May 27th - Smoke and Mirrors

chalices and incense
pentacles and charms

light the candle
and toss the runes

Some think that ritual
that fair exotic spice
is the making of magic
and is bound in sound advice

But all these things are tools
not the place where magic is found

magic is creation
nothing hidden or profound

The painter, not brush, paint and canvas
is what makes a master work

When the pentacle is inscribed
and the last candle's lit
the runes are cast
and the work is wrought

It doesn't live on canvas
or on paper from a pen
It's not an epic poem
It's not a what, or even a when

It's the act of creation
in spirit
pure and raw
and the trappings of ritual
are less than a handful of straw

to make the magic work
takes nothing, just pure view
just the essence of knowing
staying centered
and being true

 

Priestess or Fool
divine sight, or Erisian tool

Making order out of Chaos
you try to understand
a cosmic balance..
or just entropy’s shaky hand

Watching the river go by
studying its parts
painting its likeness
swimming in it
drinking it in

Yet even though it flows in you
and you in it
This river of sacred life

whether the priestess who contains it in her chalice
whether the fool who falls off the embankment

There is no other understanding
from between or outside of
the within or the without

Active or Passive
Wu Wei Wu
We flow.

 

XO
Katt 

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