To the young man standing behind me.

Last night I went to a full moon ceremony, hosted by a friend of a friend. There were several people I’d met and liked already, including a priestess and medium, born in Jamaica, trained in Mali. We sat in a thatch-roof hut around a sweet-smelling fire and threw in that which we wanted to let go of. Midway through, a thunderstorm rolled in and made the jungle and sky all one color.

Later, after it was dark, we were eating, and the priestess asked me, “Who is the young man who’s always standing behind you?”

I put down my fork. “I don’t know. What does he look like?”

She thought for awhile. “I’d say a cross between Moroccan and Indian. Well, he’s protecting you,” she said, and then went back to her dessert.

I thought about him all night, afterwards. My best guess is that it’s Gabriel, the patron saint I took at Confirmation when I was thirteen.

But maybe it’s not important to know who he is.

In any case, to the young man standing behind me: thank you for protecting me. I’m so happy with my life. Let’s keep going.