I just got back from Drum Circle... what a rush!
Colour, dance. Breath, breath, sound, pulse, throb, pulse, dance, feet slamming, hands pounding, feet pounding, hands slamming, scream, cry, pray, trance, scent, musk, dance, song.
I voiced my inside. I voiced my soul. I don't know how it was taken by the old ones, but I do not think they begrudged my my soul's song. I played the drums, I pounded them and became them. I danced, I moved, I tranced, I sang. I voiced. I became. I was. I am. I will be.
I like that I can freely worship my God in a place that is not religion-biased. Granted, most were pagen, but they didn't ask and they didn't force. All faces, all kinds. All loves. A man with a crystal ball and a stick on his thumb. A man in blue robes. A boy in white, a feather in his hair, on the sign of his birth, dancing and shouting, playing and loving. A girl with colour 'round her waist, colour in her hair, kindness on her mouth. A man with grey in his hair, women in his eyes, power in his palms. A woman leading the children, calmness in her toes, gentleness in her hips, brief sadness on her brow.
I want to go back, maybe. I want to worship my Lord with song and dance that I can understand. That I can feel in me. That doesn't judge and doesn't ask. That smells like the sun-drenched attic, feels like my family, with an aura like that of my mother, with an air of friendship.
I want to remember this experiance, even if I only go sometimes.
I wish that I could, in words, share it with you.
I can hardly breathe, but I am content.
This particular risk was worth the taking.
Thank you, God, for keeping us safe.
<3
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In ten seconds, there is a 95% probability that my strength will give out. Trust in me and that 5%.
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