I lay it broken and decaying on the altar. She looks at it and sees the beauty in the design. She weaves a story for its creation and its breaking. She picks it up, gently, as if the breaks it came with are holy and it needs read like poetry. She places it down on the altar and smiles in that way she does when she knows things aren’t pretty, aren’t easy, but are exactly as they should be. The mirror behind it reflects her eyes looking into mine and I think she sees right to the core of me. Sometimes I see the weight of my burden reflected in her eyes. She reaches out with them and sees and takes it from me, just for a moment, so I can breathe deep again-then returns it, never daring to take the power of my ability to heal this myself away from me.
She is a priestess, but she isn’t here to priestess me. Her calling is larger than that and we stand facing this mirror together-equal, warriors in the work of healing, lovers of poetry and mystery.
She represents life, birth, the green and fertile earth. When I first met her she was nursing a babe, nearly constant nursing providing life quite literally and then sustaining it. She is a bringer of life in all she does. In relationships, friendships, community, and work she births and creates something living and vibrant. She stands at the door of creation.
I cut the threads at the end. I cull, I say goodbye, I teach people to let things die and go to seed again. I work with the mysteries of death. I bring finality to much of what I do. I work with what is buried, hidden, so taboo it is 6 feet under our subconscious. I stand at the door of death.
We are there together, the door of birth and death being the same door, like divine twins ushering in and out life force. We share a little magick. I learn to weave light and life into my tapestry and she midwifes a dying parishioner.
My sister, my love, she’s leaving now. Miles away she will birth a new life for her and her family. She will plant seeds in the ground and in hearts and minds. She will do what she does best, she will cultivate health, life, and value in all she touches. And I will cut my threads here and leave this place. Having tasted the bursting juice of life and creation, I am able to see the ways in which I’ve been blind to what I’ve needed to cut away and let die. I sow the seeds for a new life. I get to work.
I also grieve. She and I may be going in different directions for a while. I fear the lonely darkness of my heart without her there shedding her light and life on it. My heart has been broken for some time and with her leaving it breaks again. Who knew a friendship could be so ripe with love? Someone recently said to me that when we think we are in love, that feeling we get when our beloved looks at us and shines love on us, is only a reflection of our Godsoul in this person’s eyes. We are really loving ourselves. I am so in love with Joy and I see all that reflected back, my Godsoul shining in her eyes. This love is something unique and separate from romantic love or sexual desire. This is soul connection, this is bringing each other to a higher standard and a higher self, and this is catching the other when she falls. This love is the twins at the door of life and death teaching each other the mysteries.
I’m not quite sure what I will do without her physical presence. I fear I am losing her and we can’t keep this deep connection across 1300 miles. I grieve and my heart breaks. I will do what I must. I will “do what has to be done, again and again.” I will submerge myself in the task and I will soak up the light. I will write in my poetry books love letters to myself. I will dance in my kitchen. I will stare out at the same stars my sister sees so many miles from me.
I am building an altar of broken things to continue her teachings. I am starting with myself. I am broken. I am holy. That object, that brokenness I placed on the altar, it was me all along.
Freedom is something you assume