|Picture from here. Warning: it's cheesy.|
However, now that I’m done with that tangent on the fabulousness that is a free and active press, back to my scrying bowl. So I’m sitting there trying to think of something witty to say about Chinese text messaging censorship, and when I leaned back in my chair, I caught sight of my little black stone bowl, sitting there on my shelf nestled all cozy-like in between my mini-cauldron and Gregory the Gargoyle (thanks again, Werewolf06) and my scented votive collection. I picked it up and held it for a few moments, drinking in the cool texture of the stone and the lingering scent of the scarf in which I used to wrap it. Immediately, I wanted to turn out the lights, light a black candle, fill the bowl with water and a pinch of mugwort, and see what was to be seen. But I couldn’t. Obligations and assignments once again got in the way.
Plus I’m not sure what my roommates (both present at the time) would have thought of that.
So I just sighed and put the bowl back on my shelf. Perhaps this weekend I’ll get a chance to use it. I would love to do some divination at the New Moon and see what the darkness wants to show me, but I don’t think I’ll get a chance.