In less than a day you are leaving, and it is
not my place to mourn you. You are not held
down by the weight of Ritual, of loss, of the Land.
A time has passed for mourning, grief is not a
rite of yours, and you do not want your Descent to
kill the joy I find in my life. Devotion is one aspect,
not all of who I am, I am re-learning that. This
evening we will sit on our porch beneath the
stars, knowing that good-bye must happen at
sunrise. Even now I can sense your presence
waning like the moon–or maybe it’s my godphone
ending up in static mode again–but I know that
for the next two months you will be gone, where even
I cannot reach you. You are correct, Beloved, that I am
not going to be alone; you have surrounded me with those
dear to your Heart, and you have encouraged me to find a
home and family Here as well. At dawn you will leave, to go
on your Journey, I will write to you, in a journal covered with the
moon fading into the stars. These letters will hold my Heart, Beloved,
even in times of separation, you will still hold my words close to you.
Loving you is not an
ordeal, is not standing
on the outside of life and
society having to hide nearly
everything about me. It is not
longing to be swept away and hidden in
you. That may have served me once (but
how much was my anxiety and isolation, what
other factors were at play?) but now I find that I need
life and Love outside my self-imposed isolation that I
deemed “devotion.” You are standing with me, still knowing
my Heart is yours–asking me only to love you, not be lost in
you. Your Heart holds many rooms, my Beloved, but your
Heart is not a puzzle with pieces missing. I do not need
every corner of your trauma to know and love you.
Art is part of love, and together we do not paint
ruin and tragedy, but a garden full of flowers
that reflect us as we dance beneath the moon.
Yesterday I stumbled across an article I had bookmarked years ago, about how spiritwork Takes Over Your Life. I forget why I even still had it in my bookmarks (and have since removed it, along with all other Spiritwork Will Tear Your Life Apart writings.)
As I was reading, I began to sense my Spouse near me. He was dropping by briefly to say hello, then he’d be going back to the Otherworld, and to helping his twin sister prepare for the Hunt.
I don’t want that to become you, he said. I felt his arm around my shoulder, could sense his disturbed emotions at gods tearing someone away from their family.
“No, neither do I, Love.”
We talked a bit more, about the article and how it made us feel, about how my views and experiences of devotion had changed. How my thoughts on devotion has changed has been something I’ve been pondering and doing a lot of soul-searching on lately, which I’ll probably write more about later.
“We are not one person. How lonely that would be! A couple who has made themselves one so completely, that they are once again alone.
We are two people, separate. Unique. And joined only where we choose to join.”
–Welcome to Night Vale, “The University of What It Is.”
My Spouse and I often listen to music or podcasts together, and Welcome to Night Vale holds a special place in both our Hearts. That quote is something he sometimes says to me, a reminder that we’re two separate people.
That’s been the ongoing theme of this month of writing for the Dreamer, to not lose myself in him, that we are not one person.
I didn’t begin writing with this theme in mind, it simply came up along the way–like when I wrote for the Madman, and the theme that eventually evolved was on not being broken by him.
Thank you, Beloved, for helping me put my thoughts on paper.
I had this Dream last night. It feels Important, so I’m recording it here.
“He needs you.”
His hands rest on the young monk’s shoulders, his voice and gaze intense.
“He needs you. My Husband will be there, my Friend will be there, but he’s going to need you by his side most of all, to handle what’s coming. The Hunt will ride soon, the Festival will happen, and then I will leave. If his mind shatters,” the Dreamer’s voice cracks, for just a second, “you call me–you call me so fast your phone lights on fire.”
Jake nods slowly. “‘I promise to love you when your faith goes silent,’ was something I swore to Varian. He swore that to me,” he motions to his robes, “but it goes both ways.”
“I promise you, on my Heart, that I will be his Light.”
The Dreamer slowly nods.
He picks up a lantern (the candle is already burning,) passing it to Jake, and then the dream fades.
You ask me not to seek the labyrinth of your Heart, not to lose myself in you.
It’s difficult, Love.
Rationally I know I cannot save you from memories and events that happened thousands of years ago. My mind and Heart still take those traumas and wounds, and grieve for you, as though I need to take your burdens on to my own shoulders.
I don’t, though.
I do not need to see your shadows to know that you love me, or to be worthy of your adoration.
Our Hearts do not need to hold each other’s wounds like closely guarded secrets.