As I mentioned, I combined my self-wedding vows with the Hindu tradition of the first seven steps a bride and groom take together during the ceremony.  Each step I took brought me closer to the altar, and I read off the vows one by one.

I take this first step with a vow to God, in whatever form or number She may wear to dance with me, to honor and serve Them to the best of my ability wherever Their light may lead.

I take this step with a vow to love and honor myself as I would expect another to love and honor me. I will speak lovingly and with respect to myself as I would to a beloved partner and I will accept my flaws as well as take pride in my achievements.

I take this third step with a vow to treat the holy animal of my body with kindness and compassion, seeking joy and radiant health however that may manifest for me.

I take this fourth step with a vow to open my heart to wonder, to connection, to love; to connect more fully with those who love me and allow myself to be touched while still honoring my boundaries and meeting myself where I am.

I take this step with a vow to surrender my fears and insecurities, my attachment to outcomes, my fear of failure and insignificance; and to lift these cares up to the Holy that I may be ready for the wonderful possibilities that will eclipse even my wildest dreams.

I take this sixth step with a vow to, as much as possible, abstain from the industries of cruelty that would fill my body with suffering and my heart with self-hatred: for I am good enough, I am beautiful, and I am capable of a compassionate life not only toward the world but toward myself.

And I take this seventh step with a vow to choose love as often as I can and to speak the truth, even if my voice shakes.

A close-up of the altar.

I wasn’t sure how to write about this past weekend’s big event – there are so many angles I could take.  I figured I would start with the practical: the ceremony itself.

In true Spiritual Nomad style, when I decided to wed myself, I borrowed elements of a variety of matrimonial traditions to create the ceremony.  I wanted the overall theme to be what I called “Punjabi Meltdown,” but since I’m not an actual Hindu I didn’t feel the need (or have the resources) to have a multi-day wedding with hours of complicated ritual.  Instead, I meshed together the parts of Eastern and Western ceremonies that I liked and I think came up with something meaningful and fun.

My two best friends in the entire universe, S1ren and Laurie, presided over the evening – S1ren led the ceremony itself (this is after she sewed my wedding outfit, being the badass seamstrix she is), and Laurie acted as a sort of wedding coordinator since she’s had a traditional wedding and knew how to keep me from stressing out.  She also gave an absolutely gorgeous blessing during the ceremony, and believe you me, I felt blessed!

In addition to the fantastic red salwar kameez S1ren made me, I wore beautiful mendhi designs on my hands and feet courtesy of my friend Antares, whose skill with a henna cone is un-freaking-believable. I had on ankle bells, about sixty billion bracelets, and even makeup – no kidding!

We started by giving each attendee a candle and leading them into a circle, set to Loreena McKennitt’s “Kecharitome.”  The room was lit mostly by candles, and we’d set up a central altar at the head of the room, draped with fabric and decked with an enormous vase of Texas flowers in bright colors. After everyone had found a seat, the music changed to my version of a wedding march:  “Nothing Else Matters” by Apocalyptica.

That’s right, Metallica on cello.

Party favors!

S1ren gave a brief welcome, and I followed suit, then went into my vows.  In a Hindu wedding, the bride and groom must take seven steps together, each one with a pledge to fulfill certain responsibilities in the marriage.  I did the same, and with each step made a vow to myself (I’ll post those separately since they’re a bit long).  When I reached the altar again, we did the ring “exchange,” in which S1ren had me repeat after her:

With this ring, I commit myself to the fullness of my own life, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, as long as this Earthwalk shall last.

Then, as they do in the Hindi ceremony, I applied red powder to my hairline; this is usually done by the groom, to symbolize the bride’s becoming a wife.  Naturally since I was both bride and groom I did it to myself.

After that, Laurie gave her prayer and blessing, and I heard an awful lot of sniffling in the audience.  Then, I gave each attendee a bindi; this isn’t traditional, but I felt like a small gesture of my appreciation was important, and I wanted everyone to know they were a part of my tribe.

Plus I wanted to poke everyone in the Third Eye.

At that point S1ren announced me a “fully committed woman” and (to my giggling surprise) dumped rose petals over my head.

They were actually supposed to be red, but ended up kind of an awesome pink. Yeah, I said "awesome" and "pink" in the same sentence.

Then we partied!  We delighted in sangria, chocolate chai cupcakes, and all manner of tasty foodstuffs brought by the guests.   Once the wine had been flowing a while all the women got up and danced, showing off their Bollywood stylings. It’s not every wedding where you get to do the “feed the chickens” move to P!nk’s “Raise Your Glass.”

(And in the case of myself and my dear friend Lorrie, did something of an interpretive dance in hilarious Bollywood fashion recapping our trip to the Pacific Northwest last year.  Ask me to see the moves for “oh look, we’re lost again” and “look at all the people in hoodies!” sometime.)

It was an amazing night.  I’m forever grateful to the people who helped make it happen, and especially to my Laurie and S1ren, who are the living embodiment of grace – they swoop in, make things beautiful, and give love without question…and even clean up after.  I am one hell of a blessed woman.

Not to mention I have an awesome wife.

My wedding ring, purchased from Etsy.com; click pic for other views

The time has come, the Author said, speaking to me, the Body, often called here, Babygirl.

She led me up to my altar where the ring had been waiting in its organza bag for months and tipped it out onto my palm.  “I think it’s time,” she said.

I stared at the sweet silver band, carved with henna-like leaves, which I had been longing to wear since I took it out of the package.  “Are you sure?”

She nodded.  “Babygirl, think of all the reasons people have ever gotten married – besides the selling of a woman to a man.”

“To make public a commitment between two people,” I said.  “To solidify the union of tribes.  To end strife among warring clans.  To vow to love one another unto death, and variously to protect, to provide for, in sickness and in health…”

“Exactly, baby. And think about all the times you’ve bailed on yourself over the years—you were scared to commit to yourself, to your health, to your heart, to your writing, to your own unfolding.  And as long as you’re fighting against yourself, your dreams will never find their way out into the sunlight where they can be seen as beautiful by the world.  Babygirl, I know you.  And I know you’ve got no business offering to the world what you won’t offer yourself.  We’ve learned to get along, but we’re still not one flesh—it’s time for this relationship to take the next logical step.”

I nodded slowly.  “To commit…to commit to care for myself as my own wife or husband would.  To vow never to abandon myself, but to come back to the center of my being and, in finding that center Divine, dedicate myself to the evolution and growth of me as a daughter of God and a woman, sovereign, and whole.”

“Exactly!”  She seems pleased that I’ve caught on so quickly given how hard I had resisted before.

“I’ve been scattered,” I said.  “Too much of my energy going into what other people think about my work, my body, my life choices…I’ve divided myself and now all of it suffers because I haven’t committed to the real work…the work of my lifetime, of bringing my creativity and wit and my ability to change people’s lives out into the world where they can be seen…and found beautiful, by my own eyes, and all those others.”

“Yes, yes.”  She is excited now, and lays her hands on my head.  “We can bring it all together, symbolically, with this one rite, Babygirl – a rite of passage, from one state to another.  Women who don’t marry men don’t get such a rite, even though their roles in society change just as much as they get older as any woman who weds another human.  But our passages go unmarked.”

“Mine won’t,” I said, smiling.  “I will be a sovereign woman, and whole.”

“Very well, then, my darling,” she says to me, “Will you be your own wife?”

I smile.  “I will indeed.”

…and so, that was how author Dianne Sylvan got engaged…to herself….and began to plan her own wedding…to herself.

More to come.