I have almost forgotten how travel spaces feel. It doesn’t matter what kind… Bus depot, train stations, airports. They are places Not-Here. They are misty and nebulous, with all travelers criss-crossing lives, timelines, experiences, nations. You can be invisible, or a character of interest in the bored eyes of a long layover. There is a subtle kind of altered state, a soft kind of drugging, delirium leaving trails in your vision from poor sleep, changing timezones, too narrow seats that we place ourselves into, as that sky high egg crate carries us aloft. The bored mundane who traverse such paths often, the dream-eyed drinking it in as though a great feast. Easily this crossroad is a place where one can throw intent into it, and feel it stir the world-pot. Sigils are built into airports, a simple glance at a map with this in mind traces out the magicks within.
I’m a witch at this crossroad, right now. I am crossing into that liminal space, drifting, to see where I am drawn. Each ripple grows larger rings. And here I am, skipping rocks off of them.
Marie Alessandro - Gods in the Cogs 