Deflating dreams once full and ripe are punctured by the sharp voices of the past and shards of doubt, but the music is so loud and the beat so strong, it drowns out their power. And so we bump our hips to recalibrate our senses to the rhythm of the Mother. We feel the tickle of horns and cymbals balance through our arms and fingers as the fulcrum at our hearts resounds in time.
We are here to throw care to the floorboards to be swept along in the frenzy of the moment, to allow magic to guide our hands and eyes and lips, sharing lightning in the perfection of our Yes! I can trust the vast expanse of holy water with a pirate at my helm. His gaze first found mine on dry land so I could not mistake my swoon for the pull of the moon. And his natural swagger and care was received with many smiles among the crowd of revelers, beloveds who hold my trust in their small, zippered pockets. And even the phosphorescence joined in the celebration, sparkling through my fingers as he carried me out to sea, to share his utter appreciation of her beauty, her healing, her presence.
His passion is so profound, the fire in my throat ignites and meets his shore in a cacophony of hissing steam and birthing land as his gravity pulls me into orbit, where I spin and swoon and smile. All the lost intentions and burning desires well up in my throat, toning through in a song of release as I surrender to my creation and fall into him.