Two Words

The chapel at Glastonbury Abbey

The chapel at Glastonbury Abbey

Dear Diary, 

The pin that was surgically inserted into my broken pinky many weeks ago was removed today. After three hours of waiting and prep, it took all of five minutes. I am breaking from my usual routine of being an A+ patient by typing right now, as I am supposed to keep my hand elevated for the next few days. A few minutes on the laptop shouldn't be too catastrophic, or maybe I'm just feeling a little more daring now that I'm on the tail end of all these procedures. Next week I have a follow-up appointment with my dermatologist. The scar on my nose is healing nicely, but I still don't have much feeling there and can feel scar tissue on the inside, which makes sense if you consider that the other night I dreamt I blew my nose and a tiny head of lettuce came out.  

I miss my sisters from the Glastonbury trip. I headed across the Atlantic with no expectations, ideas or imaginings of what lay in store for me on that journey, and I returned home feeling full and happy and inspired. Our time together was a joyful balance of sacred and silly - there was ceremony and prayer, laughter and singing. And although I am happy to be back home, as I know we all are, I am missing everyone quite terribly, which then makes me miss all the women I have sat in circle with over the past year or so, whether on a trip, a retreat or an un-retreat. These circles kept me sane during a time of great transition - kept me rooted to my truest self when I felt unmoored in so many different ways. I did not go to Glastonbury because I was looking for any particular experience or transformation; I went with a totally blank slate. But after spending time in a place that is unfathomably ancient, where fact and myth and legend and history have been woven mysteriously together, I came home with two words:

SISTERHOOD

STORYTELLING

...so we'll see where those take me from here. 

“The pilgrims continue to come. Only God knows what each one of us brings, and with what kind of heart. We come mystically to this cave. We know the mess we bring and the often distracted heart that brings it. But this is all we have--all we are. One stretches out his arms to receive.” 

{M. Basil Pennington}

Christine Mason Miller

Santa Barbara, CA

Writer * Artist * Storyteller * Guide