Today's another personal holiday for me - the anniversary of the Medicine Wheel here on our land, first made on December 21, 1990.
A dowser had told us that the spot on the ridge where I'd been having my campfires was a power point. She said it was a water dome where several streams of water came together under the surface. Certainly this had been a place of transformation for me. And the idea for my second openwork iron bowl came "from the fire" one night as I sat watching the flames.
I'd always felt this was a power point, but hadn't protected it in any way. Visitors sometimes parked their cars there. No one but me (and the dowser) seemed to feel it as a special place.
In 1990 I felt this keenly. I'd just been to a conference in Atlanta called "The Sacred Image." This was the first time I'd heard the word "postpatriarchy" spoken aloud. I bought LaChapelle's book there at the Charis Books & More display. During the conference, I began to grieve for the way I'd allowed my own most sacred spot to be treated.
That led to the creation of the Medicine Wheel there. It's a simple circle of stones, perhaps fifteen feet across, with the four directions marked with cairns. The fire ring is still in the center.
In 1992, I offered a series of women's circles at the equinoxes, solstices, and pagan holidays between. The Medicine Wheel was full. Energy was high indeed.
After that, I focused my energy on my bowlmaking. But I held my own private ceremonies at the new moon, waxing moon, and full moons. I'd call in the energies of the four directions. I'd make my prayers for my life and work. Perhaps most important, I'd sit silently by the fire with my Bouvier companion dog, Colette.
As each iron bowl was completed, I took it to the Medicine Wheel for a private ceremony. I'd hold the bowl at each of the four directions in turn, beginning in the East. I'd pledge to release all hold on the bowl, to release it to its place in the wider world. And I'd ask for its name. By the time I'd completed the circle this way, I'd have either confirmed the name I'd given it, or received a new one. And I was ready to send it out into the world.
Without the Medicine Wheel, could I have sustained my work as a bowlmaker? No, I don't think so. I'm grateful for this sacred place. The trees surrounding it, the stars above, the earth below, give me what I can't describe in words. What I can't write - I can make into bowls.
There's an old saying. "Without festival, the arts have no meaning." The Medicine Wheel has been my place of ceremony. The Medicine Wheel offers festival.
6:05:56 PM 
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