The Young High Priestess

She kneels down before him. She feels so desperate that he can sense how committed she is to transform this weakness. The light reaches for her through a crack in the door and settles upon the right side of her body. She is distracted now by this comfort. He clears his throat to draw her attention. He does not speak but she can hear him in her head. If he would only speak to her heart. But he won't. He hears her in his heart but she does not rest there. He goes out of his way to ensure she is pulled downward.

He says her clothing is too thick. He cannot make out the contours of her body. He tempts her, silently, at every turn. With him it is no use. She can see the wall form before her eyes and no matter how she tries, it cannot be deconstructed. The wall and the mirror are synonymous. She sees clearly their dynamic.

"Let me see you," he whispers. She tells him, "Not without my sword." He tells her to stand and she does so, with presence. He is not pleased with her. He doesn't realize how much power he's thrown her way. He tells her to meet with him at his chamber. She asks for the garden instead. But this does not satisfy him so the chamber it is. "Wear something light," he insists.

The door is open when she arrives. It is a beautiful room with several windows along the sides, sheer curtains and assorted tapestry on the walls, a rug, the most magnificent rug she has ever seen and a bed made for a King and Queen. And she is a Queen but he is not worthy to be her King. She takes a peek outside. The landscape is breathless. The sun is setting on the horizon. She and God share a moment. She gives praise for her blessings.

The cloak she wears feels right. It is royal blue and made of velvet. She does not wish to be seen so uses her long black hair to cover the sides of her face. The hood now is not useful or appropriate here. She is nervous in her waiting but poised in her demeanor. She must not give too much away. That would be perilous in this space, in this room, behind closed doors...with him.

He enters and draws close with sword in hand. "It is not for you to give," she answers. "I have offended thee, I see." He places the sword upon the mantle by the fireplace, something she had failed to notice when she first entered the room. How could she have missed the fireplace? How she longs for that warmth and the sound of the crackling wood as it burns. How she longs for that light, those orange flames that purify her. How she longs to be embraced by this element in all its glory.

He unties her cloak and places it upon a chair. She feels the heat rise in her and in him as he walks away. He draws near. She takes a step back. "Why do you run from me?" She answers, "Because you chase me." He smiles. She dislikes that he knows she yearns for him.

What can she do? The chemistry is larger than themselves. It's Art, as Crowley called it. Two wholes coming together and creating another element entirely. To her, in the silent world of the sacred, he is tender and true. Out there, he is an ass and so very small. She is torn between these two pillars of existence. She must have both feet in but not favor one world over the other, not become attached to either, must learn to live in the space between them, where there is balance, where one is unaffected. But this is harder than she imagined, than she could have ever imagined.

She wants to take her clothes off but she resists. She knows his gaze and touch would reach and awaken a place that has otherwise been inaccessible and dormant in her. The thought alone weighs heavily and a stirring begins. She wants the real, not the transient. She wants to wake up the next morning and know that he is near, not wonder whether he will receive her the day after and the day after that and so on. He keeps her a secret and hidden like she's a High Priestess he needs to protect and guard. A High Priestess needs no protection.

And she is honoured to be revered, to be wanted, to be dreamed of. She feels the phases of the moon press upon her, of this cycle specifically, of this pull towards him. These waters runs deep. And he is just "man." The weight of this sensuality pulls her downward when she knows it would serve her better to move upwards towards the heavens, away from him and his attachment to the earth.