The Dance of Release

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Abstract

tess of the Bird.My spiritual mentors taught me the form of the dance. They watched me perform it. When I thought there was nothing left to let go of, they encouraged me to let go even further, pointing out to me the places within me where I had allowed anger and pain to become me.They taught me well, that I may teach others.They told me, “When you dance the dance of release, remember us. Remember the strong women to the south. Remember early women who gave birth to us all, who — when there was little food to be had — kept us alive with their moist, nurturing bodies; who learned to farm and to keep animals, who learned to build and create, but most of all who learned to dance and in their dancing learned to love the Goddess through their bodies.”In a small ball upon the earth, I begin,

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my feathered wings wrapped around me. I slowly rise, spine unfolding as my feet begin to move up and down. Up and down they move, down and up upon the earth, upon this clay — pounded firm from so much dancing — until they pulse fire, becoming claws.The power, rising up through me, straightens my body, lifting breasts high (opening) as wings begin to extend (extending out and up) up and down, down and up — flapping (loosening, freeing) flapping, until it has all left me, until I have let it all go and I feel Her (I feel the Goddess entering me) Her fiery breath pulsing, once again, claiming Her proper place within me.©Theresa C. DintinoExcerpted and modified from my novel, <a href="https://ritualgoddess.com/product/ode-to-minoa/">Ode to Minoa: Journey of a Snake Priestess</a></article></body>

The Dance of Release

Freedom from anger and opening to the Goddess

Goddess with upraised arms. Terracotta. Gazi near Herakleion, 1300–1100 BC. Archaeological museum of Heraklion.Zde, CC BY-SA 4.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

The Dance of Release must be practiced outside on a tall hill with an open view of the world around it. It must be practiced often and with clear intention.

The dance of release is a teaching of the Temple of the Birds on the island of Crete from the time of the Bronze Age.

I am Aureillia, a Snake Priestess who transmuted into a Priestess of the Bird.

My spiritual mentors taught me the form of the dance. They watched me perform it. When I thought there was nothing left to let go of, they encouraged me to let go even further, pointing out to me the places within me where I had allowed anger and pain to become me.

They taught me well, that I may teach others.

They told me, “When you dance the dance of release, remember us. Remember the strong women to the south. Remember early women who gave birth to us all, who — when there was little food to be had — kept us alive with their moist, nurturing bodies; who learned to farm and to keep animals, who learned to build and create, but most of all who learned to dance and in their dancing learned to love the Goddess through their bodies.”

In a small ball upon the earth, I begin, my feathered wings wrapped around me. I slowly rise, spine unfolding as my feet begin to move up and down. Up and down they move, down and up upon the earth, upon this clay — pounded firm from so much dancing — until they pulse fire, becoming claws.

The power, rising up through me, straightens my body, lifting breasts high (opening) as wings begin to extend (extending out and up) up and down, down and up — flapping (loosening, freeing) flapping, until it has all left me, until I have let it all go and I feel Her (I feel the Goddess entering me) Her fiery breath pulsing, once again, claiming Her proper place within me.