Scrying the Aethyrs: 21 – ASP

This is the text of my journal entry for my scrying of the 21st Aethyr, ASP. See my previous post on scrying the aethyrs for instructions and a description of exactly what the Aethyrs are.

I light a candle, recite the 19th call, and lay down with my eyes closed to let the vision overtake me.

I am in the pilot seat of a small airplane. In reality, I have a pilot’s license, but it has been a few years since I have flown a plane. Looking down, I see I am thousands of feet in the air flying through clear skies. A triangular black rift opens far off in front of me.

I look to the passenger seat, where a young man with a huge grin smiles at me and instructs me to pilot the aircraft into it. I ask him who he is. “I am your guide for the moment” he responds.

I direct the plane toward the rift. It takes some time to get there, and this shows the scale of it as it grows larger and larger outside the cockpit. Crossing it’s boundary it closes behind me.

I am now flying over black waters that reflect an unseen light source. The sky here is also black. There are many small islands, and my guide directs me to maneuver the plane towards one. Near it’s edge is a small airfield, and I bring the plane in to land on the short runway.

I taxi it off the runway and park it near the main building of this airport. Looking to the passenger seat, my guide is now gone. The whole area is evenly lit, as if the sun were directly overhead, but no source of the light can be seen here. I shut down the plane and exit it, walking up to the entrance of the structure. Gently pushing its glass doors open, I’m greeted by a large empty room. There are a few doors, a staircase to the next level, and a desk. I call out but get no response.

Exiting, I return to the black asphalt of the parking area and look around. I see the black waters lapping against the shore of the island past the runway. To my left there is a large hanger further down the taxiway and I begin walking in that direction. As I get closer I notice a red helicopter on the landing pad in front of it. My guide is standing next to it, urging me to get in.

Climbing into the pilot’s seat, my guide gets into the passenger seat next to me. I am not licensed to fly a helicopter, but he assures me it will be ok. I start it and we take to the air. He gives an explanation of the controls and has me try them out in a few different ways before pointing out our destination: another island that is far in the distance.

We fly over the black waters and he explains that a helicopter is necessary to get to where we’re going. I ask what these islands are. “They are destinies. They are men. Humans. Souls.” he responds. We pass a few other islands on the way, and as we get closer I see that our destination has a skyscraper sized tree growing from a hill on it’s center. It towers above us as we approach. He takes the controls and flies us over a house that is built within its branches.

We hover over the building for a moment, and he tells me to open the door and slide down a rope to land on the deck outside of the house. I thank him and do so, then watch as the helicopter retreats back toward the first island. I walk to the wooden door and knock.

It opens, and inside is typical of a small home. To the right is a kitchen, divided from the dining area by a short bar. The dining area in front of me has a simple round table with a checker cloth and a few chairs. Beyond that is a sitting area with an old couch. Right of the sitting area is a closed door, presumably to a bedroom.

From the kitchen an old woman, a grandmother type figure, tells me to have a seat. “The tea will be ready soon”. She places a cup in front of me and one for herself, a steaming tea pot, and a small plate of wafer-like cookies. “I made these for you”. I thank her and try one.

Speaking to the woman, she tells me her name is Old Zazma. She says that this is my island. I ask why her house is built in the tree here. “It seemed like a good place.” she smiles. I ask a few other questions, but my inquiries are met with chastisement. “Wait for the tea, and we can talk.”

A short time later the tea is ready. I offer to pour, but she begins before I get a chance. I tell her that there is a lot I don’t understand, and that I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing here. She tells me that that is fine and urges me to dip a cookie in the tea. I do, and it is delicious. The cookies are a lovely vanilla and the tea is a strong black brew. I sip it gently.

Without speaking further, she imparts knowledge of this place. There is nothing I’m supposed to be doing here. I can go find the governor if I so wish. Each of these islands is an individual. Sometimes things wash up on the shore. They are used to build with, they are used for fertilizer, or they are cast away back to the sea. There is nothing here but tending to the land as each person wishes.

I express my desire to move on and find the governor, and she seems sad. I immediately regret this decision, feeling incredibly bad about suggesting I leave this comfortable home and hospitality so quickly. She assures me it is ok. I give her a long and strong hug, promising I will return to see her. There is nothing but love and good will emanating from her. She puts the rest of the cookies in a plastic container and puts that into a backpack which she hands to me. I thank her as she leads me out of the house and to a ladder which stretches all the way to the ground.

I put on the backpack and begin the long climb down the ladder. Eventually reaching the ground, I turn away from the tree and look around. The surface beneath my feet is rocky, but each step I take causes flowers, grass, and butterflies to spring from it. There is a small wooden building here that looks very old. I peek inside but it is empty.

Walking back toward the tree, I notice there is a man here. I ask who he is and he responds with a name I don’t understand. I apologize for not catching it and ask again. “Anders” he says. I ask if he is a governor of this place, but he just smiles in response. The image of him fades away, and I’m only aware of him as a disembodied presence nearby.

I touch the bark of the tree’s trunk. It is slightly warm and comforting. Turning to look further around the island I see a pair of binoculars on a tall brass pole. The invisible Anders suggests I look through them. I can see other islands far off. Some have many small trees on them, others have none. Some have buildings, others are completely bare. Some are tall and others are flat. Only in the extreme distance do I see another with a huge tree like mine.

I sit and lean against the trunk of the tree and Anders tells me to close my eyes. I hear the black waters as they flow past the island. I begin getting flashes of images. A soccer player scoring a goal. A room full of golden treasures and jewelry. An impression of something that I cannot explain. I open my eyes.

In front of me there is a large rose bush. I stand and walk up to it. An image comes to my head of shoving my arm deep inside the bush and it getting severely scratched. Instead I smell the roses as I remember two excerpts from Magia: “And thus the forest becomes a rose garden. Filled with the scent of devotion, prickly with the thorns of separation.” and “Is there anything more beautiful than a tended garden? All you have to do is enjoy it”.

A flood of understanding washes over me. There is nothing to do here. Everything happens miraculously of its own accord. Everything is as it should be, because there is no should. Just is. The only thing to do here is enjoy it. Enjoy the present moment of this island.

I look up to the tree and see that is not yet fruiting. I climb back up the ladder and return the backpack to Old Zazma, again promising to return. Another loving embrace is shared as in the sky a rift opens back to “reality”. However, it is completely symbolic, I do not need to fly through it. I open my eyes and the vision ends.

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