Easter ...

Easter has never really had any draw for me, aside from a bit of chocolate.  Don't get me wrong, the Bunny is cute, but even so, if the need for more floppy ears in my life were to appear, I'd probably head straight to Beatrix Potter.  In my old life (well, two lives ago, now) Easter was one of those obligation days, where I would have to go to the ancestral home and endure all that went with that.  Even magickally speaking, Ostara represents the beginning of Spring, which for me means the end of winter, and you know how well that sits with me.  So yeah ... kind of a non starter.

I was feeling particularly bad this morning, as this particular Easter had been shaping up to be something different.  Before The Muse and I split up, she had offered to include me in her Easter observances.  After that night at Saint Patrick's over Christmas, we had had several talks about the stories of her tradition, and about her connection to those Old Gods, and she thought I would enjoy seeing them played out in their native setting.  Having no beef with actual Christians and their tales, I had been looking forward to it.  But like so much else these last two months ...

I put in four hours at the desk at the 'Seed, saved mercifully from my melancholy by Sister Sunshine, who thought her class was at 11 instead of 12, and who then sat and kept me company and talked about books and libraries and kirtan and Asbury Park and the like.  When 1215 rolled around and I counted in her class, I couldn't get out of there fast enough.  Luckily E was waiting outside in the car, after her own morning working at the 'Bucks, and we proceeded to revisit an old memory, and in doing so, told another chapter in our developing Anam Cara story.

It was at the Eagle Rock Diner two Easters ago that E told me that Jyoti had died.  When I think about who we were that day, and who we were with, and all that has happened since, I can't believe it was only two years ago.  So much living.  So much growing.  I had never been to Avon.  I had zero personal connection to Starseed.  I didn't know The Muse or That Dear Boy and barely knew Nancy.  My first regeneration was not even a fully formed thought, and the thought that there could ever be a second one would be heresy.  How could 2009 feel so far away?

Eagle Rock 2011 started out with melancholy, as is my way, as I lamented those who were gone from my life, who I miss every single day.  Eventually, though, E and I found a groove, and made one of those Temporary Autonomous Zones that used to be such a hallmark of my salons.  We started talking about the realest of things, going to deep places and understanding subtleties and nuances that might elude us on a regular day.  We reflected on our changed relationship, and shared how happy we both are with it.  We planted seeds, and made promises, and it was good.

We laughed until we cried when she started drawing on the placemat.  (An old chestnut she hasn't indulged in a long while.)  We were in something, and we knew it as it was happening, and we didn't want to walk away from it.  But like Elmo at Christmas, you can't have these things every day, all the time.  So we closed the circle and made our way back to Montclair, so I could pick up the other car, and so she could head down to Monmouth County.  I went home, and the rest of the day was quiet, and I had all the time in the world to reflect on what I've gained and lost.