It’s supposed to be one of the last hot days before the weather starts to cool – hallelujah – and I am wide awake at midnight, twiddling my thumbs in the darkness.
The internet is bad, so I don’t have that distraction. I’m in the throngs of a heavy bleed (this perimenopausal ride is a whole bag of fun) and despite having had a long day with no nap, I feel zero inclination towards sleep.
I realise that here in Siwa you can’t force anything, you can only be utterly present with what is calling your attention in the moment, so there is no point in forcing sleep. Lying in the dark, I feel the impulse to write, something I’ve had no enthusiasm for this week at all. To be honest, it hasn’t even entered my awareness, I’ve been so engrossed in each day as it comes that the thought of documenting our experiences is the last thing on my mind. I’ve barely even taken any pictures, thinking I could use some from one of the other Crooks, but it seems all of us have been afflicted with presence-syndrome and photos have been relegated to a faint after thought.
Presence-syndrome is a very real thing here. I realise that it might be hard to fully understand what I mean unless you’ve really experienced Siwa but it’s a real phenomenon, believe me. This land gently strips away everything, until all that is left is a hyper presence, pure attention in the eternal now. This is its medicine and it’s a subtle but powerful medicine, especially in this day and age of racing minds.
Outside, the moon peeps it’s face through the tiny windows of the dark, silent house. The streets are quiet except for the occassional dog but I remain agitated. This full moon has heralded in a wave of intense energy. I can feel it swirling through the field like a swarm of bees turning everything upside down and robbing me of my peace.
Much is coming to the surface within the collective in this time. Darkness that has operated in secret for millennia is being forced into the light of awareness and, quite frankly, it’s about bloody time.
In classical mythology the oracle of Siwa foretold, “the coming of the day when that which is hidden will be revealed”, could that time be now? I feel it is and although the process can be painful and destabilizing, it is necessary.
I breathe in the energy I am feeling and remind myself to be the vibration of love as this energy passes through my awareness. I feel it is the best I can do in this moment and watch as the swirling shifts from something chaotic and potentially “bad” to something calmer. Still swirling but more manageable somehow.
This supermoon eclipse marks the beginning of a series of astrological events coming up over the next few weeks and many people are primed for big changes to happen. It's as if we are all sitting on a box of fireworks knowing they will go off any second now.
Astrology has a tendency to go right over my head, so don’t expect any insights from me into the archetypal energies at play, I barely understand them myself, from an astrological perspective that is. I respect the knowledge astrologers have at interpreting the movements of the cosmic bodies and their energetic stories but all those words and details go in one ear and out the other. I’m a read-the-energy-of-the-moment-for-myself type girl and can only go off that. I am aware of the significant events and observe them in my own way, I just have no clue what the houses are, or the significance of the planets and how they interact with each other. Nor do I have an interest in learning. Each to their own. We all are a unique piece in the puzzle.
Mama Mich (pronounced Meesh – one of her many names, thanks to our BVI/Filipino family) is the one who is a solid follower of the brilliant Pam Gregory and all things astrology. She’s the one who always knows what planet is in retrograde and where Mars is – but then can’t remember what it all means and turns to my dad for clarification, who, although marginally better, also can’t remember the details. So, we all fumble around in the astrological dark, knowing something is going on in the heavens but not quite sure what exactly, yet feeling it acutely. Story of my life really, fumbling in the dark feeling everyone is more on it than me.
I’m sure Eli, if he had an interest, would be the one to tell us. He is the eternal purveyor of fun facts with an extraordinary memory for detail. Sadly, astrology doesn’t feature in his mind bank of random information. The longest word in English, on the other hand, is a favourite party trick of his. Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis. Try saying that 5 times really quickly.
In honour of the supermoon we went into the desert with Adel (our Siwi friend) and Odna, a polish woman living here who hosts somatic retreats for women and is somewhat of a self-professed oracle.
There is something so powerful about the desert. The way the dunes rise and fall into the distance, their edges so smooth and curvy. It’s almost sexy, deliciously feminine. The moonlight picks up the soft rolls of the silky surface and plays with the eyes, creating illusions that come and go. What spirits wander over this vast sea of sand? Who can enter the desert and not be in awe of her beauty? There, under the stars and moon, in the vastness of glittering sand, you can touch the divine – and you find that after all that ardent searching, the divine lies comfortably within.
In true Siwa fashion of hyper presence, we wove the night together from the strands of our awareness. Nothing planned, each moment as perfect as the next, despite the fact Adel’s phone was ringing off the hook with people needing his attention. That too was part of it.
We danced, we made patterns in the sand, we shared, we sang, we drank tea and ate dates. After Adel’s phone battery finally died, he was free and so we buried him in the sand, me at his feet and Odna at his head. I beat the beat of the heart on the sand, humming a low frequency as Odna sang to the stars. Both of us finishing in unison, returning to the fire as one, before she went off alone to commune with the rolling expanse.
My parents climbed the dune to sit together and watch the stars, two love birds in matching outfits, blending with the moonlight. What an example they are of love and I am in awe of their adventurous spirit and joie de vivre. They are always the first to get up and dance, to laugh and joke around. I'm proud to be their daughter.
"I have to say," ventured Odna, "how amazing and different it is to see a multigenerational family traveling in this way. You don't see it. I have never seen it anyway and I just love what you are doing. It's very special."
Eli slept on the rug oblivious to all our shenanigans. Earlier that day we had risen before dawn to climb the sacred mountain and visit the temple caves, so he was tired. I was glad that he, someone who has always resisted sleep, managed to surrender to the peace of the desert and finally let go.
As he slept and the others had wondered off, Adel gave me a sand shower and what a delicious experience that was. It feels heavenly, that soft tinkle of falling sand on skin, so blissfully sensual. It seems to find all your hidden places with its loving touch, delicately firing every nerve ending – but you do get sand absolutely everywhere.
When I finally stood up, I had the old, what feels like a massive crap in your pants thing going on, you know, like the full nappy look you get when you’ve been savagely tumbled in the surf. Makes me think of babies waddling about with a lump swinging behind them. The inelegance a small price to pay for the sensory bliss.
The whole night, devoid of any substances beyond lemongrass tea, had a strange, psychedelic quality to it, as if we had all been taking mushrooms together in a faraway place. This is what I mean by the magic of the desert at night. It comes alive in unexpected ways. It gently probes you and can equally ground you or take you to the stars, depending on what you are needing.
This is how we ushered in the Supermoon, new friends with old souls bathing in the moonlight, adrift on the Great Sand Sea, celebrating the balance of all aspects of self in preparation for the equinox.
We are now entering our final week here in Siwa before heading back to Cairo and Luxor for the month of October and I can’t believe the time has gone by so fast. Part of me already feels sad about leaving here, even though I am excited to see friends and have adventures with them in the Nile temples. Despite my lack of stories to tell, our time here has been incredibly rich.
There is much to tell you about the waters of this place. The Mother Source (a spring in the salt flats that has been there, untouched, for thousands of years), the vibrant cool, sweet springs scattered in the cool gardens and the mineral rich hot springs, all of which feel primal and so vivaciously alive.
There are over 200 ancient springs in Siwa, many that have been lost and many more that remain hidden within the jungle of dates and olives. There is much to discover about these primordial waters and a lot to learn from them, for it is in the waters that the oracle’s voice can be heard. In the waters, in the trees, in the sand and in the mountain, she quietly speaks to your soul.
There is much to tell you of my research about the oracle, which confirms the visions and stories I have been receiving and working with for some years now, way before I had ever even heard of Siwa. These confirmations and discoveries have blown my mind and given me a much-needed assurance of my path, something I have always felt uncertain of. I am the master of imposter-syndrome after all. Was, the master, was. Now, I am something else.
There is much to tell you about the properties we have been looking at and our dreams of opening a retreat space and sanctuary here. Dreams that are taking shape and rapidly becoming more tangible, a sign (I think) that the land shares and supports our dream.
There is much to tell you about the people we are meeting and the friendships that are forming within the community here. Of hilarious moments where we have laughed ourselves silly. Of spiritual insights and gifts we have received. Mum is a favourite amongst the local men, she's been given a traditional Siwi dress and a ring, amongst other things. At this rate Dad's going to be beating them off!
But all my good intentions of being a blogger seem to fall away into the dust. All the funny moments we have, that I tell myself I must remember so I can write about them, are – poof, gone. They already happened, they’re no longer in the present and so, no longer relevant. My mind can’t retain or even recall them and trying to hold on is as futile as trying to keep fine sand in my hands. They are like old patterns in the sand, brushed away by the wind, leaving a new, smooth, clean slate in its place for us to create from.
Every day we are born anew, with fresh eyes to experience a whole new world and within that, I feel, is the secret to true wealth.
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