The Outcast Awakens
The spell is laid, roots traced in haphazard-seeming webs. I assay the mountains lined with pain, the demands of leadership thrown up like side quests. There is an underground river, deep and black, but I’ve had to tap its surface streams to water my life. I descend, seedlike, down into the bedrock of things. This energy is sacred, limited, subterranean to the sunlit world of demands.
I hereby break open the mountain, cleaving a path through which the waters can surge and tumble as they will. I open the eye of my mind and let the channel erupt through my center. I feel it, numinous, in my chest, waiting patiently as I lay the groundwork. I have only to provide the space, the respect for the work; give it solitude and long blocks of time. I banish worries of how to find those scarce resources. I trust the work to carve its own channel now that I’ve broken the seal.
Here and now, it begins. I cast this net out over time, outside of time. This work will come through me as it will, turning the millwheels of my mind. I welcome its spring roar. Let the flood loose; let the black pennant of revolt be planted here and now. I have taken the first step.