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Set Apart

I don’t look like the average housewife.  At least, I get that feeling from the people I interact with on a daily basis.  Perhaps it is the modest dress, the covering of the body and hair so as not to reveal the secret, inner beauty.  But then, there are a number of women here who cover, so that alone couldn’t be the reason for the long stares, and the accompanying strange expressions.

I get this everywhere I go.  At least one person has to look and gawk because they’ve never seen me before.  There is a certain something that follows and surrounds me, and that ineffable quality is in part the reason for the veiling itself.  People cover for different reasons, and I cover for a variety of them, but most of all, it is to spare the public from the experience of the fully exposed energies at play in and around my body.

One way to curb that energy, and its way of distracting people nearby, is to act in a way that draws little negative attention.  No attention at all is of course ideal, however, daily errands make it so that staying home to attract zero attention is not always optional.  Acting in this manner, for me, means grace, as I discussed in a previous post, as well as good manners and sociability.  I have to be able to open up to people in order to effectively communicate with them, but when I do, a bit of that secret beauty can be glimpsed.

In these circumstances, being set apart means I must withdraw behind a veil of detachment, in order to dispel any heightened interest.  Truly, my goal is to go out into the world, take care of my business there, and to ultimately be forgotten by those I’ve encountered.  My Work requires that I keep a low profile.  The spirits here are very private beings, who do not seek human attention.  If I am recognized, even remotely, and end up causing an inadvertent second glance from random passersby during an outdoors ritual, it upsets the Nymphs, and in this way hinders my ability to serve.

So, there is isolation inherent in this role.  There has been much recent talk of sacrifice on these varied Paths to the Divine.  One thing which I have consistently sacrificed for this Work, and for the favor of my Gods and spirits, is human companionship.  Sure, I have a human husband, but that arrangement offers only limited companionship, for he is not religious. And I have a child, but anyone who has children knows that they offer a very different type of companionship.  Mostly, motherhood is a job that never ends, and never goes away.

So, for me, there is work, and there is Work.  I have sacrificed all hope of casual friendships.  The few I’ve tried to cultivate over the last ten years all ended up being focused on the Work after only a few months.  All it takes is one request for divination, or Intercession, or some other spiritual activity.  Not that I mind.  I am called to this, but it is a lonely Path.

Something about the role of Queenship either makes people uncomfortable, or the complete opposite.  For example, when a stranger pours themselves out to me (either online, with the full knowledge of my Sacred Queenship duties; or on the street, randomly, with no knowledge whatsoever) in the hopes that I might be able to bridge some gap in their lives.  And they have the right to ask this is of me, for service is my intended role, but they can never, ever get too close.  As captivated as they might be, to know me is to touch my heart, and to touch my heart is to invite the wrath of Apollon into one’s life.  I am set apart, and none may know me. None may touch me, save for my Beloved Prince.

As a Queen, I’ve found that being set apart means two very important things.  The first, being that I am absolutely untouchable by ninety-nine percent of the people I meet.  And the second, is that I am to be seen as such by that very same ninety-nine percent of observers.

Therefore, I remain aloof, which sometimes earns a reputation for being unfriendly, or unneighborly.  But such is the way of things when you are set apart.  At least, such it is for me.  I belong to the Lord Apollon, and though I may be admired briefly, like a dazzling fireworks display, my sparkle is meant to fade from memory.