I’m still looking at the stone when I hear the voices of the main ritualists begin to raise in a song. I cannot really hear the words. I catch snippets—something about the land. Something about belonging to the land and to each other. I let the singing, the voices wash over me—through me—around me. I cannot take my eyes from the stone as the current raises and turns raw.
And, like that, I am opened. I surrender to it.
