Interlude

The Temple is nearly complete, at least as much as these things are ever completed. Let’s say that it’s nearly left the ground and will have to fly on its own, soon.

I worked with art students from the university to build some little touches around it, inside and in the area. They’re birds, rainbows, and other things that reminded each of us of what it all means. There is quite a lot of blue, black, and gray in the place; hey, can you blame me? *smile* Clouds, moons, and anything else that made us think of dreams, including a few fantastical pieces. Satyrs, fairies, angels. But every one of them, no matter how strange, gives each of us a happy, dreamy feeling, and that was really all I called for.

I’m sitting here on the ledge of the Temple grounds now, my hands not entirely clean again. It’s a good way to be, really, with your hands in the mud, feeling everything around you loud and clear. I hope I don’t get too many smudges in my journal. But it’s good to take a little break once in a while.

For all that art that everyone made, and all the ideas everyone has given me, I’ve really built the Temple with my own six limbs. That sounds funny to me, still, but it also feels so right. My hands to grab, smooth, and pour. My wings for air and wonder. My feet to stand upon.

Being inside this new engine of creation, me creating, everything pouring into it... I think I was still changing, really, from that first ritual with Dr. Halalo, but I feel like it’s sped up. Last I checked in a mirror, my eyes weren’t dark brown anymore; they’ve got a hint of purple or perhaps red, and there are many things I can see now that I couldn’t see before. My night vision is fantastic. I’ve had some hair fall out, only to have little down feathers grow back where they were. It sort of disturbed me a little at first, like, I wanted wings, you know? Not to turn into a whole bird. But it seems to have slowed down again, and I think it’s actually kind of cool now. Becoming.

There’s a quiet in the air, I’d say a quiet before the storm, but it’s really not like that. It’s more like a quiet moment before taking the next breath. The breath before reciting a great poem, or singing a beautiful song.

Tomorrow... tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’ll throw the switch, so to speak. *cross fingers*