I always mean to take pics. Maybe with your inner eyes you can see: The altar is lovely, with flowers, stones and ephemera from sisters offering. A lovely new altar cloth initiated into use.
Candles lit, waning sun streaming into our ruby library at the Balch Hotel. The heady scents of Rose and Spikenard oils.
Eleven women entering the mystery, anointed at the goddess gateway, in various shades and degrees of goddess wear. The bashful and bold.
A circle of sisters deep and engaged, hungry for a sense of the sacred, sharing connection, together. A mix of ages and backgrounds, from across the region.
(Sadly, all white, being rural Oregon, though. Looking welcome sisters of all colors here.)
Each temple gathering is similar to and deeper than the previous. We drop in further and fly.
Rarely am I at a loss for words, but here, essence is evoked. So hard to describe the wordless, timeless places we visit. Mysteries wisp in and out, once lighting on two simultaneously.
These circles invite us to honor Feminine Soul and Her Mystery. A gathering of energy, coalescing various shared dreams and visions.
We met in the bloom of Beltane, feeling her rising within ourselves. Bodies as vessels for our own private alchemy.
Then whisked through the gate, opening the petals of Path of the Rose. Just a visit. Earthy Magdalene and Great Mary, sweet meetings.
Something new and old conjured at the same time.
Old wounds healed just in showing up. Dancing through the dark (Its not so scary or captivating, really)
Always the brave, shy ones being seen. Braving the Light.
Remembering and re-membering.
Repairing and re-pairing.
We find lost pieces and put ourselves together.
Whole and holy
An evening of exquisite bliss.