My automatic writing exercise went a bit differently than I expected, but I find the results interesting. I find myself anxious in the mornings because [elements of work] seems often capriciously incompetent.
Her [M/C] use of “shoal” strikes me as interesting, but it makes a certain sense. The waters reflect all we could be or do encompass, and she is a portion of that water I am upon—“shallow” but more knowable. She is not an ultimate end, but she is a fantastic identity, soul, experience, depth to embrace.
We seek integration, and my escape form here, to wear the path, to wear down a wall.
I think about Thorn, and I think about how the Otherworlds are here, and of [ôl-vala/FitE] ôl-vala against mûl-ôl, ôl-dûr.
I also try to remind myself that my experience of her remains mediated—and even our mingling changes us in intense, strange, ecstatic ways. I feel—I tried also offering incense to her—to us, really, and showing that—I dunno, “devotion,” that invitation and exaltation and treating self and us as more than we have thought of ourselves.
My aura, the mental body, the SoS, I over-extend forward, as so—
Which I feel isn’t quite right. Now, the egg tends to be tighter around most people, but ____ and I have always been odd this way.
Aligning, and even just looking into the God Soul—the Light of the High Worlds—and energy work, in general. Energy work, [Crowess]. Why aren’t you doing more? Faenminel—radiant/why sky/high heaven, stars—the High Light—Faenminel
I have grown too reliant upon statements of intention, and I want to find fresh ways to spell.
I shine with Otherwordly power; I shine with ôl-vala. I act as myself, whole and undemonic, whole and fey. And I draw in my [professional] persona, and I make it fey, part of my wholeness, and I shine as a—
Television and film also do “this”—the investment and drawing of the self into the Otherworlds, unconnected from the present, unconnected from the “non-fictional.”
I let stress and anxiety and thoughts of doom/worry take too much time and energy and spirit.
And the girls down the way, they practice their fencing.
It’s felt like an odd night.
The mirror in the darkened bathroom. High contrast, shadows in the flat. A sense of haunting. MW thinks I’m open to the Otherworlds and more. But I think the Morrigan, or someone is doing something. Or I’m doing something I hadn’t noticed.
I’m sitting out at night for the first time in ages again, writing, which I haven’t done for—ever. I look out at Elethis in the dark, and I feel reflective and magical.
The wind is still—I miss the soughing. And the A/C units just roar on and on. But there is something to Elethis in shadow.