The current conflicts & the holy wars of the last thousand years have only sped up & guaranteed the fall of monotheism & the vast empires that wields its weaponry of woe.

The secrets of the Gods, a universal intelligence, divine energy that permeates the essence of time & space, manipulating the cosmos & circumstance into tangible reality.

The 3 abrahamic religions have been slaughtering innocents in a collective act of worldwide genocide for over a thousand years. Generations have been slaughtered in pursuit of something the oppressors shall never possess, the origin of humanity…

As spell casters We’ve done all we can for the night, & as we hang up our soaking wet striped socks, caplets & hats, by the fireplace to dry, we bid you good night.

Charging head long into the growing storm, while cutting a rain slicked path back to our haunted shoreline, & the radiating light & warmth of our candlelit shrine.

Finally, As the West Winds Beckon, we lean in, with white knuckles once again, & grasp our broomsticks tight, before descending from the heavens in a blistering dive.

Glancing sideways, heavily, our clothes clinging wet & shivering, bones aching & shaking breathless from our weather workings, we listen to the cries of relief echoing from the sands below, in tears & cheers for the storm growing exponentially across the skyline.

The light of a thousand stars begins to arc in scattered furies at odd times, spilling forth a torrent of rain to finally drown the last embers of firelight, stretching for smoldering miles across a broken horizon line.

As the static waves arc from our moonlight lined fingertips towards the silver lined clouds we drift alongside.

Letting go of our shaking broomsticks & trusting our fates to the divine, we tuck our legs in tight & raise our arms to the darkened sky, sending waves of electrically charged particles into the night.

Balancing carefully in the ever changing air currents, we twirl like weather vanes endlessly adjusting our place in the sky, with hints of movement, subtle leans & dives, before rising above the clouds, ripe with seawater awaiting their time to cry.

Hovering above an ash laden shoreline still alight in patches of broken firelight, we instinctively feel the wind’s caress trace patterns across our faces & skin, as the atmosphere itself changes direction once again.

Fighting the air currents strewn with debris we risk a glance at the burning mansions lining the streets, torn & speckled golden trophies of the wealthy. Now only scattered remains of a lifetime of achievement. The flames burn carelessly & spare none despite how wealthy they be. We continue silently

The air tastes of bitterness & the scattered ash of thousands of trees, of the household dreams, of thousands of families reduced to particulate matter instantly, in incendiary tragedy. A reality undone, We press on. We ascend into the atmosphere shuddering, adjusting our trajectory towards the city

The sun glows red, pulsing in lightwaves puncturing & receding within the ashen grey clouds whipping rapidly through our dreamscape. The winds slash the sky in torrents & we delicately balance as we mount our twisting broomsticks to take flight over the scorched hillsides. We Rise.

Evening Greetings, Witches & Warlocks.

Instead of our shoppe just posting quotes that inspire us endlessly, we’d like our Blue Sky book of shadows to reflect our inner commentary & confusing musings to the aether, screamed or whispered silently. We hope you enjoy our ramblings whatever they may be