Trust and Fear

Outside the window of my bedroom there is a highway. Through the tall, south facing windows, I can clearly see a busy on-ramp across from me. Today I have learned a lesson from observing it: I have trust issues.

Now, stay with me…I will get back to that thought in a moment.

I spent today sifting through the blogs of members on the forum, and the blogs linked by those blogs, and so on. I was looking for inspiration (and distraction, truth be told: today was another rough day for my mother, who spent most of the afternoon in pain between wakefulness and sleep). What I wasn’t looking for was fallout from something that happened all the way back in July of 2011.

I won’t repeat the words I read on those blogs here (anyone who knows what that date means can find what I found easily enough), but suffice to say I was worried. In fact, gravely concerned. I have been watching the temple for years but must have been looking the other way when this happened. I don’t recall it at all. I do remember a flood of refugees hitting the general pagan forums, but I never looked to see why they had all left so suddenly. The dozens of other blogs I hunted down and read today (checking the date in question to get a sampling of reactions) did little to ease my concerns.

But what I did next is the reason why I said in my application that I was finally mature enough to take this class: I checked the forum.

Yes. Instead of being my usual self and reacting solely based on the words of others and what they say was said I went and looked to see if I could find out what was said in the first place and hear it straight from the mouth the woman who first breathed it into existence. I was prepared for it to be bad. I was prepared to find something that would sour all of this for me and confirm what I had read elsewhere on the blogs.

But you know what? It wasn’t bad, and I don’t disagree with her. I liked what she had to say. I was comforted by her honesty even in the face of everything people said to her in the aftermath. I respect her declarations and her compassionate response to the criticism of those that challenged them.  

Then there was that insidious voice in the back of my mind…

That still doesn’t change what you really fear. What if it's “wrong”? What if his name is not the one she gives you? What if she says [insert name “I have issues with/is nothing like me”]? Then what will you think of her?

Back to the cars on the on-ramp.

It’s busy on that highway. At all hours of the day and night there is a steady stream of cars. Even more so tonight because it’s Friday and people are headed into the city for happy hour. But despite that, no one on the on-ramp slows down as they approach the bottom. No one. But I would— if I was out there. Because I don’t trust them. I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust chance or fate. I don’t trust luck. I don’t trust. But eventually I do it. Eventually, I merge. 

I asked him tonight. A plastic cup of milk and a bitter chocolate. No candles, no incense. Dripping wet from a shower, in my PJs. I sat there and I challenged him.

What if she’s wrong? What if I’m wrong?

No. What do you need? Aren't you the child who cried under the shrine because she didn't want to be alone anymore? Because she didn't want to be rejected anymore? Because she wanted acceptance and honesty in her relationships with others? Because she didn't want to carry the pain again?

He fixed me. He pulled me out of the darkness and gave me the strength and the courage and the temperament to insist on existing as I was no matter what others said or felt about it. But is his essence the only essence in me? No. Is his voice the only voice I cherish? No—though I do cherish him.

Make no mistake.

 I do empathize with him, and believe strongly in his cause.  I do still thrill a bit when chaos strikes. I do still like to test the mettle of my kings. I do still press my forehead against the glass to watch the storms. I do still get red of heart at times and speak out harshly against injustice and those who perpetuate it and stand spear in hand against the forces of uncreation. I do still do the things others will not do because someone must.

But…

I also write stories and devour knowledge. I also make talismans and hone my skills as an artisan. I also like being with people and belonging to groups. I also teach. I also obsess over death and dying and how it matters to society. I also cast spells. I also like numbers and math and order. I also play video games and watch anime. I also read tarot cards and have been trying to develop a personal deck. I also sing. I also draw. I also see land spirits. I also explore, constantly. I also like liminal spaces and dream worlds and mysteries and true names and…

And…

It goes on.

I am also many things.

I will not question how much he means to me. I will not question how much I have needed him at my side. But when he asks…

Aren’t you the child who cried?

I have to say yes. I am.

Aren’t you the child who pleaded for the thing I could not give?

Yes. I am.

He loved me enough to save me. He loves me enough to let me go... if I need that.

Because that’s the question I’m really asking when I ask “what if she’s wrong?” Because whatever her answer is, I have to trust that she isn’t wrong. Once I get past the trust deal, once I merge my car into this lane running parallel to me, that question doesn’t apply anymore.

What I was really afraid of was the unspoken question underneath it. The question I needed him to answer. 

Will you still love me? 

Will you still need me to? 

I don't know. I don't know...