Directly on the heels of writing that post yesterday, i came into the living room, thinking i’d pour her another glass of wine and ask to take my floor pillow over to her chair to rest my face against her soft denim clad legs. My heart was full of love, and i wanted to just sit by her.
Before i could ask, she told me she had already poured herself more wine. She told me she was about to go to bed. Then, she said that the place i’ve been lighting candles to Shango and the Shango in her for years would be off limits to me now. And my hand went to my heart, a few hot tears slipped down my cheeks, in an uncharacteristic show of emotion.
“If you are going to cry, go to the bathroom,” She said flatly.
i went to the bedroom, adding another quilt to the bed, and opening up the window a bit more because heat was already coming into the room.
She snapped at me about the window. i asked for a little compromise here, as i needed to be able to sleep too. She says the heat is turned off to the bedroom. i pointed out that she was so hot in her sleep that she had been pulling up her nightshirt and throwing off the blankets. She told me i might need to go sleep in the living room to shut me up.
Every time i started to fall asleep, her snoring would reach epic proportions, waking me up. About the tenth time this happened, i was getting angry with exhaustion, and went to sit in the living room til i was calm again.
This morning, i poured the french press and lit the Altar candles, after checking that the new family member wouldn’t need the spot on the shelf i use to light candles until Monday. So i figured this meant i would be free to light candles until then. Nope. She said that i had better enjoy this candle, that this was it. i said that yesterday i felt like she had just told me i couldn’t talk to the parts of her i was in love with anymore, but that Shango is in her and she is in him, so everyone should know i love them by now. Candles or no. Then, Sir Raven went on to say that she didn’t want me to clean over there anymore.
The first year, i carefully cleaned around the Altar, not touching anything until she invited me to. The second year, she let me help while she got ready for her Spiritual birthday, and told me i could take over wiping the outsides of the containers that house her Gods. Year three she said i could light candles there, too.
She pointed out that this is a part of how they recognize me as her wife. i have never done anything wrong, nor touched anything without first filling my heart with love and thinking that my hands were her hands, my heart was hers too.
Now, she is taking this away and telling me it’s not personal. Reminding me that the Altars are hers. No kidding. Everything is hers. If it was ours, or even mine, i’d feel less honor in these simple tasks and acts of devotion. It’s the most intimate things i do.
i’m hurt. Deeply. i feel rejected.
She rejects the woman in me. The last time she kissed me with passion was at least six months ago. i can’t touch her person in sensual ways. i have grown so accustomed to her tossing my hand off of her in bed that i wake and move away if our bodies touch in sleep. i can’t initiate sex or passion or closeness.
She rejects the child in me. She doesn’t do things just to make my inner child happy, even when she promises, even when another chance for the activity won’t exist. She loves my child-like energy but doesn’t give back or nourish it.
She rejects the slave in me by refusing me s/m in any format, even in matters of discipline, hoisting all of the weight of her expectations, needs and protocols and rituals unto me.
Now i feel rejected spiritually as well.
She takes the child-like silly banter, the devotion of my slavish efforts to please, the light work i do to keep the home feeling happy and warm, the womanly peace i bring, the softness, the care, the companionship. In return, i am treated to a lot of rejection, a lot of lazy.
It isn’t service if she doesn’t want it. It isn’t service if she doesn’t want it. It isn’t service if she doesn’t want me.