Processional

A vision. . .

I can feel your frustration and your desperation. I’m trying, so hard I’m trying, but the connection just isn’t clicking. I’m so overwhelmed with the purge, all the negativity that is coming up. I so desperately want to get back to where we were before. I want to feel that sense of oneness. But all we’re getting is fleeting glimpses.

It’s all my fault.

I’ve ruined everything.

This is the end and you’re going to get fed up and pissed and walk away.

You pull me into your arms and hold me. I’m grateful for whatever you give me, terrified that each word, each touch is the last I’ll ever have from you.

You tilt my chin up to look into my eyes. You’re grinning, that mischievous look in your eyes.

“I know what we’ll do,” you say, and gesture to your right.

Suddenly, a grand staircase appears.

“It’s been a long time,” you say. “Let’s do this, yes? Let’s open a door.”

I’m hesitant. What’s behind the doors sometimes is not a happy thing. You turn me toward the stair, your arm around my waist, mine around yours. We stop right at the bottom step.

“Ready?” you ask. There is a sense of glee in your voice, and you chuckle. I can’t help but chuckle too. We hop on the first step together and then both laugh outright.

“One,” we say, in unison.

Hop.

“Two.”

Hop.

“Three.”

Hop.

“Four.”

“You know where this is going, don’t you?” you ask, pausing to look down at me.

I look down at me. I am in the gown from the church dream, gleaming white and pristine. It’s beautiful. And then I look at you and you are in tails. Tails?!

Cinderella and her prince, I think. Entering the ball, triumphant.

I can’t hop in this dress. We go back to walking, your arm steadying me as I navigate the steps with the skirt and train. It’s easier than I think. I feel regal. Every step I take, I feel a power and a confidence come over me.

“Five.”

“Six.”

“Seven.”

Then I see the door, huge double doors. There’s no one there, but I see them crack, slowly start to open as we make our way.

“Eight.”

“Nine.”

“Ten.”

And then we’re there. Arms still around each other’s waist, we cross the threshold.

But it’s no ballroom we enter. It’s the church from the dream in July. Instead of being empty, it’s filled with people in formal attire, all of whom stand at once the minute we cross that threshold. As we make our way down the aisle, they incline their heads and bow to us.

This is unexpected, and overwhelming. My heart flutters, but your arm is still around me, steadying me. I look down the long aisle to the altar. There is no one there because there is no need. No external authority is necessary. We are priest and priestess, and we are making the way to where we belong, at the altar, as representatives of the god and goddess, the overwhelming love that they have for each other made incarnate, manifest in the world, man and woman. We are two, yet one. We have always been one, and always will be: partners in life, and love, and magic. Our union is sacred and eternal.

And then I wake up.

I know the ending. I know the destination. And I know now that together we are on the right path. It’s a long and mysterious path, filled with trials and riddles and frights, but we stand with each other and support each other along the way. We haven’t completed the journey yet, but I know we will, soon. And my heart sings with joy in anticipation of that day.

You have given me the gift of hope. My angel.