Sunday, May 17, 2009

Meditation: A Spiritual Love Affair

You are walking on the outskirts of a pine forest, moving away from the secrets held in its darkened recesses. A brilliant full moon flares overhead in the midnight folds of the night. She gifts you with pale light. Your footfalls land quietly on the thick carpet of pine needles that coat the forest floor. Soft, green branches gently brush your face and bare arms. Ahead of you, golden light drips through the tender tree trunks and whispering pine needles, suffusing every inch of air and space. You are drawn to the light by an almost imperceptible tugging in your heart and loins. Your thighs tighten in anticipation as your muscles propel you ever closer to your goal, to the source of your longing. You step through the last remaining foliage, brushing aside a wispy branch, and into the light.

You are on the edge of a large open area in the midst of the forest. The meadow forms a low, softly rising mound, a sleeping woman’s breast, an infant’s gently rounded cheek. Grass grows in verdant abundance on the mound, lush and deep under your feet. If you have shoes on, take them off now, in order to feel the wetness of each blade of grass. (PAUSE). On the top of the mound, a leaping bonfire releases intense heat and warming light. It is this light that led you through the forest, drawing you ever onward. Around the fire, shadows leap and dance. A well-endowed woman, skirts swinging. A muscular farm boy, shoulders moving. A lithe cat, paws scampering. A faint vibration quivers through the soles of your feet, as though coming from the depths of the earth herself, and propels you up the easy incline of the mound.

The vibration grows stronger as you near the fire. Sweat beads on your exposed skin. A band of merry musicians, male and female, plays a fast-paced tune to the driving beat of several large drums. The music pulses in your ears, getting under your sweat-slicked skin. The music is infectious, powerful, passionate, and strong. It spirals through the night, bringing dreams of love and heat and freedom. A soft breeze lifts the hair at the back of your neck.

Without conscious thought, your fingers release your shoes and they fall on the flickering golden ground. The heat from the fire licks at your skin, burrowing into your blood. Your clothes chafe your fire-sensitive skin unmercifully. You remove any unnecessary clothing, dropping it onto your shoes, creating a small pile. As you fling yourself into the circle of dancers around the fire, you vaguely notice many similar piles on the outskirts of the fire. A young fiddler with brown hair and glowing eyes smiles at you and winks.

Faster and faster, the music whirls round and round the steaming dancers. The drums are intoxicating, throbbing deep into your brain, deep into your heart, deep into your blood. Your skin tingles; your eyes sparkle. You and your body are one beautiful instrument of the Goddess as you dance with wild, passionate abandon. (PAUSE).

Just when you feel that your spirit, anchored deep inside yourself, will fly forth and soar far and wide, never coming back… just when your heart hammers against your chest and your skin is stretched taut and expectant… just when you feel that you must truly become the music or die… the drums stop and an eerie quiet descends on the clearing. The fire flares briefly upward, then crackles with repressed energy. You stop dancing and raise your drenched, dream-addled head. You are standing in front of the most beautiful woman you have ever seen.

The fire gilds her skin a creamy bronze, adding mystery and shadow to her beauty. Her hair is blonde, falling below her shoulders in waving fields of wheat. A golden helmet rests on her head, holding back the thick tresses. Cat motifs are stamped into the gold; in the firelight, they seem to move and stretch. The woman is clad in chain mail, a slightly see-through drape that lingers across the breastbone and down her shapely curves and full, round hips. She sits on a small, narrow throne that is made of earth and grass and rises directly from the mound itself. She taps the ground with her heavy golden spear as her turquoise-blue eyes bore into your own. She uncrosses and recrosses her legs, causing the chain mail to jingle, allowing the firelight to caress the contours of her body. She smiles knowingly at you.

“I am Freyja,” she intones, her voice both breathless and reverberating. “Welcome to my celebration.” She flings her arms above her head, and musicians and dancers erupt in raucous cheering. She stands up and the cheering subsides, but you swear you hear the faint moans of an amorous encounter beyond the fire, hidden in the shadows of the forest. Freyja walks toward you and flicks her fingers across your chest. Your nipples harden slightly and she laughs with joy. She licks her lips with her tongue.

“Come. It is time.” Freyja’s fingers trail across your shoulder and down you’re arm to embrace your hand. She leads you back toward the fire, as the music, once again, throbs through the night. An edge of wildness accents the movements of the dancers, as they pair off into couples. Some move together, lips locked, bodies pressed together, in front of the fire, allowing the sweat between them to lubricate their movements. Others sway toward the rounded hillocks of the mound, allowing the cool shadows to cloak their movements. Still others run into the forest, disrobing during their mad dash. Freyja laughs throatily.

“We must find your partner,” Freyja says, clucking you under the chin, “or partners,” she amends, grinning wickedly, a twinkle in her eyes. She rounds the fire, and you see him/her/them. Your spiritual lover. Your Beltane present from the goddess. Your lover is your ideal. Perfection. Mind, body, and spirit. Union eternal. Who is it? What does your lover look like? See every nuance, every muscle, every curve, every colour and shape in the flickering light of the fire. (PAUSE).

The goddess leads you toward your lover, slowly and with much care. She takes your hand and places it on your lover’s palm. “This is your lover for tonight,” the goddess says, caressing your palm. “Live out your greatest sexual fantasy. Touch the spirit of ecstasy. Feel the wild abandon of wanton love and freedom, knowing that you are safe and secure, here within my glade. I will protect you.” Freyja leans forward and kisses you on the lips. She kisses your lover as well, before smiling her secret smile and walking back to her earth throne, across the fire.

With your hand clasping your lover’s hand, you allow yourself to open completely and experience your wildest sexual fantasy. (LONG PAUSE).

At the end of your fantasy, you rise. Your fantasy lover kisses you one last time. You are back in the forest glade. The embers of the fire glow in the night sky, and the first rays of dawn colour the world muted pink and yellow. The musicians are packing up their instruments. The other couples come together once again and separate, dissipating like puffs of smoke into the misty predawn. Your lover leans toward you and whispers a message into your ear. (PAUSE). Then he/she/they turn and walk into the dawning light. You gather your things, donning your clothes, and walk back into the forest from whence you came.

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