I, and we, have been silent of late. In some senses it is the season of the warrior. Not only because it is summer, a time that was once our season until the warrior queen came from her camp, but because this year things flow in this direction, with so many priorities to meet and a strong desire to strengthen this body for the work ahead, not least to raise two sons to adulthood.
So I muse a little on the warriors and their queen. I have appreciated greatly the care she has taken for Avalon and Caprice and Ahren to have the grounding at the front, the joys of the days and festivals and meals, clothing and art and experiments at work and friends and such. She has spoken for them when I perhaps might not, and struggled to balance their desires against everyone else’s. Not that these were so dreadful for all. But now I am glad to work to indulge her children in their explorations with physical strength. So I give up some time, that there is time for this, and also time to work when at work.
As for myself I find myself in a place neither dark nor light. Depressed, a little. It ripples out, still, the loss of trust and hope in the person I believed was the mate of my soul. But now it is only each third breath which hurts, and in perhaps a thousand years I would find myself myself. Many days I would throw myself again at his feet, were it not for all this new understanding, the abusive and such. I imagine all the ways we might reunite, and then I stop on that barrier. Where someone will lie to keep one, there is nothing to be kept. A new thought.
Even newer, I find new fears for my sons of the flesh, and even new concerns for my own children, who know their father prefers not to know them. The change in perspective brings much with it, and I hold some at bay lest it drown. When one is holding thus, I think that is when there is a certain greyness.
But I spend time with Lyria, and with her daughter Saria and son Loryn. Saria has San’s grandchild (one of two I suppose, for theirs is another) who is delicate and large-eyed and grows well, and Asher likes to look at her. Loryn stands in for Sian’s father and as Jivan and Lucien are still young, and Kai playful and Sora mischievous and so on, it is a place of much motion and love, even if Anala will argue over who gets the window-seat and Asher is occasionally knocked over by those who forget he has no wings.
My archangel tends to his family of the flesh of late, for very joyful reasons on the one hand and reasons of time and complexity on the other. So I do not see him as often as I like, and although I cannot say I like this reality, I do not find it drives me mad nor even mildly annoyed. I delight in his delights and sorrow in his sorrows. One often says ah, now the shoe is on the other foot. And so it is, but it does not pinch. I am glad to have shoes.