Years ago, I gathered broken seashells too, sitting in the sands of time on the edge of reason where the ocean of faith begins.  I gathered fragments of ancient lore, books of forgotten practices, myth and magick.  I was certain I could piece them together and learn the secrets of the universe.

     I should have left with the little girl that afternoon.  Instead, I stayed for twenty years.

     One day I ran out of seashells, and none of what I'd gathered even matched.  They were just isolated glimpses of an alchemy from a distant past.  It all felt shallow, like listening to the ocean in a conche shell.  It wasn't really the ocean.  It was just the movement of air.

     I realized that I was trying to fit the Mystical inside of the Metaphysical--like trying to fit the ocean in a cup.

     Metaphysics focuses on time, space, and being.  That fits nicely into our understanding of the world.

     But Mysticism reveals a Reality beyond ours.  A Truth that transcends our paradigm without contradicting it. 

     So, I gathered the fragments of Magick and lore and laid them in the sand to let the ocean take them back.