I sit on the harsh flinty ground, my hands grasping I know not what. The wall at my back shakes periodically and small loose stones slither down my hunched shoulders.

He has found me. Why did I think he would not?

I sink further into my self in my attempt to meld with the wall, to hide myself so completely that I disappear. It is not possible. There is no place to hide.

I am here.

He is here.

I am alone.

My sister the moon hides her face this night and the olive tree of yesterday’s shelter is far behind.

He is not alone.

I hear the noise of his companions, mocking me with their gaiety, indifferent to my fate. Is this what I chose, this hollowness, this void of pain? Is this what it is to be separate from him?

I cannot accept this. I did not accept it then and even now, here at the end of the chase, I cannot accept it.

I get to my feet. I will meet my end upright, not on my knees.

A woman in a teashop puts away a magazine without realising she has recognised her sister in its pages. In the street the call of the Raven strikes her as out of place, an omen of sorts. She hails a taxi and speeds home.

On my feet at last. My knees tremble, my guts churn like curdled milk that will not come together. I am afraid. I want to run, but I cannot move. I know now it would be useless. You will always be there to mock. I thought I would be safe behind this wall, but you know I am here and you demand that I come out.

I stand here and I finally know, you will always find me, always see my hiding place.

How can I think about this hole that is opening up inside me while you bang and shove at my wall?

Leave me alone, I shout.

What I mean is, see me.

Stop banging on

My wall and we can speak.

But wait. Why do I want to speak with, to be seen by you? What communion is possible between us?

As I think, my head rises and my thighs gain strength. My arms contain the hole in my middle, gathering in the edge to a manageable level.

I look at the wall behind me and smile. Yes, you found me. With all the noise my wailing made, how not?

But look, I am here standing – strong of limb and wind. And you? You are what you always were, a pretty chimera. You make your pretty flittings, but you do not know.

You are a breaker, a tearer-apart. You flow; everywhere covering up what is not-you so that all can be as you are. I see you now, Adam/Narcissus, my husband/brother.

Yes, we will meet again. And again and again and again no doubt. Many are the faces Adam wears for me. But I too have Aspects, and choices.

Whose face will I wear – the Hag? No. I need to be swiftly gone from here.

I reject Demeter’s familiar offer also. I have spent too much time in Her long skirts.

I look once more on the Wall of Wailing I created and give thanks for the understanding that let me see it for the crumbling edifice that it is.

I stride away back to the world, My owl on My shoulder, bow in hand.

Asherah looked into the bowl of shimmering black ink. It was good to see Lilith enfranchising her sisters and not passively waiting.

Adam would learn or he would not. It was not Lilith’s task to teach him.

Now Asherah turned Her attention to a speeding taxi and sighed.