They come in threes.
Three is my magic number, for their prompts and their lifting, in all the ways I want them to discover themselves. Three.
Each came to be lifted, women hearing one another, listening with parts of them that have been surrounded by noise. They came to be seen and in their becoming be witness to the others as they moved into places that opened them while allowing the letting go of stories clung so tightly to, no matter how difficult it seemed. The old stories no longer their safety.
Our time was magazines being ripped and cut to make way for dreams and longings, it was sitting in the white thrown of a chair with the fuzzy brown pillow nestled behind them as they spoke and let a few tears roll down. Our time was about being nurtured, wine poured, soup warmed and served with fresh basil, white crisp sheets to hold the work of the body and the sense that in peacefulness they could both do the beautiful hard work and release all together, as one.
When they leave I feel my energy shift deep into myself. I take the bits that I have carried with them and of them and I allow the work and the knowings and the flutters of what I can so clearly see coming for them move through my nervous system and integrate. I am a space holder. This means I know when to do very little, just enough or nothing at all. That is my set of three.
I am a guide, they are my anchors.
We listened. We lifted. We circled in the way that only almost strangers full of love can circle together.