I’m traveling through myself; the ideas of what I should do, of purpose, just feeling. They’re all wrong.

I could go to bed. I could try to box myself in and write more about witchcraft and I could do any other thing that suddenly feels like a task when I set it up as one. Instead I will write.

There is a river in me,

Flowing, growing, slowly etching its way into the ancient and untouched regions of my spirit

I can hear it! Humming, bubbling softly; inviting songbirds to land in the still unformed branches of saplings along the bank

Smoothing what I thought were mountains into pebbles…nourishing the cattails and the wildflower seeds, drawing in the bushes, the butterflies and bees

Oh! Land of milk and honey running through me; a little bit of madness scattered there amongst the reeds 

Birthing bright blossoms, bringing fox and opposums; all this from the deepening river in me

Blood and magick, branch and bone, forest floor and treetop home – all called into being when I was set free; brought forth from sweet water running through me.

Goodnight, love bugs. May the Universe bring you rest, blessings, opportunites…and an open heart to let all of life in with gratitude.

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