Still deep in it, hot water bottle strapped around my middle, I breathe and sway with the red tides inside. Movement is slow, and so are thoughts, while sleep is never far away. Problems weigh heavily on the surface of my mind, but down here the pressure is global, like seabottom, and solutions are dim and distant, difficult to discern.

I wish for the Red Tent, the sister-gathering sacred womb room, earthy floor lined with cedar boughs, hot with fragrant smoke. I would sink into Her darkness until it was time to gather my essence and re-emerge into the world.

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