Sgrios Shambler

How many deaths will befall me throughout the course of my life? I mean not those physical deaths at the hands of enraged and powerful beasts, but of the deaths of self; those moments in which we feel a piece of ourselves shatter and fall away? I speak not of how my mood might shift in the hours between breaking my fast and retiring to my chamber for sleep, but rather the pivotal breaks in our personality where something within us is completely and oftentimes painfully abandoned.   All of us here have experienced at least one death of self; as we walk these enlightened paths, it is important to remember that we all started our lives as mundanes. When we sparked to our new lives, one by one we drop the trappings of our humble existence and replace hay fork with sword, our blistered hands reach for wands instead of hoes. There is no grieving for the old self, very few of us, when we discover our sparks, even remember the days we spent toiling in the field. We feel no l

Are we at home in the shadows? It seems a strange thing to consider, seeing as how we are, ourselves, beings of the light, but one must stop and consider why it is that darkness can yield such welcome rewards.   The sun is the progenitor of our living security; we have only to look to the clear day sky to see that we thrive in the light. Plants take from it their sustenance and we, in one way or another, take from them. We are provided with warmth, with joyous illumination by which we might read a book, explore a dense wood or gaze upon the beauty of our lover’s face.   But what of it when the light becomes oppressive? When we wish the shut our eyes and escape into dreams, or the landscape before us is hideous and warped and we wish not to be shown in such clear focus the horrors? What of the times we wish to be unseen, ourselves, or seek a shroud of privacy for matters we would keep secret? Yet, still, what are we to do when the warming sun proceeds relentlessly

By what metric do I measure the potency of my life? I’m not talking about the unrelenting deochs that count my age, or the health I risk against the spells and blades of my enemies. How is it that I measure the true fervor of my waking days? The mighty warrior would argue that the thrill of battle brings fresh blood to the surface, while the scholar might posit that the miracles that comes from seeking hidden knowledge is the spark’s way of making it’s presence known. While I feel the euphoria in both of these situations, there is not quite such a passion as the fire that burns in my hips when I lay with my lover.   This double-moon’s topic of discussion gave me great pause as to how I should approach it. While we are all, for the most part, adults here, I still feel a sense of taboo when discussing issues of sex and sexuality. Should I deliver my sermon through thinly veiled innuendo, dance around it as the fae dance around a rosebush? Should I leave it unaddressed;