Writing Circle

One of my favorite things about the Egypt trip
was the writing (and reading) circle.
Here's a piece that explains the magic.

Left to right - Margaret Kachadurian, Laura Janesdaughter, Nettie Eldredge, Piliaka Peter, Denise, Pat Chesser, and just the merest hint of Joyce Brady's peach-colored sleeve. Not visible: Nicki Scully, Mark Hallert, Gloria Taylor-Brown, Normandi Ellis, Barbara Lindsey, Kathryn "Raven" Ravenwood, Vera Kaplan, Cathleen Shattuck, Jane Wodening, Alma Donato, Donna Swindells, and of course me (the photographer).

The group sat in rapt concentration, bringing to a close the scribing of words that described alternative selves, alternative realities. Eighteen women and a lone man sat on chairs, sofas, the floor, with journals in laps and laptops on tables or perched upon their knees. The air conditioner exhaled a steady stream of air above our heads but we barely noticed the cool breeze caressing our shoulders, the sacred energy was so vibrant and compelling. The writing done, each participant floated back from imagination and inspiration to the present. These embodied goddesses and the lone god sat expectantly, attentively while in turn each pilgrim's voice emitted words so pure and true that they pierced the hearts of those who received them. I am the priestess, the protector of the vortex. I am ritual, the sacred nectar. I am the meaning of life. Sometimes my sisters and I sing with passing whales. I am the intoxicating drink brewed during the dark moon. I want to capture that creative juice in an iridescent crystal bottle so I can tip it upside down against my fingertip and dab the essence of spirit and sacred union on my wrists. I want to inhale its fragrance forever.