Smoke

The After-Smudge

Our Angel with Broken Wings (more about him here), who has become somewhat of a regular character in the glass factory — all six feet ten inches of him — performed a cedar smudge ceremony today in the studio, the site of last Friday's shattering. Cedar is considered a sacred medicine of protection, and is used to invite unwanted spirits or presences to leave.

And although I'd heard of cedar and sage smudge cleansings, this was my first time experiencing one, and was moved almost to tears by the quiet power summoned by our Angel-Man. The lingering, sweaty scent of human rage (which I could unquestionably detect) was replaced with the clean dry essence of burnt cedar. At one point, I laid my forehead down on the work table and closed my eyes. There is so much to assimilate.

A sense of peace was restored — all rather astonishing for this skeptical mystic, this non-theist animist. (Yowza. That was admittedly a mouthful.)

These days flow through their hours with flares of dramatic contrasts. The garbage can outside is filled with glass shards, while the Angel-Man daily brings Melinda tiny affectionate tokens, my favorite by far being a clam shell cupping a tiny pale-pink rose. Gentleness and tender gestures: yesterday he read to us from Thomas Moore's Care of the Soul, a healing balm while we painted. He'll leave us soon — it's time for him to care more deeply for his own wounded soul and body.

Who knows when/if he'll return with sprigs of valerian, or lavender, or to pluck a book from his bag, sit on the window seat, and read aloud.
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