Time of the Lost

We now enter the Time of the Lost, and the Time of the Found.  The Keeper of the Lost rises, rises to Regency, as the Keeper of Secrets falls.  The Time of the Lost has come.  And the Time of the Found.

The Lost aren't those that don't know salvation, or those who don't know their way.  For there are those who know the way but are lost, and those that can't see the way who are found.  No, the Lost are not these.  The Lost are many, who can count?  Only their Keeper.

The Lost are those who don't see the way, not because they are blind or unable, but because they don't choose to.

The Lost are those that have forgotten.  Forgotten the way, forgotten they know the way, have no vision.

The Lost are those who are forgotten, who no one sees, no one remembers.  The dead that are not remembered, the living who are ignored or not seen.

"Where there is no vision, the people perish..." ~Proverbs 29:18a*

The Lost are those who wander, crossing the worlds while not knowing it, wandering forevermore, unaware.

The Lost are those living on the streets, unnoticed by passersby, or ignored, avoided by them.

The Lost are those spending every night in the bar, drinking to forget.

The Lost are those working three jobs or tons of overtime to pay bills for things they have no time to enjoy, not living, just surviving, though they appear to be successful.

The Lost are those living alone in a house or apartment, afraid to go outside for reasons only they know.

The Lost are those who die alone, no one knowing until the smell draws attention.

The Lost are those living in nursing homes, with no family to visit, or no family that does visit.

The Lost are those who die on the streets, with a body tag saying John or Jane Doe, no one morning, no one claiming the body, no one naming the name.

The Lost are those who are forgotten shortly after their death, their families and friends going about their business, their stories and life ending with their death, never to be recalled again.

The Lost are those searching but not looking, wanting to find a path, but afraid they actually will.  Running from their past, afraid of their future, they move aimlessly, lost but not sure they want to be found.

The Lost are those who make the logical choices in life, the ones that will bring what seems like success, stability, security, but ignore the calling they hear, not taking the risk to follow desire, necessity, or destiny.

The Lost are those who think themselves in full control of their destiny, believe they see the path before them clearly, all laid bare, but are really only seeing swirling mists, not even their own feet, inventing pictures in the mist thinking them visions, when all they are are wistful dreams.

The Time of the Lost has come.  And the Time of the Found.

The Keeper of the Lost is also the Keeper of the Found.  Just as the Builder of Storms is also the Builder of Stillness, and the Bringer of Tears brings both tears of sorrow and joy.

What was Lost shall be found, but what was Found can be lost.  Fortunes change, conditions change, there is sudden gain and there is sudden lose.  Winter's Mistress is harsh and unforgiving, the Left and the Right Hand of Fate.  Nothing is certain, nothing stays the same.

Look.

Listen

Observe.

What do you see?  What do you hear?  What do you perceive?

The line it is drawn
And the curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast

As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin'

And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'
~The Times They Are A-Changin' by Bob Dylan

The Lost can be Found, the Found can be Lost.  We sit in the Abyss, the year has ended, but the new year doesn't begin.  Waiting.  A time when anything can happen, and likely will.

The Wild Hunt rides.

Can you hear it?  Can you feel it?

Do you here winds blowing between worlds?

Listen.

Look.

Observe.

Change.  Sudden and unexpected.

What was Lost shall be found, but what was Found can be lost.

We now enter the Time of the Lost, and the Time of the Found.  The Keeper of the Lost rises, rises to Regency, as the Keeper of Secrets falls.  The Time of the Lost has come.  And the Time of the Found.

Can you feel it?

FFF,
~Muninn's Kiss


*For context, the entire verse is "Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keepeth the law, happy is he."

The Name of the Dreamer

I walk in the night that is not the night, the darkness that is not the darkness.  Dusk was long ago, fading and vanishing, twilight has come and gone, I can hardly see.  But this is not night.  The clouds hang high in the sky, lit by the city lights.  No wind blows.  All is stillness as I move away from the places of people, still in the Dreaming, yet not in it, a part but apart, walking the edges, far from the edges.

And I walked, and I crossed a threshold, a gate, a gate in a fence.  And I spoke the names of the Guardians of the Edges, the Keepers, the Builders, the Bringers.  I spoke them starting with her that wanders the North, the Keeper of the Lost, the Builder of Storms, the Bringer of Tears.  I spoke the name of the North, then the East, then the South, then the West.  And the First Gate was open.

The Storm Gate stands open,
The Keeper stands aside,
The North Gate is open,
The Stone is moved aside.

And I walked on, and I called the wind, the Wind, the Wind Between Worlds.  There is a wind that blows between the worlds.  It is a strange wind, like no others.  It is all others.  Between worlds it blows, and when you feel it, you know.  A flag flapped in the wind, straight out, taut.  Just before it had hung limp, now a strong wind whipped it.

And I walked, and I crossed a threshold, a boundary, the boundary of a field.  And I spoke the names of the Guardians of the Edges, the Keepers, the Builders, the Bringers.  I spoke them starting with he that wanders the East, the Keeper of Ways, the Builder of Paths, the Bringer of Dawn.  I spoke the name of the East, then the South, then the West, then the North.  And the Second Gate was open.

The Dawn Gate stands open,
The Keeper stands aside,
The East Gate is open,
The Stone is moved aside.

And I walked on, and I thought of the Lost.  There are those that wander the Veil, those lost in the mist.  They have lost themselves, the world has become too strange.  They wander the Veil, and in and out of the Dreaming, in and out of the Gleam.  You encounter them sometimes, odd encounters, odd conversation, surreal and strange.  You're not sure what you experienced, aren't sure who they were.  Nor are they, for they have lost themselves, these Lost have.  I've encountered them from time to time, but saw none this night.

And I walked, and I crossed a threshold, an edge, an edge between human fields and wild fields.  And I spoke the names of the Guardians of the Edges, the Keepers, the Builders, the Bringers.  I spoke them starting with he that wanders the South, the Keeper of Treasure, the Builder of Pleasure, the Bringer of Laughter.  I spoke the name of the South, then the West, then the North, then the East.  And the Third Gate was open.

The Pleasure Gate stands open,
The Keeper stands aside,
The South Gate is open,
The Stone is moved aside.

And I walked on, and the world was strange, half in, half out, like walking through mist but seeing clearly, like bright sunshine in a rain storm. like dreaming while you're awake, or waking but still being asleep.  Half in, half out.  An in between place.  Liminal.  The Edge of the Veil.

And I walked and crossed a threshold, half wild places to something more, something on the verge of the Gleam, or just on the edge of the Veil.  And I spoke the names of the Guardians of the Edges, the Keepers, the Builders, the Bringers.  I spoke them starting with she that wanders the West, the Keeper of Secrets, the Builder of Foundations, the Bringer of Dusk.  I spoke the name of the West, then the North, then the East, then the South.  And the Fourth Gate was open.

The Dusk Gate stand open,
The Keeper stands aside,
The West Gate is open,
The Stone is moved aside.

And I wandered across ground that could be foot thick dry moss, or could be sagebrush, or could be brittle dry bones crumpling under my feet.  I wander across dry places and wet, dust and mud.

And I wonder about a name.  What is the Name of the Dreamer?  What is the Name of the Spinner of Dreams.  That young girl who is the oldest of all.  What is the Name?  How is the Fifth Gate opened?  How do you find that path past the Dream Gate, that Gate of Horn and Bone, past the Dream Gate to that Black Altar that sits before the Gate of Life and Death?

FFF,
~Muninn's Kiss