Thoughts on The Art

Magic
Its real. I am keenly aware that this sounds insane. However, I have seen ghosts. Real spirits. I have dreamwalked and met people who I would later meet in the waking world. I have seen the branching future, and knowing a sequence would lead to ruin, a sequence I could not anticipate that existed outside normal patterns, averted that disaster by making a different choice. And as a test case making the same choice to disastrous results. I have spoken with elemental forces. Made friends with some, allies of others. The enemies I had already.

When I work a spell, I can feel the world shifting and when it is complete, feel it take hold. I can feel the world change. I know this sounds delusional, like madness. The problem is duplication, with science you input something and can test for a reaction. Magic is not science. Magic is art. In the same way that you can play notes in the same sequence that Charlie Parker did but lack the same quality of Charlie.

Magic is a system, just like musical notes are a system but no two mages will work in the exact same way as no two musicians will sound exactly the same. You can get close, same teachers, same styles, same outlook. But there is always differences and those differences make it hard to prove. I don’t feel the need to justify myself, but I am an adult and know to whom and when I can speak without being locked up by the largest secular religion, psychology. I say all of this to make this point, Magic is real. Do not dismiss what you cannot explain. But don’t slavishly follow it either. This world contains more than you can know.

Illumination

I am bird and air
A Twistwind
Cool shadow and calm gaze
The shifting tide
I am beast and sound
A Fire consuming
I am moonlit night and sundappled shade
I am the twist of the hip and the dip of a shoulder
exultant Shouts defiant
I am… I AM
Tremble at my passage
Dark and terrible
Beautiful and fell
Walk, neither before or behind
Walk beside and know

The well worn path

What shall I be in the aventine days
Between tread and light
Drunk on powers leavings
Sip wine of pleasures keeping
Lost to decadence turning

But wake
Wake wanderer, your journey begins in ends
Wake wanderer, the path of blood opens
It sings down the skein of mortal years
Waking become a vessel

Stand
And stand
between
Neither darkness nor light
But shadow drawing strength from the juxtaposition

Wake and bound to service
Wake to a world
Found forgotten, echos all that remain
But
In fury
Wake anew

Dreamwalker

Tilt world
Drink my blood like rain
Sleeting down, drowning the streets below profane forgiveness
Knocked loose constellations
Roll, burn
Slipping semblance of illusion

By blood I am born
By blood I begin again

Awoke and transformed
A new life, a new chance
Press reset

The vague memories of the wheel turning
A voice, a look,
Choose left instead of right, speak, remain quiet
Sleep

Live a lifetime with that choice, wake and start again.

Angel is another word for slave

Oh hark, comes an angel
Her wings are tattered from her fall
She moves with hidden grace
Her voice that once trumpeted clarion call “To arms! To arms!”

He comes alone
all fail and fell
Wearing a cloak of night
His voice, the storm
Speaks words not meant for mortal tongue and burst the gates of heaven

He’s here, he’s here
the choirs whisper, filling the streets
But no orders given, though air still rings with her call

“I come. I come with warning.
I come to tell you of your fate.
You who cower now
We come. We come.
We will not tolerate.
Your brimstone hells, your fiery scourge,
your serenity, your rest.
Stay behind your walls.
Stay out of the affairs of mortal realms or face the Armageddon you promised in glee.
But this time with other enemy.
No choreography, no fated win.
Just armies at the ready. Tired of your fearful dance.”

The angel at the gates. All dutifully reports, this dire pronunciation. And suffers fate of all messengers.

She falls, she falls.

Oh hark, comes an angel
Her wings are tattered from her fall
She moves with hidden grace
Her voice that once trumpeted clarion call

And he who offered warning dire
Now, offers choice where once was none.

“I apologize for your treatment. I apologize for the need. If you so desire, you may follow me. We have no shining cities. We have no trumpets sound. We can only offer purpose. We can only offer strife. But stand with us and our backs will never turn. We are bound by honor, bound by purpose, bound by truth. Our generals fight by our side and safeguard humanity’s hope. With us you may choose.”

Thoughts on sanity within the magical community

Sanity as mainstream society defines it is a useless vestigial tail. Our world’s are increasingly internal and are acted on with others when consensual meaning is required. We must, perforce, define our realities in ways that work with our strengths and account for our flaws. We must then cloak these realities in mirrors so that the society at large looks on us and sees only it’s reflection. In this way, we will be free to persue our own goals and move amongst the less awakened members of our flawed and fallen race with virtual impunity. We must be aware that being caught will result in being ‘helped’. The majority of this help will take the form of tagging us as other, making it harder to blend into the larger society. And actions to convince us that their perceptive reality is the only one, usually through coercive mental conditioning or through so called drug therapy that closes off our access to those senses that allow us to see beyond the reality of the physical.