September 25, 2010

  • Together our small group walked up the narrow trail to the cozy yert in the woods. Tike torches lit the way as dusk fell and the moon rose. The night was warm, but cooling just a little. Our facilitator, Stephanie, sat with us in a circle that would become a community in just a small while. We spoke a little of the walk, of the freedom to partake, or not , as one felt ready .  One woman in our group, an Indian woman named Vani, expressed her fear that she wouldn't be able to walk the fire. Her daughter had brought them to Spirit Hollow, to walk the fire. Vani was small, dressed in a deep, red shirt with sparkling brown eyes and long black hair threaded with white.

    We took time to go around the circle, gazing into each other's eyes. Standing a foot or so apart, we took the time to look into the eyes of the person across from us. This is something I miss in my daily life, someone meeting my eyes when we talk, someone seeing me, me seeing them, neither one wanting to take something from the other. Meeting eyes, mirroring breath and posture, the circle curled in on itself as we all were seen. Willing to stand and be seen.

    Shortly after the exercise, we made our way back down the rock littered path to the flat, grassy plain where the fire would be built and tended.