Three Different Ways

Author: Keri

  • Washing The Fear Away

    I laid down to dream with a firm goal. There was a place I wanted to see, a dream denizen I wanted to talk to. The migraine had lifted, and the summer cold it was segueing into was more an annoyance than a hindrance. I set my mental rudder, closed my eyes, and set forth.

  • muse

    write and do not stop until after the world has ended and has been reborn anew

  • Then It Hit Me

    “So you feel disconnected from everything? Like you have no place where you belong? Start with your back yard! Connect with the land. It will teach you what to do.” A frequent response to my lament of losing old support structures and being unsure of new ones. My formal rejection of Christianity made me vulnerable.

  • First Fruit

    I went to the gods To the wheel To the forge To the very gates And shook my fist With yells and cries and shouts of defiance

  • A Reminder About The Note

    Dear Readers, I do not use FeedBurner to publish Three Different Ways. Nor do I have ads in the feed or on the blog. This blog is published directly at https://threedifferentways.katalytis.com/feed/ and on the anthology Practical Pagans. Anything else is unauthorized and I would love to be notified.

  • Jumping The Asymptote

    Sitting at a table in some nondescript place. The only thing I knew about it was I wasn’t home. There is a ceiling over my head, but I could be inside a closed room, or outside under a gazebo. It really didn’t matter. All that mattered right then, was I am sitting at a table.

  • Tick & Tock

    On the left side of my room A clock ticks the passing seconds On the right side of my room A second clock tocks the passing seconds

  • The Maddening

    Such longing it drives me to barely restrained sighs that conceal the depths of trembling pain in my bones

  • Who’s Telling This Anyway?

    I have been warned, that I have been making myself too transparent in my writings. Too many details about my inner self, my workings, and my ecstatic path. I have become a Mystery Cult of One with many anthropologists camped outside my hut, ready to pull apart my fetishes the moment I set them down.

  • Audacious

    This is your place. Sit here. Sit there. Sit at my feet and hold them. No. I will stand.