feet in the dirt. The sky sparkled, the night on shrooms. There was smoke and it smelled sweet, like the fatwood dad sent me from Florida as a firestarter. The Alchemist Fox told me that cleansing smoke can't get inside boulders or rivers. But it can weave between sand and through canyons.

Then I was on the beach with Bear, the Fox, and Ram. Stag was nowhere to be seen, but Fox said Stag is tending to something (someone?) else – and Stag knows what we’re doing. Bear is stalwart. I found myself clenching a handful of sand, each grain a memory that I had to let go of. And I just...remembered things. So many things. Things about Mackenzie. Williamstown. So many things that I had to let turn into grains of sand and fall onto the beach. Then I came to a few precious memories:

I didn't want to let these go. I looked at Ram, Alchemist, and finally, Bear: 

Bear: “It doesn’t matter what you want, Little One. [You can keep the lessons and how these made you feel, but the people?] The people have changed. You have changed. You are all different now. You must let go. [Give yourself the opportunity to move on and] relearn who you are. Create potential to someday relearn who they are [if your stories intersect again]. Your memories will be safe here. You can come back to visit.” Bear was firm

So, I let them go. Each grain of sand was accompanied by tears. Leaving my precious things on the beach was one of the hardest things I have consciously done. It hurt. God, it hurt. But the moment the last grain of sand left my hand, I felt lighter.  Turning to the Alchemist, I asked about anxiety, the fear, the bad memories. 

“That’s not sand. That’s sludge. Now that the sand is safe, the sludge can be washed out. It’s going to take time, but it will. Then other things will come.”