It Felt Like a Kiss

It felt like a kiss
long before
it was a kiss.

He was talking but I couldn’t hear his words. I don’t think they were important words. He was just talking. We weren’t touching. He was several feet away. Just talking. I felt a kind of liquid warmth melting the walls of that part of me that someone once told me made me a vessel.

I don’t like that word: vessel.

I want to be a deep, dark magic cauldron where magic is made.

He was not handsome or sexy or beautiful. He was just a man. Talking.

A man of parts and invisible tentacles that reached deep inside of me and plucked me like a string instrument. A musician looking for that perfect chord.

I was mesmerised and curious and hot and rapidly filling up with need.

He played me.

And then he kissed me.

His lips hungrily claiming mine, even as I pulled him deep into the rich darkness of my cauldron.

He kissed me.

And together the softness of our lips. The hardness of our lips. The harshness of our breath. The softness of exploring fingertips.

All of that swirled and coalesced and we made magic.

He kissed me.

Happy International Kissing Day

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IT IS

It is Bergamot and Orange
and the soft hum
of the ceiling fan
and the memory
of her hands
pressing into
the stubborn knots
in my neck and shoulders
and her reminders
telling me to breathe
and the silence
of dilapidated
dairy farms
and the peace
of hippie gardens
and cold cider
and faeries skipping
just out of view
and yellow primroses
growing wild and free
and sleep
soft, peaceful
sleep

“It is a granite mass, you know, firm as the foundations of the world; but as you gaze the magic of morning light makes it a glorious apparition you might almost suppose to exist on sufferance and that breath would blow it away.” ~ Alexander Smith, A Summer in Skye, 1865…

At the Rose and Crown, Tewin, Hertsfordshire.

The Second Coming by William Butler Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

The Poetry Foundation

Happy  Birthday, Mr. Yeats.

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The Butterfly

“The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.” ― Rabindranath Tagore

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The Four Agreements

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Count Blessings

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Cutting The Cord Spell

Always helpful to have available and communicated beautifully here.

Witches Of The Craft®

Cutting The Cord Spell

When one has been involved (either Emotionally, Physically or Spiritually) with another
person it can create an ‘Etheric Link’ that resemblesa red cord binding between you.
When the friendship or relationship ends it is often difficult to move on, as you are still
linked to this person. The Cutting of the Cord Spell is ideal in dissolving the bonds
between people allowing them to move on.
You Will Need:
–2 Red Candles, Length of Red Cord
–A photograph of you and your friend or ex (or a picture to represent you both drawn)
–A pair of scissors.
Preparation: Bathe & Cleanse yourself before starting, set out materials, and
Cast a Basic Magickal Circle.
The Spell
Mark the first Candle with your name and the second Candle with the other person’s name.
Charge the Candles with Anointing Oil, starting from the center moving
outwards (sending energy out)…

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