It is raining. I go outside. Return of the Bird Tribes by Deya Dova playing, and I dance.
I feel the water on my skin washing away my sins, my fears, my shame.
The first time I heard this song I thought it said ‘the bad times are rising’.
Many believe that.
But no, it says the Bird Tribes are Rising.
The whole of creation is inside of me.
I finish dancing. I wonder what my 80 year old neighbor is thinking. She has already been privileged to singing, laughing, dancing, crying, meditation during the Circles in my sun room.
Another time in history, I might die for this. A woman alone. A woman who does her own thing.
I feel the fear in my cells.
Stay small. Stay safe. Blend.
No.
Now is not the time for that.
