When I got to the Circle late this evening, after a hard day of physical work and an even more difficult week of emotional upheaval, I had to stop dead in my weary tracks.

There in the familiar clearing in the trees was not the simple circle of old oak logs surrounding a quietly crackling fire, but a large circular wooden structure, roughly made, with a giant chimney puffing smoke signals into the moonlit sky. Just as I was about to retrace my steps and stagger on tired feet back the way I had come to search for my sacred circle, I heard a familiar sound. The barking laughter of my friend Dawn, accompanied by a chorus of snorfs and giggles that could only be Phyllis and Fern.

Narrowing my eyes at the inviting building, I heard more laughter, Tami, I think, and that other voice must be Marlene. My tired feet began to hurry forward with clouds briefly obscuring the moonlight and making me feel unsteady on my feet in the sudden darkness.

Music, sweet sad music pierced the night, Eric Clapton and Renee singing our Hallmark song. Those tears they were singing of choked my throat as I began to climb the raw wooden stairway, knowing you were all within, a family with room for one more tired heart.

Even before I opened the door, I knew that cushions would be strewn about the enormous great room, and sofas and ottomans and wonderful soft blankets. I imagined Kathy would be sitting with a smile on her face crocheting afghans, and I was right.

The split logs of the newly hewn trees made a more substantial staircase than my first impression in the straight led me to believe, and as I opened the mammoth oak door, I was suddenly awash in buttery warm light, earnest faces turning as I entered.

Gail, Barb, Sonnet, Dort, Jess and Roy were sitting at a big table near a potted plant in an opt so huge it put the true size of this log mansion in better perspective for me.

Everywhere I turned people were gathered close, talking, crying, laughing, smiling, even yelling and bringing angry fists down on newly upholstered chair arms. Others looked on in understanding and compassion, and the sight made my eyes sting and water with the intensity of the love.

Through the rainbow of my vision I noticed more faces, familiar, dear, unfamiliar, all a part of my healing, all a part of each other here in this warm and miraculous place.

In the kitchen, the smell of fragrant bread baking, of cinnamon and the tang of citrus hit my stomach with the force of childhood memory, of motherhood memory, and dreams of Patrick spiraled upward with the steam of cooling pies like phantoms.

Julie and Sharon and Sheila and Fran, Sandi and Connie and Virginia and Wendy and Sunrise, Tracy and Michelle were all there. New faces too, and names I hadn't heard like Star and Paige and Karen and John and Sue and Janis, Hope and Patty. I was greeting and meeting people for ages.

Anywhere else I might have been wearied by such a press of people, might have felt demands I couldn't meet. But here, I felt only love and warmth and comfort and friendship, and instead of feeling fatigued, I began to feel invigorated somehow.

With Nat and Rebecca and Carolyn and Butch and Keli all playing a board game of some sort, and several people apparently working on a computer program, I wandered to a window seat adjacent to the fireplace and curled up with a new book.

I didn't get around to reading a single page, though. I simply sat in awe of this incredible place that was prepared for me without my asking, without my even realizing I might need it or all of you.

As I meditated on the miracle of this, I found my emotions flooding through me like waves, one after another rolling through me, washing the shore of my heart clean tonight.

As I said a few silent prayers of thanks for all of this, I imagined us surrounded by our lost loved ones. I fancied that out of the corner of my eye, I could just make out there happy radiant faces, aglow with an inner light, wraiths dancing in the moonlight. Their hearts free, their love true, their paths wandering to the stars. And beyond.

In my father's house there are many mansions, and this one is pretty damn fine. Thanks, thank you, all of you for coming in humility and pain and love, and transforming my lonely heart and angry mind into dreams of past joys, and hope for future possibilities. Thanks for being who you are.

Oh, and thanks for letting me have a place to be tired and to have that be OK.

Love
Carol