Little Gods Everywhere

Little gods everywhere.

That's what they called themselves, and yes, I was a little suspicious to start.

Rockjar's audacity was the tipping point though, making me wonder how close to the truth their pronouncements were.

Tuesday, and the rain. Always easier to see the doors in the rain.

I approached the crosswalk, half asleep as always through the commute, and slammed on the breaks as a grandmotherly figure stepped into the street. She looked up and over me, then turned her face and rain bonnet downwind and pushed across.

First door opened and closed beneath her foot; sliver of light prismed by the rain extended and retracted like a switchblade in the time it took her to complete the footstep.

Next one swung around her head as she turned into the rain now *this* is a revolving door, same amount of light but will to cut into the rain cut short by the centrifugal force of her turn.

Lightening next, and a rippling grid of doors from ground to sky. They opened simultaneously, light diffusing instead of cutting, boundaries los;t just one big sheet of light and then to the left one singular door frame and from that

from that

Rockjar made his appearance.

Made eye contact with me and laughed as my stupor dissolved into amazement.

Took a seat beside me, adjusted the heat (little gods are quite particular about the room temperature) and pulled off his greek fisherman's hat.

He waited in silence until the next stoplight, then touched my chin and turned me to look into the hat

17 steps led down, Shamanic spirals of grass and glass and cinammon earth and wolves and finally another door

With a pendulum on the other side

And with it's long arc towards me, visions marrying blood and spirit, and with its timeless pause (revelling in its impossibility) no-thing; rest; simplicity; and with its arc away from me

Traffic, an empty passenger seat, and a fickle weather system.