I am editing a text on Teutonic religion right now, which is interesting. I haven’t been doing much lately that works directly with religion itself. Okay, I take that back. I haven’t been doing anything at all with the exception of my devotions, which, when done without much intention are hollow at best and insulting at worst. I’ve been trying to draw my attention to my devotions as I do them, once I realized what I was doing.
Dealing with some minor medical issues, work, and family, as usual and still trying to make it all flow. Every day is a struggle for time, but I’m aware of the need for it, which makes it more likely to happen.
Long black hair. Bold eyes that have a touch of madness sparkling in their depths. Feels like excitement and dread all rolled into one when he looks at me during a meditation. And he does look. Pale. Tall. Masculine. Prefers black. He stalks my dreams and his lessons are bitter tears I haven’t wept salting my tongue.
He lingers in the dark, dirty gray bricked room of a temple with a gray cement throne. He doesn’t like to sit on the throne.
He doesn’t want the throne.
Is that you Jor? The son of the Trickster radiates similar vibes to the father. I’m simply not sure.
Or is it someone else?
His love would be like fangs, sinking in deep, cutting on their way out. There’s something off about Him in the best way possible. I hate it when They don’t identify Themselves.