isolated. Breathing in the smell of rain. Possessing an overwhelming sense of longing. Home meant being a flower trying to grow in the middle of a corn field.
A Taste of Something New
Ari arrived at my door with a backpack full of wine and the jitters. My heart had been broken all but three weeks prior, giving me a devil-may-care attitude that suited my newly dyed hair. It was fuchsia, and I think he liked this wild side of me.
Somewhere, or perhaps sometime, in some distant land or alternate plane, there exists a world that is not round. Not round at all, but indeed very flat and very limited. Its inhabitants are accustomed to its shape. In fact, they have built their lives in straight lines, clean angles, sharp corners; hardly ever a man-made circle in sight. To them, time marches on in one linear path they all must follow. One is born, one lives, and one dies. That is the natural order of things.