Everything comes back to the edges of things

So I recently realised that all of my work, my best work in spiritual practices, comms, divination and art always seems to come back to a sense of walking between worlds. On the edges, navigating and guiding others.

When I paint I’m fascinated by skies, seas and mountains - all at the edges, the horizons and shorelines. When I use my foresight and fidgets, it’s about walking the edges of probability and trust in the unknown forces ahead and when I write comms for my corporate job it’s all about translating the emotions into words and images, stories and messages.

So I wrote a poem, both to try to describe where I walk between worlds but also to honour those liminal spaces I seem to seek out and feel most myself.

Life exists and hurries on,

Magick hides itself away in liminal spaces

Empty places that never are,

At dusk and on the edges of things,

Waiting for seekers to feel their ways.

Sacred.

Hidden.

A breathe away to those who look deeply into marginal places,

And faces.

Barefoot on the sand,

My breathe carried on salty breezes

deep air rippling through my waves

Cold water cradled

And sun warm against my skin

These are where I come to heal and feel whole.