the price is right

Spending the weekend at my new lover’s house, I thought about how I fled to a hotel last year, craving respite from the chaos of my own home. This weekend was also respite, but respite infused with pleasure. J. has no kids, no pets, no housemates, no neighbors coming in the back door, and no plants. I was heartened to be pleased with her aesthetic, and discovered that when someone says their décor is “mid-century” they mean that it’s from the 1950’s. With both of us born smack dab in the middle of that decade, I found myself quickly feeling at home, every lamp and piece of furniture reminding me of something from early childhood.

With phones turned off, our attention remained solely on the slow discovery and unfolding of what it means to be together. Therapists have a name for that very particular and specific psychic space that gets created between two people. They call it the “intersubjective field”, something that is as individual as a snowflake. For those of us with a magical background, the word “alchemy” resonates, the magic that gets created when two base metals come together and create something precious. Can anything be better than the beginning of a love affair, especially one that is profoundly mutual? The field is so charged, the blend of energies so intoxicating, it’s the most potent magic we humans possess.

I wasn’t surprised that not only my iPod battery burned out, but the hard drive on my laptop did not survive the weekend. My problems with running life force current and its effect on appliances is long standing. I’ve never been able to wear a watch, and when things get intense, all my various gizmos tend to go on the fritz. Why I never remember this continues to confound me. There must be some way to avert these problems. Isn’t there? Thankfully, J. simply dropped off my computer with someone she’s worked with before, and in less than 24 hours I had it back. It was dropped off at a hole in the wall shop and picked up at the chinese restaurant next door. No wonder I’m in love.

Over the weekend, J. would occasionally bring out a photo, record album, or other relic of her life, and my sense of her would expand. Seeing her early school pictures, a baby butch with short hair and a boy’s shirt, made my heart melt. Looking at pictures of her in her 20’s and 30’s, on an album cover and photo shoots for her band, my attraction to her began to include having the hots for this younger self. Falling in love in your fifties is a strange thing….the time when we are in the flush and bloom of youth is long gone, but seeing the photos, I found the young J. in the turn of her smile and the twinkle of her eye. There’s a lot of catching up to do when you start to be lovers in middle age, and it’s amazing how that catching up can happen in a blink of an eye when you take in old photographs.

According to J., I’m the first witch she’s been with. In the short time we’ve been lovers, as she’s told people about me, she’s discovered she’s surrounded by us. Her administrative assistant and another co-worker are witches, and as I’ve met her friends, the broom closet has flown wide open. The funniest moment was on Sunday, when we went to meet a group of friends she’s described as “the family”. J.’s warned me about the kinkiness of some of her friends, as the line between the butch/femme community and the BDSM one is thin. She hasn’t noticed any dog collars on any of my friends and family, and was a little concerned I might find some of her friends a little wild. Being warned, I walked into the restaurant to be greeted by “Aren’t you Oak?” from a sister Feri initiate who I respect mightily. The “out there” friends of J.’s are part of my tribe. We are family as well.

When worlds collide, when energies mix, new universes, fresh galaxies get created. Something is happening here and although it’s taken out my gadgets, (and now my office phone seems to be disconnected) I’m thinking it just may all be worth it. Could somebody please let me know if there’s a way to keep my gizmos safe?