things talking to me tonight:

the word "wyrd"
it means doom, destiny - and more. The wind in that 'w' whistles and whines down all the wooden rickety halls of time, houses of gods, hear it? and the y is a ΓΏ, a closed and weighty, earthy pull towards the d of end, death, destination. together they are all that is wild and wonderful about the ancient knowledge of man. that we carry our deaths in us, like rilke says. that it grows in us and we cherish it growing, so it becomes a great death, a death remembered, of meaning, and very much our own.
Something about the stark darkness and frigid cold of winter tears everything away so that I feel that wyrd and shake. It is frightening and deathly wonderful to touch it, a moment so present you wonder if you've ever really known anything real before. Except, you know you have because its familiar. Its all the shivering mystery of your wide-open childhood again.

storytelling has been the human trove of identity for thousands upon thousands of years. It is partly what the winter is for. Find that book, that childhood voice echoing inside you, and return to the fabric of our past.
someone to listen to: Jay O'Callahan

pic from Abby Try Again

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