We all gathered wood for the fire. Each of us found and imprinted a special stick with an intention for release and an intention for calling in. We used watercolors, charcoal, lipstick, and ballpoint pens to mark these intentions with sigils on opposite ends of our particular pieces of wood. Each one was different and beautiful.
After dinner we sang the chorus of The Mermaid over and over, ramshackle and piecemeal as we clamored down the sandy stairs to the beach, sigiled sticks in hand. Gonzalo and Juan built the fire out of driftwood and set benches around it so that we all faced the ocean and the fire at once, cliffs on either side and the Casa behind us. The full moon glowed silver above and the fire burned gold below. The ocean was black and inky and felt like the sum of all things.
Everyone stood and cast their sigils into the fire, some silent, some shouting, all grateful, all beautiful. Gonzalo went last, riding his piece of driftwood like a broomstick and shouting ABRACADABRA as he threw it into the flames.
The driftwood burned hot and fast and sparks and sand danced around us as we sang songs from childhood in rounds, the wind carrying our voices out to sea.
As goodbyes were said, the little clay pots that we got in town were produced one by one and filled with the white sandy ashes settling around the edges of the dying embers - our intentions alchemized, released and transformed, to be carried forth into the world and used in the ignition of future fires.
Well the ocean waves may roll
And the stormy winds may blow
We poor sailors go skipping o'er the top
While the landlubbers lie down below below below
While the landlubbers lie down below
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