I've woken up this morning with the distinct feeling that the universe cracked while I was sleeping. And maybe it did. Yesterday the Moon-Venus opposition was on my nodal axis and the midpoint of transiting Mercury and Pluto were on my natal Jupiter.
I knew something profound was about to happen yesterday at 1:22pm (astrologers always take note of these things). I had been contemplating going to the beach but I had this uneasiness about what the ocean had to say. It wasn't a fear, it was just an uncertainty about how much change one person can tolerate in such a short space of time.
As I was thinking this, a small feather floated from the sky--and I kid you not--landed near my feet. My first thought was of my grandmother. So I picked up the feather and thanked my ancestors. Like a good Ojibwa. And then I was overcome with such intense homesickness--the first bout I've had since being away for so long--that tears sprang to my eyes.
Home. Where is that, I wondered.
I'm such a bad Cancerian (or so I thought) that I couldn't even answer that question. I've been wrestling with a certain terror that I've managed to scatter the people I love all over the globe and the only way I can communicate with them is via Facebook. I felt ashamed. What the hell am I doing? I need to go home.
And then the sky spoke. This feather, this feather that floated from the sky from the wing of some unseen bird, reminded me that I am home. This is it. Home. I am home. Wherever I lay my hat.
A few hours later and I'm on the beach with two South African Sangomas watching the first sunset of the Summer Solstice. One of the sangomas had not worn shoes in over 20 years and he made me wonder what it would be like to feel the earth under one's feet for so long without the barrier of shoes. He also had long, uncut hair. I asked him if it was in his tradition to cut hair in grief as it for the Ojibwas. My own hair was pretty much down to my waist when I lost relatives and cut my hair very short. I wore my grief and was reminded of it every time I went to pull my non existent hair from my collar. My hair is just starting to grow back but I still remember my grief when I look in the mirror. The sangoma told me that he last shaved his head when his father died. Then we both laughed at our good fortune to have growing hair. How fleeting life is and how long is the recovery from grief. But now we can laugh because we understand what it means to regrow from loss.
The sangomas had brought me to a place to watch the sunset. It felt like the edge of the world. Behind us were "The Twelve Apostles" hills and before us was the ocean. There was a very light mist as the light of the dying sun turned the atmosphere to lavender. When it was getting dark, I took my shoes off so I could feel the rocks beneath my feet.
And I knew I was home.
And I also knew that wherever life takes me I am home. Here. Now. I am safe, balanced and far heartier than I had thought.
And the other thing I know is that I too am a sangoma. It might be known by a different name in different languages but by the Great Goddess, I now know I am--and have always been--a sangoma. I had just forgotten.
And it's great to be home.
I know this because a seemingly insignificant feather floated down from the sky and landed at my feet.