JOURNAL: the fact of moving

Time, space, distance and other things being explained by quantum physicists are never as vivid as when one has to live them through the realms of emotion instead of through the world of the senses, the limited senses allotted to humankind. I have to leave a house for a while, not a play house, a real house for which I feel love and in which I have known love. A house which vibrates at times with the sound of music and sometimes with the feel of magick being lived and magick being performed. Even on a cold night such as tonight, the onset of autumn, the house is welcoming. Even at this late hour and all the folk within asleep, the house itself is awake and aware, as a witches´house should be and doubtless is.

In the cottage I have lit the first few logs in the iron stove and the smoke rises light and thin above the tree-line, attracting curious glances from the village below. I have set my copper kettle on it and soon thin steam should rise from my tea cup. I work on a quilt, a patchwork quilt which shall doubtless be finished before winter sets in. It shall lie on the bed in the guest bedroom, waiting for a worthy guest to lie beneath it. So few of my guests use the spare room, most are close enough to sleep beside me in my own bed, or not to sleep at all but at least to warm the night with their presence. Fitting host-price.

JOURNAL: waiting for siddhe

The coolness of night enters within the cottage, wide open french windows look onto the inner garden. A lemon tree shelters a large quartz and next to it a torch awaits being lit. I shall go sit next to it soon, well before midnight, and open the doorway through which I may glimpse the fairy kingdom. Perhaps there I may find the answer to my restlessness of this night, the need to be wild and to make something be which never was before. The Siddhe are not who many humans think, they are the fey children of nature, not at all human nor godlike. They are entirely themselves and the human who considers them his friend may well be wrong. Then again, as among any other folk, there are types and types and also rugged individuals. I have met one who migrated and somehow won the right to leave his world of origin and to inhabit a human body. I can´t say I know him much, but I may come to know him yet and perhaps we both shall be the richer for it. Interesting times we live in.

Onto another subject: the joining of bloodlines. Witch lines, of course. You dont really expect me to talk about any other kind in any depth, now. I am wondering what way it is gained other than through procreation and also how two of different lines meet anyhow.

JOURNAL: waiting for the wind

Late summer night and I wait for the wind, that beloved element which brings and disperses both. Say not that my vision fails me, the wind rises from the south and comes towards my door, sure of welcome or at least of pushing open my door, if not softening my heart. A late summer wind, I believe, still with warmth in it and softness of a kind once seen within these garden walls.

JOURNAL: Pandora´s box

A synonym and a legend both, Pandora whose curiosity revealed secrets, now a woman who holds within herself secrets, the unexpected. You named me well that day. I still hold secrets. One more than others might interest you and I think it is a secret that will continue to be so, in this life at least. I dont know your level of access in the worlds in between. Nor do I care to know. There was much more to be seen than time allowed, fair weather friend. Inch'Allah, much may be seen still, but not by you. No, not by you.

JOURNAL: Jasmine

The olfactory sense the most potent to bring the past through the doorway of time into the present. We forget time is linear for us in the mundane when one inhalation makes it the year before, the season before, a night before, a sound and feeling before. In this same way we can set up trigger reactions for ourselves, booby traps with dividends, key important states of mind to certain perfumes and incenses, one of the infinite variety of the arts arcane. The whole field of aromatics brings rich dividends when used to deepen various states. But for today, Jasmine hanging rich as a cloud of white stars over the bedroom window brings yesteryear.

JOURNAL: eclipse of the moon

I was reminded of a song from the 80´s: total eclipse of the heart. Yet the work done was totally different, a cleansing of the past and new vigour and union as the moon emerged from the earth´s shadow. The basement room has a certain feeling of very old things lingering and the new incense mingles with the scent of sulphur. Yet the energy summoned entered clear and crisp, there is something very stable in sitting beneath the horizon line and knowing that coolness that deep places have. An earth elemental made a good companion, compact yet very visible and firm in his presence.

oh, so much to be done and so little time......