How to Help Her Soften

“Dance is the hidden language of the soul.”~Martha Graham

I was dancing there, in front of the altar, rhythm coursing through my veins, heart pumping, joy rising.

I turned around and saw him standing there. His eyes smiled along with his mouth and I saw him enjoying himself, enjoying me, enjoying myself.

He got it. He saw me. He was there, with me, riding that same wave of bliss and ecstasy.

I turned away, what else could I do?

I stayed steady within, committed to myself, to feeling my groove, to dancing my way, a pure expression of me in that moment, not swayed by the temptation of others.

Eyes closed, hands raised, I felt my way.

Slowly, I danced. Slowly, I moved.

Consciously I created my sphere, energetically made my space. If you arrived on the scene, I knew it was you who chose to enter me, for I was moving slow, deliberate, intentional.

Feather in my hair, straight up, signaled that I was a warrior ready to ride but the war tonight was within myself, a silent, steady, quiet rage against all that had flooded me over and left me drenched, soaked and naked. Tonight, I took care of me, and like a stallion, I rode the wave of imperceptible magic.

Then, he arrived into my sphere, he made his way, silently, powerfully, with a passion and strength that drew the corners of my mouth upward, softened my edges and thawed my core.

I twirled and flirted, I breathed and grazed his waist with the tips of my fingers.

Reeling in waves of heavenly bliss, the fire alarm began to blare.

I thought it to be the music at first.

I was startled, went for my coat, shoes, water.

He found me, under the stars, wrapped himself around me and kept me warm.

Like a little girl I giggled in his arms and found myself surprised at my girly gasms.

For weeks he courted me on the dance floor. Fanned my flames, ignited my heart, melted me with his smile as I pressed in to his hard, yet soft, lines and found myself able to surrender into trust.

Eyes closed, dancing, moving, feet whirling round whilst I travelled multiple dimensional realms, calming my nervous system with what it is to surrender and trust.

On our first date he brought a dozen, long-stemmed, pink roses to my door.

Then, he lathered me with gifts of healing gemstones.

He called me Helen of Troy.

He gave me a new name. Evoked a new essence that had been waiting for his very words to wake up.

She was in slumber. She did not know. He came for her, created by her very words, desires, a secret wished in the wee hours of the night, he arose from his ashes and found his way to her dance floor.