Under Hill, Growing Dragons, Singles

I rited last night, mostly in trance and meditation. One thing I found myself doing was calling down coils of Luin for the gods and friends—hell, doing so for myself as a matter of praxis—which at least seems to help me. I asked the Morrigan for Her help in helping me remember what being a faerie means, and I know it’s in my blood and bone, locked there long ago. In the second attention, I felt it, tried to cast away the hurur, halthaya, and mûl-ôl that would blind me, dull me to it, make me doubt.

I briefly skirted to TTL, though it was vague. The path was through a wood—a light, young forest to what could have been a cave, but it was more a rabbit hole, or, at least, I used the barred path as a rabbit hole—let myself fall through the earth and its claustrophobic environs into the caverns. When you find a barrier, you imagine a passage through. But I flew down to a tower and tried to look out over the city and cavern, then I swooped to the street. I tried to take in the ambience, but I was drawn back to the glade—

My experience seemed to help K grow again—I could ride him at my full size now, though he is still not “mature” like G. I don’t think he can fit inside much anymore. He plans to lair for a time in the neighborhood, in the woods or in the residential labyrinth.

I saw in the distance, especially with the benefit of the Luin, the temples in Saerien’s corpse—the line along to his maw, of course, but also the altar and space I found yesterday, as I saw the bright temple they made of it.

I read The Singles Club, and they really point out the daring of magic—and a very CM mode, DIY,—music and dance is the path to music—gnosis, magic—and there’s a strong emphasis on reweaving, reshaping the self. I keep pondering my story (stories)—

O Raven Childe—

Image: Local woods

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