I am beginning to wonder if the book I have been writing (whether I publish it or not) is creating a kind of unexpected magic to manifest the visions within its pages. Yesterday, for the new moon, I read my journal from the last new moon until this one–a practice I do every new moon day. This particular month has been a time for spiritual restoration. But I noticed something rather curious as I read. Old rituals and practices are finding their way back into my life after a time of absence. And it seems related to the writing of the book, Finding Our Way Home.
In one chapter, I write about the practice of diving into water every day, which came into my life when I lived on Cape Cod. But for 11 years, there was no body of water close enough to where we lived for me to do that anymore. And I didn’t imagine there would be in our new house, but then we learned about access to the Presumpscot River just ten minutes away. So now it is a possibility again.
In another chapter, I write about dance as a form of prayer–physical, emotional, a way to experience the energy of the divine in my body, and find joy in the midst of struggle. When I lived in Boston, I was part of a women’s spirituality circle that danced as a part of our rituals. But I haven’t had an easy or collective way to do that for a while. Then, this month I found a community group that meets for free-form expressive dance every Sunday morning–not always so great during the church year when I am occupied most Sunday mornings–but for the summer it is accessible to me, and once a month on my Sunday’s off during the year. So now that is a possibility again.
And then I started thinking about how I had written about wanting to use less oil, to have a house that was zero-carbon–I wrote about it before I could imagine any way that we might really find a way to live in greener housing. But this past year we started an intentional search for greener housing. Our new home is not all the way to zero-carbon, but with our solar panels and in-town location we are using so much less oil than before.
I also write about the spiritual practice of writing–and the book as a ceremony of reconnection to the earth, to each other, to the spirit within all. But the magic I have been noticing this month was completely unexpected, beyond my wildest dreams, and uncanny in its particularity. I wonder if when we write our hopes and visions, when we express our gratitude, when we imagine and tell the stories, there might be an energy that starts to percolate. What has lain dormant wakes up and tries to find a way to express itself. All I can say is wow, and thank you.