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Mirrors in the Dark:

Reflections of an awakening soul.

A work in progress....

Currently under construction

Manufacturer: the Divine
Make: Female Homo sapien
Model: 071219xx

Want to know more about me? Read the journal.
Want to read some cool stuff by other people? Scroll down. :)

The Voice of the Raven

I am the Voice of the Raven Upon Wind.
My harsh cries echo long upon the Earth and Air:
Nothing is Forever, Not Life,
not Love,
not Death,
nor Loss.
Only change is eternal,
and only destruction
can the seed of creation form.

My wings bear me between
Darkness and Light,
Land and Sky,
the Garden and
the Wildwood.

I perch upon the Threshold
of the Worlds,
both flesh and spirit,
gifting the Brave Seeker
with Visions and Magick of the Otherworld.

To face me
is to face your greatest terror,
the Shadow of yourself,
the unknown and dangerous.
In chancing destruction,
your fear loses its power to destroy.
For only in acceptance
of Mortality will you learn the ...
Secrets of Immortality as I,
the Raven,

author unknown

Note: Click the image above the poem
to go to the page from which I obtained both.
The person who owns that page found
The Voice Of The Raven in the
Llewellyn 1998 Almanac.

A Cosmic Cookie from Gerardus Grist:

The Energy within us... is the Creator's Energy.

The Creator's Energy will heal us
for it will heal the World.

The Creator's Energy will enlighten us
for it will enlighten the World.

The Words we speak are the Words of the Creator.

The Creator in Mankind is Awakening.


Lake with Long Grass


Ah, could I lay me down in this long grass
And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind
Blow over me--I am so tired, so tired
Of passing pleasant places! All my life,
Following Care along the dusty road,
Have I looked back at loveliness and sighed;
Yet at my hand an unrelenting hand
Tugged ever, and I passed. All my life long
Over my shoulder have I looked at peace;
And now I fain would lie in this long grass
And close my eyes.
Yet onward!
Cat birds call
Through the long afternoon, and creeks at dusk
Are guttural. Whip-poor-wills wake and cry,
Drawing the twilight close about their throats.
Only my heart makes answer. Eager vines
Go up the rocks and wait; flushed apple-trees
Pause in their dance and break the ring for me;
Dim, shady wood-roads, redolent of fern
And bayberry, that through sweet bevies thread
Of round-faced roses, pink and petulant,
Look back and beckon ere they disappear.
Only my heart, only my heart responds.
Yet, ah, my path is sweet on either side
All through the dragging day,--sharp underfoot
And hot, and like dead mist the dry dust hangs--
But far, oh, far as passionate eye can reach,
And long, ah, long as rapturous eye can cling,
The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake,
Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road
A gateless garden, and an open path:
My feet to follow, and my heart to hold.

--Edna St. Vincent Millay (Second April)

Loreena McKennitt - Dante's prayer
(from Book of Secrets, released in 1997)

When the dark wood fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stone

I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Then the mountain rose before me
By the deep well of desire
From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and the fire


Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars

Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares


Please remember me
Please remember me, ...

Drops on Leaf

The following rhyme, written by Dean Swift or one of his friends
(it’s not said specifically which) appears in a volume entitled
“The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe”
by James Parton [1822-1891]. You can find the link to the Gutenberg
etext from which it was excerpted here.


I'm up and down, and round about,
Yet all the world can't find me out;
Though hundreds have employ'd their leisure,
They never yet could find my measure.
I'm found almost in every garden,
Nay, in the compass of a farthing.
There's neither chariot, coach, nor mill,
Can move an inch except I will.