I went barefoot this morning on my walk, but won’t be able to do that too much longer. We were on the warm side of the storm system, and it was summerish this morning for a little while, with the watery sunlight breaking through the clouds. I’m still waiting to hear from a couple of net-friends in the NJ/NYC area who haven’t posted since Monday night; hoping that all they’ve lost is power and connectivity. (Let it be so….)

As I look out the window this evening the clouds are just starting to be tinted pink. It is the twilight of the last day of the light half of the year; tonight is the beginning of the dark time – not the longest, darkest night, but the darkness that grows darker, folding inward upon itself. We think of death, and long for rebirth, uncertain whether it will come, or when. This is the night when the veil is thinnest that divides the waking world from the other worlds. We are almost close enough to touch the Mystery, if we know where to look. If we dare.

I’m not sure I recommend it.

Who can look upon the face of the Holy and not be consumed? This is the stuff of legend, of myth, of sacred story in a thousand traditions. Those boundaries are there for a reason, O my people; poke them at your own risk.

Leave it be, if you possibly can.

If not, well then. Be, at the very least, a good story.

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