The mountain breathes beneath me, slow and ancient, as if it dreams me into being.
I stand at its summit, naked, raw, trembling — a single pulse of life offered up to the dying sun.

The world slips into fire.
The sky cracks open above me, bleeding molten rivers of red, gold, and aching violet.
Each color spills into the air, thick and heavy, seeping into my skin, my breath, my blood, until I am no longer a body standing on a mountain.
I am a wick, burning at both ends, lit by the hands of the gods themselves.

The wind rises in a long, low sigh, winding around my thighs, slipping between them like the slow, curious fingers of a lover who has all the time in the world.
It tastes my skin, slides up the arch of my belly, curls beneath the tender weight of my breasts.
When I move, when I breathe, the air moves with me, stroking, coaxing, worshipping.

My hands rise, almost without permission, brushing lightly across the aching swell of my breasts —
and the touch sends a deep, shuddering wave through my entire being, a hot, delicious tremor that drops through my belly and blooms between my legs with a gravity that makes me sway, makes me wild.

My body answers the world with its own ancient language — a slow arching of the spine, a tilt of the head, a soft, helpless sound escaping my lips before I can catch it.
I am not guiding the moment.
I am being guided, opened, undone.

The scent of the earth rises like a thick incense — hot stone, bruised pine, crushed wildflowers — and every breath becomes a drink of something holy, something intoxicating.
I draw it deep into my lungs, letting it weave itself into my bones.

The mountain holds me.
The sunset devours me.
The wind sings me apart.

There are no thoughts left, no barriers.
Only sensation, only breath, only the deep, endless surge of life rising through me like a tide.
Pleasure, grief, longing, joy — they all mingle, collapse, expand until I can no longer tell where my skin ends and the world begins.

I belong to the mountain.
I belong to the sky.
I belong to the wind.

And they belong to me.

As the last ember of sun sinks into the horizon and the first stars pierce the deepening blue, I open myself fully — heart, body, soul — to the infinite, and it enters me in a flood of light and fire and sacred, trembling beauty.

I have never been separate.
I have only forgotten.

Now, in the arms of stone and sky and breath, I remember.
I remember what it means to be alive — to be touched by everything, to be nothing but love, nothing but surrender, nothing but flame.

And the earth, the sky, the sunset, and the wind — they claim me over and over, until there is no more “me,”
only formless One.

An endless, burning prayer that never ends.

My body remembers,
the heat of the sky,
the soft hands of the wind,
the trembling kiss of the earth —
and I surrender again, and again, and again.

I carry them within me always—
the flame of the sunset,
the breath of the wind,
the slow, patient heartbeat of the earth —
and in every moment,
we are making love.

Watch me here!