Restless again. In the Nagalands again. The flowers still adorn the boulder, but they are faded and wilting. A breeze stirs around me, dense with the promise of sweeping the flowers off so I may have a place to sit. I shake my head and scoot a nudged flower back in place. So much in my Waking life is thrown away for the sin of being blemished. The flowers are still fragrant, the garlands still intact. I don’t need to sit there.
736 words.
This entry is going to meander through Waking space for a bit. There is only one dream in this entry, short and devoid of colorful scenery. But it is enough. Very much enough.
1,062 words.
Blessings Darlings!
I want a stang. Y’all who are Pagans have seen stangs before – they are the ‘staff with two or three points on the top’. Here’s a grand article about them http://witchofforestgrove.com/2011/02/27/how-to-use-a-stang/. I have heard it can be used as a magical gateway, and want to try that out. I have to admit I don’t quite get how that would work, or why it would be different than using a ‘regular’ staff, or my staff with the antler on top.
Today, a cold day with a seriously sharp wind, I moved from inertia into active on getting one. Or co-creating one.
The bar was closed. I stood on the road looking at the sign on the door wondering if I was on the right road. I looked around and saw all the other things I expected to see. A few other would-be patrons stood on the road with me. We looked at each other and shrugged.
“CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS”
1,475 words.
An anonymous person queried: “How did you learn to be lucid in Dreams? And why doesn’t ‘coffee or tea?’ has a rum option?”
Through obstinate stubbornness, repetition, and a close study of how the waking world operates.
1,015 rambling words.
I had received missives from Malphas while I was away on the last trip to the Path of Vau. They were short and to the point and I swear I could hear him giggle in nefarious delight. Would I be a dear and obtain a crow feather for him? The largest that I could obtain, and prepared for use as a writing quill, if it wasn’t much of a bother.
2,063 words.
“Raven. Hello.” My shroud is in tatters, exposing one breast. I care not for my modesty. The ravens had torn it in their… play… with me earlier. I bore fresh gouges on my shoulders from them. Gouges that were packed with bone ash after. The wounds will scar as was their intention. But I do not understand why.
620 words.
Blessings Darlings!
There’s a lot of references to “The Witching Hour” in popular culture. Mundanely, it can refer to the time of day when things are at their worst – the rush time a job, the time of day when the newborn is ALWAYS cranky(…)
“Yea!” “We have Reenactment Thursdays!” “Donuts and coffee on Tuesdays!” “It’s always Tuesday.” “I’m not complaining!” “Nothing hurts anymore and I don’t worry about shit anymore.”
1,236 words.
Blessings Darlings!
A recent question, not asked to me exactly, but posted online: “This is going to sound silly, but I love to have all my pieces with me,
particularly the ones that function as jewelry, so my question(…)