What is this grief that’s bigger than all the oceans and seas — and what is it asking of me?
I was on the edge of the island this weekend, on one of her arthritic fingers, all knuckled and buckled under the labour of hundreds of thousands of years —
a storm raged outside as a triangle of us witches open up a portal to dive into, on sheepskins by the fire, but you were our fourth — with me —
sat in front of me so close I could smell your hair and feel the warmth from your sun-kissed skin — smiling in that way that was a restful kind of soul love, not needing to possess or control me, at a distance that you could admire my mystery —
and I heard the song of our little boy again —
remembered how he thundered into the valley that stormy night in January, came right into our marital bed and sang into my ear — what a soul — closer to Rufus than to you or I — made of a wild the world is crying out for —
I have visions that we could make it work somehow —
and you came so close to me the other night —
but then you and our boy were leaving, and I was leaving,
and I knew there were edges of me that held unseen grief —
so I went to the edge of my island — and I keened — was held by my sisters and wondered why I had been holding it so together —
the shame of being an abandoned woman — the vulnerability of not actually being okay but having to get on stage and show up and hold space — there are worse things happening — but my grief took center stage for a moment — I have suited and booted to justify to myself that I have made the right call —
that Ireland needs me and I need her most of all — but the truth is that I don’t know — I don’t know anything — I just had to let a choice be made for me, which is a choice in itself —
I am broken in half —
and by the fire, my love and grief were witnessed by the wise women who said nothing — they might have bottled some of my tears — they might have whispered some silent prayers — they touched my body in the ways they have known for hundreds of thousands of years —
til there was a space in front of me that not a soul could fill — til I was washed with a light — brightly coloured — I was dusted with stars — and the warmth became my own —
it was the love of the great mother — and was Christlike — and was you and I —
and for a moment everything felt right.
