The Tides of Practice

I’ve learned my practice moves in waves.
There are seasons where I’m buried in research — reading, mapping out systems, pulling threads together until the whole thing hums. Then, without warning, it shifts into raw ritual… spellwork burning at the edges.

After that comes embodiment — the slow, deliberate weaving of those changes into the way I live and move.

And then… nothing.
No spark. No pull. Just silence.

Sometimes it feels like a choice. Other times, like something greater is pushing me — tides I can’t name, but can only ride.

Are these patterns born of my own design, or do they belong to something older… something that moves us all?