Urban Panthers Lair

Moira stood in the woods quietly watching her grand-daughter. Margaret was sitting cross-legged, perfectly still, with her eyes closed.

She had cast a circle, and Moira was respecting that, staying on the outside of the circle. After all, she was the one who taught Meg at an early age the ritual of casting. It was to create an unbroken sacred space, and Moira wasn’t invited in.

Of course, Meg didn’t even know her grandmother was even there. She was as invisible as the Spring air gently blowing Meg’s beautiful curls.

Moira never believed she would go to some actual place when she died. To her, Heaven and Hell were simply states of being while she was living. Light and dark; good and evil. Neither one bad; neither one good. Both states necessary for spiritual growth.

If pressed for what she thought would happen, she would say her energy would simply fold into all the other energies, human and otherwise, floating around. And yes, she believed that these energies could be tapped into and manipulated. That was all part of practicing magick.

However, never in her wildest imaginings did she think her energy would manifest itself like it was now! The ability to stand in a forest, watching her grand-daughter carry on the tradition of casting and meditation, was a gift beyond measure.

“Gran?”

Moira’s eyes widened, as she was snapped out her musings. She was sure she heard her grand-daughter’s voice. She looked closely at Meg, but she was in the same state as before.  Motionless, with her eyes closed.

“Gran, I need help with Mom. You were the glue that held us together, and with you gone it’s awful.”

That’s what Moira was doing here. Margaret had called her. It had happened before when Margaret was singing a song and missing her grandmother. But this was different. This was a deliberate attempt to contact Moira.

“I know, child,” Moira responded, “but you need to keep trying. For both your sakes.”

Margaret’s eyes snapped open, and she audibly took a startled breath.

“Gran?”, Margaret gasped, whirling her head around in one direction then the next, trying to  pinpoint the source of her grandmother’s voice.

But Moira didn’t hear. She was gone again. The link was broken.