Posted by on Apr 30, 2014

This is my last blog as the Pfister Narrator. I have been thinking a long time about how I want to end this magickal year, and suddenly, it came to me – strongly and clearly like the light of the moon through a bedroom window.

I will document my recent hotel lunch with the most magickal person I know.

Renée came to me, like most gifts, as a surprise. Fifteen years ago, I walked into the tattoo shop she owned at the time and from the moment I saw her, I was swiftly drawn to her. This has only happened to me with a person one other time in my life. (Yes, I tell people when they ask. Yes, I believe in love at first sight.)

The tattoo I got that day was of my then-husband’s name scrolled across a sacred heart. She joked that getting someone’s name inked on your body was a sure-fire path to heartbreak. (She was right. I just didn’t know it at the time.)

On my way out, a bandage resting atop a bleeding heart on my arm, I invited her to an all-girl party I was hosting that weekend. She said yes and my heart – the one in my chest, not on my arm – started to beat quickly.

For the next 10 years, we created a friendship that was much like a bonfire. She and I served as the air, fueling the fire between us with projects of creativity and spirituality. She taught me to trust my intuition. She carried a mirror that reflected my truest self.

We shared a circle. We shared the stage.

Eventually, because nothing gold can ever stay, we sprouted new wings and flew in different directions. For a time, we were silent faeries unable to exchange smoke signals. But slowly, we found our way back to the fire. It’s smaller now, but still warm and sparky.

Sometimes I wish we could return to the way our friendship was. I really don’t think I’ll ever have a friend like Renée again. I started to think such thoughts during our lunch last week in the hotel. I’m still trying to understand endings and how they aren’t really endings. I parted my lips to express this, and then I once again saw the tattoo wrapping around her wrist in curly, green scrawl: “Everything is unfolding perfectly.”

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