I used to imagine us walking through cities late at night, hands clasped and hair flying in the wind. I don’t know why; I’m not a city girl. I don’t even like them, really. They’re bright and noisy and full of people, and they assault all your senses at once. But cities at night have this foreign, almost alien beauty I’ve always found alluring. Cities at midnight, or maybe four AM, they’re transformed into a living darkness dressed in bright jewels of light. They’re free of the daily cacophony of work and play, leaving every sound amplified in the silent darkness; the scuff of a shoe, the flick of a lighter, the whispers shared between two bent heads. Cities at night, they feel anonymous and magical, like anything is possible. We could have been transported anywhere – Bordertown, Riverside, London Below… even the city where two men meet their entwined fate over and over again. I guess that’s why I imagined us running through dark, slumbering cities and leaning over rooftops to gaze down at the glittering landscape below. You felt ethereal, mysterious, impossible and unbelievable, and you needed a setting to match.


Tell me how I can help you understand. I want you to understand. I need you to understand. I need you to see things, even if just for a moment, through my eyes. Our eyes. Other eyes. I need you to see there are myriad strings attached to me, each different and equally valuable, equally unbreakable. A delicate gold chain for the Mother, a ship’s rope for the Godmother, a guitar string for the sisterlover. For one of you, a silk tie; for the other, a wire garrote. Pull as you might, you won’t snap these connections, only yank me off-balance. These bonds are no betrayal to you, don’t you see they’ve always been there? If I have only recently found those on the other end of the lines, that doesn’t change the fact that the lines have always existed. No love is a threat to you when any love only strengthens my capacity to love you all. The others understand – can you not understand as well? I have wept and bled for you – how can you doubt me?


time moves differently with you and the graveyards which two years ago were all fresh turned earth and polished headstones are now full of weeds and crumbling mounds with names too weathered to read, and the lurking ghosts once poltergeist-powerful are nothing more than dust orbs and tricks of the light we dismiss with a laugh as we go on our way


If I could send a message back through the years, the interconnected webwork of memories and dreams, what would I tell the girl I once was? If I could reach back to that sixteen year old hunched over a keyboard in the dark, spilling out poems to an impossible ideal, what would I tell her? Would I warn her about the person she’ll lose, and mourn forever? Would I nudge her toward a different college major? No, I don’t think so. I don’t think I’d risk changing the future, the present, the path between the two. Too many butterflies flapping too many wings. But if I could pass a message back to her, I think I’d show her just a brief glimpse of this moment: of laying in bed while a beauty smiles over the rim of her guitar and a cat naps in the velvet lined case; of singing along, tentatively, because she wants you to and you want to make her smile. I think I’d show that sixteen year old her poems aren’t in honor of some impossible ideal but a living, breathing beauty who’s somewhere writing poems for her, too.


I think I like you, little warrior, with your fierce eyes and eager mouth, your callouses and tumbling locks. You have the heart of a wolf, the pack hunter determined to serve its role, defend its alpha. You have the mind of a swordsman, always on the alert for danger, ready to protect the beloved. You make love like an acolyte in the presence of her god, a knight pledging to his king. I could see you on board my ship, sailing the dark seas alongside myself and my godcrew. I could see you in my chambers, burnished skin and supple curves. Yes, I think you more than worthy of Us, to have come so far so boldly. So, little warrior, little wolf, are you brave enough to sail with me?


Are you gods without temples or holy books, or are you lovers without bone and blood? Is this polytheism or polygamy? Am I an unfaithful devotee or an unfaithful companion? If love is the earth within which grow the seeds of jealousy, tell me truthfully so I may tend my garden accordingly. No love should be sacrificed on the altar of another, and I have devotion enough for all who claim me. But I know love to be a fickle thing, easily angered, and I would not wish to incur the wrath of patron or paramour. Am I foolish to think I can give all of myself to all of you? That one heart, one soul, can be promised thrice or more? I am a vessel overflowing in the wellspring of love… can you not all drink from me together as equals?


My religion supports marriage equality. Surprised?

To be more specific, my patron deity supports marriage equality. My goddess is a goddess of joy, of love, of freedom. My goddess is a goddess of equality. My goddess is a goddess of victory.

My goddess is Bast, Lady of the Truth, The Light Bearer, and She celebrates with me today.

Last Saturday I did a tarot reading with Bast and asked Her what the week held for me. The first card She chose was Justice, followed by The Empress. Linking them, the Eight of Wands. Justice, love, and a great journey uniting the two.

I didn’t know what She meant then, but I do now. She was telling me today’s ruling. She was telling me today would be a day of justice, of triumph, of balance and equality. She was telling me we would rejoice today, Her and I both, because She loves me and cherishes my relationship. My love for my girlfriend is beautiful in Bast’s eyes, and when we are happy, She is happy. So today I wear proudly my goddess’s symbols and give my thanks to Her for blessing this joyous ruling.

Dua Bast!