FIREDANCE

As I looked into the fire I was mesmerized by what seemed to be an apparition in full Native American regalia, dancing in the fiery cinders. He danced into a circle of flames, twirling and turning as if in ceremony. Others followed; he led them through a blaze of joy, wending this way and then that.

It was as if the flames knew him. They swayed in unison with his movement. Glowing red fire responded as if he was Spirit, Wind whispering through.

High steps of pale-colored moccasins rising and falling as he danced to a beat I could not hear. Fringed buckskin pants kissed crimson embers. His rattle danced high above his head. Amidst sizzling ruby red embers, I sensed droning sounds. Lively dancers chanted with heads bobbing and bodies flowing.

Others in our camp group had retired hours ago. Serita and I sat watch, tending the flames for a long time. The big logs we put on the fire flamed intensely. Embers then emerged, birthing new life as the thick fiery flames simmered. The burning coals produced a portal.

As I write, I smell the clean air and see the night sky hanging low with the thick red fire bowl beckoning. I am still enchanted by her charms. I hear a loud whoop catching in my vocal chords. I see the spiral dance. I see painted faces as they dance, move and whirl, rattles shaking the sky.

It is not now, but then.

I was careful not to disturb the fiery spirits. I was careful not to speak. My friend, Serita, kept a steady gaze into the flames and ember haze. The golden moon hung low in the sky. Stars twinkled. The night air was fresh, calm, and clear. Fragrances of throaty Chaparral and smoky sage merged with oak and pinon logs. I inhaled deeper, eyes fixed on the moving troupe’s fire dance.

It is past midnight when the embers subside. My dancing friends are gone. My throat catches as the last dancer fades. Serita and I pour water on dying embers and say good night. I lie still a long time, watching the stars through my tent flap.

After a long hike the next day, Serita and I offer to get fresh water for our campsite. Serita is the first to ask. “Did you see a young buck inside the fire bowl last night dancing?”

Why did I let myself write this after years of silence? My last two days were perfect days. Today had twists and turns. I got jarred. Others seeking respite hovered around me. I did not belong in stores amidst mundane chatter. I came home.

My inner voice soothed me: Stop. NOURISH YOURSELF.

I took small walks, sat in the sun, and prepared dinner early. No blog.

My inner knowing took me by surprise. “Write about the time when you were deeply nourished. Write about the fire dance.”

So, dear Reader, what captivating enchantment fed your soul that can now set your restless spirit free?