It was weird. So weird, she couldn’t understand it.
Something didn’t make sense.
Mare kept meeting men, as divinely ordered, but the men that were put in her path fell away soon after.
She was feeling frustrated two years ago. Now she was feeling cursed.
Before the nervous middle of worth had set like concrete anchoring the steel beams of her thighs deep into the nutrient dense soil, Mare assumed there was something wrong with her.
But once things had settled after she traversed the ocean floor, she got to feeling like whatever was wrong was coming from outside of her.
I mean, Mare thought, nobody walks the charnel ground after throwing her stilettos away without strengthening her courage and her muscles.
Nobody, she kept on thinking, walks from the desert to an ocean that rose to meet her and lived underwater for years without learning a few things about gills, without getting to know what it was to be a mermaid and making a decision about how to best go about accepting and revealing her true power.
Nobody, she refused to stop thinking, lifts a whip from her shoulders – bleeding though they were from the separation after her skin had grown over the cold, flexible titanium/bamboo blend rod – with biceps that, though once weak, actually solidified in strength as she practiced lifting the dead weight of her ancestors who hitched a ride somehow in the confusion of our in-between, somewhere before the landing pad.
If you know what I mean.
So, these guys, right? They don’t want to get too close, like they can’t smell the rot that follows her around.
Her boyfriends in high school would say that they were afraid of her father without having met him.
She gets it now.
And even though it’s been years since she left home, there is still fear in the hearts of the men she wants to allow.
Karma is a bitch.
bc when you ask one male to keep you safe from another, whether you are aware of the ramifications or not, you’re trading in one set of problems for another.
So, Mare doesn’t ask anyone for anything anymore. She’s very clear about who ishanging over her and she’s also clear about the fact that there’s nothing to fear.
Because she’s got it.
I mean, Mare thinks, I cannot say I have this alone. I should tell people that I’ve got some pretty heavy support with me at all times. Light, really. But heavy in the sense that it packs infinite power.
The flood gates have opened, and just like the ocean that rose to meet her, she is ready to wash over whichever lucky bastard God puts in her path.
She used to believe in romantic ideas like twin flames and fated soul reunions. But those beliefs led nowhere.
And here is Mare, nowhere, needing to love and to be loved like every human here.
There’s a Gord Downy song that goes something like this:
A person spent several years in prison for killing a man who raped a woman. And this person couldn’t find true love while incarcerated.
I wonder, thinks Mare, if there was any metaphor intended. There usually is, but can you ever be sure? And what, if not literally a story about a person without love, could he have meant?
This is turning into a long, drawn-out way of telling a simple yet difficult to believe truth, Mare thinks.
Here’s the thing: the stereotypical role of a male is protector and the stereotypical role of a female is to be protected and to inspire a deep and meaningful spiritual journey that is necessary for each human to truly ascend.
Mare really does size up the arms of every potential suitor, but don’t misunderstand.
She doesn’t expect any man to lift more than his own weight (she ain’t lifting for a man again), except, of course, on those odd nights when she doesn’t mind the groundless feeling that comes with being carried over the threshold and then up the stairs.
The inspired comfort that comes with trusting yourself and the one you find looking into your eyes.
It’s both as simple and as complex as surrendering to God’s will.
Please don’t fear the ghosts that surround Mare, they’re mostly angels, they’ve accepted the light.
Don’t even fear the earth bound spirit attachments that sometimes haunt her.
She knows where the flashlights are now. She’ll never walk alone through the dark night hall.
And neither will you.