The Lion

He comes in with one voice and changes to another. I know when he’s here because the other voices grow quiet. He’s different than the others–he’s a sorcerer in and unto himself, but he’s hurting and not unlike The Lion and The Mouse, he’s looking for relief. The fix that will cure all comes in the form his of masterful magic that would pluck the thorn from his paw.

Typically on any given day he can be heard scaring all of us with real threats of sugar that isn’t sweet. He’s a good Lion roaring his discomfort and the whole forest trembles when they feel his wrath. He didn’t used to feel like this, but he’s not himself. His domain of magic reaches far and wide, he surpasses nearly everyone with his strength.

My problem is that I hear them all, like a channeler talking to the other side and just beyond the veil lies a vast territory. There’s a history of story tellers throughout the ages, and that’s how I feel now, like a bard with a lyre. I listen to gather the tales and try to distill it down into a manageable story.

Magic is a weird affair and explaining it is even stranger; some people do have true magic and I think Spirit has brought me to this place in life to understand the inner workings of the events that brought me here. Conditional circumstances aside, I hear him, this spirit, lying in wait for this asshole in the world who has managed to get himself in the way of everything that is good.

I’ve never imagined that there are spirits, entities, beings (whatever you may call them) in the world, waiting, waiting for their chance to pounce. I ‘ve never expected that I, myself, could find myself as one lying in wait as well.

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