The damage has been done. As Venus prepares to enter the underworld, and Mars has fallen upon Cancer, our love is being reborn into a nest of safety, as the god of action takes rest. There is no saving our relationship now. Our falling need not be celebrated or memorialized as that time when we “broke up.”
Now that the Moon has separated sufficiently far from Sun to be seen in the evening sky, the duality is clear, although I am tempted to say that separation is only an illusion, anyway. It is only by the projection of a zodiac - an ideal mathematical circle - that you and I no longer collide.
At first, I tried convincing myself that this superficiality was just a flesh wound. That there was nowhere deeper to go, that I was for certain. If I had invited you in, I might have prevented the fight. I wanted to stay as close to the surface of emotional victory, no matter what damage it would cost. I cast blame to an oppressor, who wasn’t allowed in, because he didn’t care to know all of me. He could never be as dangerously deep as me. He was temporarily thwarted. He would fail, impeccably. He would fail well. He would fail with integrity, beauty, meaning, and curiosity.
What has this separation cost me? A private taste for my frustrations and failures, and an honest sit down with my impotence, my unwillingness to move pain to pleasure. I am sorry that I refused to share a slice of all-natural, organic shame with you.
Between you and me, really, who is powerful enough to part the waves of the cosmic yoniverse? To walk on water, separate but equal. I make myself low before you now, in order to become more like the water, always flowing to the lowest point until finally, my very being is used to wash the feet of angels, saints, and avatars, who are always closer to me than I imagine.
I apologize for failing to cleanse, heal, and feel myself before you. I am sorry that I did not bring myself closer to that which is lifted on high, that which is always just a bit too far ahead. We just missed each other. I don’t know if we ever could have met. I exiled myself from you, and then sought refuge in your cave. It’s an open-door policy, but you taste a bit bitter. You question why it’s unsafe to be on my own land in the first place. You are suspicious. Am I worth your hospitality?
I am sorry you didn’t get to know me better. I am sorry you believed that you could only know better by being inside of me. I am sorry you only got so deep before the red flags came up. I am sorry that when you knocked on my temple doors, you were not allowed full access. You probably wondered if I was even home, or if you’d have to take your shoes off first. I am sorry that you couldn’t get a glimpse into me by my looks. I am sorry that I didn’t offer you my adornment, my adoration.
Antiscia, I call on you to turn around. Revert your gaze. Be lost, and be found. Why use opposition as a creative force, anyway? Clarity is healthy for the heart, even if it’s the clarity of being unclear. The Sun has shown me my blindspots, but even while blinded, I know there is only one Sun. This twoness has blasted me away from home. But I have faith that one will win. One has won.
I apologize for creating the illusion that I walked away from you. Now that she can be seen clearly, she is walking back to herself, where she started. She left you for the sake of our relationship, for the sake of knowing where she ends and you begin. You tried to meet her in the space between, but it was only an outsider you found. A passerby on the road to freedom.
As I write, I can’t help but wonder… Which boundaries did I transgress? What standards didn’t I meet? How hard did I make it for you to be in love with me? What does it mean to be on different terms with you now? To trust that this love is unwithering despite our differences?
It was just a case of bad timing. And yet, there never seems to be a good time to disconnect either. “It feels wrong,” I said. “It’s not working,” you responded. I am sorry I took your honesty for granted. I didn’t listen to the signs. I forgive myself for being a fool and being fooled; for seeing something that was not there. The truth is, you love another. And for that, I am in awe. I am inspired, to be me. You are open to being here with me as I open. You are no longer a block. I forgive myself for the lies.
I am so happy that you are free. That you are happy. There’s this feeling of compersion, so rare that it even wants to be spellchecked. Well, then, allow me to cast my own spell. It’s like when a “new” comet or asteroid is discovered, it takes awhile for astrologers to get a grip on its true story. Compersion is just entering into the narrative, as it is feeling joy for a loved one’s loving another. It is leaving space for the other to be loved. My love was not deep enough to hold you. From the beginning, you were deriving pleasure from a source separate from me. You were experiencing bliss with or without me. There is a tremendous grief to compersion, a terrible sacrifice. I only wish I had been ready to give it up. I wanted all the sweetness you had to offer. And only now that we are separate, I am with grief pouring cups of sweet, sweet sorrow.
I declare the space between us, open. No more obstacles. Before, the space was filled in, but now it is empty. It is expanded. It is time to give back. We are letting it breathe, for there is nothing more to hold in our involvement. There is no more compromise. No promise to meet on equal terms.
It’s too early to get married. I do not want to rush to complete this apparent separation. I want to savor this life, as individuals, together. I want to feel it fully. I’m not ready to die to you, and I certainly don’t intend to masturbate on the rush of death.
I thank you for preparing me to let go, to give up and forgive, and to be free. I had to forgive myself for growing old with you. I had to forgive myself for being cooked with you, for exhausting you, and for burning you out. At first, your budget was flexible. But over time, you were willing to spend less and less on the adventure. I was expensive. I was spoiled rotten. You treated me too leniently. You let me go bad. You let it slide, like cold-pressed, virgin coconut oil. You made me unfit to enjoy myself in right relationship.
I am sorry that I got all procedural to avoid dangerous vulnerability. That I mistook the protocol for the actual experience. That I traded meaningful intimacy for virtuous technicalities. Rhyme and rhetoric are trivial matters. You and I wrestled with words when we should’ve been wrestling in bed. Now, standing before you, I admit that I needed you. I depended on you. I still do. It is so important for you to care about me, because I care so much about you. I undermined your generosity, and I let your cum dry out in the cold.
I am sorry I showed you a full display of characters. That is not something I’ll do with someone I care about. I care about you, and so I will be who you need me to be. A friend, a lover, a trailmate. We are all incompatible, graciously accommodating each other. I am sorry that I tried to shape you into my image. I am sorry that I had a way of looking for my own space only after committing to share this space of love with you.
I am gradually accepting the need to be compatible with you. To suffer with you. In choosing you I have compromised, and compromise is noble. Alas, I am sorry we didn’t spend our life together before we lived together. It was a bit suicidal. And I am sorry that you are now just a part of my history. No one has to know. It is not to be intimated. But at least now, he will like what he sees.