#votary

Limestone statue of a veiled female votary

Period: Late Hellenistic 

Date: 1st century B.C.

Culture: Cypriot

Medium: Limestone

(Which … yeah I know that was just waving a big chunk of bloody meat at him. Bummer I didn’t figure that out before I just as loudly said the same thing about Odin. Fool me once it’s no surprise. Fool me twice … it really isn’t either. I’m not often the brightest bulb in the string.)

Anyway. Point being I just sat there with my metaphorical jaw hanging open and my wheels spinning fruitlessly until he said talk to [ ].

So I talked to them. Left a message, explained the situation, and, idk, did I ask for advice? I mean, yeah I’m sure I did, I just don’t remember how I asked. But whatever it was, their (paraphrased) reply was “Loki can give you back your life when someone/something tries to take it away.”

And that’s all it took. Those words changed everything for me because how the fuck could I resist such an idea? It was beyond temptation – at that point there was simply no other choice I could make.

~*~

Back in September I said I was going to be writing again, about him and for him. I was so wrong. What was a shining moment of hope, of light, that we could get back to where it started turned out to be just another oncoming train. The last four months haven’t been the worst of the last few years, but they were bad enough. Worse in all news ways, maybe that’s what it comes down to. Or maybe just worse because for a few bright, shining days I thought the darkness was past.

And here I am, back on the tracks once more. The light is so bright, I know it’s a train this time, but will it run me over, or stop and pick me up to take me to him?

~*~

Here’s another thing I’ve learned: hope hurts worse than despair.

I wonder what his take is on that. I wish I could ask him – which, I could, of course, there’s nothing stopping me … except knowing I won’t be able to hear his answer. Not now anyway. Maybe one day again. It’s hard to imagine it. Equally hard to imagine that September 22 will forever be the last time.

Sometimes I can feel him, off to the side somewhere, sitting on a fence, or a wall, stack of boxes, whatever is close enough for him to perch on. Waiting patiently for me to catch up. Watching me, chin in hand and eyes burning steady.

I don’t need to hear him to know he understands. He’s well acquainted with relentless physical pain, with deep mental and emotional trauma. Being bound by (and bound to) something in ways you can’t easily break free of.

Someone is whispering in my head right now. This time I’m pretty sure it’s just me - but I'm also pretty sure this would be his answer:

It doesn’t matter how much it hurts. You choose it anyway.

Because at the end of the day, any other choice is unthinkable.

It was hard to realize just how much progress I've lost. Loki spent a lot of time teaching me, turning me into a decent energy witch/personal battery pack. Plugging in was effortless. So was lighting the tower. The Big Ball. The Rolling Spark.

Getting in the train and traveling to Him. To the house in the Autumn Woods that He taught me to build.

It's not all gone, in its way I suppose magic and witchcraft is like any other skill - you never completely forget, you just need to rebuild the muscles.

Last night I managed to plug in to Him, but that's about as far as I got. One small (but still intense :-) ball, nowhere near big enough to fall into, but enough to let me know it was there. I think I might have cried a bit when I felt its weight in my hands.

His voice, His Presence. His hand on the playlist, His lips on my bloody palm.

I'm paying for it today, sleepy and worn out in a way that's not one of the chronics. That may be a part of it, I surely spent the first half of the week working my ass off for yesterday (I'm writing this at 3 am on Saturday morning but I haven't been to bed yet so yesterday was Thursday), but I remember enough to know what's at the core of it. It takes a lot of energy to hear Him so clearly, and it doesn't come free.

Don't worry about it, you'll remember. It will come back to you -

He rises in me like the sun,