There are times when something that is such a normal part of your life becomes distant. It’s still there, only the edges have become hazy and there’s an air of memory to it, like something half-forgotten yet would almost be tangible if you could only wrap your fingers about it and draw it closer. But like smoke, it remains unattainable and subject to the faintest of breezes… Grasping fingers slide through the air and come back wanting.
We’re not supposed to talk about the fallow times -those periods where the voices of Gods and spirit allies grow quiet. There’s this perceived sense of weakness, that you’ve somehow “lost” your mojo or that the Gods have forsaken you, whatever that Christian guilt-laden statement is supposed to mean… Yet these moments are an essential part of any relationship any of us will cultivate with a God or spirit. The way of the world is to be caught up in cycles. Times of plenty, times of hunger. The rise and fall of a leaf on the wind. As creatures of the world, we, too, are caught up in cycles.
Throwing the Bones
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