Don’t invite anyone in unless you know for sure you can trust them, obviously.
I go to my room and shut the door. I turn the music on and take my place. My eyes are closed. I listen to the music beat. I hear the notes call, but I don’t move.
I remain still. I wait for him to understand my patience.
I feel his breath within me, small and quiet. I listen.
Slowly, my hands move. Slowly, he listens to the music’s call.
Everything is small, as listening turns to understanding. The music begs me to move, but we do not rush. We wait, for hands to float, for hips to sway. We ride upon the music together.
Then we dance.
His body talks about the burning sun and sand. I see the adobe houses. He does not take No for an ending. I feel him call for the black earth to grow underneath them. He dances for the people. He dances for their arts and livelihood.
The music changes. I see feathers on his arms. He flows with white fire. He hears her call. He listens and responds with life and hope.
Now it moves faster. The fire grows hot and the hunt begins.
My muscles shaking and trembling I collapse on the bed. I drink water. Then I return to the floor.
The music has changed again. “This one is yours, Lunatic. Show me.”
I trade the tightly controlled movements that made my legs shake for something freer. I move around swiftly with no real reason or care. I dance about my frustrations, uncertainties, and doubts. I dance out my love and my worries, and can I ever make it right? I want to make him understand what it’s like on this side.
Then it’s over. I lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling. I know my muscles will be sore. That will be my offering, as if the entire thing wasn’t already an offering. As if my every day of living wasn’t an offering. I feel him wrap his wings around me. Until next time.