I told everybody back home I was going on a women's retreat. I figured that wouldn't raise many eyebrows. The truth was, I hadn't been on a retreat since my Unitarian Youth Group in high school, nor at a bonfire since I was a camp counselor in the seventies. I didn't know what I was getting into but I was curious. I was in search of new ways to honor my femininity and eager to spend some time outside of the city.

Beyond me, from somewhere in the deep expanse of trees, coyotes howled. The forest was still. Then slowly the night sounds began again. Insects whirred, an owl hooted, a faraway dog barked. The stars were shining much brighter than in Chicago. Even though I could only see a fraction of the sky through the trees, the big dipper dazzled, as if someone had turned on the brights.

I was standing among a circle of women in a meadow on a Saturday night. We were holding hands, swaying to the song we were singing, waiting for our sisters to emerge from the Oracles in the forest.

Forty of us, ranging in age from mid-teens to high sixties, had gathered for this women's solstice weekend at a church camp seventy-five miles outside of Chicago, coming from as far away as California. We came to laugh and talk, browse the marketplace and attend workshops. Many had been here before. This was an annual event, the highlight of which was the Saturday Night Ritual Bonfire.

Saturday night was cool, a welcome relief from the 90 degree heat of the day. Rain was forecast but the sky was clear. A cloaked woman, one of the weekend organizers, led us in silence away from the lodge, past the tents around the pond, past the fenced-in swimming pool, to a small clearing. The light was fading fast but in front of me I saw a wide wooden footbridge spanning a creek. In the middle of the bridge sat a hooded figure.

The cloaked woman beckoned the first of us to the foot of the bridge. She whispered something in her ear and the first woman moved forward. The rest of us smiled uncertainly at each other in the rapidly fading light.

The instructions we had received in our packet said to dress for the Saturday Night Bonfire Ritual like the "goddess you are." Other than that, plans for the evening were a mystery. Almost all of us had picked long dresses. Most were variations on the long-and-floating theme; caftans, batiks and tie-dyes, topped with velvet shawls and spangled belts. I was wearing a black tank dress, over it a gossamer purple tunic that I had bought in the marketplace. Putting it on, I felt like a child playing dress-up.

Though I had never met any of them prior to the day before, these women were my sisters now. We were united in our focus. We were wives, mothers, partners, caretakers, workers and business owners, but all that was left behind. For two days I didn't see or hear a single cell phone.

Soon, it was my turn. The cloaked woman beckoned to me. "Move forward," she whispered, "to visit the Oracle of the Past."

The Oracle of the Past? I was nervous, hopeful and skeptical at the same time. What would the Oracle of the Past have to say to me? How would she say it? Would I understand it, take it to heart? Would I scoff at it?

By now it was almost full dark. The bridge creaked as I walked forward. The Oracle of the Past was bent over a cauldron of cards. I recognized her under her veil. She was one of the workshop presenters, a psychotherapist and writer and founder of a nature spirituality resource center.

"Draw a card," she said.

I picked the Tarot card called "Temperance." The card depicted a Native American woman, clad in a long deerskin dress, one foot in shallow water, another on a rocky shore. Studying my card in the soft glow of the lamplight, my feelings shifted. I was no longer a kid playing dress-up. Now I was a Native American maiden, standing in this very spot hundreds of years ago. I was wearing moccasins, not sneakers. I was at home in the forest and ready to receive the wisdom of the past.

"You have seen good times and bad times," the Oracle said. "You have balanced between worlds. You now stand between them. A new road is before you."

She smiled at me. I thanked her and walked on.

My feet sunk into the ground, soft with the rains of a few days ago. I felt the earth alive and vibrant underneath me. I felt the earth's energy traveling up, from my feet through my body. We were having a moving conversation, the earth and me, a conversation both distant and familiar.

I was accompanied on the path by a hooded woman, another of the organizers. She was singing softly, a strange and beautiful song I'd never heard before about women and wings and birds. I would have walked with her anywhere.

She left me at a quiet spot under a tree. I was alone in the darkness, except for the next Oracle ahead, The Oracle of the Present.

I approached her. Even in the low light, veiled and bent over her cards, I recognized her. She was another presenter, an attorney, priestess, and author of two books that I had read and liked. She was one of the main reasons I had come to this weekend. I found her writing style accessible, serious and upbeat at the same time. To my delight, I discovered that the person had the same qualities.

Standing in front of her, in the dark quiet forest, the earth under my feet and the stars above, I felt like I belonged there. I felt right, but different. I was no longer a Native American maiden. Now I was a priestess in training on the ancient Isle of Avalon, back in King Arthur's time. I waited for the Oracle to speak.

"Pick a card," she said.

I turned over "The Star."

I let out a yelp of surprise. I was no expert with Tarot cards but I had been playing with them, picking one card at a time and trying to decipher its meaning. "The Star" was one of the most beautiful cards in my deck but I had never drawn it, not once.

This card showed a blue-robed woman. Was it a coincidence that she was wearing the blue robes of the Isle of Avalon? She held one hand up to the moon and stars, the other hand rested on the back of a winged lion. She had a girdle of stars around her waist.

The Oracle of the Present looked up with a joyful expression. "The best card in the whole deck! It can all be yours, whatever you want."

The dark forest night was truly mine now. I walked on with confidence, my skirts swirling around me. An escort waited for me but I didn't need her. I was no longer afraid of the darkness or the shadows in the trees. I walked with my head up, scanning the sky in the breaks between, watching the stars. We walked to the foot of another bridge. Even in the dim light, I could see this bridge was different. It was narrow, high-arched, hanging.

"You have come from the past and present," my guide said. "There may be hardships but now you must walk alone to the future."

With those few words, she left me in the blackness. I stepped forward onto the hanging bridge. The moonlight coming through the tree canopy brushed the stream and rocks below me with silver. The bridge creaked with my weight and swayed. I swayed with it.

I felt like I was doing something my body remembered, instead of my brain. My feet walked lightly but firmly. An owl hooted nearby. My conversation with the earth now included the treetops and the stars. Part of me was up there with the owl, part was up there even higher, where the planets spun and the moon lived.

I laughed softly and descended to the other side of the creek. An unfamiliar sound pierced the night - a series of yips and howls. I knew in my gut it was a coyote, reminding me that I was not only a star woman, I was an earth woman too.

I came to another clearing. My sisters who had journeyed through the first two Oracles were waiting. We smiled and stood in silence. Another coyote joined its companion's song and one woman let out a low gasp.

When all our sisters had joined us, we walked in pairs, a long line of women in long skirts in the forest. We were led to a meadow, where we stood in a circle and joined hands. We sang songs while another mysterious escort led us away, one by one, to the next Oracle, the Oracle of the Future.

The night was quiet again. Clouds were drifting over the stars, obscuring all but the brightest ones. It was my turn. The Oracle gestured to the bowl of cards. I drew the "Page of Pentacles," a card showing piles of gold coins on a desk. It was a good omen for me and a card I rarely got at home.

"A great indicator of the future and whatever venture you choose to begin," the Oracle said.

I thanked her and walked on, holding my three cards against my chest. A few feet away was another cloaked woman. She gestured to a white tent nearby.

"Now," she said, "you may go see the goddess."

I peeked in the tent. I laughed out loud. There was no one in the tent, only a mirror.

I walked on. The women who had journeyed before me were sitting around a leaping bonfire. Logs crackled. We sat in silence until all had joined us, then the festivities began. Drumming, more singing, laughing, and roasting marshmallows. I speared one, squashed it onto a graham, added a square of chocolate and instantly was transported out of Avalon, to a smoky campfire thirty years ago.

Earlier in the day, in one of the workshops, we were asked to think of one question. Mine was "How can I take this experience back to the city? How can I make something of it in my real life?"

I've been home a few days and I'm still not sure. I haven't talked much about my weekend. It sounds so strange now that I'm back in the city. My conversation with the sky and the earth has been halted. The stars are so faint. It's hard to believe they're the same ones I saw. Where is the earth? I only catch glimpses of her.

As for me? I look in the mirror over the bathroom sink as I get ready for work. I see my familiar face, the worry lines between my eyes as usual, but I also see something else, the face of a goddess in a tent, in the middle of a forest.