Dinner and a movie with the Strong Right Arm

[kiya]

I start composing this entry in my mind while standing in the shower, watching the rivulets of hot water run over my breasts, the water running the same colour as dried blood. I swipe my hand over my hair, pulling away dark brown mud with each touch, scalding the back of my hand with the hot water from the shower brushing across the area tender from near-boiling water earlier.

I remembered to take the meat out to defrost when I got up this morning, along with remembering to call the clinic and remembering to write about intoxication; I remembered to take it out of its wrappings and soak it in balsamic vinegar and sesame seed oil.

I spent a long time dithering, then took a shower in midafternoon, purifying with natron and swiping my body clean.

I started the roux, and when it had browned, I added a can of beef broth and let it simmer.

The frying pan I wanted to use was dirty, I washed it and washed my hands.

teinedreugan got home while I was chopping up the small yellow onion. I put that in the pan and started it browning in butter, and chopped the two cloves of garlic. When the onion was done, I added it to the broth and roux. When the garlic was browned, I added that too. I chopped two red jalapeno peppers, heated them bright red, and into the broth; the three white mushrooms needed to be fried golden in butter before they went in. Then the powdered cloves and a little more flour. And at last, a fair amount of sweet white cooking wine.

I browned the chunks of steak in the pan, and when I had turned it all over, poured the sauce over it. Eventually I added some flour again so it would thicken. I started the rice.

When the food was done, I arranged my plate and poured a fair amount of spiced rum and brought it up to the green room, where my icons live. I filled the offering bowl arawen gave me with sand, I set up my preparations.

I turned out the lights.

The only light was the ritual candle and the tiny candle under my incense.

I poured the water libations into the ever-thirsty sand of the desert, living in my bowl.

I offered my boxes, I offered the rum, and I offered the rich meal of meat and spice to Him. I sat in the darkness for a while. I had been broken, recently, and He had come to me and put me back in alignment. I had meant to make these offerings to petition His help; instead, I made them to give Him thanks. He has no more patience for things wrong than I, I think, and in my plans for this ritual I had resolved to make these gifts. It was accomplished already, so the brokenness of my spirit had no reason not to be wrenched back into alignment.

The rum burned. It was made quite clear to me that I was not to leave before I finished it, and I thought perhaps I had poured a little too much. I drank it, and I shared the meal with Him.

I sat in the darkness a while.

I blew out the candles, gave henu, and backed out of the shrine.

I came down and watched Kenshin with teinedreugan, and slid the steaming-hot henna over my hair with my hands. We talked about honour and fighting, and the colour deepened.

I washed the leaves out of my hair, and now the wet coil of it is dark, rich red.

I am whole again, whole and red and marked.