With what’s happening these days it’s difficult to encircle or plot a steady course ahead. Sometimes it’s just plain too much to read the same things, to hear the same things, the news, the critiques, the comedy, the very essence of our world. Sometimes it’s just too much to bear when football and reading and films only allow momentary escapes. Sometimes reality pushes us in other directions, other retreats, other vistas for hope, and the desire for the Spirit.

So. I used to have and now just bought some Runes and a set of Tarot Cards and book. I found the same book and set for the runes, but couldn’t find the right book for the tarot. I did get the Rider Waite set, but the book is a revision. As with all revisions, it’s not quite the same. Of course I went about trying to find my originals, to no avail. I doubt that I would have thrown them out but you never know. I do have my other persona who is quite unforgiving and strict, who tosses to cleanse as well as remove the unnecessary. *Humph* And then there are those pesky unpacked boxes yet remaining in the garage. Anyway, I—the more nostalgic or wanting-to-believe me, am left with what remains. Or doesn’t remain. Hence the new purchases.

And then, the synchronicity whispers itself in as I am in a more amenable place. This today:

Ah yes, the yearning for secret knowledge, the sacred connection. Not Religion, not a faith born of dogma or those lost Saints, but something else. Something from the past that knew without question, that took breath from the wind and made a euphony through the trees. Something unnamed and unnameable.

At my son’s funeral I left the velvet bag of his runes in his hands, and spilled out from that, the Odin Rune. That rune symbolizes The Unknowable, The Divine, the All-Father.

Blank is the end, blank the beginning.