Merrier the More

Today (ETA: yesterday, technically; I hit the Publish button a hair too late) marks my anniversary with Gwydion. Yes, another one; we seem to have accumulated quite a few over the years. This time we’re commemorating two years since He made His vows to me. It might not seem like such a big deal to most, but this came about in the midst of some of the worst mental, emotional, and spiritual upheavals I’ve ever experienced, when, due to various external circumstances, I wasn’t even sure if I could trust Him anymore. And these were vows that required no answer from me, no matching commitment, and sealed in such a way that betraying them–and me–was not an option unless He fancied getting a metaphorical twenty-ton anvil dropped on His head immediately thereafter.

For obvious reasons, this went a long way towards repairing our relationship, and allowing us to rebuild our trust in one another. And under different circumstances, I’d be spending the rest of this post meditating on that topic: how typical that sort of gesture is for Him, how far we’ve come since then, how we’re still working to deepen and expand this precious bond we share…

…Except that it’s not just me and Gwydion sharing that bond. Loki’s a large part of it, of course; even as our relationship dynamics have stretched and shifted to accommodate new circumstances and different ways of relating to each other, He’s been right there the whole way–not just along for the ride, but throwing His arms up in the air and giggling like mad as we hit the sharps turns and sudden plummets.

And now we’re finding room for Someone else to be woven into the tapestry of this Marriage.

Even saying that much gives me a terrible case of stomach butterflies, without going into Who it is. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to admit to it, that wants to keep everything on the down-low–because if I talk about it publicly, that makes the whole thing Really Really Real, and there’s no easy way to backpedal from it after that, right? But I’ve been sitting on this little announcement for nearly a year now, and it’s gotten to the point where if I tried to hold it in any longer, I’d burst. And I don’t want to pay the cleaning bill for that little incident. :P

Further details to come, as always. Patience shall be rewarded. ;)

SHOUTING ABOUT GWYDION IN A TOTALLY REVERENT WAY (Awen in August, Day 31)

An aggressive devotional piece for the last day of the month, because I’m done being serious. Coauthored by Heather. YEY. :D

 

SO GWYDION
GWYDION IS FUCKING AMAZING
SERIOUSLY YOU SHOULD CHECK HIM OUT
HE’S SO FUCKING SMOOTH
HE’S THE 007 OF TRICKSTERS
YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME?
HE TRICKED ARIANRHOD NOT ONCE
BUT TWICE.
THAT IS SOME SERIOUS TRICKSTER SKILLZ THERE
BECAUSE SHE KNOWS SOME MAJOR FUCKING ENCHANTMENTS
AND COULD FUCK YOUR SHIT UP WITHOUT BREAKING A SWEAT
NO WAIT, IT GETS BETTER.
HE CALLS TREES UP INTO BATTLE
THAT’S RIGHT MOTHERFUCKERS
ENTS: GWYDION DID IT FIRST
YOU THOUGHT TOLKIEN MADE THAT SHIT UP
NOPE.
AND AS IF ENTS WEREN’T ENOUGH
HE MADE A MAIDEN OUT OF FLOWERS.
HOW FUCKING MAGICAL IS THAT SHIT?
HE’S ALSO IN POSSESSION OF A VERY FINE MAGIC WAND
IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN
AND I THINK YOU DO
GWYDION FUCKING FAB DON.
LOOK HIS ASS UP.
HE’S THE HIPSTER TRICKSTER
YOU’VE PROBABLY NEVER HEARD OF HIM.
BUT NOW YOU HAVE
SO UPG IT UP AND GIVE HIM SOME GOOD WHITE WINE OR SOME APPLES
AND NO CHEAP WHINE
HE DOES LOVE BACON THOUGH
AND AFTER THE SHIT HE WENT THROUGH TO BRING PIGS TO THIS WORLD
YOU’D BETTER BE FUCKING GRATEFUL TO HIM
SO HAIL THE BACON BRINGER
BECAUSE EVERYONE LOVES BACON
UNLESS YOU DON’T FOR SOME REASON
BUT HE WON’T HOLD THAT AGAINST YOU
SO GO HIT HIM UP
AND MAYBE SOMEDAY YOU TOO CAN SAY
“I KNEW HIM BEFORE HE WAS COOL.”

The Holy Tremble (Awen in August, Day 30)

Blood on my breath when I embrace You
Blood on my hands as the wind blows
Blood on the earth with each heartbeat

I hold the knife
I hold myself
I hold You

I have nothing but the ache in my throat
I have nothing but this holy trembling
I have nothing, but I wait for You

Invisible Ink (Awen in August, Day 29)

I wear another mark for Him,
unseen with waking eyes:
a pathway to other worlds
etched into my skin,
which, although unseen
outside of dreams and visions,
still hums with power
in the world of flesh,
reminding me of its presence
(and His) with subtle signs–
a slight sting, spreading warmth,
a weight as of His hand
guiding me through
my work in this world.
Someday soon, I will wear it
openly, for all eyes to see.
But until that day comes,
it remains written in invisible ink,
present and yet not,
readable only by those
who already know it’s there.

Anniversaries (Awen in August, Day 28)

In September, we commemorate
promises sealed in blood,
lasting lifetimes beyond lifetimes:
fealty, protection, and honor sworn.

In October, we look back to
formal vows before kin and clan,
solemnities at the hinge of the year:
food and drink and merriment shared.

In April, we celebrate
commitments held by more than two,
love too large for a pair alone:
binding each to each to each.

But this night, we remember
a young girl’s first audacious proposal,
accepted joyously by her Man:
the choice, the hope, the start of our path.

Happy Anniversary, Beloved! <3

In Dreams (Awen in August, Day 27)

The visions that haunt
my sleeping mind
are mine to face,
mine to make sense of,
mine to conquer–
and I have,
and do,
and will.
And yet You are also there
at my back,
the calm surety
of an ageless tree
which I can climb
when I need protection,
or, sometimes,
just because
I want to be
closer to You.

A Gentleman and a Trickster (Awen in August, Day 26)

I sometimes forget how much of a Trickster Gwydion truly is. He’s such a Gentleman most of the time, polite and courteous to a fault, that it’s easy to not think about those other sides of Him.

Early this morning, though, I got caught up in the “Bullshit of Christmas Past” vortex, mentally picking at an incident that happened a couple of years back. 2012 was the worst year I’ve ever lived through, no contest–not least because at one point I came within a hairbreadth of perma-banning Gwydion from my life due to listening to someone’s shitty advice. To this day, I still get weepy and frantic when I think about what might have happened if I’d gone through with it.

So there I was, lying in bed kicking myself for the stupidity I nearly succumbed to, when He lay down beside me and wrapped His arms around me.

You shouldn’t worry so much, He said softly. If you had done that, I would have found a way to come back to you. Not wearing the same face, most like, but I would still be there for you all the same.

That’d be really dishonest, though, I objected. If I’d seriously told You to leave, and You came right back in disguise…

A shrug. I would have been banished under false pretenses in the first place, so I’d feel no compunction about returning under the same.

I know by all standards of proper behavior that I ought to be creeped out by this, but I can’t help feeling a bit flattered instead. Maybe it’s because I know Him so well, maybe it’s because I really am Trickster Bait of the highest degree, but it’s awfully reassuring to know that I wouldn’t have been able to completely wreck our relationship through a momentary lapse of judgment.

Hail Gwydion, the Gentleman Trickster! <3

Home (Awen in August, Day 25)

We belong to different realms
which overlap but rarely,
touching with the shy desire
of young sweethearts,
then flitting away again.
So we make our home
on the borderlands,
setting up a hearth
in spare corners
and bedding down
wherever night finds us,
building our citizenship from
the language of touch
and the wonder that’s
drawing the stars together.

 

[With a loving tip of the hat to E. E. Cummings]

Apotheosis (Awen in August, Day 24)

My heart cracked open at His touch,
spilling everything I was before
onto the expectant soil,
and in the blood and sorrow
He remade me in my own image;
I became what I always was,
His knowing hands guiding me
into my own familiar form.
No true transformation, this:
I have worn many shapes,
lived many lives,
borne many names,
only to spiral back once more
to fall into flesh and bone
that remembers my truest name–
the name beyond names,
syllables in no mortal tongue,
the deep understanding of self and Self.
And so I stand, made and unmade,
fiercely blossoming into life
with His hand in mine,
face to the moon’s new rising,
becoming ever more real.

Down to the River (Awen in August, Day 23)

Being angry with Him is like being angry with a river. He came in and flooded my house, yes–ruined half of what I own before I knew what was happening, and insurance won’t cover the damage. That’s His nature, though, part of the ebb and flow of His being. And how much of that stuff did I really need, anyway?

And yet I still get angry with Him. I go down to the river and throw rocks to shatter His placid surface, scream and tear at the banks until the water runs red with soil and blood. And still He flows on, only temporarily perturbed by my rage; the river flows clear again soon enough, with no sign of my petty anger to disturb its surface.

So I resolve to drown myself to spite Him. I fill my pockets with stones and resentment, wade out into the deepest part of the current, give myself to the point of no return. Fantasies come to me of my body drifting out to sea, to wash up on distant shores where no one knows my name; maybe I’ll come back to life then and start anew, with no ties to my past, no obligations to any but myself.

I sink down, embraced by the river. The ordinary world grows farther from my reach with every passing second. But I am not drowning. For I’d forgotten one important detail:

Even in my rage, His love lets me breathe underwater.

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