The box was waiting for me at the lair. Snake was not amused by its presence. It trembled every now and then from something within. “Livestock? Here? At least the wyrm is taking care of itself, but a chicken?”
I opened the cardboard box to find just that. A black chicken. It looked up at me and clucked. It didn’t try to leave the box. It just sat there, watching me. A tag was loosely hanging around its neck. “Hold me.”
703 words.
Many aspects of my own practices, Irish pagan and Heathen, are separate ones but there are points of cross-over. My honoring of the daoine sidhe/land vaettir is one, and my honoring of Artio is another. A third is my worship of the Matronae,(…)
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(…)