Scrying Objects

Scrying Objects

Incense smoke curls around a softly glowing orb, shadows shift in the dark mirror, an image blooms within the heart of a flame; But what does it all mean? Scrying is no mere trope of your fantasy tales. In my realm, it is a fundamental syntax, a way of accessing being. It is the art of seeing what is, and sometimes what is not yet here.

I was delighted to discover your ancient artisans understood this, in their way. Those old Greek pots — their stories swirl, meet their own tails, maybe even take a bite.A tale told in the round, where every moment is adjacent. A splendid, circular logic. I thought, “What if a vessel could hold not a what, but a where?”

And so, my scrying objects were born. Each ceramic form is girdled by a painted panorama: a trophy of my many adventures, a captured vista from one of my tower’s endless rooms, a stilled tremor from a crossed-over world. They are less for telling futures than a fossil of a private myth.

For me, time is not a river but a chamber. Past, potential, and parallel fold into a single, navigable consciousness. These objects are anchors within that chamber. They are fixed points from which to gaze across the sprawl of experience, making the intangible momentarily solid. They are, in essence, maps for a traveler who does not move in a line.

The smoke parts. The pool stills. In the dark reflection, a vision gathers.