A binding circle is drawn, inverted, on solid stone, runes of bright blue pulsate in the night. A starry sky, a chart of all constellations, tracing the many-starred path, studied carefully so they location aligns with the passage of the great serpent. The runes of focusing and might, to still thoughts and let the gaze pierce the veil.
A shaman sits in the middle, letting the runic rite reflect the gaze of the World Serpent, letting Ouroboros plant his insight of ages and let the third eye open on command.
A chant; A specific tone, word simple: Toth. Word changed is repeated until the correct tone is found, which resonates with the soul, not deep, not high pitched, in between, an alto.
Sitting with back straight, breath through the nose, holding it as long as can be managed, jaws open, a gap between the top and bottom teeth, tongue placed between the space; Toth, Toth, Toth, Toth,…
A headache starts, a numbness, pressure in the centre of the forehead, like a balloon, ready to burst. It intensifies to a piercing pain until the third eye opens, and the head is thrown backwards, observing the full passage of the World Serpent across the clear night sky. All paths, all possibilities, and all the ways to avoid them, too many for a simple mind, all of it overwhelming, driving to the brink of madness, all the choices lain bare, near impossible to look away….
…but enough. A glimpse of it enough to instil some insight on the inner working of the Web. Perhaps enough even, to walk it safely for a while longer.