They are whispering

They are whispering
props and objects
sacred and profane
whispering my name

They are whispering
the things I have collected
have been entrusted with
to care for and love

They are whispering


I am moving my worldly goods.  Bags are being packed, boxes stacked high.  My things, and the things that have claimed me, are talking.  As the world is sorted into “may not get to see until the fall or later,” “things that will be living part time with me” and “things I will travel with,” it is interesting to hear them talk.

They know better than me, I think, the work that will be being done in the coming months.

Anything belonging to Baphomet is out, and ready to go.

Peacocks, Ganesha, Lakshmi, Tiamat, Nuit, Naga.  Serpent, Eagle, Raven, Beaver, Deer.  Deep Ocean.

Beautiful Mother, my Patron, my Matron, my Owner… Bear.

My spine is creeping.  My ears are burning.  The winds of change move across my skin, and I time travel again.  I feel rivers lapping at the back of my mind, and black leather wings sprouting.  I feel fangs and soft caresses.  I see the labyrinth, so soon, so soon.

I hear them whispering.
They are whispering because they know.