Two days of thunderstorms. Two days of bliss. Job Corps can take my freedom to drink, blot (it’s considered “obscene” and “dangerous” due to associations with alcohol and what is apparently a “fake religion”) and revel, but they will never take Thor. They cannot take my pride, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t seem like they were trying.
Thor’s thunder this weekend rejuvenated me.
I feel alive again, in ways I forgot was possible. The cold rain. The loud claps of Mjolnir rumbling across the skies. The wind against my face. It’s no wonder I read some of the Poetic Edda over this weekend. I needed to complete a mental circle, process the energy I’d been given. It’s all just raw energy until I put my mind in a place that can use it.
It’s ruminating on that that I have made the heavy decision to open my old spellbook when I return home. It’s a connection with the earth I have long missed. I did not use it they way I ought to have done. I used it for my own glory and not the glory of the gods or the world, and it led to less than pleasant results. Over the past few days, I pondered that a lot. About whether it was the magic or my selfishness that led to wrong. I decided it was all me. When I get home, I will hold the first proper blot I’ve done in ages. I will dedicate it to Odin and Freya, and ask that they steady my hands and give me purpose to my actions as I take up the path of magic once again.
May this bring me further along the path of the gods.