One, a spell for grief. When the latest numbers or the latest loss breaches the gates of your eyes, jumping off the screen, or out of the radio, crashing through your solar plexus and landing on the floor of your pelvis with incredible weight, remember that your grief is holy. Go into the shower. Turn up the heat and the pressure and let the fresh water stream over you. When grief swells in your throat let it out with a wail or a moan or a sob. Let the steam take it. Let grief run down your face in tears and snot, the messier the better, it will wash off. With each contraction of your diaphragm, push grief out of your pours like sweat. Scrub the grief that gathers on you skin with soap and tenderness. Let it wash over you, let it wash away.
Two, a spell for cleansing. Once your body is clean, get your aura clean too. Turn around under the water counterclockwise three times, or as many as it takes. Say these words or something like them, “Blessed water, wash away all that does not serve me today. All my fear and all my pain, flowing gently down the drain.”
Three, a spell for breath. Drop 3 to 5 drops of eucalyptus or peppermint essential oil in the far end of the shower where the oil can rise with the steam. Breathe in. Marvel at the miracle of lungs that expand and contract continuously your whole entire life. Breathe out. Breathe in and marvel at the miracle of these plant allies that know how to aid our bodies in so many ways, across divides of space and species. Breathe out. Breathe in and marvel at the miracle of the one breath of this Earth that passes back and forth from the red lung (ours and all our animal kin) to the green lung (the eucalyptus trees and all their vegetal kin) in perfect balance for millennia. Breathe out and feed the nearest tree. Breathe in.
Four, a spell for love. Mix together in a pretty bowl equal parts oil (coconut or jojoba are nice) and sugar (any kind). Use a fork, or your fingers, to mash them together with a couple drops of geranium essential oil, or lavender. Turn on the shower and wait until the temperature is just right. Wash your body with attention. Make no demands. Offer no critiques. Rinse. Then scoop a bit of your scrub into your hands and starting at your neck or your feet massage your skin with sugar. Notice the sensation on your hands and knees and belly and forearms and under your toes. Massage your perfect sacred body with love and care. Allowing it to be exactly what it is. Let the water gently wash away the sugar the way a mother washes her new baby, like a miracle, with utter presence.
Five, a spell for connection. As you stand in the flow of it, consider water. It is firm and gentle, it is still and swift, it is solid and gas, always finding a way to endure. There are roughly 333 million cubic miles of water on Earth and it has been here since our solar system first formed, 4.6 billion years ago. Over all that time it cycled up into the atmosphere and rained down, froze solid at the poles, filtered down under the rocks, but it never increased or decreased. It only changed and moved and remembered. Water remembers all our ancestors, all the way back. All the droplets falling on you now passed through the body of a dinosaur, and they will remember your skin when your farthest descendants swim in future rivers.