Isis is like the rumble of thunder in the sky just before the lightning flares. Isis is like the face you can’t quite see beneath the endarkening veil. Isis is like the Earth after rain, when the sun comes out and mist wisps across the grass in the unexpected heat. Isis is like the late-summer sun baking the heart in my naked body. Isis is like the tears shed for me, shed for the Lost One, shed for all of us. Isis is the Mystery That I Cannot Voice. Isis is golden. Isis is black. Isis is lapis blue. Isis is blood red. Isis is Goddess-cold. Isis is Goddess-hot. She captures me. She calls me. She floods me. She fills me. Isis is like….

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