They seemed to be luminescent, ethereal, all sitting together underneath a structure of cascading silks and candles lit ablaze. How did they all find each other, these glowing creatures? What chemistry bound the seemingly radioactive figures so that they gathered under the Full Moon at Trilogy Sanctuary?
There was no magic fairy dust that granted these humans a life of ease and joy. Their effortless dancing and explorative nature shone in each fire-lit baton and feather adorned costume, but these expressions are the symptoms of the labor of love. None of them has lived a life without a fair share of pain and struggle. Each creature proved home to a story of a once lost sense of self, an isolation that drove them mad, or a paralyzing fear of extending beyond a comfort zone. What rings true of human nature, is when lost, we tend towards isolation, which renders us unreachable and therefore helpless. “I’m different,” says fear. Now that “I’m different,” no one will understand me. And what’s worse is the reaction or vice I use to cope with being different is embarrassing, and I must hide it along with myself. We fear that no one and nothing will break the spell.
And so we find the community, our Tribe. A garden of humans who work together to grow as a whole. A labor of love. BIG love, the strongest antidote to fear and emotional paralysis. It really is funny that the last thing a depressed being wants is to be in a group, because they feel so obviously “different”.
Alone we are different, but together we belong.
The Tribe, strong and practiced, understands this feeling and has grown stronger beside it. These are the people who had to overcome the “different” once too in order to experience bliss. These are the people who seem to glow as they walk the streets with a lightness to their aura. The Tribe members. Most of these radioactive angels hardly know how to introduce themselves without an embrace. And it’s not just a hug. The hug is a symptom of and a metaphor for the way of being, where everything done is an act that closes the distance between hearts.
Maybe it’s only a hug. But maybe it’s more; a gesture that mends the chest and all its cavity’s innards together in a way that makes it whole so it too can radiate. The tribe reaches its arms out to heal, and to dance in the ease that is life’s sweetest nectar and most decadent bliss. All at once, the lonely is embraced as another has chosen to hold them as they bridge the gap between fear and freedom. When a broken heart enters the tribe, it is seen, heard, and nurtured. Body, mind, and soul.
