Frankincense heating in the water which is in the stone which contains the fire; twin pillars of flame rising over-and-above my eye level;pentagram bone white inscribed upon the creamy blackness: this, here, is momentarily the All.
Breathing through my base chakra up into my crown, letting the energy soar and course through my hollow middle pillar, heat building now in my upturned palms and a revenant of power spills out into the night from my own hands.
Thoughts let go into the suction-maw of the West – elemental garbage disposal for the dross of the day. This day spent mostly in delirious sickness and enlightening brainstorm.
The water is at less than half; the salt has hardened. I reach out my right hand and break the stagnant crust. Pulling the whole bowl into my lap, now, I feel for the state of the rest of the Earth element, and find it petrified, all. I dig in with power-dancing fingers and disturb the solidification of complacence. Weaving through and down, I create dunes and rivulets of salt – a once-static mass now swirled by chaos. Something new, something motile, something of profound new potentials.
After a while, I stand, make my obeisance, and extinguish the fire. The fire which has started to temper the basic air-and-water of me. As I turn from the altar, I leave little piles of white salt in my wake.