Fire Dancing

In Bulgaria, the Nestinari touched me when I was a child high above the arm to hold, something new and something old. She said, "Your feet were meant to walk the fire." A plain proposition I did not understand; I liked the acrobats, flying and walking the wire. She asked my permission and I granted it unknowing that my path diverged that night, cool coals on the ground and Early morning on the rise, I see more than just shadows now. In Bulgaria, we walk the fire and our feet do not burn- in twenty-years time, it will be my turn. In a trance I spin and the music pumps loud, "Aye dance", faster like Giselle; and sparks fly as I kick the soil, embers in the air; just putting on a show for the crowd. The glory of tradition passed into me; the fury and the light; the cool of a glacier in my core. In Bulgaria, we walk the fire and our feet do not burn- twilight to daylight, there are always more steps to learn. D.Goodman 11-26-13