Fire Horse Moon Dance

Early morning car ride, a moment of dissociation as I stare at the red brake lights next to me. That familiar pulling feeling, like cords strung from me to the ones left at home being stretched as the distance grows. The chatter of the driver, at first unwelcome, is what takes the edge off of my unease. We laugh over chainsmoking relatives named “Pat” and a shared disinterest in curling.

Passing time between arrival and shuttle pickup at terminal four. Feeling strangely calm as I carefully select snacks, and amused by the local confections made for tourists, cactus candy and coyote droppings. An older man cheerfully jokes with a mother about her son’s lack of listening skills as he runs between the rows of chairs.

Rain in the desert. First time seeing cacti in their natural landscape, they are poke-y in a funny friendly sort of way. Unease returns as I wonder whether the girl in front of me and couple behind me will be among my housemates for the next five days. As we climb the mountainside a rainbow arcs over the valley to our right but I am not in the frame of mind to receive it. At this moment it is an irritating cliché.

At the doorstep, I hesitate, unsure of what to do. Only for a moment though, because the door opens and a woman, surprised, smiles. Yes, this is the * * retreat. No, they’re wearing shoes, they’re in the kitchen. I am flooded with warmth and relief.

A man who will be dubbed “water bear” in a few days’ time is in the kitchen over a pot of chili. We barely begin talking when our retreat guide breaks in, like a ray of light piercing through the clouds. She greets me as if I am an old friend, and shows me to my room with a red rock view.

Shower then chai tea in hand, walking into an ongoing conversation. Engrossed, most don’t notice, my gaze is not met. But to my relief I am seen and a woman makes room for me on the sofa and I am grateful. She will come to my aid again during our time here, sometimes with “just” a playful smile that catches me off guard and lowers my towering inhibitions, if only by a much-needed inch. But right now, I am questioning whether I can do this.

Out in the back yard, we are saged and someone makes a fitting joke about a TSA checkpoint. We form a circle, four directions opening prayer. My partner in crime arrives. We introduce ourselves to the land, I find the small red and black feather placed in my jacket pocket the week before, and gift it and a yellow rose petal.

The next morning, kundalini fire breath yoga, then first vortex land journey at Pyramid Mountain. We climb in single file. The hike is at times strenuous, but our guide with hands in pockets moves ahead quickly with ease. I keep my eyes focused on the red rocks under my feet, occasionally stealing glances at the dizzying view of red rocks above me. I learn the sound of energy being moved. Connections begin to form and layers start to come off.

In the meditation room journaling about childhood memories, trying to find lost pieces of ourselves. I am lucky enough to find many moments of joy. Outside in the back yard playing hide and seek, wiffle ball with Uncle Mark, water gun fights. Aunt Lisa with a troll puppet on her shoulder. Paper alien diorama with mom. So many moments with mom. Some of us share, those of us with difficult childhoods are quiet.

Water bear leads us as we use our voices together. The activity is unnatural and foreign to me, my voice not often used. But I try to join in, and it does not feel bad. The notes reverberate in me, clavicle and shoulder buzzing. Next, lying down, gong sound journey, scary and exhilarating. Above me, dark blue shades with waves of white and hints of beginnings of a pale face, pointed ears or a crown of laurel. We all agree: more gong please.

On pillows in a semicircle, a line of cups before us. Cha dao tea ceremony, prepared and performed with care. Love in each cup, given with a smile. Sipping in synchronization and stillness. Reverence blossoms.

Second vortex land journey at Amitabha Stupa and Peace Park. Second journaling session. Things I say "yes" to in the year of the fire horse: rest, trust, friendship, connection, writing, perceiving with the soul, travel, satisfaction, Piggy. The house empties out for free time, I and a few others stay behind. We congregate over fresh fruit, I take a liberal helping of pineapple to calm my nerves (thanks, Old$). Talk of aliens, UFOs, step-parents, and endearingly crusty old dogs named Zac Efron. I have the honor of sitting in on an hour of a friendship of many years and it is nourishing.

At nightfall we gather around the fire, finding seats on wobbly logs or venturing back for chairs instead. I tilt my head back to look up at the sky. I try to describe its beauty but my words fail me. Fire ceremony, powerful and sacred. One by one, we shed our old skins and cast them into the fire that consumes, purifies, transforms. I feel privileged to be in this space among such people, each of us stepping into the circle with authenticity, vulnerability, sincerity. A fire dancer spins our prayers out into the Universe. Kali ma mantra, beautiful destruction.

Smell of spice. Cups lined up before us again but this time it’s different, with each cup I drink the heavier I get. Sorrow and brow furrowed. John too. But Monica is a teapot full of love, ecstatic over a fourth cup. We all drink enough to float away.

Third vortex land journey at Secret Slickrock Trailhead. A couple is anointed. Watercolor paints remind me of grade school, things that should have been fun instead colored by fear, wondering whether these old emotional tones can be painted over. Don’t think, just dive in. The water is cold but quickly warms, the molecules vibrating with the laughter and heat provided by the friends on either side of me. We paint messages for each other, I receive an invaluable gift.

Last meal together, I am anointed with sweet potato. Closing circle, holding hands and unexpected emotions rising. I can’t remember much other than a sense of gratitude, peace, and privilege. A few minutes later we gather outside the front door of our temporary sanctuary, a whirlwind of hugs and goodbyes, and kind words. Final moments with two people who in small different ways know what it’s like to be me, and a parting tip. Talk to strangers, ask questions you want to know the answers to for yourself, like “how do you make friends?” (emphasis on the “you”).

Epilogue

My flight having been canceled, I spend the next two days on my own. The vortex has claimed me and I don’t put up much of a fight. Blissful hours taking in majestic views, UFO watching, and learning from a Navajo couple. I fly home on a Tuesday and live happily ever after.