#the timer

The timer is ticking. its counting down towards the end and I fear it. I do not know what it means. A lot is happening and perhaps mistakes have been made. I cannot say for sure what happens

When it is done...

It must be over. There will be a peace at the end. A peace that cries out in joy.

it needs help.

I genuinely think I'm going insane. The timer. It's all I can think about. I cannot stay focused. If the timer is ticking then there is no point to doing anything else, because then it's only a matter of time. It knows what's left.

The timer is a gut reaction. Yet my gut is always wrong. It often tells me something is wrong and yet nothing happens. Perhaps I simply do not know what it's telling me. And if that's the case, then trying to figure it out isn't worth my time because it is, and always will be incomprehensible. The point is to make it to the end but the end may come sooner.

Then the new question is, what does it mean by the "end"? It could mean a lot of things and some are a lot more concerning then the others... but as far as I know it's fully out of my control. I know myself and I know my limits. I know what I am capable of and what I am willing to do. And simply because of that, I know it is beyond my control.

And I am not alone in this. This is a text I received Friday, November 7th, at 1:58 am. Tragedy is coming in a storm. We do not know when or where or why or how. The Order must prepare as a whole but individually as well.

It is far greater then any one of us individually. But we have our personal rituals that must be completed in order to be ready. It is difficult to prepare for a battle when you do not know your enemy. Is the enemy a mortal or is it something larger then we can even comprehend?

If this is ever read fully, in its entirety, you may think to yourself, "oh, this is a bit. This has something to with Pete's silly little wizard cult they have at school." I promise you this is no bit.

When I last spoke to Moribund about this storm, he had mentioned that his foresightings of a storm may have been caused by things being too good. The calm before the storm, one might say. I believe that he no longer sees this as a threat, or at least not nearly as much of one. I believe he is wrong and has been blinded by the drugs he has been taking to help with his emotions. It is good he is receiving the help he feels he needs, but he cannot let this effect him in such a way he cannot perform his duties.

I can see the signs in the dark. The wind writes messages on my skin with blades. The poison in the air shrouds our judgement and we cannot let that happen. We cannot be distracted. That is their intention. To distract us, to prevent us from seeing seeing the full picture. Perhaps we will never see the full picture in its entirety, but we have some of the pieces. Some are still missing... there is information to be gained.

I would be lying if I felt comfortable in my skin. It wants to be torn open, to fit a form that cannot and should not be contained. It is a cage of sorts. The voice that comes out of my mouth is not mine. I do not know whose it is, just that it is not mine. It tells no lie, however, but sometimes distorts the truth. It has it's own mission and I have not yet discovered what it is. I have only recently determined that we have disconnected and that it belongs to another entity. I look for a sign of distress, but there is none. It seems satisfied and yet urgent. It does not need saving and will put up a fight if salvation is attempted.