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?

FOUR ELEMENTS: THE FIRST ELEMENT IS AIR

Of all the elements, air or wind is the most mysterious. It is what gives life to all creatures on this earth.  And when it is done, each of us has breathed our last.

                                                    ~Karla

Now Wind asked Ababinili if she could have the humans as her children, but again, Ababinili said, "No, they can't be your children, but they can be your grandchildren so you can remove the unclean air and all kinds of diseases.” 

                                                                           ~A Chickasaw Legend

http://www.littlewolfrun.net/ChickasawLegends.html

I AM THE WIND…

I am the wind who rages fiercely during a storm, who bows tree limbs over in pain, yanking branches and ripping leaves from their source. I am the wind who produces funnel clouds, destroying homes, pulling up the roots of trees and relationships held dear. I am the wind who whines low moans through the trees on an eerie dark night. I am spooky, for I scream a voiceless music, sending piercing chills up and down spines.

I am the wind who barks icy winds into winter, my biting breath seeking warmth beneath protective coats, whipping stabbing coldness into unwary backs. I am the wind who annoyingly blows precious papers from groping hands, sending them rolling, turning, and twisting.

Like a teenager bolting through the door, almost stepping on the dog, not noticing her grandmother sitting in a rocker in the living room...I am the wind.

I, too, am the summer breeze who sings sweet lullabies through the trees and over green grasses. I am the wind who gracefully pushes the sails of floating rafts. I am the hearty breeze who gives a reassuring voice to questing uplifted faces, sending a fresh air of heroic calm to surge within them. I am the wind who bears the seeds of tomorrow’s life, dispersing them over this vast earth.

I am the gusty breeze who blows through trees, swishing and dancing their leaves that tilt and sway in sheer ecstasy.  I am the quieting breeze who comes in comfort, wafting into musty corners, consoling children, dogs, and elders, as they lie weak and afraid. I am the autumn breeze who mournfully, yet resignedly, tugs at the leaves of yesterday’s life and sends them silently to the grounds of death. I am the gentle breeze who dries tears from red-eyed faces. I am the wind who gives seasons their life, dutifully answering the calls of my command.

I am in Nami and her gentle surprise of nosing my hand after the hike, saying, “Thank-you for taking the time.”

If I frighten you, is that not simply your response to me? I am not here to frighten you. I can be extreme: I can hurt, destroy, and give ghostly chills of doubt. And yet, I give comfort, strength, tranquility, grace and life. I can do only as my nature wills. My demands are great. I cannot choose to be only the soothing breezes. Would you rather that I end my breath, with nature fading out because there is no one left to blow the breath of life into her creation? Or will you accept me—my rasping and turbulent winds as well as my sweet and tranquil breezes—all my airs enunciating my offering to life?