Wights

V had a nightmare and curled up with me sometime around the phase of nautical twilight. As it moved toward dawn, the birds began their chorus, and two crows were conversing over the din. V told me the crows were the only thing he could identify by sound; I pointed out a robin, but while I love birds, I’m a little restricted to things that were common where I grew up.

There’s a mourning dove wandering around the base of one of the trees I can see from this window. There are many old trees on the property and whether middle-aged or elder, they are all inhabited by spirits I can sense just by looking at them.

I’ll need to find some privacy to go around and talk to them, and make some small offerings. The yard has been ripped up in places and trees cut down and plants torn out due to “con”struction. The trees I can see don’t seem to feel upset, but the worst of it happened in the back, I believe, and I’m facing the road. 

People are shouting upstairs. Brand is making a face. “Needless to say, you won’t be meditating, or doing your practice for the Dalai Lama’s birthday any time soon,” he said.

“I’d like to do it while it’s still his birthday where he lives. If they can stop shouting some time in the next six hours, I’ll be good.”

I got up and looked at part of the back, and there is a space that I can see easily, which is clearly very traumatized. Apparently the worst is over in a direction I can’t see. Further, the “con”struction workers, ripped the flowers up from over one of the graves.

I’m getting a much clearer sense of what Freyr had in mind for me.

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