Last night I howled at the moon. Not the lonesome, wolfsome howl of empty mountain peaks, not the ecstasy of abandon, but something deeply female, hand in hand, the nine of us, the sound starting more as a vibration, rising long, sweet and deep, held in tone and power, bodies glowing in the moonscape, electric at the ocean's edge.
The moon blazes down like a midnight day, reef and coral perfect, palpable. The water blue as dreamscape, transluscent, foam fingers glowing, the beach white as snow. Never have I seen such colors at night. Never have I seen such a night.
The fire crackles, finally come to life after a smoldering search, ohia logs holding offerings--first harvest grasses woven into wreaths, rose petals, garlic, prayers and dreams. The logs hidden ahead of time in anticipation.It is one long moment, gateway open, nine breathe inside it, laughing, stunned, shivering, grateful, giddy.
The light has come.
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