The Color of the Fire

Ghosts arrive from the past and appear in the present, or so they say, though I sometimes wonder. Sometimes I think that all of time must already exist right here, though we might only see glimpses when the conditions are right. Sometimes I think maybe we are all watching from the future, and the past is only filling itself in. We feel it in our bones and then later we say, "I knew it all along." 

There are certain times of the year when I catch sight of shadowy shapes gliding by my windows, but when I look there is nothing, only a crackle of static or humming in the air. Not leaf-light or flitting birds, but something both more and less substantial. I wonder about the source of these apparitions, whether it's the past or the future leaking through. 

I think about what imprint we make on the world around us, the color of the fire that emblazons our presence in this world, or the spark of life that exists outside time. 

There is no way for me to know yet, but for now, I can speculate. 

 

Last Night I Dreamed...

2-24-21
Last night I dreamed you covered me in sackcloth and ashes. You didn't understand why I wasn't grateful for the privilege.

 

2-25-21
Last night I dreamed I was burning words off a page. I wondered how much I would have to destroy before I was left with the truth of myself. 

Before Sunrise

One thing that's been a little different this summer is my morning ritual. In the quiet time just before daybreak  - most days, anyway - I make a small fire in a certain place, out of juniper and whatever other herbs that might seem to fit the needs of the day. It clarifies things. It brings focus. 

This summer has been one of successful witchery - so successful that I find myself confronted with that nervousness that comes so often in artwork, when your project goes from being nothing into  becoming something...a moment where you either press on or crumble in the face of fear.

I suppose it's good, to have that feeling - it means that whatever I make of this is up to me.

Last Night I Dreamt Of A Man...

He had a young girl who worked for him, and every night he had her carry a burning coal from one room to another in a little silver box. She did as she was told, but what she didn't know was that this was part of a love spell he was casting on her, and therefore she was helping to cast a spell on herself.

Very intriguing.

I'm put in the mind of another dream I had years ago in Victoria, about a local minister who had a box of fire buried beneath his church. No one else knew it was there, except the minister (and me, the dreamer, of course.) I could see it there, burning underground in its little silver chest.

I don't know the connection - or at least not yet. I have the feeling I will one day, though.