Burning Letters Under a Red Moon
I've been fighting a pretty hard depression for a couple weeks - things were just getting really bad in my head. So I did what I do on the occasional emergency - I defer to three women in my life that are witches, and I ask for some advice.
The idea that was thrown out by the first one and agreed upon by the other two, was to write a letter with everything I had to say, and then burn it on a full moon. Except...
Last night was special. A full lunar eclipse on the full moon? All of them said it was probably not smart. "The energy is too unstable - it could do nothing or it could be like using a rocket launcher to swat a fly."
Yeah. I did it anyways.
Was so strange - the air was crisp, but no breeze, at least not around my apartment complex. I stood in the parking lot, held my letter out, and let it burn. It took about three times for the paper to burn completely; by midway through the third time, I had to drop it to the ground. It wasn't burning like regular - the paper was crinkling slightly, turning dusky grey, and burning the words off, but the paper was holding on to it's constitution.
And then I lit the fourth match and the lit the last little bit of white. And out of nowhere, a breeze blew through and scattered the ashes, like dust. I stood there for a moment, went back inside, went to bed, and had fucked up dreams all night long. Woke up this morning sick as a dog.
Mentally, I feel...blank. Like I can still feel all the shit tumbling around, I just feel like I'm not paying attention anymore. Like something else is coming into focus.
We'll see how my head is after the New Year. And after the plague has passed.
The idea that was thrown out by the first one and agreed upon by the other two, was to write a letter with everything I had to say, and then burn it on a full moon. Except...
Last night was special. A full lunar eclipse on the full moon? All of them said it was probably not smart. "The energy is too unstable - it could do nothing or it could be like using a rocket launcher to swat a fly."
Yeah. I did it anyways.
Was so strange - the air was crisp, but no breeze, at least not around my apartment complex. I stood in the parking lot, held my letter out, and let it burn. It took about three times for the paper to burn completely; by midway through the third time, I had to drop it to the ground. It wasn't burning like regular - the paper was crinkling slightly, turning dusky grey, and burning the words off, but the paper was holding on to it's constitution.
And then I lit the fourth match and the lit the last little bit of white. And out of nowhere, a breeze blew through and scattered the ashes, like dust. I stood there for a moment, went back inside, went to bed, and had fucked up dreams all night long. Woke up this morning sick as a dog.
Mentally, I feel...blank. Like I can still feel all the shit tumbling around, I just feel like I'm not paying attention anymore. Like something else is coming into focus.
We'll see how my head is after the New Year. And after the plague has passed.