There’s an old magic that surrounds a woman’s dance.
It conjures things, moves things, casts out spells and intoxicates those who are witness to it.
This dance is the ancient ritual of love making between a woman and her inner Goddess.
A few weeks ago I entered a spiritual retreat deep in the bush of New Zealand’s luscious north island. On this particular retreat was a yurt, dedicated to any practice an individual seeks or is called to divulge in.
The yurt was a space for circles, drummings, meditation and yoga. A domed portal to sacred and magical realms of being.
I entered into the yurt one cold morning, plugged in my chosen music (a menagerie of sensual and exotic beats), lit the fire and waited.
It was still dark and the flames were spitting into the room as the music began to whirl around the walls. I sat cross-legged in the centre allowing the elements at play to soak into my skin and begin working with my spirit.
The sensual beats throbbed within the dome walls and moved into my rib cage. Without instigation or awareness my upper body began to stir.
My eyes were closed. All that I could see were the faint flickers of the fire’s glare behind my eyes. I was hypnotized.
My head swung around slowly as if casting a spell around my aura. My hair fell around my face and tickled my back, a veil of secrecy that curtained my deviance.
An arm snaked its way up, fingers fanned out into the dark teasing and toying with the air that settled around me. My other shoulder coiling in circles to the beat until its arm was ready to join in with the foreplay.
As the Luna’s light flooded through the windows she made love with the fire’s glow and illuminated my skin until I stood up and began to dance with them both.
Hair flung, hands felt, hips swung and legs opened.
I was dancing for my self.
I made my way around the yurt like lava, bubbling and entwined in my own limbs. I was unleashing a part of myself that was usually unleashed in the bedroom for a man, never for myself.
But in that moment, I danced my sensuality.
For the first time I shook the elements around me and tickled them holy.
I began to bless my own body.
I snaked my hips to their own dance and made love to my inner Goddess.
I fired up my sacral chakra and opened her up unabashedly.
It was to become my warrior dance. A spell that conjured the Goddesses Aphrodite, and Diana.
I became both moon and sun. Taking in the masculine and feminine energies and swallowing them into my groin.
I was intoxicated.
I was whole.
I was beast.
I was witch.
Unafraid of my power. Celebrating my Self. Flirting with my divinity.
I nurtured my hips and celebrated my fertility.
After years of denying my womanhood, blind to the power of my feminine energy and succumbing to the masculine world of outer expectation was danced out of my soul and blown out of the yurt.
I began healing myself.
I greeted my inner Goddess with a dance. And made love to her in a way no man will ever know.
This is the gift we can give to ourselves as Goddesses of this world.
So let your tresses loose, open your hips and dance for, to and with your inner Goddess.
This is our ritual. This is our power. This is our beauty.
My Goddess music:
Author: Tara Minshull
Editor: Travis May
Image: Author’s Own