But First, A Crown
Part I
I was late picking her up from school. Seventh-grade Koa was eager for our adventure, of which she knew nearly nothing about. As she climbed in the car, looking at me with ready eyes and full spirit, I told her, “Before we head out, there’s one thing you need to do.”
Frustration. “What, Mamá?!” She was so ready to go.
I reached into the back seat and grabbed the first of many treasures in store for her. She is the master of treasure, after all. “You must first put on your birthday crown.”
I wasn’t sure how she’d react. She’d made the crown a few years back, wrapped in soft yellow and peach fabric, resplendent with fairy lights. As her eyes grew wider and even more ready, a smile lit up her face as she plunked the now almost too-small-to-fit crown on her head, smushing it down so it wouldn’t fall off. She glowed.
Gilchrist Retreat Center is described as a place “where natural beauty strengthens our capacity for compassion, gratitude, reverence, and creativity.” With small, sequestered cabins simply and beautifully outfitted and nestled amidst fifty acres of rolling farmland, it was the home of an utterly magical three-day retreat for Koa and me.
Intended to prepare Koa to transition into her teenage years in a way that acknowledged every part of her powerful, tender personality and her brave, silly being, our weekend plans included nature and games, favorite foods and fun drinks, introspection and art, writing and creating, and challenges and emotions — all wrapped in play and surprise.
In keeping with a mantra Koa and I share — more is more — I had converted the simple cabin into a haven for Koa. After three car loads of supplies, there was a sound section filled with her sound healing instruments. The snack section was loaded with treats and yummies she could dig into at any time, including her favorite tea, aptly named ”grateful heart,” and the smells section held the softness of candles, incense, and essential oils. There was bedding from home, her “warrior pillow,” her prized stuffed friend Colorful, and a tapestry of the world I’d hung on the wall.
Carefully placed throughout the space, were miscellaneous Koa treasures — a small carving of bird friends, rocks we’d gathered along Lake Erie that were later revealed as spelling L-O-V-E, a meaningful crystal that graced a meditation space, and beautifully wrapped gifts, fodder for our games, waited under the tree. There was also a hidden room, filled with all manner of creative art supplies, and while given permission to sneak in, Koa never did, relishing the surprise more than the knowing. Our little cabin became a womb, fit for the birthing of, well, a goddess.
To usher her into her teenage years, equipped with tools, toys, and treasure, we embarked on a classic coming-of-age rite of passage, Koa-style. Our “Girl to Goddess” adventure was designed to acknowledge and celebrate who Koa had been, to “turn the page” and identify what she would leave behind and what she’d bring forward, and finally, to dream, stepping into newness.
We would follow the path of mysterious “goddess games,” imaginative ways to explore herself and the world around her. These games were described on small cards, contained within little envelopes, attached by magnets to a pretty metal tree. Short teasers were written on each, like tempting fruit as yet never tasted. She plucked and peeled each one open, biting into it with gusto, and savoring the sweetness each yielded through our time together and as she brought every activity uniquely to life.
Her crown graced her head, glowing, as we moved through every escapade, feat, and trial. Koa walked the woods in it. She made art in it. She ate in it. She wore it as she sat in my lap, moving through a “time travel” exercise and absorbing every word, drawing, recipe, and treasure tucked safely away in the many journals she’d filled in her 13 years. We talked of words she’d written she didn’t really believe anymore, if ever at all. We marveled at a lifetime of poems and stories, drawings and insights, gathered through times of joy and of grief.
“This is so amazing, everything, Mamá, it’s incredible, so beautiful.”
“This is you, Koa, everything you see is an outward reflection of who you are. Amazing, beautiful, incredible”
“I feel so loved, Mamá.”
“You are so loved, Koa.”
As we moved through our days and deep into the nights, Koa was inexhaustible. When not on her head, the crown of old occupied various places of honor she’d carefully chosen to guard it, and to guard our space. Fueled by creativity and curiosity, Koa was eager, even fairly fanatical, to play the goddess games and thus explore herself, and her world, as deeply as possible.
“We might not get to each and every one, Koa.”
“Mamá, I want to do ALL the things!”
One of the ”Goddess Guidelines” she’d agreed to on Day 1 was no bedtime. This she took to heart, falling asleep over her journal as she poured her whole being into an exercise designed to unearth what she wanted to bring forward into her life as a goddess. Immersing herself in the soulful imagery in a deck of illustrated cards, I asked Koa to select three, and write stories about the world these images awoke within her, ultimately winnowing them down to simply three words to encapsulate how she wanted to be and move in this world moving forward.
Free. Play. Joy.
Integrating free, play, and joy into her being would require some effort. Koa began this work by writing words describing parts of herself she’d like to dispel. Each word on a piece of special paper, she dropped them into a glass of water, watching intently as they slowly dissolved. They disappeared, as Koa lit candles and placed them around the vessel, then lit a bundle of sage and smudged the room.
Later that night, we went to the beautiful inground stone chapel on the Gilchrist grounds. It was snowing, the moon was high. “The moonlight so bright, what a strange delight,” she later proclaimed. Here, Koa was determined to start a fire all by herself for the first time. This task was made more difficult by the fact that I myself had no idea how to start a fire. I was tired and cold. After much frustration and a few tears, Koa managed to spark only a small flame. Disappointment consumed her as she moaned in that chapel, in my lap, feeling she’d ruined everything, when she wanted so much to grow, change, be this new Koa.
Allowing herself to be snuggled in my arms I told her, “You have ruined nothing for me, sweet Koa, change takes time… this is all about intention.” So we gathered ourselves and grabbed a piece of coal from her initiatory fire to take home, more treasure. Covered in soot, I drew her a bath. When I checked in after a while, she declared, scraping soot from her body, “It’s like I’m peeling away my old self, Mamá.”
She’d turned the page.
It came time to dream a bit about this new life as the goddess she was embracing herself to be. And what goddess doesn’t need a crown? One to replace that which she’d been wearing, the one from a younger Koa she’d certainly outgrown. But there is no newness without that which we’ve been, and so Koa grabbed that peachy, bright ring and promptly began to tear it apart. Then reaching its core of wire, it was then she began to reimagine.
On the cover of Koa’s most beloved journal it states, “Just when the caterpillar thought her world was over, she became a butterfly.” So fitting that her first cover for the wire was beautiful white fabric adorned with a multitude of colorful butterflies. When finished, you could barely see them, but they were there. She knew the butterflies were there.
Settled in a sea of enough supplies to outfit several classrooms, Koa designed, and wrapped, and glued, and embellished her new crown. She did this with intensity, no surprise, and what struck me was how quickly it came together. She worked fast and devotedly, with each piece of adornment chosen with care, many holding deep meaning, such as the dried baby yellow roses from her grandfather that I’d glittered as a surprise for her, or the golden swirl representing what she dubbed a “calmie,” a device used to help her pause and introspect when dysregulated.
I was witnessing a potent act of empowerment, and tremendous self love, and I wonder what dreams she wove in. When complete, beaming, she placed it on her head. She was luminous. The old crown gone, and integrated. The new crown, adorned with “create” front and center, a rich yet earthy testament to the re-creation she had catalyzed over just a few days.
There were many goddess game cards unopened. But she had reached the point where she could choose only one more. Then we had to go home.
Her choice: the labyrinth.
As we walked on the grounds in its direction, I shared that sometimes people use a labyrinth to leave something behind as they walk in, and take something out with them as they leave. I wish, oh I wish that I could remember what it was that she chose to leave and to take. I think I cannot because what she did choose to do engulfed me and left its imprint in my never-to-be-forgotten memories as the Mamá of this young, newly self-appointed goddess.
“Let’s walk in together, Mamá,” and we held hands, quiet, as we made our way through the labyrinth path. We stood together, at the center, listening. Koa broke the silence by asking me to go ahead. She wanted to walk out alone. It felt like forever before she joined me again.
She’d stepped into her newness.
