Of mists and magick

Mar 14th, 2018 | By | Category: Articles

The deep work calls into the daytime and the nighttime. Like a parting of mists, the journey from right now welcomes and envelops the seeker. What came before is hidden, what comes after is mystery.

I remember the first time I entered into the unknown. I drove down roads I’d never seen (or noticed) before. Across unpaved roads up to a hidden building. The moon was out, shining across the valley before, and I didn’t know if I was on the right street.

Or if I was ready to arrive.

But I went forward. Trusting the directions, trusting the promise in my heart that this was the way I’d wanted to find.

There is a story in “Women Who Run with the Wolves” by Clarissa Pinkola Estes — La Loba.

Wolf Woman.

She is the one that everyone knows about, but few have seen. The one who lives in a place that seems to draw in those who are wandering and lost. I imagine her home to be covered in mist, parting only for those who truly need to find her.

She is the one who sings over the bones of wolves and other criatura. But she only sings when she knows what song to sing, the song that will resurrect the bones.

And as she sings the bones become animal with fur and muscle. And she sings so loudly that the bones jump up, and the wolf runs away.

But what touches me most is how the bones transform again as they run — into the body of a laughing, wild woman. She is free. She is alive because La Loba watches out for those in danger of being lost.

The story ends (this version, anyway) with the reminder that La Loba might take a liking to the person who is wandering, tired, and a little lost.

Lucky is the person who La Loba takes a liking to. For she will show you something, something of the soul.

As the mists parted for me, I knew I was searching for myself. And in the moments where I felt truly lost, I was not alone.

And while the mists gave way to magick, it was the stepping through that changed everything.

Even now, I still find myself lost at times. I find myself wandering in the desert, unsure of direction when all the sand looks the same.

And I look for the song within myself. To sing myself alive.

To sing myself home.

 

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