She is the sort of person who can do things she doesn’t know yet. There are things you know you know and you know you don’t know and you don’t know you know and you don’t know you don’t know. She may not know what she does know.
Having spent all of my decision-making years as a Pagan of one stripe or another, I have long found it condescending at best to assume one cannot worship the old gods or believe in magick without breaking out the leather bracers, wings, or Ye Broken Olde English.
I am able to separate the mythological aspects of my religion from the practical ones. Jesus, his sacrifice, the Gospels? Those are true to me. Angels, demons, burning bushes, Revelations? Primitive people trying to express the ineffable. I don’t need to be a biblical literalist to love my God.
She is so free with herself and so certain of her path, something I now cynically believe only comes from not being aware of the infinite multitude of right paths.
Keep to the ‘I-statements’ and discuss your feelings, she lectured herself. I think, I feel. Don’t be accusatory. Don’t tell him that he is an insecure prick who should back off before you deck him. Instead, say, ‘I feel you are acting like an insecure prick who should back off before I deck you.
But aliens? There are TV shows about them. There are books and movies and more. The media indoctrinates you to them until people are so desensitized they don’t flinch at seeing aliens on TV or having their children buy plastic versions for a quarter.
If it took eons to get to the edge of one’s galactic yard, she could not imagine the neighbors dropping by for a casual visit, especially since the heavenly houses were uninhabitable well into the next state.
They tell me how they are not scared to die, but they are terrified of the lives circumstance forces them to lead.
Even if one is doing nothing more than eating Chinese food with one’s Muslim and Jewish friends (don’t order the pork lo mein), being together on the longest nights of the year, as the cold sets into the ground and makes it crunch, the warmth inside is infectious and transcendent.
Her lips are like pillows of warm glass. It is strange to find her resistant for even a second, since she has been the kisser and not the kissed. It wasn’t like the last time, which felt fumbling and unnatural. That time wasn’t off-putting, just like kissing one’s sister. This kiss, my kiss, was tingling sweetness, electric apple blossoms.