I sit in the chamber filled with psycopomps,
the feather,
the pipe,
the remberance of a saint,
Buddha fat and smiling.
Balance,
a shadowy god in an alcove,
Christ on his cross with
shadow wings,
the arrow and the stag,
the circle of salt.
I closed my eyes while the candle burned,
regulated my breathing,
and reached out to the scattered tarot that lie to my right.
Grasping a card, eyes still lidded,
I felt sure what I had in my hand was the fool.
I opened my eyes to find the world.
At that the candle flame died down to
the barest blue hue.

So many empty days between moments of understanding.