The High Priestess Continued

By candlelight and stone walls, I remove my clothes and enter the tub. I can see the moon in the window. It's small from here but its influence is nonetheless, strong and menacing.

I'm back at the front of the line, again, wondering how all of this will turn out knowing full well, it can only ever be the same outcome, over and over again.

I operate in that quiet space where people of this world dare not go, where I'm deemed odd and strange. It's this world and its people who are strange. The earth turns in its usual way. The majesty of this ritual is unfathomable.

I can see the stars, too. How is it possible that my eye can reach them? These burning balls of fire that go unnoticed. It should be a crime to fail to see the flowers and hear the birds or the towering trees all around. 

I think of you in this space even though I understand you don't belong. You can't belong here. I've filled in all the spaces I don't know about you to accommodate your presence. So yes, you're a dream that will evaporate like a cloud in due time.

I'm waiting for you to evaporate while I lay here and imagine the kind of painting I want to create of a nude woman against a somewhat chaotic backdrop, filled with pops of colour and sharp lines drawn with a palette knife.

Thank goodness for that palette knife which is reminiscent of my sword. I waver between being the high priestess who waits...forever. And, the lady of swords who just gets on with it. They both reside in dark places filled with infinite wisdom. I should be grateful.

Today, I am not. Today, I want. And yet, I won't let myself want too much even though I can have whatever my heart desires here.

I pour salts in the water and then take my basket of rose petals and gently toss in a handful. You can't imagine the power I wield when I'm in my sensuality. 

This sensuality is very much connected to vulnerability. If you can't be vulnerable in your imagination, you won't be vulnerable anywhere. I'm aware of this truth. And this inability to draw the heavens down. 

I dislike the density of this world. I dislike having to break down this density in my most sacred of spaces. It feels cruel. How upbringing and religion keep us in our place for fear of some unknown repercussion.

I let you in and the parts I can appreciate. You're charming. You're strong. You're sure. Your certainty and strength are commendable. I'm taken aback how much I value these qualities in you, how they express themselves through you. I like the colours that project around you, how they bounce and then settle. 

I wish I didn't like that so much.

The Look

I noticed the way you looked at me by the door when you finished playing your tape, the tape you've played numerous times before. I figure you're getting old, too, and can't recall telling the stories.

There all meaningless, really. I mean, when you think about it, it's just proof we're becoming our parents and that we have nothing interesting going on.

I cringe and then I see that look. I wake up from my sleep and feel alive again. Then I remember I'm older, too, and there's no where to play. The sandbox is gone. The corner store. The school by the park. It's all gone except for this valley in my mind.

I almost don't allow myself to go there. But, why shouldn't I? This place is filled with joy and love. It's my sanctuary. I can let whomever I want to come inside. 

So I imagine myself with sword in hand, dragging it across a field as I contemplate what to do next. You see, there's nothing to do except to rest my head against the lush green grass. 

Then I take my clothes off and rest my head again against the lush green grass. My sword is close by. I never part with it. 

It occurs to me how different I must look to you. You have to know I'm not like the others. You must know. Do you know?

I'll never be that woman, that typical and stereotypical woman who needs a man to prove to her she's wanted by showering her with expensive gifts. 

I'll never be that power hungry woman either who has to prove to others she's smart and worthy of all that money. Or who has to keep herself so busy in order to tell herself she has a purpose.

I was never that girl who made it an aim to be mother, either. Or to be a stay at home mom while my husband brought home the bacon...to put food on the table and for me to get my nails done...and hair....and eventually, botox for myself and my daughters. I also dreaded the thought I might have a son grow up to become a typical man. 

That look...tell me about that look. Are you a typical man when your wife's not looking? We're not children anymore, are we? It's their turn now to dream and choose. And to make mistakes and fall short.

It's time to do away with earth bound matters, those things that are dense and not capable of absorbing light.

I float in the clouds, sweetheart, right by heaven's door. There's nothing on this plane that can feed this longing.