Love & The Goddess
Read Love & The Goddess Online
Authors: Mary Elizabeth Coen
This book is dedicated to the Goddess in all women and the men who love her.
“
I hope you will go out and let stories happen to you, and that you will work them, water them with your blood and tears and your laughter till they bloom, till you
yourself burst into bloom.
”
C
LARISSA
P
INKOLA
E
STÉS
First published in 2013 by
GoddessMECA
www.goddessmeca.com
All rights © 2013 Mary E. Coen
Paperback | | ISBN: 978-1-909483-03-3 |
Ebook – mobi format | | ISBN: 978-1-909483-04-0 |
Ebook – ePub format | | ISBN: 978-1-909483-04-0 |
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, filming, recording,
video recording, photography, or by any information storage and retrieval system, nor shall by way of trade or otherwise be lent, resold or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover
other than that in which it is published without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
The right of Mary E. Coen to be identified as the author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All characters and
events featured in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead, organisation or event, is purely
coincidental. Any mistakes are the author’s own.
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W
hen I sat down to write this book, I first considered doing a memoir covering a period in my life when dramatic events were an almost daily
occurrence. Some were traumatic while others were inspirational, bringing healing along with renewed joy, hope and laughter. And so I wished to share some of the wisdom and systems of healing which
helped me through a difficult time in my life – they are woven through the fabric of this story.
Ultimately I decided to respect the privacy of loved ones and acquaintances I met in Ireland and South America, including the wonderful Healer referred to herein. Instead I chose to write a work
of fiction with as much authenticity and humour as possible. In the interest of the story having a realistic feel, I have, however, used authentic place settings, with the exception of the
fictitious village referred to as Kiltilough in north Galway. No such place exists.
The Goddess theme is central to the story as Kate uses the names of each of the Goddesses in the myth of Persephone, Demeter and Hekate at various times on different internet dating sites. As
she identifies with each Goddess, she attracts different men into her life who mirror some aspect of herself. Her voyage of self-discovery and healing takes her from Galway in the West of Ireland
to an Ashram in rural Brazil and on to the Andean highlands of Peru.
This is entirely a work of fiction and any similarity to people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
I
t was my dream home, the kind I’d always imagined living in as a child. There was something reassuring about old houses with
meandering ivy wrapped around them like a lovingly hand-woven comfort blanket. Yet now I sighed as I took stock of the house where I had lived for the past twenty-three years. What was wrong with
me? I should be glad to be home. It was the last day of term and three months of summer lay ahead of me. No more trekking into Galway in rush-hour traffic, no more teaching temperamental young
cookery undergraduates all determined to be the next celebrity TV chef.
I turned off the car engine. A flock of swallows darted among the orderly row of evergreens which flanked the house like soldiers on sentry duty. The rigidity of the trees bothered me. I’d
always thought that trees, shrubs and flowers should be planted in sinuous beds, curving languidly as nature intended. But there was no convincing a man who liked everything to conform to straight
lines and neat geometric shapes. Being married to a perfectionist had its challenges and sometimes I felt that – unlike this house – I didn’t quite live up to them.
Taking a quick peek in the rear-view mirror, I pulled out my make-up purse from my bag and applied a slick of red lipstick. Grabbing a brush, I attempted unsuccessfully to transform my flyaway
copper red mane into well-defined layers. Still far from perfect. With dark shadows under my eyes, I looked as if I’d been plugged into an electric socket and left there to fry. Hardly
surprising – today had been the most unpleasant ending to a college year I’d ever had, with my worst student threatening to challenge the mark I’d given him for his practical
exam.
I grabbed two plastic bags of shopping from the back seat. Things had been more strained than normal between myself and Trevor, so tonight I’d planned his favourite meal. Struggling up the
steps with my lecture notes and the shopping, I noticed that the front door stood ajar. My stomach fell. Trevor was home ahead of me. Why today, of all days? I’d hoped to have everything
ready before he came in from the surgery.
Inside, after kicking off my court shoes in favour of indoor pumps, I slipped my files on to the hall table. Tucking my white cotton blouse into the waistband of my skirt, I anxiously tried to
make myself look presentable. Part of my plan had been to change into something a bit more elegant than the navy work skirt Trevor was always scowling at. My black cocktail dress was hanging
waiting in my dressing room, but there was no time to change now. I’d have to straighten myself up as best I could. “I’m home”, I called out. The scent of disinfectant hit
me and I guessed he was in the kitchen. Had I left a mess this morning? Anxiety fluttered in my chest. I was sure I hadn’t – so what had he found to clean?
When I pushed open the kitchen door, he was standing with his back to the Aga. A shard of sunlight came through the French windows, hitting the arrangement of copper pots overhead, causing them
to twinkle in all their polished glory. The kitchen was spotless, exactly as I’d left it. I heaved an inward sigh of relief. “Trevor. You’re home early?”
His brown eyes met mine and he made a half-hearted effort to smile, sweeping his hand through his wavy salt-and-pepper hair. Recently, he’d started to look older, the lines on his forehead
deepening and crows’ feet settling into more permanent folds around his eyes and mouth. Despite my being fourteen years younger than his fifty-eight years, I still found him more attractive
than any other man. I dropped the shopping on the floor beside the island unit, and stood on tiptoes to kiss his lips. He turned away, a distant expression on his face, and pulled out one of the
high-backed wooden chairs from the island. “Sit here.”
“In a few minutes.” Unnerved by his snub, I headed to the fridge to take out a bottle of wine. “I’ve had such a day. Ron Clarke claimed he’d overbaked the lobster
because my notes were wrong. Imagine him blaming me. He’d completely botched the timing. And his Tarte Tatin was hopelessly undercooked. And then he said I’d better give him a
distinction or he would challenge the result.” My words rushed as I struggled to uncork the wine. “Dear old James had to give me a hug in the staff room. He said I should take a break
from it all by joining him on some mad trip to Peru.” Smiling, I turned to hand Trevor a glass of wine.
