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James turns over the tarot deck in his palm. He’s tossing it between his hands like a ball – a toy rather than a tool you use for divination. “Careful with that,” you chide softly. You’re storing your other decks away, the ones that are already cleansed of course. James decided he would follow you into your room. Strangely, he wanted to have a closer look at what it is you spend so much of your time fiddling with.
He doesn’t quite understand it, but he wishes to. It wasn’t unlike him to be intrigued by it, but normally he would rather busy himself with music or dancing. You pick up an oracle deck, wafting the lit incense over and around it, softly chanting with closed eyes. Your gentle whispers speak of protection and purification. James isn’t really listening. It’s obvious when he interrupts you with, “So you clean these things with that stick?”
“Incense?” You question, eyes still closed. “Yes.”
He hums, eyes focusing on the whirls of smoke enveloping the tuck box. “Can I,” James reaches over with newfound interest, “can I try?”
“Mhm,” you agree. Your eyelids part to allow sight, and you gingerly hand the incense stick into James' twitching fingers. “You waft the incense smoke over the cards. In a circle. Like this,” your hands, smaller and less bulky than his, wrap around James’ clammy, warm palm. You show him the way. Tenderly, you teach him. “Woah,” James stupidly giggles, almost snorting from the pure joy he's feeling.
“It’s really cool.” James excitedly says. An overbite of pearly whites extends past his wet bottom lip.
“Isn’t it?” You mirror his smile, pleased to have your boyfriend enjoy this. Your spiritual tools – your beliefs.
He engulfs an influx of air through his nose. “And it smells really good, too.” He pleasantly comments. James continues to focus on cleansing the oracle deck with the thin smoke stemming from the incense. It feels somewhat therapeutic. James gets lost in that for a moment. You watch with a grin on your face, softly taking the box away to replace it with another. He doesn’t mind the transition. His movements are purposeful, jerky sometimes, but that’s natural to who he was as a person. A jitter-box, a man full of too much energy.
He’s existing in a flow state, you can tell. His eyes are laser focused – the Eagle eyes many of his friends have teased him for. You rinse and repeat the process of switching out decks until you arrive at the last box. His mouth is parted, breathing softly like the act of cleansing spiritual tools was calming for him. Like he was made for this. You watch him turn the deck over at random intervals, like you would. You think to yourself, Wow. James is really good at this.
“You’re a natural, James.” Your words are spoken over a huff of laughter, and James follows suit with a chuckle of his own. He begins to feel shy, so he covers his face with his free hand, handing the incense stick back to you like a high school boy with a confession letter.
“Stop it,” he whines with a beet-red face. “You’re the natural one here. You’re better at this than me.”
You hum, taking the incense from him. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t do a good job, though.”
He separates his fingers, peeking at you playfully through the window of bone and warm flesh. “You should know flattery gets you nowhere!” He shrills in a high-pitched voice, similar to a flustered old woman. You easily snicker at his impersonation.
It was comforting existing with James – effortless. In a space like this, incredibly scented and calm, you promise to let him have this again. This experience, this memory. James watches with half-lidded eyes as you finish organizing your decks. He makes a promise to show more interest often. To be invited into your sacred realm with wide eyes, smiling lips, and an open mind.