2014 RCG Fall Retreat - Day III of III
Goddess of Mystery, cloak me in your magic veil
Avalon is calling, waiting for the mist to rise
Come be the magic on the isle of mystery
2014 RCG Fall Retreat
We woke up the earliest on Sunday morning that we had ever woken up, roused in the early sixes as we'd been told the night before that we would, to make the long trek to Branwen's River.
We woke early, even me, with my being up until one or two, and everyone dressed happily and silently. We put our mantles back on, and maybe I didn't hate mine now. I wasn't fond of it in the slightest, but I could definitely bare having it on me for just three or four more hours, or through whatever activity we having, because we were going home.
The walk to the river was gray and clear and brisk. Puffs of white breath and women at every pace, with their white and red scarves, hats, pants and skirts that you could see around their white, and multi-colored since-being-rated mantles, which rustled in the breeze behind them. It was a powerful moment walking with The Lady of the Lake near the mid-back at one point and looking up to see all the different paces, speeds, clumps.
This clear, cut, heart deep moment, of seeing how everyone gets there at different paces, in different times, all so sacred and different, but getting there all the same, at the time each of them was meant to. I have so many pleased memories from that walk.
I spotted a small red fruit hanging from a bare branch, and everyone stopped to smile at it in the silence. Our own tiny red fruit, like the apples we'd heard so much of. We passed a jack rabbit as well, quietly, twitching his nose and watching the procession of women wander, quietly, right on by. Loving smiles, but dutiful silence aside from the occasional laugh, humming, crunch of gravel and sticks.
We came down the carved in the hill stairs to the river area, where the Goddess were all gathered again, in their pure black, with the River behind them, cut and clear and gorgeous. We walked down to join them, led as always by the Lady of the Lake, whom we'd both somehow ended up back at the front of the group for this. We came down to the lake where the Goddesses, and Branwen spoke of embracing our Authentic Priestess Self.
We walked up to an outcropping area between the waters and the area we'd come from, walking down, and sat and listened for a while as they all spoke, especially Branwen. Who led us in a meditation of nines, to imbue the beads she gifted us, that we were to latch our mantles with going forward.
[From much later at home, but beads!]
After it was done, we each met with her, to have her put our clasped beads on us. Then, we were invited by Branwen & The Lady to anoint ourselves with water they'd brought up from the Avalon's Shores or to use the River itself. Like a small handful of other women my only thoughts on this were -- How many chances in your life do you ever really get to step into Avalon's rivers?
I went down to the shore, and stripped to bare feet, and the four-five of us who chose this route stepped in together. The water was freezing, straight up the skin, into your bones, but it was glorious at the same time. Then, hilarious as one of the women went running into the center of the river, followed hard on her heels by The Lady of the Lake. Making everyone burst out into laughter and applause.
I decided while putting my boots on to ask one of the women who'd kept me company the whole time I was fuming at my mantle on Saturday to take pictures of me in it. So I could at least have proof of the event of it's making. What all it looked like. Before, I could put the thing in the furthest back corner of my closet and forget the whole mess. I was even in a semi-good mood enough not to feel so dour about it. Just not attached.
I got straight on shots, side views, and a back view.
When she handed my phone back to me and I could look at the pictures, I felt very suddenly, very shockingly, like the universe had hit me upside the head with a two-by-four. I mumbled, confused and shocked, "It's beautiful."
An entirely foreign concept, that hadn't touched me. Me. The pictures. The mantle. The river. All of it. I felt suddenly so much like my eyes had been open, and my chest cracked wide. Baffled and confused and humbled and aware. Aware, aware, aware, suddenly of something else I needed to work on.
I had been so angry at myself, and this piece of cloth, that I hadn't even believe my sisters or my friends when they told me it was beautiful on me during Arianhrod cloaking us in them, after seeing them. I had been so dedicated to fixing my mistake no one could even tell where it was.
And there is was. Beautiful. Beautiful. A reminder of my magic.
A proof I was already doing art, not simply needing to figure out how to do art.
I felt so incredibly small, young, stupid, blessed and naked all at once. I knocked shoulders with the friend and sister next to me, the same one who had listened to be rant while coloring on my mantle the day before and who had now just taken my pictures, and apologized. Explaining what was going on in my head. That here it was in my hand. Proof, that my hands were fine with being an artist, and doing art, taking the time to get it right, but my head and my heart were where the problem seemed to be now.
All we had after that was to head back and pack everything up from the weekend. It was crazy earlier than we usually were done, and ready, but then we usually don't start Sunday's classes until 2-3 hours later. While packing up I stole two different girls in our group, including one professional artists to talk to about my sudden clue-by-four from the universe.
We stood in the doorway, with the breeze ruffling our clothes and the field all golden beyond us and talked about the fact that my problem wasn't probably the art at all. It was the story in my head, and wherever that story came from, and whatever reason I once upon a long time ago created it. Whatever purpose it had served then, the way all the stories we tell to ourselves do.
It was, also, in the middle of this discussion the clue-by-four grew even vaster. Because art and creativity and everything that surrounds it? That's a HUGE part of Svadhisthana/The Sacral Chakra. Which I'm exactly six months into my one year of studying with. So, there was that, too, suddenly spooling out, while she nodded like that made so much sense, too.
She suggested I work on my story, and somewhere in there I ended up with this as my phone front:
As a personal promise & touchstone to knowledge I would
1. Keep the calendar I'd written out for Blodeuwedd
2. Write songtoisis & see if I wasn't too late for Blue Moon Meets Imbolc.
3. Continue acknowledging I already was an artist/capable of sacred art I thought beautiful.
4. To delve into the work I had before me: clean-up my last year & learn/find/reframe my art story.
The weekend closed quietly, and beautifully, and we made the trek we always do at the end of the retreats at this place. To a small restaurant about 40-50 minutes out from where we were staying, where we all gathered around a huge table and talked about anything and everything, from the weekend to all the things going on in our lives at the time.
It was a good breather back into the world, with it's paved roads and hard-edged buildings. So much I had learned, beautiful people I had learned it with, and lessons to take with me into the future of the year.
The Journey to Avalon
Part I | Part I.V | Part II | Part III
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