The Mystery of the Ryans

Ryans, Ryans, everywhere Ryans. They all came flooding in at once: heart-chakra Ryan of the infinite sparkle and the bubbling boogie-down dance happy her energy; fifth-chakra Ryan of the every which way expressive "all art, all the time" oomph, and of the awesome-est ever choreography that rocks my world twice weekly; second chakra Ryan of unforseen chemistry, those killer, killer hugs and the royal jelly hook-up; unchakra Ryan of Justin's meteor shower adventures and vague conversational mentions; and shamanic, mystical every chakra Ryan of sacred tingly stuff and heart and magic and now and yes.

Drenched in this onslaught of raining Ryan energy, I wracked the cavernous corners of my monkey mind: What's with the Ryans? What does it all mean?

I pored over the specifics with my favorite mystic, Justin, to no avail. I had a handful of Ryans, and no idea why.

I (sort of) surrendered to the mystery, (kind of) ditched the impetus to over-analyze, and headed up to Ojai with the Queen of the Tantric Sex Fairies, Jara, for some full moon hot springs action.

And it was there, immersed boobie-deep in sacred, sulphur-y water, beneath a blanket of moonlit star-stuff that Jara solved the mystery of the Ryans.

Of course! It's not only my favorite, synchronicity-laden, everything in it's right place constellation, but (AND) I'm reading The Keys of Enoch on Peter the sex shaman's orders AND the magical, mystical, secret mojo of Orion is all over that freakin' book, like Black Holes on the Alchemy Conference.

Mystery solved. Jara rules. Ryans rock.