Inscribed on stone for ever lasting certainty, for what cannot be erased in their eyes against the spells and evil.
Who would have thought, people felt a need to hide their chants against witches in a cave. Fighting the dark within a near aphotic zone in rock, holding more power than the ‘average’ myth, after all one finds gold and dragons down there
…, where they don’t touch whatever is touched by the light
Undressed and flat on her back, her bare shoulders make her feel naked,
the cold tips of her ear lobes waiting for all body warmth to circle.
In her mind, she chews on rosemary and lemon balm yet there is no desire for anything to enter her body. How often other people’s skin, felt as foreign object, the membrane between their’s and her own almost visible, with touch.
As she stares into the ceiling, into her soul, watching the ever-trusting child with worry, chimes of a mantra return
as above so below, as below so above
as within so without, as without so within
That’s what it is then, an ebb against flow,
it doesn’t quite persist with Huxley’s counterpoint.