My roommate knows me by the found natural objects I bring back to the cabin – peeled aspen bark, colored stones, my exquisite manzanita walking stick – and also by my sheer negligee, cocomango body lotion, the slab of dark chocolate on the nightstand. I know her by the precision with which she folds her clothes, the slim silhouette of her naked body, her particular brand of silence. We speak the language of doors, lamps, footsteps (open, closed, on, off, loud, soft). Our movements are choreographed so that, mirage-like, we can occupy the same space without collision.
Perfectly synchronized, totally compatible, we understand each other wider, deeper, harder, than anyone else we’ve ever known . She arrived after silence began; of all those present, we alone haven’t spoken to each other.
When we break silence, my first words are addressed to her. I meet her eyes across the circle, bring my hands to heart chakra, greet her from beyond speech, “Namaste, Sharon”. She blows me kisses, handfuls of kisses, her wide open arms an affirmation of an exchange more profound than language, her bowed posture an eloquent expression of sensibility.
It is a welcome unlike any other, an acknowledgment of intense shared intimacy and clear unvoiced conversations.
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