We formed a circle around a small fire,
we sat cross-legged, listening to the lake,
someone had a guitar, someone passed out candles,
we sang softly, our faces glowing, our eyes gleaming,
sparks leapt from each to each,
we held hands, we hugged,
we gave our lives to Jesus,
our eyes wet and heavenward,
our bodies alive with desire,
like drawn bows trembling,
plotting and promising impossible reunions.
When the campfire went out and the morning came
and we waited for the bus to take us
home, we were solemn,
and then made fun.
Deeper than guilt or embarrassment
was the heart’s new intelligence.
That beneath our touches and embraces,
our imperfect intentions,
we yearn for two worlds:
to fall headlong into self-obliterating love,
to grasp the hand of just one companion, and be received.
I remember those two worlds. And how, many years later, finding that the Lover has granted them both and that both are infused with Love. Thanks, Stephen, for helping me to remember.
Thanks for that, Ann!
I remember them too – as you have so well described.
I also remember they were called “faggot services.” Definition: a bundle of sticks or twigs bound together as fuel. I’m not sure how the word was appropriated as a pejorative.
In later years, I was the guy with the guitar! Always looked forward to camp where I could be the local hero for a while.
Ha! Lovely, thanks for this Sam. Keep strumming.