Elisabeth Writing

(I wrote this a year ago in the midst of deep healing. I am a witch and my patron goddess is Aphrodite herself. I love her dearly. And I have ALWAYS loved love and romance. So let’s learn from her, let us love and be loved. At the moment I am feeling a little overwhelmed by the world, a little aloft rather than with my feet on the ground. And that’s ok, because I’ll write, and I’ll love. I always will.)

Aphrodite, goddess / queen / warrior / teacher. Have you always been with me? Was it you who bent over my crib and blew a kiss at my gurgles and infant eyes? A tendril of soft hair on my stomach, lashes long like butterflies against my cheeks. That’s all I remember. 

I was marked, ever after, as your pupil in this art. 

Me with my peony heart, my kindling irises, my amethyst throat. Words scrape, glitter — petals fall, love me, love me not. But please love me?

I did not emerge, like you, from knives, foam and pain, but from blood, screams – and love. How did you know I’d need these people to make me the woman I am today? A dryad mother. A bard father. You blessed their story with your magic. More than Romeo and Juliet, theirs is the story that should be written in the gossip giving stars. Even my pixie-Marilyn sister with her effervescent breath and shimmering, shining light taught me important lessons.

But you… 

You taught me the art of love when I was young. I brushed rose gold on my eyelids and rolled glitter on my cheeks; it smelled like blueberries and paint. Your graceful willow limbs moved quietly and with purpose, while I stomped and stumbled. No one wanted to kiss me, though you urged me to try as I got older. When I was laughed at and discarded you soothed me with stories about princes, dragons, goddesses of soft spring entwined. You said I could love anyone that made my heart sing. For a long time, though, no one loved me back. I wanted to be like you. Your heart was like a bubbling fountain spewing out love and gardens, and welcomed gladly by any who stooped to drink or bathe or cry. I, too, overflowed. But no one was grateful for my love and my salt water tears – they chastised me for flooding the world with my big feelings. I started liking sad love songs the best. It seemed my destiny was to be spurned and scorned.

I asked you question after question. “You’ve been hurt, so many times. How do you keep giving? How do you keep the faith? How do you know if it’s real? Did your blood truly turn the petals to red? Did your battle injury truly send you to Olympus? Did you ever want to be human, at last? Did you ever regret anything you did in the blush of morning love? How can I be more like you? How can I give what no one will take?” You just curled your lips, eyes sparkling with delight, and scattered roses at my feet. 

Eventually the duckling became the swan.

I found and lost love. Found and lost. Found. Lost. 

I lost myself. And I lost you, my Venusian guide and guardian. I felt you hammering at the parapet and gates of my captive heart, and I turned away. I’m sorry for that. I thought you wanted me to love once more, and I couldn’t bring myself to. I was a graveyard. Ghouls and regret became my best companions. I tried to bring life to be under my bloodstained hands, but nothing would grow. Ashes and soil and loss.

You, however, had not lived centuries for nothing. You waited, the evening star, and heard wishes I would never voice again. Patience, my darling. Patience.

I spent time with my spiritual guru and began to heal. My heart sang less of sorrow and more of hope.

My fierce knights – grief, pride, anger – lowered their weapons and retreated at last.

When I let you in, at last, the relief of your presence made my knees quake. I fell to the ground at your feet and wept. I hardly noticed the snapdragons and orchids that bloomed where my tears fell. You could have berated me for abandoning you, but you only stoked my blonde hair and murmured sweet incantations. I was yours again at last.

You wanted me to love, yes. But to love me – myself. To learn to love this woman I’d become, despite the flight and flaws. To accept my large feet and my small breasts and my stretch marks. To adore my green eyes and blonde hair and my written words. To blow kisses, as you had once done. 

I wish I’d listened sooner,

And now your guiding hand is at my back once more. It is your beauty and your pain that intrigues and awes me – and others.

If my fountain overflows I will only rejoice in the reality of love and bliss. 

Aphrodite, Venus, goddess and queen – my heart is yours – mine – ours.

Teach me, dear one, and I will teach the world.

Love is all.

All is love.