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.
I remember two years ago. Another hot summer day just like this one, alone at my desk and unable to focus at all for the leap I was about to take. I remember trembling hands barely able to type, “I want to take you to my tea place. I want to drink out of fancy little teacups with you and eat scones with jam and lemon curd and thick, rich cream. I want to walk with you by the water and hold hands.” I remember holding my breath as I pressed “send”, the most terrifying thing I’d ever done. I remember jumping out of my chair, heart racing, pacing in tight circles around my cubicle and trying not to refresh the screen every second as I waited for your response. I remember seeing the little (1) pop up and my knees turning to jelly. I remember breath and heartbeat stopping completely as I read,
Yes. Yes. Yes. I would love to go out with you.
I remember wanting to whoop, scream, dance down the hallway, but instead I could only let out the longest, happiest sigh… and then wonder, “Oh no, what have I gotten myself into?”
You’re far more of an adventure than I ever could have expected. Or hoped.
Happy anniversary, beloved.
the finest sculptor
with the finest marble
could not carve statuary half as beautiful
as your sleeping form beside me
naked beneath these sheets