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Women in retreat
fold together,
braid our voices
with our hair.

bathe in the hot tears
of each others’ anguish
and secret hopes

Women weave.  Throughout herstory we have stitched together what life rends.  Where there are women, compartments dissolve, categories degrade into hot earth.  What has been pulled apart is re-paired — not as it was, but in magical, artful designs that never could be without our hands and hearts.

We are tasked with the sacred occupation of patched work.  In a world stretched and torn and scattered, we are obliged to pick up the pieces, bring them to the women’s circle, and continue the endless task of fitting together what we’ve found.   Women’s weaving is an eternal thing always new.

You are invited to reject the solemn work of retreat, the self-flagelating self-help weekend ripped from the sanctioned business of life.  We reject the attempt to colonize our lives into compartments of health / pleasure, work / fun, individual / community.  We reject the role of fellowship and healing as a means of maintaining enough functionality to participate in the “real” life of alienation from self and sister.  We reject the imposed ascetic aesthetic of “self-help” and refuse to justify our gathering.

You are invited to a radical women’s circle engaged the sacred business of patching ourselves and our world together from