It’s 84 degrees out and humid, a heatwave for our northern locale. I ducked into the local grocery store to grab a bottle of wine and some deli meat, in a hurry, par usual. But I didn’t really mind the line at the deli, it was nice to soak up the cooler air for a few minutes. As the deli guy handed some freshly sealed packages to a customer in front of me, I heard him say, “Enjoy the summer weather. It may be 80 today but this is New England, tomorrow it could be snowing.” The crowd chuckled, because that is actually true.
While I pondered that, still several numbers ahead of me in line, I flashed back to a time I was colder than I have ever been, and didn’t even feel it.
Once upon a time a long time ago, Sir Husband and I met each other again for the first time in nearly 25 years. It was deep wintertime, in a small mountain town in the Adirondaks. Frosty, snow-covered streets were quiet in the glow of old-fashioned lantern lights, storefront windows displayed lingering holiday decor. The hushed sounds of local musicians strumming guitars through the cracked doors of dimly-lit pubs, seeped onto the sidewalk, along with smell of burgers and beer. It was frigid outside.
We found a tavern, and sat at a corner table in the window, just thick glass between us and the sub-zero temperatures. We ordered food but didn’t eat, we just sipped wine and talked for hours. Nothing around us mattered. The moonlight streamed more brightly as the night ticked away. There we sat in some kind of private bubble.
“Have a magical night,” the host said as we left, hours later. We must have been glowing.
We carried that magic with us everywhere. When we were apart it pulled us together with a forcefield so strong, our spirits were inseparable. We had never felt anything like it. It sustained us, as we worked through the complicated task of ending different lives to begin ours together. We were safe, protected inside our magic bubble.
That bubble vortex connected our hearts, and our lives not just to each other, but to the world around us. It was vibrant, expansive, and infinite. It magnified the beauty of life, and it evaporated pain, hurt, and sadness. We shared the glorious mystery of the bubble everywhere we went, with everyone, it was our essence – love, that felt like lifetimes in the making.
But, as the story goes, our union opened the gates of hell. Outside of the bubble existed the toxic, unleashed personal issues of the broken souls connected to our lives. The exposure was debilitating. They pecked and poked at the bubble, finding ways to get into every inch of our space. They beat us up, wore us down, then went about their business and thought nothing of it. We choked on their hatred.
But our union more than survived, and only strengthened. Although it took a few years, we learned a lot about how to set boundaries, stand in our power, and take care of ourselves. We simply want sanity and peace around us.
Sadly, angry souls still try to breathe out their personal pain in our direction. And while “love always wins” is a provision of humanity, sometimes you need a forcefield of protection, and a layer of resistance around you…a place where you can replenish and renew, conquering chaos, suffering and fear. The magic bubble.
“NEXT,” the deli guy yelled from behind the counter. “Ma’am, you’re up. What can I get you?”
I’ll have a half pound of turkey and a little magic dust. You can’t have too much of that.