Cleansing Rites

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Today I went down to the river to cleanse my necklaces – they’ve grown heavy and dark over the year – and with them some of my crystals. I decided to throw in an old paper bobbin with some bans, too, a foreshadowing of the burning of negativity that will follow at New Year’s Eve.

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I gave myself a new burning bowl for Yule and now it’s broken in by the dancing flame and the living water and the coarse sand.

The Fire Child came with me – her parents were busy so I took her along – and curiously watched me while I held the crystals into fire and smoke.

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“My friends think you’re weird”, she said.

“The hell did you tell them ’bout me?”, I asked, and she shrugged and smiled that seven-year-old smile, the one without front teeth.

So I shrugged too.

“Some people my age think I’m weird, too. I’m a little different, but that’s okay. Everyone is.”

The Fire Child nodded, and said: “I like you.”

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And isn’t that what counts.

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We also found a river shrine of sorts and added some mussel shells, and after we found a pretty tile and more clams we made another one on the island.

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I hope it will thrive like the first one. Maybe others will bring offerings too – small bones and snail shells and mussles and pretty fragments of pottery that you can find there even without searching for it.

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There is a pretty driftwood wand drying on my sill now, and a perfect ring of bark that will be waxed and used for something surely, and the Fire Child hopes she’ll get a fancy rat for Christmas and I wish it for her, too.

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