Confessions of a libra

Duty calls, and he is ready

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19.05.25

It was two weeks of hard work and unbridled passion. There was no time to waste once Sahir arrived. I tended to his wounds and his spirit. He suffered a great fever as his wounds were healing. His emotional world wracked by war. The war he survived and the war within him now. In-between every nap and fainting spell he took every moment to woo me.   I was convinced he was being very dramatic on account of his present condition. I helped cleanse his spirit, wash his body with herbs and pray for his safekeeping.

The Gods were kind upon me as he was recovering by the end of the first week. I kept busy, even when I wasn’t caring for him. I had responsibilities and wanted to prove to myself that this answered prayer was only going to elevate me, not hinder me. I worried somewhere within that receiving the love I had so desperately craved would take me over. I would lose myself, and that is one thing I cannot bear. Not with the village people in need.

Kaito arrived like stillness on a summer night. I was up on my usual perch, a mound of dirt to the side of the temple. I enjoyed grounding on the soft earth beneath. Coming out to charge my soul beneath the moonlight was ritual. A salve for cloudy heads. I had just told Sahir the previous day about my prayer for union, then the visions proclaiming a union of three. He seemed wounded, as though he hadn’t considered the possibility.

My heart ached with his, but I left him to ponder. I had been staying away from him since, to calm my own nervous system. On this night, I sat outside with my eyes closed but my soul open – assessing. The ritual was working the tightness eased just enough. I talked myself through surrender as I had so many times before. Even a Priestess must stoke her own flames.

A thick smog of tranquillity entered me. It was sudden, it was exacting and it was more effective that my own meditation. My eyes opened to find a man bowed in front of me, wordless. I couldn’t make out a face, all I knew was that tranquil energy is something I’ve felt somewhere before. In the vision momentarily when my eyes met the man on bended knee.

“At ease,” I spoke boldly.

He rose from the bow, graceful and lithe. He was a man immaculately dressed in navy blue with silver threads embroidered. The kind of workmanship accessed by those of great wealth. He transitioned from a bow to being on bended knee, his head bowed as though awaiting orders. His energy felt ancient as my own but I could promise I had never laid eyes on him in the physical.

“I have waited for you. I have waited through lifetimes, through meaningless travels across the narrow seas and every piece of my puzzle always returns back to you,” he raised his gaze to meet mine. His eyes were emotionally expressive, galaxies of absorption. “I am at your service from now until the end of my days.”

He was an empath. Not just any, but one with past-life recall. My time spent opening the vault allowed me to peer through the veil. In my visitations there was a man who carried many faces. Yet what he always carried within was an old knowing. A knowing reflected in eyes that stilled me from within. Through his eyes, I felt a shared burden. An understanding of responsibility and commitment to die by the sword.

“Are you willing to die by my hand? Are you willing to let me speak life into you, and have the honour of your last breath?” my voice rang true and steady.

“Yes,” his tone grave but without a sliver of hesitation. “I am a man of few words Priestess. I am an imperfect man, blessed with wealth and cursed with knowing. I have often run away from love, feeling it to be inconvenient. Feeling myself to be unworthy. But I have dreamt of you since childhood. You have been my constant. My very own constellation,” he paused to take a breath. “You have been my compass before I ever knew the words to bring it to form.”

A warmth spread evenly and softly through my chest. When he spoke, his tone was soothing to my nerves. His words poetic and romantic. The kind of romance as a Priestess I hoped for with all my might. Not all Priestess are made to love. Some are made to serve, others made to destroy but in this life, the Gods saw it upon themselves to allow me love. Love to inspire, love to transmute and love that stretches the imagination.

Before me now stood a man with honour, a giving man, a man who my body hummed for in quiet knowing. The emotion behind his eyes was an ocean I had always wanted to traverse. His ability to humble himself before the divine, before femininity was breath-taking. It mattered not how many lovers he had run from, he would not be running from me.

“Then stand. By the light of the moon, you have sworn your fealty. She remembers all,” I said ceremonially.

We stood and I approached him. He waited, as he should. He had the air of a man who had never rushed to do anything. A man with exacting standards, a watchful man. His body though lean, looked like it had experienced combat. I guessed he had more stealth than brute force. A perfect balance to the man awaiting me in the temple walls. In front of him I held my left hand out. He upraised me and raised his in return. Our hands touched and I felt as though our hearts had also connected. Like some long ago electrical chord of deep love and recognition has finally been activated.

Deep in the temple, Sahir stirred in his sleep.