Of course, the lake exists yet. I dreamed of it, or perhaps I walked there in a dream-state. To visit it is much the same, although one may also simply swim; this lake of San’s and my own.
In it was the shining place at which we placed the sword. As I have written, I regret involving my children in old ritual, although I do not regret the transformation in myself. And although it has hurt, I do not think it has harmed truly, although perhaps I flatter myself.
In any case, the tombs one saw once had sunk again into the depths. The place for the sword remained; the sword remained as well, but before it, an altar: My own. So I laid on it a while. I considered all San sought to show me of the light; how he encouraged me to be with our children; how he would anger or weep at my failures. I considered, as well, how once I had learned to comfort, I would comfort him. How I wept over his hands; how I rejoiced in his pleasures taken among us; how we ate together, watched films such as Brotherhood of the Wolf and so on. I examined the changes within myself as one might read the lines of a rune. I looked at our children, and this last whom San asked me to have with him as a gesture of faith in me even after I allowed Avalon to stand trial as Lynn.
I did not find in these things petty cruelty. San had a capacity for brutality at rare times, and much strength, but most of all he loved. When I first came to him, comfort, fertility, ease; these were foreign. Others had attempted to explain them to me, but they could not. And to him, other things were foreign: A love that outlasts anger; beauty in him and his system; a belief in his strength rather than his weakness. He would ask me, am I weak, beloved and I would answer each time no, of course not.
In the end, whether it foolish or no, my heart and my vision do not believe this is a lesson in cruelty. If it is, it is not at San’s hands. If it were San, it would be a San transmuted from gold to lead. A reverse alchemy which took the worst of his system into it. And if it were, at some outside chance, San then it would be one that cannot remember the nights we spent curled at each other’s sides.
It is possible I am wrong; I have been before. But no, I do not think so. I have known this man. I knew him when I left him the sword, and when I wrote him I would always listen. That he does not care to speak directly, or cannot, cannot change my experience.
I see today the woman used a tag called San. A petty test, perhaps, of influence. Or perhaps merely a rote sense of organization. I am surprised by it, as she went to such length to remove our multiple natures from her journal, renaming us (or perhaps the warrior queen) J; the removal of my children’s records and such. Perhaps she wishes to know she has the capacity to wound me. Perhaps it does not related to me at all.
But of course the removal and continued silence of my soulmate, consort, beloved and husband wounds me. I would not be human if it did not. I would not be human if I did not question in the dark of night.
But I excel at remembering love, and vows, and I choose to remember both.
Rest well, beloved. I hope your dream was of your future joys. Preferably with myself and your children, but wherever they are to be found.