It is Noon on a Saturday.
Everything is quiet. The cat sleeps soundly. The plants stretch toward the window glass. Blankets drape effortlessly. Pillows hunch together for warmth. The light, diffused, soft, comforting.
You'd never know the world was falling apart.
In our heads, in our hearts.
The snow that silently fell outside this morning gave everything the feeling of living inside a snow globe. Only the snow is outside. We live in the dollhouse within the glass bubble, crafted by the hand of an unseen artisan. And that's no metaphor for Creation. Do not be confused.
The world outside is tilted.
Is it the bubble, knocked off its base on the mantle of the gods, that skews the outside? Or is it the outside world itself that leans and veers off somewhere we can't see from here, whence the wind comes?
The snow has already gone. Melted. The Sun, though weak today, is still the Sun.
The quiet is broken. People stomp overhead. Who are our neighbors in this Doll's House?
Who will be the first to walk out, and slam the door?
19 November, 2016
03 November, 2016
However. I am also a Witch, and one who believes in magick, signs, and messages. So when I opened my glasses case and one of the clay talismans I made this year at Pagan Pride--which was put in a glasses case for protection from breaking--was BROKEN... I was initially very upset. This one came out the best, and I was very proud of it. But when I realized that the only one that had broken was the one that had actually been made with an intention, I started to think its breaking was perhaps the completion of its purpose.
Odd, I thought, since I hadn't even had time to sit with it and "do" anything.
Its creation was its onset, though. It's been a couple of months. So here's what we have. Now I'm just working out what it is that's come to pass...
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.