The Door with Berkano inscribed upon it was covered in white
Birch-bark, and when I opened the Door and crossed the threshold into the Otherworld
I found myself in a grove of Birch Trees.
My own skin was white and papery like the bark on the trees. I wandered among them and the conversation
was of beginnings, and giving birth.
I was instructed that my life is about to begin a new book,
it is filled with clean white blank pages and my responsibility is to write
upon those pages a story of truth, and love, and peace. I am to create poetry of joy and pleasure and
wisdom and healing. I do not get to
decide all of the plot twists, only how I respond to them. I do not get to know everything about the
journey of the story, only how to tell it, and to whom. It is beginning. The past exists in other books that I have
written, and they inform the story, they are my back-story but, the time has
come to start again.
May I tell this story well, and may it create magick that
makes my world a better place for small growing things. So Mote It Be!
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