Then, Magic was about pursuit,
dominion of this and that, binding angels and bar tricks,
stealing fires, self hip gnosis, slight of hand
living a life in one night, smashing it to bits by dawn’s early light.
Begging, broken, anything but blessed. how far can one intentionally fall?
citing detachment, impermanence, apocalypse,
using “who do you say I am” head trips
to confuse followers and friends in some appropriated
bodhisattva bullshit with a ‘carpe diem’ twist.
Now, Magic is about survival,
side-stepping destruction, protecting my own,
without tipping the scales, bind runes and banishings,
foraging and charting, walking patterns, worship forgotten gods
living focused solely on staying alive while striving to celebrate.
Trying to stay present, to build something that will live on
knowing that the circle never ends, and now,
that the infinite fires are not a destination
but the fuel we carry within us ‘round the sun.
©EschatonLife