She lifts my chin with one broad finger, adjusts the tilt of my head so that my spine flows down like water and my shoulders breathe. “That’s better,” she says.
She is dun colored, stone defined in broad strokes, simple planes. She shows me the dance of preparation to do before I visit next time. And after. A willowy swooping of arms around in a great circle.
She is dancing with me, arm along my arm, lift for lift, bend to bend.
I try to remember my question, my intent, what brought me here.
How do I recover my strength? my resilience.
She cups my hands and they fill with water. The water comes from me. The cupping calls it out. “You forgot this part.” She reminds me of a bit of a dream where water gushed from my mouth like a fountain, filling and overflowing my hands as I cupped them in offering.
The water of life flows through me, strong. Strong. I begin to rock back and forth. There is singing in my throat.
She begins to dance in a circle around me. A slow stomping dance. When she stomps the ground, all the hard stuck parts break and fall open. Water flows. She is the water bringer. Water from stone.
“It’s always there,” she says. “You just need to call it.”