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.