I make my way to a lake in the morning, fog heavy, to make offering to Jormangundr. The presence outdoors is immense, heavy, alive.
I trance as I implore the many faces of the World Serpent and remove the offerings that have accumulated upon their altar, praying enrichment so that it may reach them. I ask to help me shed this passing chapter of my life like a skin grown old, that I might emerge anew. I sway back and forth, my spine undulating in serpentine fashion.
The presence feels watchful. Jormangundr watches over me from within and above the fog across the lake.
I finish typing my post and go to bed. Only time shall tell what effects this may have.
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