The Night the Stars Aligned

It was the perfect night. Full moon, summer solstice, clear sky, and the evening air so warm and heavy it felt like silk on my skin.

Silky, with the fragrance of roses and honeysuckle as we Students walked down through the garden to the croquet lawn where the temple waited under the tall trees.

Nicole and I strolled together, enjoying the moment.

“When a wise man walks,” Sage was fond of telling we girls, “he just walks.”

That was the theory, and we tried to walk as if that was all there was in the moment. Try as we might, the evening was warm and soft and the light of the moon sent dark shadows across our path, and our senses were full of the physical world.

I felt the warm scented air flowing against my skin under the robe. The summer garments we had cut and stitched and sewn little patterns of flowers across the tops and down the sleeves. Tonight, the night of the ceremony, I was in a fey mood, and had chosen to wear nothing beneath. Between the garland on my hair and the sandals on my feet there was nothing at all but the linen of the gown.

Nicole was doing the correct thing, as per the instructions of Headmother, and I could see the lines of her underthings tight against the clinging gown. She had a fuller figure than I; we were both on the verge of eighteen, but she always took the last cupcake if there was a spare going, and there was no criticism in our Tradition.

She was breathing heavily, and I had been admiring her devotion, her focus on the breath of the body as it came in through the nose, and out again a few moments later. Like an unceasing mantra, the breath led the way to peace.

I frowned, tarnishing the moment and the supposed stillness of our walking thoughts.

“Nicole,” I said, looking closer at the pattern of thread flowers across her straining bust, “are you wearing my robe?”

Her steps faltered and she peered down in the moonlight. “Oh, no wonder it’s so tight. I thought I was going to faint!”

“We’ll have to go back and change. Quick, let’s run back up to the house.”

We girls of the Senior year were to march in procession, carrying fruit and flowers, and I could see Headmother waiting for her flock on the near side of the lawn. Already Sage was leading the boys down from their house on the far side, each carrying a candle.

“Come on Nicole,” I hissed, as a couple of our teachers passed by. “The music hasn’t started yet.”

There was to be a harp and flute hymn to summer. It had been precisely four minutes long at rehearsal, and our processions were to begin as the final words of the Sanskrit prayer fell away into silence. “Om, shanti, shanti, shanti-he, and step off with the left foot together girls, let’s show the boys how it’s done.”

Nicole gasped. “No, I can’t run. I’ll pop like a balloon.”

I looked around. “Quick, in here.”

The bamboo grove. One of my favourite places for free meditation, in the intimate embrace of the tall plants, whispering amongst themselves in the slightest of breezes. Lizards would bask in the dappled sun that penetrated the foliage above, heedless of a motionless teenager or two on the stone benches, minds busy with the mantra, serenity rising. I loved it.

Now in the moonlight it was dark and private, save for the silver light that illuminated a ragged circle of paving within.

Nicole wriggled like a lizard as she shimmied the gown — my gown! — up over the tight bits. I helped lift it carefully over her shoulders as she raised her arms. If my not-as-neat-as-they-could-have-been seams tore I’d be in a fine pickle with nothing on beneath.

She let out her breath in a gust as the linen cleared her head. “Oh, that’s better. Let me help you.”

I waved her aside. I knew now why the air had floated sweetly against my skin. There was more room in the gown than I had really needed, and each pace had sent a puff of air up my legs and onto my body like a personal fan on this warm night. I wouldn’t need help with the tight bits. It was all loose and easy.

And it was.

I looked quickly around before pulling the robe up over my hips. We were supposed to be modestly dressed at all times, and if we turned up at morning meditation with too much skin, or a hint of cleavage showing, we were hustled back to the dormitories to change.

Here was nothing save the bamboo in the moonlight to see me reveal myself as the robe slipped easily over my head. Maybe a sleepy lizard would take in the view, but they wouldn’t tell Headmother.

I handed the robe to Nicole, and I don’t know what possessed me but out of the stillness of my mind arose a moment of grace, and I brought my hands across in front of my chest, palms pressed together in the “wai” position in front of my heart.

Nicole began to say something but hushed as I straightened my back and put my heels together, feet pointing out with a right angle between.

“Salute to the self,” I said in Sanskrit. “Atman nama-h.” The last syllable no more than a sigh, as we had been taught. A few seconds, while I savoured the moment and the feeling of welcoming myself and the universal consciousness that flowed through my body.

I stood as tall and still and silent as I could. Feeling the unexpected passage of a slight waft of air over my skin while the bamboos whispered in the moment. My nipples firmed up in the breeze and my breasts lifted as I raised my hands, palms still together, to eye level.

“Salute to the teacher: Guru namah.”

Again, a pause. Respect for the teaching, acknowledgement of the wisdom, silence of listening.

Nicole stood like a rock in her bra and panties, her arms full, her eyes wide. Of course she had seen me with no clothes before. We shared a room, after all. Occasionally a bed; we had no secrets.

I wanted to make the next movement as full of grace and elegance for her. For me. For the universe.

I lifted my hands again, palms pressed together in a greeting as high as I could manage to the stars and the moon and the infinite.

“Salute to the Divine: Brahman namaha.”

I lifted my gaze to the heavens above. The moon shone round and full before me, echoed in the roundness of my breasts and my hips below. I welcomed the infinite gaze of the cosmos on my bare embodiment. I could almost float up into the warm sky.

My palms parted and the silver face of the moon smiled through. Slowly, I spread my hands out to the sides, my arms stretching out in slow circles. Like wings, like an invitation to an embrace, like the “pick me up” gesture of a child. A child of the universe.

Moonlit hair streaming back from my head tilted towards the cosmos. Breasts flattening as my arms spread out. Tingles making their way down, past my navel, down my belly, the moon-silvered curls over my mound, over thighs and down through the souls of my feet into Mother Earth.

This was my moment of grace and glory. A day or two more and School would be done and finished, another role appearing. Teacher, mother, worker, according to the wisdom of the Sage.

For now, my arms embraced the stars, and I felt my spirit rise as they moved down in their sweeping arcs to my hips and then joined again, palms pressing together until they were once again in the gesture of greeting and welcome between my breasts.

There was a sigh and a pair of round eyes. An owl lifting up on silent wings and my eyes followed its flight out of the bamboo and up into the stars.

I lowered my gaze and my eyes met Nicole’s. She sighed as well. “That was perfect, Britni, just perfect.”

She gave me a hug and a quick kiss.

I took my robe from her and slipped into it as she did the same with hers. Our heads emerged at the same instant and we smiled.

“Britni! Nicole! Where are you?”

Sylvia, sent by Headmother to find us. We emerged from the bamboo behind her as she gazed anxiously up to the house.

I clicked my tongue, and she whirled around.

“Oh, there you are! Come on; everybody’s waiting for you!”

“Just walk, Sylvie,” I said, taking her hand. “We mustn’t rush through life.”

That evening was perfect. The music was sweet, the procession stately, the invocations and prayers and chanting were majestic and fitting. My last in the Tradition, as it turned out. One of the unmarried Teachers kept his wide eyes on me all night, and the next morning sat with the Sage and it was agreed that I should be his bride.

Except I didn’t agree.

Britni