coming home By irisanya

I remember her eyes. And the way that we connected.

I don’t remember her name. I don’t know if I even asked. I don’t remember if we spoke. But I remember this: the feeling of home.

It was 2008. I didn’t know a soul and there I was, in the first ritual. The drums called us to the circle, bodies moved around the fire. I didn’t know what was going to happen.

I took a breath. No turning back now.

On the car ride to the camp, I asked a lot of questions of the driver who I’d just met that morning. What was it going to be like? What should I worry about? What should I know?

(Inside, and quieter, was I ready?)

I’d read about it in Spiral Dance, I’d tried some of the exercises. I knew who Starhawk was. That was about it.

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