Kundalini by Candle Light
His aura was magnetic, and he attracted me like a moth to a flame.
We met before a Kundalini yoga class, and it was raining so half were waiting outside lighting up their cigarillo. I always felt that smoking outside in the rain was depressing, but the Spaniards made it seem sexy, with their mysterious “I don’t give a fuck” attitude.
I went inside and met Andrés, who was wearing a leather jacket and a rainbow scarf threaded in Mexico. I felt an instant attraction to the pop of color within the dreary, drab scenery. Almost like the way a hummingbird is naturally attracted to the brightest flower in the garden.
We spoke in Spanish. “Que haces aquí?” I asked him what he did in Granada. He told me he had just finished creating an erotic board game.
My reply was cut off as our yoga teacher appeared & greeted us all with “hola,” apologizing for being five minutes late in her cheery, nonchalant voice.
I didn’t even place my mat down next to his, but from where I was, using my peripheral vision, I could see the outline of his shadow. His curly dark brown hair in ringlets and the tight shape of his corporeal casting a shadow upon the cold, hard floor which reminded me of a cobra.
I started having fantasies about him during the kriyas. The intensity was almost unbearable and my mind wouldn’t allow me to leave that space of pure passion. I felt energy rising from the bottom of my spine, up to the crown of my head and all of it encompassing my aura.
What was supposedly a 75-minute class felt like fifteen.
We closed with the mantra “Sat Nam” which means “I am the essence of truth” in Sikh. The group’s energy was palpable, and I was still vibrating from my visions.
I couldn’t deny that there was something in me that wanted to know more about him, and as much as I disliked the archetype of the huntress back then, it felt like it was my duty to invite him in. . .
At the same time, I knew the danger of playing with fire — that everything comes with a price, nothing is for free. The root of it all being energy, and within that, there is always an exchange.
—
Looking back I felt I was the wick, a vessel for our united flame to express itself. In my eyes he was the wax — without him, my light wouldn’t be able to exist. I just couldn’t see it. I couldn’t see that I was already burning the whole town down and he was blinded by the way I gleamed. . .
But eventually, the candle dissipated, our relationship unraveled and fell apart — as everything does when you burn up the fuel too quickly.
