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by Bronwynn Forrest Torgerson
Serendipity is the Goddess's middle name. While wandering near Mt. Pilchuck, a carload of friends and I rounded a corner and came face to face with a roaring, foaming waterfall! The energy was intense! We screeched to a stop and leapt out of the car with empty bottles in hand to capture the cascades.
What purpose then, we pondered, should such magickal waters be put to? E-mails flew faster than any broom, and suggestions soon bubbled to the surface. Hathor suggested healing, rinsing the hair of one newly recovered from illness or surgery, as the water held such purity. Storm pictured the waters of birth, life newly spawned in a gush.
I pictured an image of swirling wetness, throbbing sex and a Guardian of Eros, who waits to bless, caress and renew. So dim your lights and listen to the murmur of a fountain. Come taste desire with me....
It is a summer day. Breezes stir; birds call out, crying overhead. You ascend the rocks, noting from the grasses that none has passed here in a while. As you catch your breath and mop your brow, the gurgling sound of water carries to your ears and you resume your journey, eager to see what awaits.
There is a glorious, leaping stream, a waterfall spilling from a high rock face to another flat stone below. Beyond, the water rushes and disappears from sight, flooding the womb of the earth. A hazy rainbow shimmers in the air. Dragonflies flit, and there are sudden bursts of jeweled light. The fey are all about.
For a moment, you regard this place in awe, knowing it to be a sacred shrine. But surely it would not be disrespectful to dip your toes into the rivulets rushing by? You do, and the waves are warm and tingly to the touch. Energy rises through your feet, up through your ankles and legs, into that hidden place of heat and longing. Ahhh!
"You have come this far, Traveler," a soft voice interrupts your thoughts. "Enter the Falls of Fire and be blessed." You turn, and behold the Guardian of Eros, splendid in the sunlight. The Guardian's hands rest gently on your shoulders, reassuring, then rise to cup your face. You close your eyes and feel your senses reeling! Your lips are parted by a kiss, and a tantalizing tongue stirs the sparks within. Deft fingers unfasten the buttons of your shirt and trace patterns on your skin. You shiver, quiver, stiffen in response. Your trousers fall around your feet, forgotten.
"Take my hand and know no fear." The Guardian leads you on. You step out onto the sun-warmed stone beneath the waterfall, and the universe pounds like an ancient drum. You allow yourself to be stretched full length, naked under the falls.
The Guardian's fingers trace runes across your brow. "This is the place of freedom and release," you are told. "Cast that which is not you back into the stream. Let only what is truly you alone remain." Kisses inflame your skin, and behind your eyelids colors blur and currents flow. Warm waters of the stream wash you clean. Sensations flood down your neck, your shoulders and your chest.
The Guardian strokes your heart. "Here is the essence of all your love. Let that which has ceased to matter flow away. Keep only that which sustains and fills your life with longing." You gasp as your heartbeat quickens, and you arch your back against the stone, striving for closer connection with the mouth that gently sucks and the teeth that lightly graze.
Fingers touch your belly. "Ahhh! Here are the fears that weigh you down. Dissolve them now," the Guardian says. "Flood yourself with vigor. Find the strength to love yourself." You writhe and squirm, anticipating kisses that soon come, willing without asking for their descent to swiftly continue toward the molten core of you.
The lightest of caresses define the arch of your soles, the curving of your ankles and legs. Then, like butterfly halves of a whole, the Guardian's hands fan out and stroke your shaking thighs. "Much pleasure have you denied yourself." The words are filled with regret. "Open yourself to ecstasy. Unlock the gates to love." Hands are urging now, stroking, imploring. The silken tongue flicks out, finding salty wetness not from foam. "Will you take this gift from me?" the Guardian asks. You gasp out a harsh assent, each nerve incandescent with desire. Nimble fingers play you well, like an instrument of passion for the gods. The waters leap and take on form, fitting their perfect substance against the pulsing of your sex. Drilling, thrilling, fulfilling. Almost. You cry out in frustration as the waters draw away. Then the mouth replaces them, hot as a lava flow.
You shriek out your urgency and, coming, explode in a million bursts of light. Your body is racked by spasms and shudders as the stars commence to spin. For an untold time, you go soaring somewhere between the worlds, where everything and nothing coexist.
When at last consciousness returns, you rise unsteadily and step out of the stream. There is a sense of lightness and joy in your being. The Guardian is nowhere to be found, but the scent of blossoms fills the air, and your friend the wind repeats one word..."remember."