I burned the hell out of my thumb two nights ago in a last-minute, solo, Solstice cleansing ritual. In the rain. Wearing my Happy Bunny pajama pants and snow boots.
I cut quite a figure, let me tell you.
I’m having trouble with Christmas. I always do, really. I’m not going to go so far as to call myself an atheist, but I’m certainly no longer Christian, either. So trying to find a “reason for the season,” can be tricky for me. I’m not really prepared to write eloquently about all of this just now, but I’ll say that the notion of celebrating a rebirth or a returning to light appeals mightily.
We didn’t really get it together enough to properly mark the longest night as a family (though we have in the past and it’s been satisfying and beautiful), but I decided I wanted to do something for myself after everyone went to bed. So I wrote three desires on notebook paper:
1. Let go of job bitterness.
2. Let go of artistic self-doubt.
3. Let go of relationship insecurity.
I ripped the paper into three strips and carried them out back with an orange Bic lighter. I lit each in turn, held it for an instant, then let it fall to the pavement of the patio saying, “Goodbye, goodbye. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
The paper was slightly damp so didn’t burn all the way to ash, and I succeeded in burning my thumb in the process, but I quite like the washed by fire and water thing.
Earthly ablution. My kind of prayer.