Where time flies, I do not know.
I'm lost in the world of magic woven in words by Trudi Canavan. Now I am Priestess Auraya; now Auraya, the Wild. I draw magic to myself, as she does. I can sense it vibrating around me - pulsating - not different to the spark of cosmos in each atom.
Or can I?
Between "fictional" trilogies of magic where faeries and sorcerors, gifted men and women live in, with, and by magic - I'm suspended - not totally a part of their reality, and not totally a part of my 21st century existence. What a fascinating time it must have been when the Celts worshipped at Stonehenge; when the Egyptians adored Isis, Osiris and Seth; the Vedic rites were performed on the Sindhu-Saraswati and the Aborigines and Native Americans wove dream and waking togther in their Shamanic rituals.
Damn! I miss those times. Life must've been way more exciting when you could manifest butterflies blowing on your open palm. That would have been a better pick-me-up than a beer at the neighbourhood pub. Or awesome summer solstice gatherings where everyone pools in their magic under the moon - I'd choose it over a Diwali card party any day!
As far as reincarnation goes, I'm pretty sure I missed the 1200s to the 1970s. Medieval nonsense and the razzle dazzle of the nineteen hundreds just don't appeal no more! Give me a cloak and butterfly manifesting abilities - I'm in my element.
Ah well... we all have our fun places to go when we need to escape the world closing in on us. Mine has sunrises by the waterfall with jewelled dragons soaring across the sky and faeries whispering secrets till its time to get back to 2007...