Sacred

My hands become possessed by the spirits of my mother's mother, her mother too, and the mothers that lived before those daughters. Haunted by their ancient ceremonies, I am compelled to perform them, drawing skill partially from heritage and partly from the guide of record. The formulas are immortal methods preserved in the black script of ritual books, and I summon them with the sole intent of paying homage to the traditions for which they were written. Their outlines are strict and require the vessel that I willingly provide. Alone, they are only a bleak memoriam of paper pages threatened by the tragedy of a dying art. To them, I offer holy reverence and all of what little I have.