Last year under a meteor shower, I tasted myself.
Under the ruse of wine I let myself be. I stopped worrying about what people would think or what is proper or improper, if I was too loud.
I sat beneath the stars in a wet bathing suit, giggling with my friends after a long week of heartache. My marriage was failing, I was failing.
In a thoughtless juncture, I slipped out of my suit, into a crystal clear pool and let the moon gaze upon my naked body. My two girlfriends followed and we played. We talked about sex, the universe and our dreams. We kissed and touched each others bodies. We reveled in the fact that in this moment we were absolutely free.
The air felt good, the water incredible, myself- divine.
I haven’t spent enough time thinking about that night to be honest. It was the night I became addicted to myself. My real self. The one I learned to hide and lessen.
This meteor shower reminds me of an encounter with my lover. No beginning, no end. Divine movement with indelible connection. A ritual of worship and beauty. Sweat rolling off of my glowing skin, disappearing beneath the horizon of my white sheets.
In the morning, as he kisses my neck and traces my freckles “Did you know you have constellations on your back?”
Tonight’s meteor shower I will be naked, in my bed in New York City, dreaming about the stars. Grateful for my beautiful muses. Grateful for tantra, meditation, crystals, and magic. Grateful that a part of me never accepted what was handed to her by life, but took her power and let it fuel her fire and forge her future.