goddess magic
an excerpt from my journal about beltane, our yearly reminder that life is good

everything is everything and nothing is nothing, and luckily we have everything instead of nothing. luckily we have each other in our arms on the grass as the sun glazes our auras the way sugar hugs the dough on the gluten-free cinnamon roll that found me deep in the woods at a lightly glowing midnight kiki hours after i’d heard whispers of the baking. luckily we have the woods and a sunrise set every fucking morning, of all the birds live in concert, harmonies arranged by the acrylic nail’d hand of a goddess like a spider who weaves webs out of special silk that is each and every one of us interrelated beings spirits plants rocks and even tiny iridescent specks of plastic, even the gasoline in the generator is God.
even the boy who hurt you is Goddess magic when he hikes down, unprompted, to fix the steps on the trail that crosses the stream to reach your evening soirée. you knew the steps needed to be fixed but didn’t have time to do it yourself, and as you watch him smack a shovel on packed earth and sand shored up from the creek to support an especially precarious bolder, it feels like your relationship, your trust in him that he’s hardpacking with 1) that metal implement and 2) the hard muscles he built to feel safe in this world.
luckily we are privy to a secret place, a Youkali of raw honey and goat’s milk, where dreams literally become true: watch an unassuming boy play throat-bottom in a sunset scene on the back porch of the bathhouse, two hulking Icelandic brutes taking turns fucking his face until they cover it in a splatter of spunk released as they throw their heads back and roar like vikings; Jackson Pollack, honey. a dream come true, like when my Nugget held me in the net while everyone else went to round one of the party, me conserving energy for my set, us multiplying each other’s energy breathing it back and forth,
snorting oxygen off my lover’s chest, furry, soft, and taught. “some day my prince will come” i’d tweeted sadly into a notebook four nights prior, not expecting him to arrive so fast or be so communicative or to even assuage my anxieties because God knows i’ve been burned before not least by these flaky faerie princes, no—this one found me in the woods at night to help me feel true, and it wasn’t about the fuck or the load that never came but it was about the light tinge of something floral in his sweat as we lay enmeshed, comparing notes on the medicines we’d received in this life, giving what the other needed to feel comfy and whole while watching the avenue leading toward the bfc party: 4am and a parade of re-entries, nary a single exit.
later we lay in the net again, a gaggle of faggots high on sass and the shot of espolòn from Kelsey’s tent, soon the gratitude overflows my spirit and drips gradually up thru the forest canopy into the Milky Way as tequila’s fire plunges down my esophagus to warm me on this really only kinda chilly evening where i’ve left my white and blue fur hanging on a tree by the DJ booth and am walking barefoot in Recess’s cobalt crushed velvet shorts and my studded heart choker with a crop top that says “I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends,” and the bad bitch braids Amarilla did earlier like the fucking professional goddess she is and there we are in the woods giving each other shows, life, everything, bitch! fulfilling each other’s fantasies, and the shirt should really say “I’d Be Jack Shit Without A Metric Ton of Constant Love and Support From My Friends” because that’s what i’ve learned to be true after spending the whole winter in solitude, only to return to spring gathering and watch as the finely shimmering universe wraps itself around my shoulders, to remind me i’m both its child and mother.
