A Matter of Faith

I have been busy for the past four weeks. When a health crisis arises, it takes all you have to just get out of bed sometimes. I've had more than my fair share these past four weeks, and now that Mercury is retrograde, I am done with the worst of it -- I hope.

Being a Legba child means I have a strange but strong relationship with Mercury. Ever the trickster, he has proven to be my best friend, my worst enemy and a true blessing in my life. But he's always there, regardless, and so I have made peace with my Mercurial Patron, even if he drives me to drink at times.

Four weeks ago, to use a stupid but accurate phrase, I felt a tremor in the Force. My own occult powers are of the manifestation kind - I get whatever I want (so long as I am not greedy). But this time, the energy shift was a subtle, dangerous thing. I've only felt this kind of shift twice in my life before - and always, Always, ALWAYS it meant something huge was about to take place -- and not the nice kind of huge, but life changing, even threatening. Once in my twenties, when my mother was diagnosed with cancer. Many years later, I was in Mexico and got the shift. That was when my Dad was dying. And then in August, just before my Beloved's heart went into cardiac failure.

It's not like the movies. I don't get gentle whiff of roses or a handsome devil standing on the corner winking at me. It's a disconcerting feeling, like the earth just shifted left as you were moving right. The lightheaded, dizzy feeling doesn't dissipate, either. It stays for a day, making the act of just walking feel like a fun house ride. And deep down, there is the nauseating sense of dread. The kind that makes you weep for no reason. A sense of unease that won't end. Mercury stood in the corner, eyeballing me with a blank expression. I poured rum, I blew smoke, but He wasn't talking -- just watching me intently.

Two weeks later, we got the news that Don's heart valves were failing. The floor dropped out beneath me. Don is the trooper - he took it really well. We went into it like soldiers, battling the enemy together. We did endless rounds of doctor visits, pre-testing and just mentally preparing.  Then came game day - kissing him good bye in pre-op, the agonizing wait for the surgeon to come out of the OR, the steady beeping of equipment in ICU. Finally home, only to go back for a Code Blue call, running feet, yelling, lights, needles, more equipment. A pharmaceutical load that would challenge most people to keep track of. (You know you've been in the hospital too long when you can stump the pharma students with questions.) My mantra became home, home, home. I was Dorothy in Uggs.

Mercury stood in the room, watching. I so wanted to just give him the finger, but I was polite so I ignored Him.

And just as the planet was about to go retrograde, we were done. I was making the drive to the hospital one morning, talking to Mercury, in exhaustion and anger because it's how I cope, when He said, "We're finished. This is it - home now." I burst into tears with thanks.

The heart is in Sinus Rhythm, the fluid is gone, the exhaustion lifting. I slept till dawn this morning, first time in a month. The dogs are slowly giving up the bed - they don't want to leave his side. The Donald looks good, but its a long, slow recovery. I give thanks every day to Legba. I made an offering of his favorite coffee and incense. He loved it. And so we dance together, Mercury and I. I actually have a good time in Retrograde. My life goes very well.

But then, I am a Legba child, so I do crisis really well. I just wish He didn't test me so often. But He laughs and says you can handle it. This time I do flip Him the bird and He continues to laugh at me as He wanders off. It's all good. Ayibobo.