Ceridor (Danubian #4)

18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Johann

I woke to Effie's cheerful " Morgen! " to one of the people staying with us, though my wind-up alarm clock had been about to go off.

Effie set my mug on the counter and poured the tea, the same honeyed alpine tea from home.

"Thanks, sis," I mumbled, accepting the mug gratefully and returning to the bedroom Ceridor and I shared.

My beloved was already up and out, likely on his morning walk in the forest where he'd do his daily magical practices.

I took a sip of my sister's amazing tea, then set it down and remained standing. If I let myself crawl back into bed with that tea, I wouldn't do my morning magical practices, and I'd only get out of bed in time for the group workout with Magnus and the other guys. Two years ago, if I hadn't learned to set the tea down and remain standing, I would not have become the person that I am today.

Aligning myself to the east where the sun rises, I swung my arms up and over my head and clapped them, just in case the gods weren't listening. "By the sky above me."

Starting with the sky above me, I began the invocation and banishing ritual that I'd learned from my beloved. It was designed to closely align oneself to nature, and to establish oneself as a singular point of will amid all the life in the universe. Rotating around, I cycled through the four directions and elemental gates, calling the name of the representative god or goddess for each, singing their name and then speaking a brief blessing. I invoked each element, breathing in dawn and springtime for Air, courage and bright summer for Fire, autumnal brilliance in Water, and the long dark winter of Earth, then banishing any unbalanced manifestations therein. Though Ceridor always sang his entire ritual—beautifully, of course—I felt much more comfortable speaking it, only singing the divine names.

After rotating all the way around and back to the east, I invoked the three manifestations of spirit: below, above, and within. No need to banish those, since they came already balanced.

At that point I said a quick prayer to my gods, thanking them for guiding me in my life. Then I held still and listened a couple of minutes, hoping to hear something. Apparently there were monks at the monastery who heard those voices, but Ceridor himself thought it was more common to feel their hands guiding you through the world. That's how he experienced them, and while I wanted to be able to hear their precious voices, I was willing to take things at whatever pace they needed to go.

After listening for a bit, I bowed in thanks, then spread my arms out wide and spun a bubble around myself to cleanse me and our room. Ceridor had taught me other protections for the inn, so I wasn't covering guests with my magical bubble without their consent.

Sitting on my bed, I took another sip of tea and picked up my current meditation text. I tended to read each passage right before sleep the previous evening, in hopes that my subconscious would mull over the topic as I slept and then provide some insights the next morning during my discursive meditation. I'd meditated through books on mythology and folklore, philosophy, religion and spirituality, anything that served to lift a person up and help them turn inward. That, in addition to my journaling exercises and extensive reading on the psychological effects of abuse, left my hands full with quite a bit of self-work.

I read the passage again on the states of consciousness that mystics use to reach toward the divine and thought over it, allowing my mind to brainstorm what it might mean. Sometimes when I was especially distracted, I would muse over my thoughts out loud. However, I'd known that I was making serious progress with my journaling and self-work when turning to discursive meditation didn't result in my toxic inner critic tearing me down. The default of mental negativity was mostly gone these days, only cropping up in vulnerable moments and I usually caught myself when I did it.

Now just two years into daily practice, I didn't suffer from that negativity nearly as much anymore, but I still scrambled to not get distracted. Why was my brain like a little baby that could be easily swayed by any shiny, fascinating thing? Ceridor always chuckled when I asked him this, but then he simply encouraged me to give it more diligence and time.

Heaving a sigh, I wrapped up my thoughts about the passage, closed the book and finished my tea.

Last but not least, I turned to the little statue of an oak tree that Ceridor had brought me from his travels, and that I used to represent his Gaulic pantheon of gods, since they were different from mine from Greek mythology. Pressing my hand over my heart in sincerity, I bid them a good morning, and as I did every morning, I humbly prayed for them to watch over my partner's safety.