🌀 A Threefold River | Kinward 23 [Moonday School] 🌖

Snake (shedding), ouroboros (snake swallowing her own tail), maid / mother / crone, labyrinths, all great stories (especially spoken stories, stories that live again every time they are told aloud), the deep eddies at river confluences, the whole river, the water cycle: these are all spirals, cycles of birth, becoming, integration, death, redistribution, rebirth. Little deaths and big ones. Growing bigger, moving closer to center. The rebirth of shedding and the rebirth of birth.

What have your scars taught you? If your deepest scar is a door, what threshold does it mark? Have you crossed that threshold yet? How do you know you’ve crossed it?

“The doors to the world of the wild Self are few but precious.

If you have a deep scar, that is a door. If you have an old, old story, that is a door. If you love the sky and the water so much you almost cannot bear it, that is a door.

If you yearn for a deeper life, a full life, a sane life, that is a door.”

― Clarissa Pinkola Estés

My scars have shown me the spiral. And the spiral is a curriculum I’ll be deepening into for the rest of my life, I’m sure. There’s a reason it’s carved on so many rocks, all over the world. It’s all in there. All of it.

Petroglyph photo courtesy of the NPS

My unfolding in the last three years, from the birth of my son to the birth of my daughter, has been intensively a process of shedding and integration, shedding and integration. I’ve learned some things, oh my goodness have I, and I’m still learning, and more and more I’m feeling the call to learn in public.

So, welcome back to Moonday School. Let’s talk scars, and rivers, and the spiral, and the threefold goddess.

As you listen to this short episode of the podcast, maybe try singing along with the songs. Sit in the spellwork with me. What opens up for you as you sing swallowing, sing turning?

Thank you river for your many many many many many many teachings, including the ones I play with here.

Here you can watch a video I watched over and over in the last couple weeks of my pregnancy, a timelapse of a reticulated python so perfectly letting go of the skin she’s outgrown. Watch it without the sound, I suggest. Does something let go in you as you attend to this?

If you feel called to weave a few turns of your own into this learning spiral, send me a voice recording of your embodied responding. Another verse for the song? A spiraling story of your own? What tugs you, what unwinds in you? What threshold are you standing on, as you listen? Let’s braid.

Go well, practitioners.