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?)
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