Return to ritual.
For what else do I have but dry crumbs and spilt cups.
Follow the smell of burning incense and listen to the soft shuffle of cards in hand.
Select your questions and open up to the static hums of the universe.
You’ll have desires you wish to see and revelations you wish to ignore.
You’ll see visions of the moonlit valleys beneath you and the gullies of dread and lament above you.
But this is why you return.
For through this ritualised pattern you begin to map the archipelagos of yourself.
You will find your black rock cliffs and your white pebble beaches.
Many lost places need to be mapped.
Hidden by fog they are, hidden by our mystic selves.
In visions of lacerating swords and vessels of overflowing emotion we find something rarer than any diamond and deeper than any ocean.

We find answers to questions we’ve never asked.
We find something we didn’t know we were looking for.
We find maps of lost lands.