Before writing this post, I read dozens of emails from Wicked Darlings wanting to make sure that Sandy’s wrath didn’t smack me around too hard. I wish to thank those lovely souls, and let everyone know that I’m starting this Witch’s New Year in the Bible Belt, and Sandy hasn’t gotten to Chicago… yet.
My family and friends in New York City are doing all right, too. A few lost power for a while; and there was an incident that involved a porch landing on a car, but the latter is a good thing because the clunker needed to go. In fact, I’m almost sure the smashing was an answer to collective prayers—that car was a fume spewing, rust-camouflaged death trap.
Also, my Wicked Luvs, I wouldn’t worry too much when it comes to your Wicked Witch Writer and storms. I have the feeling that it won’t be the thing that sends my witchy soul flying to the Summerlands. You see, many of the most important events in my life have taken place around the most inclement of weathers.
I was born in the middle of a tropical storm that left half the village without roofs. When I first came to the United States (wearing shorts and flip flops because it was the beginning of May) New York City got nine inches of snow. The underground subway, and part of the airport, was flooded on the day I left home to become a small weapons technician for the Marine Corps. And five years ago, I walked away from the man I loved most through a hailstorm that cracked my windshield nearly in half.
A couple of days ago, with my car packed to the point of insanity, I drove away from New York in order to join Jacob (the loved man in question) in the Midwest. So you can say that I wasn’t surprised when my rearview mirror showed rain darkening the Bit Apple’s skies and winds turning every tree branch into a leaf-bare whip.
I figured Fate, once again, felt the need to mark a significant event in my witchy life with one of her overdramatized mad cleansings. I worried about the family and friends I left behind, but the skies brightened as I drove west. A good sign, I thought. Today, I’m happy to say that the omen is now fact, for the clunker was the only thing closed to me that perished under Sandy’s stormy ways.
I’m pretty sure that right now, Wicked Darlings who visit Pagan Culture regularly are blinking a lot after having reread the last paragraph. The most vocal ones are probably saying, “Jacob? Who’s Jacob? You’ve always shared everything with us, Wicked Witch Writer, so how come I don’t know anything about this Jacob?”
Well, my Luvs, the complete answer would take many posts… perhaps three books. But here is the short version:
A year ago, I emailed/called four women who have lived for such a long time and who have experienced life in ways most people have only imagined or heard of. They have my trust. I contacted them because I was feeling lost. After years away from Jacob, I met another man who made so happy that I considered spending the rest of my life with him. But when we began to discuss marriage, things began to happen…
For instance, the afternoon after my ex-Piano Man and I first talked about matrimony, I had to present a paper on Witchcraft and gender for a gay literature seminary. I was sitting on the first row of an auditorium, thinking about what it would be like to be married to someone other than Jacob, when a scholar who was speaking about social gender constructs, said, “This gay model appears on many websites. Keeping this in mind, how many of you would say that he is homosexual or at least bisexual?” Hands went up in agreement, there were polite nods, and some not so polite whistles. A friend of mine covered her mouth with her hands, and said, “Don’t look up.” As you might expect, my eyes were on the screen before she finished the sentence. I saw the picture, and gasped.
|via Chosen by Tony Duran|
I had spent the last four years avoiding Jacob’s face. But every once in a while a photo of him popped up, so I was not surprised to find his green eyes staring back at me. Yet, the angle of the picture, my shape on his forearm after so long, the thoughts in my head right before I looked up, and the fact the tattoo was his symbol of our engagement, left my soul in chaos. My recollection of the moment suggested that I stared at the faerie tattoo for a long time, and then walked out of the auditorium. According to my friend, I said—fine, maybe I shouted—“He’s not gay!” and then walked out.
I got home in a state of total turmoil. And in case that wasn’t enough to drive me insane, a couple of hours after I arrived I received a phone call from J, my military mentor. He had been battling cancer for three years, felt that he was about to lose the war, and wanted to say goodbye. Good old J was always sharper than most. When he asked me why I was so distracted, I couldn’t lie to him. He said I should see Jacob before even thinking about marrying anyone. I was terrified, but I told my ex-Piano Man about it. He was hurt, of course, but also understood that it was best. I planned to see Jacob, but it never happened.
I told myself that I had something good already. I had a good man who loved me, right? And I loved him, right? I said these things to my four friends. They agreed that only time would tell. The following year, time told, indeed… and about six weeks ago, Fate shouted until her throat went raw. I was cleaning the bathroom, I think, when my ex-Piano Man said, “I think we should get formally engaged on October 13th.” I dropped the Windex-soaked paper towel I had been using to wipe the mirror.
I have many faults, my Wicked Luvs, but dishonesty is not one of them. So after I recovered from the shock, I told him, “That is my and Jacob’s wedding anniversary.” With Fate still screeching in my ears, my own words made me see that I had given Jacob the wife part of me, and I felt I couldn’t share that with another. Maybe I could be content with someone else, perhaps even immensely happy, but never so blissful that I wouldn’t care if the world exploded as long as Jacob and I were in each other’s arms.
Thirteen months after the first incident, I told the four women—the best friends anyone can have—that Jacob and I were back together. That, in my heart, I knew my ex-Piano Man would find the person who will love him just like Jacob and I love each other. I said other things, too, and the four wise women told me that they already knew. They were just waiting for time to do its thing.
A different friend told me that I should probably wait, “or even better,” not share the details of my romance with the public. She said that what I had with my ex-Piano Man was so amazing that it would make people think that if that relationship wasn’t strong enough to survive, then theirs would have no chance. I totally disagree. If anything, what everyone knows about my romantic life and what I’ve just said about the love I share with Jacob should bring extra hope and happiness. I was able to find two incredible individuals in one lifetime, so instead of getting nervous about love, anyone who reads this post should smile wide and think, If it happened to Magaly, then it can happen to me, too.
|Conquering mountains… Yes, he is a foot and a few inches taller than I am *sigh*|
|You think I should send this picture of Jacob drinking coffee in his underwear and wearing one of my sunhats to the scholar who showed his photo a year ago? Maybe I can add a line saying, “You were right. He is totally gay.”|
I better stop here. I know this post is too long, but there is so much I wish to share… While you digest all this information, I will visit your cyber-homes. It has been a while. But now you know why I have been so heart and brain busy lately. Have the best All Hallow’s Eve, ever ;-)