L is for Lovers

A bit corny perhaps but I recently announced my engagement so fuck off, I’m allowed my cornball moment. If it makes you feel better I’m not going to talk much about The Wolf here in the romantic sense. I’m feeling a bit more pragmatic than that. For reasons undisclosed I haven’t been able to live with them up until now. Nothing religious, just reasons. So I moved in this past weekend and they kindly cleared me an altar space. They’ve never bothered themselves but my altar for the past few years has been, uh, extensive to say the least of it. I came home tonight to find a blade on the altar*…

The Wolf is my first magically inclined partner. Like me he doesn’t really have a ‘path’ that is easily navigable by others. One place we meet very firmly as equals and on the same track is as lovers though. So we’re both queer as fuck, and yeah there’s occasionally sex magic involved and yada yada…

Art by the exquisite Chiara Bautista

It’s interesting to have a lover who is also capable of being a magical partner. I’ve always worked solitary. Always. I’ve attended a tiny handful of group rituals, but my path isn’t something I’ve ever considered compatible with anyone elses. And now I have The Wolf and the longer we’re together the more little incidental things happen and make me wonder…

It’s the breath shared. The growl in The Wolf’s throat. The moments of absolute still. The moments of complete vulnerability. The snarl and bite.

Can this be something shared? Is there a place between or do we create something entirely new?

It’s ecstasy and breath, death and sex, at the core.

Isn’t that what magic is made of?

* I’d pointed out to him that I’d like the space to be ours, not mine so not a shock or complaint. Just one of those moments of holy shit cohabitation!! 

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Future Dreaming

I pretty much lived with my Wolf for two weeks straight. We’re currently living in two different houses due to rental agreements, housemates, children and general shenanigans. It was a nice change. We’re horrifically domestic when we’re together and there’s certainly something to be said for waking up next to them every morning.

My dreams, for the last couple of weeks, have been quiet and pleasant. Generally of hopes for the future and big kitchens. Really big kitchens. We both love food so…

I dream.

Of home in different ways. Of painted skulls and hanging pots and herb, of orchards and greenhouses, of dinner parties and storms lashing trees. Of a fox beneath the gum, and paintings over a mantel piece.

Of my Wolf, The Wild One, as fierce and beautiful silver as he is now and more lined with laughter. We dance for no reason at all. Sometimes wild. Sometimes slow. Happy. There’s a key tattoo, sometimes on his ribs, sometimes on his forearm.

I am there. No taller, somewhat stronger sometimes, thinner others, as I am now but older mostly, but always with long hair. The tattoos are more prolific. My fingers ink dipped and lined, the right arm done, the ribs, the geometric designs on the left arm… up onto my neck and face. I don’t know that it’ll ever happen but I dream it with such clear clarity.

Sometimes I dream I paint him, and he paints me. Fingers tracing patterns without hesitation. It feels like we’ve done it before a few thousand times.

                                   Feral – Emma SanCartier                                        (Please click through for her wonderful etsy store)

I always wake content from these dreams, but they do make me wonder. What happens to my altar when we’re under one roof. As it is now I have no one to answer to and no children with curious hands so it is large and always up. Is it odd that of all the things this is the one I worry about as we move towards arranging a home for us together?