Monday Trancework

Night Sky(Private Collection)

I was working at multiplying myself during my trancework.  This is a task one of my spirit guides has set for me.  Some months ago he said to me, “Make three of yourself. Now.”

“How exactly am I supposed to do that?” I ask with indignation.   So he instructs, “When you fare forth there are two of you. The one who is here and the one who is there. Simply make another one as you made the second. You should be able to do up to five.”

So here I am, some months later, wrapped in a cloak, with my inkspot cat sitting next to me and the stars above me.  I am practicing, like a good little student. This multiples of myself trick makes my brain hurt.

And then the Elf From the Wood came. I don’t like calling him elf. I think he would find it offensive. The Lord of the Wood? I think that he might like that better but I would say it is arguable.  He is the fey man with the long brown hair and the Elrond face and the so very blue cobolt colored robes.  I sink even deeper into trance. I think: I am surrounded by dangerous men, they circle me like foxes with a mouse. But I am not the mouse. I am the fox.  I am toothy and cunning. Beware my bite.

He has not taught me yet. He petted my hair like I was a dog. I am not a dog. I am not tamed. I am a fox.   I have breath and I breathe and the cat comes inside my cloak. It is cold.  The drum keeps going and I am holding my self against the cold.  The cold makes my feet ache and I tuck them up.  He has told me that he has things to teach me and I, well I have not yet agreed to the teaching.   He comes from the wild wood and I am not sure I trust his face.  But he comes and speaks and I don’t really see how I can stop him without making him mad. I am not ready to make him mad yet.  I move and I am in an asking position. I ask and I spin and I want and I ache.  What is it that I do with my magicians tools? I have so many, many tools.  What do I do? I call this question to the cosmos and the answer is inconclusive.

The Elf is gone and it is only me and the winking stars in the end.   I know I need this time, quiet and rejuvenating.  The work I do takes it out of me.  I am reluctant to be honest with myself but I am tired. But the rest I need is this work, sending myself outside of myself.  I never have known why it heals me, but it does.  Long before I was a pagan, long before I was a druid I did this thing, and other things.   I chart my own path, and for so long there was no map.  But I have a bite and wings, and other things.  I am the seer. I am the priest. I find a way.