the carved letters fill up with my spirit.
After several moments of mixing and concentrating, I spread a large sheet of wax paper out on the ground and then pour the mixture onto it, the carved questions facing up toward the moon. I sprinkle some dirt on top, in the form of the letter M, and then roll everything up in the wax paper, securing it with a thick rubber band.
"I offer you, Moon, pieces of myself--my body, my bone--wrapped in love and spirit, and ask thee in return to help me see more clearly, to increase my natural awareness."
Using a spoon, I dig a hole about six inches deep into the patch of soil in front of me, my fingers aching as I struggle to break through the near-frozen earth. I deposit the gift inside, pack the soil back up, and then place the crystal cluster rock over the spot. "Blessed be," I whisper, looking up toward the moon.
The spell complete, I feel completely refreshed, as though suddenly more awake, more attuned with myself and nature. I lean back on my elbows and notice the pine 116
tree just to the side of me. I love pine needles--the way they smell, the smooth and brittle texture when I roll them between my fingers, their ability to protect and dispel negativity. I pick up a couple branches from the ground for later use. That's when I hear a rustling sound coming from a few yards behind me.
I toss the branches into my bag, along with my spell supplies, and grab the crystal. It's probably just some kids looking to booze it up before bedtime. I wait a few seconds for more noise, but I don't hear anything. I switch off my flashlight and stand up. Now I can hear it, the snapping sound of kindling, like someone's made a campfire.
I click my flashlight back on, but keep the beam low, and take a couple steps toward the sound. I can see the bright orangey glow in the distance, the tiny sparks that jump up into the wind. But I don't hear anything else. No voices or laughing. No sounds of beer cans opening or bottles being broken.
The crystal pressed into my palm, I approach the campfire, just a few yards away. I can see a male figure, sitting in a partial clearing laden with rocks, the left side of his body illuminated by the campfire flame. He reaches into his knapsack and begins gathering whatever lies inside into the crook of his arm. He gets up and spreads the objects out around the perimeter of the fire.
Rocks, I think. I do my best to try and keep track of how many he's setting down, to see if he's marking all eight directions, north to west. But I can't be sure. He sits back down, pokes at the fire a couple times with a stick, and then pulls something from the side 117
pocket of his knapsack. Ajar. He shakes the contents up a few times and then holds the jar up to view. There's a powdery, brownish substance inside, like beach sand, highlighted by the lapping flames. He unscrews the top and then pours something into it from a tiny container. A liquidy substance. He mixes it all up with a stick from the ground, dips his fingers inside, and then rubs the mixture down the side of his face and at the back of his neck.
The whole picture of it, of someone else aside from myself performing some sort of moonlight ritual, completely weirds me out. It's not because I think I'm the only person on the planet who does stuff like this; it's just that, aside from my grandmother and some make-believe witches on TV, I've never actually seen anybody else do stuff like this. And yet, aside from that weirded-out part, there's another part that's intrigued, curious . . . almost hopeful, and I'm not even sure why. I squeeze the crystal, noticing how warm it feels in my hand, how I can't stop shaking.
As curious as I am and as much as I'd like to watch him more, I suddenly feel guilty, as though I'm invading his sacred space, as though the moon is watching me do it. I step backward and point the flashlight beam toward the ground to navigate my way out. There's a group of bushes in front of me. I suck my gut
After several moments of mixing and concentrating, I spread a large sheet of wax paper out on the ground and then pour the mixture onto it, the carved questions facing up toward the moon. I sprinkle some dirt on top, in the form of the letter M, and then roll everything up in the wax paper, securing it with a thick rubber band.
"I offer you, Moon, pieces of myself--my body, my bone--wrapped in love and spirit, and ask thee in return to help me see more clearly, to increase my natural awareness."
Using a spoon, I dig a hole about six inches deep into the patch of soil in front of me, my fingers aching as I struggle to break through the near-frozen earth. I deposit the gift inside, pack the soil back up, and then place the crystal cluster rock over the spot. "Blessed be," I whisper, looking up toward the moon.
The spell complete, I feel completely refreshed, as though suddenly more awake, more attuned with myself and nature. I lean back on my elbows and notice the pine 116
tree just to the side of me. I love pine needles--the way they smell, the smooth and brittle texture when I roll them between my fingers, their ability to protect and dispel negativity. I pick up a couple branches from the ground for later use. That's when I hear a rustling sound coming from a few yards behind me.
I toss the branches into my bag, along with my spell supplies, and grab the crystal. It's probably just some kids looking to booze it up before bedtime. I wait a few seconds for more noise, but I don't hear anything. I switch off my flashlight and stand up. Now I can hear it, the snapping sound of kindling, like someone's made a campfire.
I click my flashlight back on, but keep the beam low, and take a couple steps toward the sound. I can see the bright orangey glow in the distance, the tiny sparks that jump up into the wind. But I don't hear anything else. No voices or laughing. No sounds of beer cans opening or bottles being broken.
The crystal pressed into my palm, I approach the campfire, just a few yards away. I can see a male figure, sitting in a partial clearing laden with rocks, the left side of his body illuminated by the campfire flame. He reaches into his knapsack and begins gathering whatever lies inside into the crook of his arm. He gets up and spreads the objects out around the perimeter of the fire.
Rocks, I think. I do my best to try and keep track of how many he's setting down, to see if he's marking all eight directions, north to west. But I can't be sure. He sits back down, pokes at the fire a couple times with a stick, and then pulls something from the side 117
pocket of his knapsack. Ajar. He shakes the contents up a few times and then holds the jar up to view. There's a powdery, brownish substance inside, like beach sand, highlighted by the lapping flames. He unscrews the top and then pours something into it from a tiny container. A liquidy substance. He mixes it all up with a stick from the ground, dips his fingers inside, and then rubs the mixture down the side of his face and at the back of his neck.
The whole picture of it, of someone else aside from myself performing some sort of moonlight ritual, completely weirds me out. It's not because I think I'm the only person on the planet who does stuff like this; it's just that, aside from my grandmother and some make-believe witches on TV, I've never actually seen anybody else do stuff like this. And yet, aside from that weirded-out part, there's another part that's intrigued, curious . . . almost hopeful, and I'm not even sure why. I squeeze the crystal, noticing how warm it feels in my hand, how I can't stop shaking.
As curious as I am and as much as I'd like to watch him more, I suddenly feel guilty, as though I'm invading his sacred space, as though the moon is watching me do it. I step backward and point the flashlight beam toward the ground to navigate my way out. There's a group of bushes in front of me. I suck my gut
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