Not every threat comes at the door; some travel home upon the shoulders, clinging like smoke to the coat.
This bath is a shedding as much as a shield — it lifts what has fastened to you and pours it away down the drain, then closes the pores of the spirit against the next comer. Under the full moon its waters run brightest and its salt bites deepest.
The Working
- Under the full moon, draw a bath as cool as you can bear, and cast three handfuls of salt into it.
- Float bay leaves upon the surface, one for each direction you have travelled in that week.
- Set a dark stone — hematite, jet, or black tourmaline — at the foot of the tub to draw the heaviness downward.
- Enter without hurry, and sink until the water closes over your shoulders.
- Pass your cupped hands from crown to heel, sweeping the day’s residue toward the water.
- When the leaves have gone still, pull the stopper and let the water leave while you remain, feeling it drag the weight away.
- Rise unrinsed, wrap yourself in white, and let the air dry the salt into a second skin.
The Incantation
Bay on the water, salt in the deep,
take what was hung on me, mine no more to keep.
Down through the dark and away with the tide,
leave me the clean and the closed and the wide.
Moon on the water, seal what is bare,
let nothing refasten, let nothing come there.
Go to sleep without washing, and wake with the salt still standing guard along the borders of your skin.