I had spent a rough month belly dancing in Mexico City. Kim came to rescue me and we traveled to the Yucatan to heal. The sea was so beautiful, so brilliant, we decided we should take some photos for our Christmas cards. The Yucatan is known for the Mayan fertility goddess Ixchel, and it is easy to feel like a goddess when you are spending your days rolling around in the warm turquoise waters with your best friend, wearing seaweed crowns and seashell bracelets.
One night, something rose over the sea, massive and blood red, turning the water red and pink. We weren’t sure what we were seeing. We kept rubbing our eyes and wondering if it was something magical. When we realized it was the moon, Kim dropped to her knees and said, “I was going to wait until we got home, but this is too perfect. It’s like our own kingdom here.” She cupped her hands and handed me a shimmering moonstone she had bought for me that day on the beach.
I dropped to my knees next to her in the white powder sand and she tied the string around my neck and touched one finger to the stone. The moonstone on a simple string became a dazzling jewel when she took my hand and started to dance with me to the sound of the waves, finally laying her head on my shoulder as we watched the moon rise higher.
Kim passed away two years ago, but in my heart, we are still dancing on that beach. She is wearing a robe spun with shooting stars and I’m wearing a dress sewn from a sheet of rain. I can feel her hand in mine, and I wonder if somewhere, somehow, that sea still glimmers with the reflections of our moonlit ball.
