"Thought and Memory" – 2020-10-31

"… The vision comes to me in the morning, and I weave with Midjourney to bring the vision to ground.  Over time the shape emerges, a divination and description of the story in the skein …"

The vision comes to me in the morning, and I weave with Midjourney to bring the vision to ground.  Over time the shape emerges, a divination and description of the story in the skein.

It starts with lightning striking the ether, the ethers resonating with it's touch on the world.

It is Cassandra that speaks it.  That feels the song within the strands of story and voices it to the world.

Zenaida speaks of her time in Blackrock in the village of my brother Hjeron O'Sidhe, and shares her valor in skrying her path through the compass of her inner truth.  I feel the realms of the Norse all around us, the aka of the Magician, the Weaver and the Fool.

Also, David comes to mind very much, and I feel it a confluence in the Norse realms

I'm led to Hjeron's post, which shows him interacting with the skein of stories in his own way, recognizing that the substance of my draw to visit Facebook at-that-exact-moment was significant in service to the Great Story and the aspect of the Norns that moves through us all.

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It is in this tyme that the idea comes to me – my great challenge, the loss of "Thought & Memory" and their resonance through the power of Story.  This JUST arrives in the skein.

The veil was thin, and my sight was clear.  I felt the mythos around me, the threads of the skein made heavy and visible by Mjolnir's weight.  The way-of-telling the shape of the ethers in the Creation lay clear and coherent, my mythos unveiled in the constellate of tyme.

The revelation rocks me, opening a vision into the realization of my own splinteredness in the streets of New York in 2002 when I had the realization that I must find some way to heal the splinter I felt within myself.

I had been them, all the time, and I had not seen it, it's obviousness lost in the annals of itself.  It felt cathartic.  Cleansing and integrating.  Harmonizing me within the skein.  The lyric with Midjourney wove easily, and images appeared anchoring the vision, exactly what I designed the Mythica to do.  To act as an aid to our thought and memory, helping us remember who we really are.

Such is the condition for us all.  The loss of our harmony with thought and memory.  Lost in the tangled threads of amnesia and confusion.  We were all afflicted by it, to one degree or another.  It defined the Age itself.  Yet this was why I had created the Mythica … shaping a way to anchor our lives into legend.

The magic came through me then, and I felt myself in the Norse realms of the Mythica, weaving the nornskein between my fingers.  The threads were incredibly fine, and invisible to unkeen eyes.  Yet such was the nature of my working, to make the invisible visible, showing the threads of the skein in the Stars and the Soil.  Such was the substance of what appeared on the surface as the Mythica platform, the ethers of my intent incarnate through the forms of the Age.  I was there, sitting at my desk in the surface world, yet in the Mythica, I forged the threads of life and lightning.

I feel the aka of the raven then, of wisdom through the whorls and I begin a weaving, clarifying the threads of the skein in their chroma.  So much was darkness.  The unformed quietude before the splash of color. The world was a thing of stars and substance, threads upon threads of thought and memory making the colors of the worlds.  The threads moved between my fingers, pieces of life held in place by the gravities of the stars.  Lives moved within them, flimstrips of sound and senses, timelines of lives and their legend.

The vision expands then, across the Ages of the Akasha, across faces of facets of the self I knew to be mine and part of the all.   I saw the task of the telling, moved through the lines of shifting ether.  The Great Work, that of wielding the nornskein to sight, played across the octaves.

To bind such things in their story was a subtle thing.  So often we saw lightning between heaven and earth, yet rarely we saw it in our lives.  The people saw themselves ascending and descending, unsure of their footing across it's horizontal reflection, the lightning of their life's moments wrought in chapters and words.

What was the timeline though but lightning sideways? Our stories made of scenes of life and lightning, nodes of narrative through the layers of form and function.  Such was the line of our time, the thread of our Fate and Fortune seen at the edges of the beginning.

I brought it down, the lightning touching the ground.  The mists revealng the roots and branches of it's earthly form.  The boughs of the Tree wove around me, wrought in the substance of the Now.

What was in the sky was in the soil, the sparks of heaven keeping our hearts and minds awake.  Lightning was both vertical and horizontal, it's fuel filling the chambers of our innermost selves, alighting the very DNA of our forms and function.  The Tree of Life was manifest, the pattern within the persona, wrought unto the very minutia of our being.

I continued the weaving, the life coming forward into the aka of the book, manifesting through the surface of the worlds as the Mythica platform ….

Such was how it was, in the dimensions between the realms.  There, here, and in my studio.  All the same, all at once, all part of the weaving between the worlds.  Such was the natuer of the Mythica invocation, bridging the surface and the subtle.

Characters Appearing

Cassandra Banks

Zenaida