The Cloak of Womanhood

My cousin tried to prepare me for my first visit to the Northern California Women’s Herbal Symposium this past weekend by sharing her joyful memories. However, a life-altering experience must be lived to fully comprehend it all the way down to your bones. I arrived in Laytonville drained of all patience and compassion, totally on the edge. I had begun the summer under the delusion that my active boys would enjoy a peaceful summer at home. It didn’t work as I had planned. Now I was a ball of raw nerves.

The first thing I smelled when we entered the Black Oak grounds was the scent of bay everywhere. It was a beginning and I could feel it trying to work it’s magic. Yet the tightness within my heart and stomach would not immediately give way. We shared a tepee with a handful of women and small children. The first night the baby cried persistently and I had difficulty sleeping. The next morning I debated sleeping elsewhere until I discovered my cousin had taken the babe, her friend’s child, for many of the wee morning hours so the rest of us could sleep. Like so many ocean waves the knowledge crashed upon me that a community of strong women, Goddesses, cloaked all of us. This was the safety net I needed. With this realization I turned the bend and was coming back to myself.

I began to take more notice of the women at the symposium and became aware of the kindness and support in their eyes. I live in Orange County where more often you see competition rather than camaraderie. I noticed the patience and love mothers had for their children when they could share responsibilities with other caring women. I noticed how many women carried the life giving water in an act of self-love, wherever they went. I noticed how supportive the women were of each other and me. Sometimes I struggle with my goals of bigness, and these women were here to say, you want to be big? Go for it. We've got your back! Slowly the love that surrounded me became like a balm to my frayed nerves. It seeped deep into me and cradled my pain until it dissolved with a wash of tears.

I began to walk peacefully upon the earth with deep calming breaths rather than running through my days, breathing short, shallow, and ragged. I stargazed and for the first time was able to understand the position of our Mother Earth in the network of heavenly bodies. I attended classes taught by strong, capable women doing things that I had previously relegated to my husband. All things became possible. I reconnected with my Earth Mother. I myself taught a class to the young women and was elated to help them take hold of their inner power. I cried during the powerful singing around the fires and in ceremony. I gazed deep into the eyes of many women and felt their profound and miraculous love. I howled to the moon and laughed to heal myself and the world.

The songs continue to reverberate through me as I carry on with my days at home. I am committed to certain things: drinking more water, taking a weekly yoga class, practicing writing as a sacred act, reducing my footprint in small but meaningful ways, but most importantly, I am kinder to myself, and as a result kinder to others. My to-do lists are considerably shorter. I care less about what others think of me because of the love and acceptance I felt and saw in the eyes of 300 women in Northern California. Moreover, I didn’t feel the shock upon re-entry when I returned home. Instead I allowed the love of the Northern California Women’s Herbal Symposium to live in my heart.

On my second day home, my ten-year-old son Skyler said, “You know, Mom, when you left for the weekend and missed my soccer tournament, I thought it was a bad idea. But now that you’re back I can see how important it was that you went. You are much nicer and calmer. You seem happier.”

All I have to do to keep this happiness alive is remember the singing, see the soft love in the eyes of many women, and walk reverently, slowly upon the earth.