rhythm -noun regular recurrence of elements in a system of motion (definition #10 via dictionary.dot.com)
For now, I'd like to come here with this word that's been teasing me from the moment I laid eyes on my beloved, familiar Atlantic ocean waters: rhythm.
The motion of the water flowing in and retreating back out without pause is the only constant next to time never stopping that feels incomprehensible, but just so right.
I witnessed rhythm in sharing and in speaking. Eye to eye. Words pouring. Hearts breaking. Arms opening wide in slow motion, with enough space to embrace a story, to form a pose, to cradle a baby, or just to wrap a person up in a hug of recognition. I saw rhythm in expressions, eyes that saw and understood and in a single moment I saw them start to sparkle (pick your poison here: with either tears or joy 'cause there were both ... and then some).
Pastel homes aligned along the remote beach roads reminded me of rainbows and curves and infinity. They were angular with lines and stripes, very beachy and very quaint.
Pens gliding across paper, saturated paintbrushes slithering down along a canvas, a creamy soup bubbling on the stove, all moving gracefully to their own rhythm illuminated by candles and twinkling lights.
And one night, there was a mix of camp fire and of wine being poured, maybe an added sprinkle of Madonna, and every single woman in that big room felt gravity move up their legs and pull at their hips. Even the quieter women couldn't resist the electricity in the air and the safeness of this place to let their hair down and climb their asses up on top of that dinner table to dance like nothing mattered except this rhythm of celebration and freedom to be completely at ease with who we are, with each other.
A woman oozing sexiness from her belly dancing silhouette frame, gyrated and swirled through and around a fire lit hoola hoop, setting the tone and the rhythm for the evening. She owned that ring and did her thing under a moon that rose up from beneath the horizon to the highest point in the starry sky. I think I knew right then, that this little trip I gifted myself ... this intimate gathering of women next to the blue ocean was the only time -in my life- that I felt completely seen and acknowledged - whole package wise.
I shared my stories: shredding a private one written on paper that I let slip away to float on the tide, letting it go away from me because I don't want to carry it anymore. And, in the company of a chosen few, I let down my guard and shared a story of love that has been sitting on a tender shelf locked deep within a secret vault of my heart ~ a story hidden for decades. Big stuff.
I didn't want to write about my experience yet. I really didn't because I'm still so physically and emotionally spent from all of it. I feel like my thoughts are unorganized and incoherent, and here I am almost 600 words later with most of the tale slipped away from me and into my blog. This was totally not meant to be my Squam by the sea post! But. I'll share something with you: because of my experience, I feel completely uninhibited and unblocked and ready to rock on down the road of my next journey.
There is so much in me. There is so much that makes me. I am no longer ok with keeping it all to myself. I have to keep some, but I've learned that I am so much more confident in bringing myself forward and opening up to share what I have to say. It needs to come out. Someone, even if it's just one person, needs to hear it.
And like the rhythm of my belief system - of karma, of yin and yang, of give and receive - I need to hear you. I need you to look me in the eye and tell me your story so that I can say: I hear you. I honor you. And I thank you.
"love builds up the broken wall and straightens the crooked path. love keeps the stars in the firmament and imposes rhythm on the ocean tides. each of us is created of it. and i suspect each of us was created for it” -Maya Angelou