The garden is bare, but for roses… pink and white. Some petals have fallen upon the grass. This is a dream but it feels so real, the colours are vivid, the smell so fresh. Awakening feels like waking up into a dream. At times my dreams are more real than reality.
I’m looking out into the garden, there are white roses, but they are less real than the roses of my dream.
I feel most alive in moments of ritual, within the circle, clad in nothing more than a diaphanous black dress that barely covers my thighs. The cold chain which wraps around my waist is a reminder of how tangible my form really is. I dance the circle in bells and sweeping motions. One step begins the dance.
I lose myself in the drum beat, in the cadence of my words.
There is nothing but me and Him. His teeth are dripping with saliva and blood. The blood is mine.
The air around me is thick, and although the winter seeps within this timeless space, the warmth rises from within my bones. There are stars behind my eyes, burning bright and exploding into particles of dust.
I am no longer inside of the room, upon the red blanket, but within His arms; Universes exploding and imploding upon each other, dancing themselves into oblivion.
“When one world ends
something else begins
but without a scream
just a whisper because we
just start it over again”
– Marilyn Manson “The Fall of Adam”
Leaving ritual space behind is hard. It is a decision between falling asleep in meditation in front of my altar, candles ablaze, with the possibility of being burnt to a crisp as I dream, or leaving behind that space, for the safety of my warm bed. Of course I wouldn’t be much use to my Gods if I became braaivleis so I step out of the circle, and into the land of dreams underneath layers of blankets to dream of pink and white roses more real than reality.
Title- quote from Christopher Penczak Inner Temple of Witchcraft