Let her love soak you alive.
Made magic with a dear friend, Ned.
Photographer | NED TOBIN
Do visit Ned’s blog for his stunning creation of this piece.
I knew immediately that the night was going to be awesome.
Midsummer’s Dream was surreal. I was blown away by the creativity and high energy directed into one of the best art festivals Prince George has ever seen.
The afternoon started with free workshops: live sketch of a nude model, gorgeous silk belly dancing, hula-hooping gypsies and break dancing gurus.
Everybody was hugging, laughing, dancing like no tomorrow.
The yogi in me adored the peace-lovin’ vibe paired with wild, sexy beats.
… And the decor was unreal.
Midsummer’s Dream is the kind of festival where you feel an instant camaraderie with everyone you see, where you smile at strangers for no particular reason and start spontaneous hula-hoop dance-offs.
I won, for the record. ;)
There were artists tucked across open grounds, settling into nooks and crannies to create.
And don’t even get me started on the music…
The beat was contagious.
I shook and shimmied all sunset long. It was impossible not to dance!
The scent of carefree youth soaked into the night. The crowds were crazy and blissfully free.
This was a dream, a very good dream.
PS. Gratitude to lovely Carolyn for inviting me and to the org comm for a superb job done. x
Prana serenades me with her lush, expansive voice, and inhales me deeply in. She owns my body, caressing it with elements of her energy: the wind, the water, the sun. Mortal imperfections disintegrate into raw Earth below, and as I become nothing, I become the universe.
I shake, shake, shake, wild, glorious, free. I am frothing ocean foam, tumbling and tumbling into sea rock. I am a ragged palm frond stroking soft despite cracked angel wings, the worn fingers of a great-great-grandfather. I am pantyhose escaping a clothesline, gleefully giggling away on a windy day.
The sun falls into shavasana with me. His dying rays infuse my soul with a bubbling, ecstatic gratitude. I am a prayer in motion, in dance, in play, giving thanks for the joyous state we are meant to live in: this bliss, this ananda.
Weeds rule the world where the wild things grow. Prickle-bushes pose, poised and poisonous, ready to defend their territory. Baby shoots yawn softly and stretch their tender green bodies. Slender spruce stand tall, humble in their needs and majestic in their duty.
Baba kicks out, quick and light, with every step he takes: right, left, right, left. Mama swings her arms round and round. They walk softly, playfully playfight, and pause to tightrope walk across two suspended logs. Mama stops in the middle and bends into Natarajasana. I giggle to myself because they are acting just like me. Then I realize that I am the one who has grown like them.
The beaten trail still wears autumn’s leafy coat; it is old, comfortable, the way I like it. I muse out loud, “I think I’ll start running here tomorrow.” Baba looks over: “Why not today?”
So he flys and I follow, our hearts pulsing into the bare brown Earth. I inhale Mother Nature’s tangy fragrance and let the familiar rhythm guide my body into sweet oblivion. I forget the day, the world, and concentrate on my breath. Baba leaps over logs, once, twice, and runs swift to avoid the fallen debris.
Eventually we tire and return rosy-cheeked to a deep, flat opening in the woods. I stand in the middle, mama on my left, baba on my right. We begin with a breath and flow, over-again, through the gentle movements of tai chi. My heart beats slow but qi moves fast, warming my palms and recharging my spirit.
Our arms fall in finale, and the sky starts crying.