#prophetkin

Ive been coming back to the idea of being a prophet (complicated) after putting it down for years and then also being fused for a year.

• angelkin

• divinekin

• prophet

• angel aesthetic

I am feeling prophetic.

for me, this feeling of prophetic is all consuming. Its sudden, bursting out from the depths of my soul with no warning. Its urging. Urging me to consume and produce. to learn. to find and search and speak. to write and write and discuss my findings with others who have found many different things than I.  Its a blinding sensation, one that pushes me onto my knees. One that makes me want to stand up again. To dig a little deeper and search a little harder. To grow, and learn, and share. To preach not to others but to myself and the solitude around me in this moment that I share with the divines. To stand alone in the dying nature of autumn and whisper all that I have learned, intense in my tone but hushed like I am sharing a deep secret that others must find for themselves.  This feeling of Prophetic pushes me towards something I cannot grasp, something I may spend my life wishing and searching and learning. Theorizing until my hands creak as I sculpt and skin pulls on my bones. Learning and coming together with others to share alms, writing and speaking in tongues unheard. Attempting to form structure only to realize that this is beyond structure and thus abandoning it all together. Smashing together tradition and my findings, developing a craft wholeheartedly for myself. Searching for knowledge and revitalization and messages whispered back to me in that forest.  There is so much to this I cannot express. I wish I could take the hands of my younger self, lost in a church I did not feel welcome in, like I could not call it home. I wish I could take my hands and tell myself that these feelings are real, and the lessons I have learned there are not all corrupt, that I will forge my own path and to abandon what does not feel right.  I will wander now through the trees. Through libraries searching for books that do not exist and thus must be written by hand out of blood and sweat and tears. Out of divine mysteries and whispered prophecies and tea leaves forming patterns in my cup.