Come on in. Don't mind the boxes of clip boards and Tammy Baldwin literature--unless, you're interested, of course. This desk that the Habitat for Humanity Restore wouldn't take is coming in handy now--did I tell you my sister said I'd turned most of my first floor into a precinct office? Metaphorically, anyway.
And look--we got the chandelier cleaned! The one in the foyer, anyway. The one in the dining room has to be done yet. But come in, have a seat, can I get gsomething to drink?
We get into the dining room, and stop. There, in the center of the lazy susan that sits in the center of the round table, the Dark Lady is sitting, legs crossed, long fingers bent into a meditative state. I fall silent.
She is relaxed in the silence, powerful, waiting--but not for us. At least, not for us to fill the silence. She is the guardian of things not-yet-known, of seeds sleeping in the ground, of ideas almost ready to become conscious. It is the dark of the moon, which is her time, and the end of winter, which is also her time.
She looks up and smiles gently. "Welcome."
It is my house, it feels odd to have her welcome us--and yet it feels just right too. Faeries don't follow human logic unless they want to, after all.
She gestures and we join her in sitting, though we use the chairs. It feels good to just rest, to draw in energy to replace what we've used, and to be open to the mysteries, the energy of the new things that are to come. The promise of the coming spring, real or metaphorical, fills the air. To me, it's like stardust and dark chocolate, and the scent of roses.
I will have roses, I always do, because I planted them. What have you planted, that sleeps right now due to the weather or your health or lack of time, energy, or other resources? Whatever it is, it is not dead, just resting. Like we are just resting, right now.
I close my eyes, the next chapter of my cozy mystery almost at the tips of my fingers. I'm drawn into the plot, the motives of the characters, all the little details, and I don't notice you for a bit. Perhaps the Dark Lady speaks to you, or perhaps her message to you is as apparent to you as her message to me is to me, in the silence.
Eventually, I open my eyes and she is gone. I go to get us some fresh, cold water, three glasses. I don't expect her to return, really, but it feels wrong not to include her in the ritual libation. I offer you food as well, something simple, since eating can help a person come back from deep meditation or ritual, but you should only accept if it feels right. Everybody's different.
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The Dark Lady
Date: 2018-04-18 07:50 am (UTC)And look--we got the chandelier cleaned! The one in the foyer, anyway. The one in the dining room has to be done yet. But come in, have a seat, can I get gsomething to drink?
We get into the dining room, and stop. There, in the center of the lazy susan that sits in the center of the round table, the Dark Lady is sitting, legs crossed, long fingers bent into a meditative state. I fall silent.
She is relaxed in the silence, powerful, waiting--but not for us. At least, not for us to fill the silence. She is the guardian of things not-yet-known, of seeds sleeping in the ground, of ideas almost ready to become conscious. It is the dark of the moon, which is her time, and the end of winter, which is also her time.
She looks up and smiles gently. "Welcome."
It is my house, it feels odd to have her welcome us--and yet it feels just right too. Faeries don't follow human logic unless they want to, after all.
She gestures and we join her in sitting, though we use the chairs. It feels good to just rest, to draw in energy to replace what we've used, and to be open to the mysteries, the energy of the new things that are to come. The promise of the coming spring, real or metaphorical, fills the air. To me, it's like stardust and dark chocolate, and the scent of roses.
I will have roses, I always do, because I planted them. What have you planted, that sleeps right now due to the weather or your health or lack of time, energy, or other resources? Whatever it is, it is not dead, just resting. Like we are just resting, right now.
I close my eyes, the next chapter of my cozy mystery almost at the tips of my fingers. I'm drawn into the plot, the motives of the characters, all the little details, and I don't notice you for a bit. Perhaps the Dark Lady speaks to you, or perhaps her message to you is as apparent to you as her message to me is to me, in the silence.
Eventually, I open my eyes and she is gone. I go to get us some fresh, cold water, three glasses. I don't expect her to return, really, but it feels wrong not to include her in the ritual libation. I offer you food as well, something simple, since eating can help a person come back from deep meditation or ritual, but you should only accept if it feels right. Everybody's different.