Page 64 of Wooing the Wiccan
The silence lingers, and when he finally speaks again, his voice is rough. “When I cut contact with my family, it was… hard. I didn’t—don’t—like the person I was then. It took a long time for me to find myself, and a big part of that was becoming Wiccan.” He swallows hard. “Learning to view the world through that lens and connecting with nature, with the god and goddess, it… I learned a lot about myself. Things Ilikeabout myself. I became who I am now through that process, and it grounds—grounded me. Anytime it felt like the world was out of my control or the ugly parts inside me might try to take over, I could perform a ritual and reconnect to my faith.”
My heart aches for him. It’s easy to see where this is going, but I don’t interrupt. He’s been carrying this for a while, and verbalizing it will give him more control of his feelings.
“But now…” He makes a shaky little sound that could be a sigh or a laugh. “I don’t regret anything that’s happened in the last few months. I’m so glad to know about the community, and so very, very happy that I have you. But now that I know thetruth of the world, that the god and goddess don’t exist and that I’ve been fooling myself with just another made-up religion… I feel adrift. I’ve lost my tether and I don’t know who I am anymore.” He gets quieter and quieter, until the last word is barely a whisper.
I wait, but it seems that he’s done.
“Thank you for sharing this with me.” I lay my hand on the tabletop, not far from his, leaving the decision of whether he wants to be touched right now up to him. It doesn’t surprise me when he immediately reaches out and twines our fingers together. “In all the times we’ve discussed Wicca, I don’t recall if I ever asked if the god and goddess were based on people.”
He looks up, blinking. “I… sorry?”
“I know that some religions are based around people who lived in the past and were thought to have skills and powers. Christianity began because a sorcerer thought he could influence humans to behave with peace and kindness. Are your god and goddess?—”
“Oh. No. There are some ties to the ancient pantheons, but nothing like what you’re thinking.”
“Then why can’t they exist? You use magic every day. You’ve felt it, shaped it—and you’ve touched the essence of life and nature. Aren’t your god and goddess names for that? An easier form to relate to than amorphous energy?”
I can see him digesting that, the speed of his thoughts showing in his eyes. “You mean like… a different name for the life force?”
“Yes, basically. We elves call it the life force—the dragons do also, because they adopted our language. Our species connect very deeply with nature, and our relationship with the life force reflects that. Here on Earth, it’s called the magic, and the native species have a slightly different connection to it. It’s like flora and fauna—both are of nature, but yet not the same. Theyhave the same source, but they’renotthe same.” I give a little snort. “Dragons aren’t even people the same way the rest of us are—they began as beings of pure energy, essentially electrical impulses. Then they saw us elves and thought it might be interesting to have a corporeal body.”
Jared’s mouth drops open. “Really? Is that why—Never mind. We can talk about that later. So… do you really think it’s possible that the god and goddess are just a human name for the life force?” There’s a tiny kernel of hope in his voice.
“Why not? Think about everything you’ve told me about Wicca. Your only rule is to do no harm. You don’t proselytize or adhere to an arbitrary worship schedule. You don’t have a hierarchy of priests who gatekeep access to your god and goddess. Your rituals are based around nature, the seasons, and the energy in the universe. You start no wars in the name of your deities, and you enforce no rules on others. I’ve lived a long time, Jared, and to my eyes, your religion is the way some humans have chosen to connect to the same essence of existence that the rest of us do.”
For a few moments, we just sit and breathe while Jared thinks that through. At last, he makes a littlehuhsound. “I… I guess you’re right. I never thought of it that way, but ultimately, my faith hasn’t really changed. There’s no backstory that’s been disproved by what I’ve learned.” He bites his lip. “The dualism of the god and goddess is the only true difference, but that’s just a… categorization of energies.”
“Exactly.” I study his introspective expression, then venture, “I’m surprised this has been bothering you for so long. Haven’t you felt that the energies were unchanged during your rituals?”
His breath catches, and he looks away. “I haven’t done a ritual for a while. Since the night of the hockey game.”
My heart aches for him. Jared’s faith and his connection to the world through it have anchored him for well over a decade. No wonder he feels lost.
I stand. “Perhaps something small now?”
He nods, slowly coming to his feet. “Yeah. I think I could, now. Um… do you mind if it’s just me? This time.”
Since the first new moon ritual I watched, I’ve joined Jared in many more, but I understand that sometimes, some things need to be private. “Of course I don’t mind. I’ll get dinner started, and you take your time.”
He leans in to kiss me. “You could watch, if you like, and then we can cook together after?”
For a dizzying moment, a vision rises in my mind’s eye of the rest of my life, stretching year upon year into the future, filled with comfortable moments of togetherness just like he’s suggesting. “That sounds perfect.”
Jared goes to get his altar and things, and I scoop up Marge from where she’s winding around my ankles, plaintively begging for her dinner. “Shush, you,” I scold. “You’re not that hungry—it’s still early.” The haughty “what would you know” look she gives me just makes me smile, and then she curls up against my chest for a nap, where she stays as I follow Jared outside and make myself comfortable on the bench.
The garden’s changed since that first night I sat here, winter giving way to spring, and the new life coming into existence around us lends its own special energy to the space. One day soon, I’ll show Jared how he can use his magic more directly with the plants he loves. Not today, though. We have time, and he needs something else right now.
The ritual he sets up in the circle is one I’ve seen before, a simple offering of thanks. His power hums as he closes the circle, and then he lays out the altar and lights his candles. They’re green this time, and I’m fairly sure he’s told me that representsgrowth, nature, and healing—though I could be mixing that up with another color.
Jared sits back on his heels before the altar, and his power rises again, his eyes drifting closed for a moment. He speaks no words for this ritual, though I’m certain he’s thinking them. As the minutes tick past, the lines of stress fade from his face, and his aura becomes visibly lighter and less careworn.
He’s found his peace again.
Breathing in the scents of the garden around me, with Jared’s energy buzzing around me, Margie’s warm, living weight in my arms and the knowledge that across the world, my people are finding their feet in their new lives, safe from the dangers that harried us for so long, I find my peace too.
And it’s glorious.
EPILOGUE
