Back in the day, we lived on top of that hill in that 1920’s place with black and white tiles in the kitchen and a backyard overlooking Hollywood. We’d get up early, do yoga with the smell of jasmine around us, walk slowly down the street for Cuban cafe and fresh squeezed carrot juice daily, run our numerous businesses plus spend our nights infused with urban beats and fine cocktails.
We had all the time in the world. We worked and played and traveled and took the time for slowly planned meals, daily practices, and monthly rituals.
I had intertwined myself with a man, a partner, who pulled down the moon with me and set fire to papers and hung tiny pieces of fabric from trees. I drew a good card in karma’s ridiculous game.
Then I got luckier. Blessed would be the word. A goddamn full blown, wild country road-of-a-miracle. Holy shit. We made a person.
And together we vowed to bring her love and create space for growth, time, and tools to discover her unique & sacred magic. He vowed to be our Home, surrounding, protecting with intention as we worked the ways of the Earth and re-remembered the path of Mama Nature.
Then one day there were three! And three was a lot. And life became what life is. Quick glimpses of the moon and blown kisses and blessings became our rituals {if that}. Months would pass, and in my mind I’d create altars with fresh flowers and rows of candles and crystals in violets and magentas. I’d dream of when they were old enough to complete the circle we began together, back in those days.
wee-ones-9It takes time. Sometimes ritual is enough to butter the toast, keep a smile on your face and a song at your lips when kids are screaming at murderous worthy volumes. Sometimes it’s just enough to go for a walk every night after dinner under an ombre sky and exhale after a long day of rough and tough or breath in huge the gifts of an easy ride on glassy waters. Sometimes it’s just enough to feel the oil drip-drop in the warm bath and hear the tiny song sung before they finally {not without the long, long struggle} fall asleep in peace.
And now my girls are growing big, bold and ready. Their most favorite time of the month is when mama “gets it together” enough to set aside space for simple ceremony to honor the moon or a shifting season. So tonight it’s a simple ritual, a moon ceremony.
Because I’m busy as hell and they are still small {9,7,4}, I keep it simple. It’s a practice, a story we are weaving together, but it’s very accessible. The golden key is to not feel “behind” or “not knowing” or trying to get them to “get it.” Keep it accessible to yourself {which therefore continues the conversation going on with others because it’s also accessible to them}, and keep it fully open to what they create within it. Ask what works for you and do just that, maybe even less. See what works for them and roll with it.
Bring in friends. Or your partner. There are no rules here. It’s the moon for goddess’s sake. It’s as crazy and mysterious as we are.
We laid out the tapestry in front of Durga, who was placed on the almost-done hearth my lover is building, and we rolled the candles. The girls got all crazy and cut out wax moons and spirals, and Sula even formed the word “moon” and stuck it on one of the candles.
We all sat around the candles and Durga, I put on some mellow music to keep them chill and in the vibe, and we passed around the sage, rubbing it with our fingers, getting it all dusty, and sprinkling it in the bowl…and then lighting it up into smoke of bliss and smudge. We got up and walked around our circular living space {well we mostly danced around it in sage smoke} and cast our circle. Then we had a little dance party in the center to get our wiggles out.
Back on the tapestry, out came the stamp. As I stamped each of their foreheads, I announced, “you are anointed with….,” and for each girl {and their dad} I said something different, and my oldest daughter stamped me {they had fun telling their stamp story in school the next day}.
We wound our wrists with the fabric, together like a web, and then each one of us spoke of something we wanted to let go of. As they spoke, I cut them free and we burned their part of the fabric {kinda stinky} in the copper bowl, saying goodbye. We watched it burn. And we all got a bit lighter.
I took out the ball jar with water. Easy as pie, we all passed it around shaking it up and down, infusing it with what we WANTED to bring into our lives. {The jar was then placed right in the moonlight and the next morning we gulped it down, yum.}
Holding hands, we sang many, many, many OM’s and gave lots of silly and sincere thanks. We blew out the flames, and mama did her finger extinguishing trick which always gets oooohs and ahhhhs.
We threw on some James Brown and made some delish hot cocoa, and we shook it up some more.
And called it a night.
Simple. They slept like a charm.
Next morning: “Mama, nights like last night are the best in the world.”




words: marybeth bonfiglio
photos: marybeth bonfiglio, maya corinne + holden cw


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