The Knight and the Orange Candle

The Knight was an earthy man with olive undertones and dark complexioned skin. A man exuding flamboyance, stoicism and afrocentricity. His sleek and colossal build was charming and appealing to the female gaze. His kingdom, who honored him so, had wondered why The Knight hadn’t yet discovered his Princess.

But, you see, this wasn’t a knight who held a cup of introspection and perspective. This was a knight who kept his sword drawn; a knight ready to defend his fixated opinions and masculine ego. He was not one of self-reflection and had no interest in obedience and responsibility. He was a man of sternness filled with victimhood and narcissism. He was a man filled with animosity and resentment for he was holding onto an unattainable Queen; a Queen of vibrancy, passion and wit. He had committed to himself to embark on an everlasting quest to get to her.

But, she was an Orange Candle with a flickering flame; living a life that was loud and audacious. Her light carried across a field of smog and darkness; a field where others resented her brightness. With a heart streaming a river of gold, filled with generosity and understanding, she opened her heart to whoever may cross her path. She saw herself glow in others and was sure she could rescue them with her majestic abilities. Hoping to light the flick of those she held the closest, she would overextend herself in order to reap the benefit of connection (of love). She treated loving others as if she were a serial killer, loving her victims to death until they spewed hate and her body grew weak. She wanted to save those who never asked to be saved or, at the very worst, took advantage of her nurturance. She was an Orange Candle with a flame gradually being snuffed out; yearning for love in places and people who were never willing to give it to her. She would persuade, nurture and manipulate in hopes she would breach justice. With a wick, strained and bruised from the promise of romance, thoughts of defeat led her to settle and forfeit her power in hopes one day she would be chosen. So, she would wait in the window until she was discovered. With carnelian and citrine crystals beside her in the altar, cinnamon incense filling the aroma of the room and sitting atop books on the Mother of Yemaya and Orisha Öya, she stood the only candle in the window until she was discovered. Days, weeks, and months would go by until she was discovered.

The Knight, a man enticed by the spiritual practices of his distant Queen, had developed the notion that, in order to manifest his beloved back, he would have to find the perfect elements to call upon her energy for he did not have the strength to take humble strides towards her on his own. Then, one rainy day in the middle of Summer, he saw her as he peeked through the looking glass. The Knight had found his antidote for loneliness: His Orange Candle. It was the Orange Candle who hoped for the Knight would be the one to bring her the support she needed to redefine her purpose; to ignite her emotionally, spiritually and physically. Her fascination with the Knight became a fantasy, making her an addict determined to bring it to reality. She imagined how she would be treated, how she would receive love, and how he would carry her as influence. He was perfect. With her fantasy set in motion, she got ahead of herself and convinced herself she could manipulate him into fitting the mold, and the Knight would become the love of her life.

In the beginning, The Knight was a relief for the Orange Candle. In an uncertain time in the world, she got lost in his hands, in his smile over her illuminating light, in his words whispered into her flame. Yet, the Knight held the candle in the darkest of rooms, living carelessly, living without regret, living freely. Time was nonexistent while they were together: the candle made him feel validated in the darkness and the Knight made her feel at home. Comfort: all the Knight and the Orange Candle longed for. And they would give it to each other.

Comfortability in the darkness blind sighted the candle for she began to realize she was the only light in the darkest of rooms. Information, contradicting signs, and inconsistent gestures warned her of the path she was about to endure. But she was just relieved to find a home on someone’s nightstand. Her mind was made up that the Knight was her person and she was his Candle. Her mind was made up that her wittiness and flame would influence him, persuade him and heal him. It was her hope he would use her for spell work to bring him clarity, it was her hope she would be a symbol of newness, energy and truth for him. It was her hope she would continue to be the only light shining in the darkness. For him.

But, soon, The Knight would exploit the spiritual power of the Orange Candle. While the candle brought him generous love, mystical affirmations, and supernatural insight, he became obsessed with the instant gratifications of the spell work. Opposed to snuffing out the candle, savoring its spiritual blessing, he would abruptly blow out the candle; shocking the mysticism of her supernatural properties; anticipating her everlasting presence. He no longer saw the candle as a luxury, he saw her as a possession and, instead of recognizing his neglect of the candle, he began to redirect the blame onto the candle being inefficient. The continuous relighting and blowing out of the candle’s wick began to weaken her spiritual properties, abusing her into stagnancy and defeat. After a while, the candle was stripped of her own dignity. She began to question the purpose she brought into the world and why the world brought her to him. But she would surrender to the ongoing pain and convince herself that, despite the emotional abuse she endured and the neglect she was experiencing, it was the cost of being in love.

The Knight, a reserved, private being who kept his sword drawn; unwilling to express his vulnerabilities; stubbornness stripping him of self-reflection, thought the candle would be his antidote to the loneliness, for the darkness he was experiencing internally. He thought he was privileged to obtain the candle, he thought he deserved it as if he deserved to be united with The Queen. Prayers with no willingness to fill the form, The Knight became codependent on the candle’s spiritual properties and continued blaming the candle when circumstances didn’t go his way. He was unwilling to acknowledge the damage he had caused her by not snuffing her out.

The candle was becoming low, its wax reaching the end of the horseshoe glass. Efforts leading her to self-destruction. And as she reached her lowest point, she discovered that her properties were more powerful than she imagined. She realized it was her light that intimidated the Knight and his efforts to devalue and demean her were merely projections of his own insecurities. She was the power keeping the lights on. She was the one who inherited the flickering flame. Her energy was that of The Queen of Wands. As she called herself to acknowledge her powerlessness over the fantasy of the Knight’s love, forgiving herself for self-betrayal, she took a stance to gain her power back. Tipping over against the satin curtains, her glass breaks and her flame catches fire to the fabric, combusting the darkest of rooms. The Knight was then forced to be left alone again in his darkness. And, as the orange wax dripped across the wooden floors, she was snuffed out and set free.