(Wo)Man in Love, or When Gods Collide

Last night, I had a lovely conversation with WMFH about how in love he is with his girlfriend. It was amazing how his face lit up in this expression of pure bliss as he spoke of her. Love can make anyone beautiful, and every time he mentions her he becomes positively beatific. I know that look, because since my weekend of passion with my Paramour, I have been beamish and blissful myself. There is something so transcendent in loving and being loved. I used to think that my modus operandi with men was unhealthy, that my my propensity for hypersexuality and tendency to fall in love with them as easily and completely as I do was a sign of some emotional instability on my part. As I have gotten older and my spiritual quest has become more focused, I have realized that this is why I am here. This is what I do. My affections can serve a purpose. I have always felt that I failed at being nurturing, because I tended to only feel nurturing toward men I was in love with. Now I see that this can be beautiful. Sometimes giving love without asking for it in return can be the most fulfilling love of all. Rather than seeing my affections as being something I inflict upon someone in a desperate attempt to win their love in return, I can see now that I am giving them something, something that every person on earth could always use more of. The pain comes when you expect something in return. Adjusting your expectations is necessary to avoid this pain. Of course, it helps immensely that I have my husband now to ground me. There is little risk to loving someone if you know that at the end of the day you have someone to recharge your batteries and love you in return.
Me at college
Me, feeling a little blissed out, at college at 42, married, dating, and kinda loving middle age. It was test day, and test day means 2 things: cookies and cleavage. The cookies were apple almond cinnamon bars and the cleavage is front and center.

I feel that my relationship with the gods has been a critical part of recognizing love for what it is and what it isn’t. Love can transform you, but it shouldn’t be relied on to change you. Love can rescue you, but you can’t expect it to save you. Love is like gravity; the strongest force known and the weakest (is a physics reference too obscure? Meh, you all seem like a PBS kind of crowd). During music appreciation class, WMFH played some Gregorian chants while discussing the importance of monophony in conveying the sacred nature of the chant. My Little Inner Voice said to me, “music is how the god within us speaks to the god outside of us”. The conversation with him after class made me realize that love and sex are how the god within us speaks to the god within others. This is why the experience is so unique to each situation. Every relationship is a different conversation, a different interaction. I have learned that love, any love, is what it is and cannot be defined by anyone. It cannot be molded into something it doesn’t want to be. Because it isn’t about us, it is manifestation of the divine seeking the divine in the physical world.

My Paramour and I have been like lovesick teenagers for the last week, texting and Skyping and calling each other for hours on end every day, all giggling and pillow talk and future plans. There was a time in my life where all I would have seen was the inevitable entropy of our relationship, the gradual decay of our orbit ending in a crash landing back to earth. Now I feel that I am able to embrace my emotions as well as accept his affection for me without question. I don’t worry about if he thinks I am too fat, or that my breasts aren’t as perky as they once were (although they are still quite remarkable for a woman my age thankyouverymuch). The fact that he is as insanely hypersexual as I am, combined with our decade long history and friendship makes us uniquely suited for each other. He is everything I ever dreamed of having in a “lover”, as if he were custom made for me. I tease him that he is my male maenad, our encounters fueled by an animal abandon and savage ecstatic debauchery.

The love that I get from my husband is so lovely and unconditional, almost maternal at times. Ours is a relationship of deep and serious affection and respect, and a protectiveness that I had never known before I met him. He is the man I want to walk through life with, swords raised and battle-cry howling.

My love for my best friend is timeless, we have been together for so long and through so much that it is seamless and effortless, as much a part of myself as my right hand.

I consider myself so very blessed to be surrounded by men who love me and accept my love in return. Each man in my life is a different conversation, a different song, a different kind of love. It truly feels like I am talking to gods and the joy at being so fortunate to be able to participate in the conversation is exquisite.

At our wedding, we asked Co-Priest to read the story of the origin of love from Plato’s Symposium, but ultimately Hedwig said it best:

Striking a Blow for Iseult

As mentioned previously, this weekend was the resolution of a decade-long star-crossed love affair of Shakespearean proportions (if Shakespeare had included porn, divorce, and dot coms). So here is a little modern fairy tale for you.

Once upon a time, there was a Princess. Of course this Princess happened to be a project manager at a dot com in her early thirties, but this is the 21st century and we have to adapt. The Princess was quite lonely, eligible princes being in short supply at her age. One day, a handsome Troubadour wandered into the Princess’ kingdom (also known as rented office space over a dive bar in the city). This Troubadour was married to a cruel and venomous Witch who shunned and spurned the Troubadour in favor of the attentions of her Sapphic sisters, which wouldn’t be so bad except she neglected to mention this proclivity to her husband and instead made him feel inadequate and lonely for years on end. The Troubadour and the Princess soon discovered they had much in common, including a love of music, horror movies, and German internet pornography (I did warn you this was a tale of modern romance). Soon, a great friendship grew, and that friendship in turn began to grow into something else. However, the Troubadour, although unhappy and neglected in his marriage, was steadfast in his fidelity to the Witch. The duo spent many a maenadic evening over the years, drunk on hot sake and sexually frustrated, yearning for each other but limited to few abbreviated gropings and subscription to “Das Haus von Spanking und Naughty Schulmädchen”.

One day, the Witch finally up and left the Troubadour. He was devastated, but the Princess was filled with hope. Now, at last, they could be together! She decided to wait it out, give him time, after all, he had just been through a horrible divorce after 18 years in a dysfunctional marriage. She held his hand, dried his tears, and tried to be the supportive friend he needed. After a while, things seemed to be heading in the right direction. Then one dark and stormy night, the Troubadour told the Princess he had a date… with another woman. The Princess was heartbroken, but understood that it was probably best if he saw other women. He had been in a floundering relationship for close to 20 years, and he should play the field, as it were. Still, it made her sad. In tears, she called one of her best friends, the Villain of Our Story. She told the Villain that the Troubadour had a date with another woman. The Villain told her in no uncertain terms to cut the guy loose, that their relationship was unhealthy and that the Princess was better off without him. That night was the last time she spoke to the Troubadour for 7 years. He never called her back. A piece of the Princess died that day, a warm little corner of her heart that she had held for him for almost 3 years. Shortly after that, she met the fearless Knight that would become her beloved husband, but she never forgot the Troubadour who had so cruelly cast her aside.

Seven years passed, and a mutual friend came to the Princess with a report. He had spent time with her Troubadour, and the picture was not pretty. The Troubadour had gotten drunk and tearfully told the friend that letting the Princess go was the biggest mistake of his life. That the only reason he had agreed to go out with another woman was at the insistence of his dying German mother (one does not ignore a German mother, dying or otherwise). Now he was deeply entrenched in a mid-life crisis, shallowly dating multiple women he didn’t care about, sinking into alcoholism, and regretting the loss of his Princess.

The Princess decided to let bygones be bygones and see him again. The moment she laid eyes on him, she realized that nothing between them had changed. The attraction was still there, and it was even more potent than before. They talked about the past, about mistakes that were made. He told her that he hadn’t called her back after that day because of all those emails the Princess had asked her friends to send to him telling him how much she hated him.

“Wait, what??”, said the Princess. “What emails?”

It turned out that after their phone conversation, the Villain (in the guise of the Princess) had churned out a series of hateful emails to the Troubadour. This made him believe that the Princess wished no further contact with him. This was not the first time the Villain had used such tactics, nor was it the last. The Villain’s motives for these actions can be speculated, but remain mysterious and baffling. It is assumed that the Villain’s hatred for seeing anyone happy while her own marriage was failing may have been part of it.

The Troubadour and the Princess looked at each other with a wistful heartache. Seven years had passed, she was now a 40-something rural housewife slowly being claimed by a tragic neurological disease, he was staring down 50 in a cold, empty house with a bottle in his hand. They would always be the road not traveled. They would never know what could have been between them if only one of them had had the nerve to pick up a phone and call the other to find out what was actually going on. They had allowed someone else to keep them apart, and had lost 7 years.

Eventually the temptation to be together was too great, and the Princess traveled a great distance from her island to his. Almost immediately, they fell into each others’ arms, making passionate, clumsy, joyful love for hours on end. The bliss of finally being together was great as they fell asleep in each others’ arms. The next morning, they were pleased to find their friendship still intact and their desire for each other still blossoming.

Neither one knows what the future holds, even if they never made love again they would be content with finally having their dear friend back. Nothing can bring back the 7 years they had lost in the prime of their lives, no one can say what would have happened had they followed their hearts rather than let others interfere. There are lessons to be learned here, lessons about trust, about faith, about forgiveness, about not being afraid to tell the people you love how you feel. This Princess has never been so grateful to have the chance to learn those lessons in her life.

Uncrossing the Stars

Tonight, after nearly a decade, I finally got to uncross the stars with my star-crossed lover, and it was every bit as lovely as it should have been 10 years ago. We often talk about the weft of the wyrd, but sometimes the path of our threads is so amazing and intricate you really have to sit back marvel at the beauty of it. I am ever grateful for the people who I have been blessed with in my life, whom I never seem to truly lose for long. I am especially blessed with a supportive husband who knows he will forever be the love of my life, but understands my need to express my love for others.

Now if you will excuse me, a warm bed and a handsome man await…

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