Another Portal Holiday Postcard

Step through the shadowed archway where stone breathes with centuries. Feel the chill of ancient limestone beneath your fingertips as you cross the threshold—a portal not merely of oak and iron, but a living seam between worlds. Above you, ribbed vaults soar like petrified forests, their pointed arches straining towards heaven while roots delve into earth’s forgotten whispers. This is no dead monument: every gargoyle’s leer guards pagan secrets, every rose window bleeds light through alchemical hues, transforming sunbeams into liquid scripture. Here, where Christian saints stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Green Men sprouting foliage from stony mouths, you hold a grimoire bound in cracked leather. Its pages hum—not with dogma, but with the raw pulse of Wiccan moon-rites woven into cathedral bones. See how the labyrinth’s path mirrors the triple moon? How the altar’s geometry echoes sacred sigils for abundance? This was never *either* faith or magic—it was always both. The builders knew: true power flows where stone meets spirit, where the blood of oak trees and the body of Christ merge in the mortar. Turn a page. A charcoal sketch of the cathedral’s west façade stares back, annotated in faded ink: "The key is in the keystone. Seek the hollow where the raven’s shadow drinks at noon." You laugh—a sound swallowed by the nave’s vast silence. They tried to bury the old ways beneath psalms, but the earth remembers. The same hands that carved Christ’s crucifixion also etched serpent coils around baptismal fonts, honouring the serpent’s wisdom long before Eden’s myth. Your grimoire thrums against your palm. It knows what the stained glass conceals: Mary’s blue mantle isn’t just heaven—it’s the midnight sky where witches dance. So stand here, where candle smoke and incense blur into one sacred vapour. Let the weight of the arches press down until you feel the earth’s heartbeat through your soles. This cathedral isn’t a tomb for dead beliefs—it’s a living grimoire in stone. Its wisdom isn’t locked in dusty tomes but breathes in the space between shadow and light. The portal didn’t lead you in - it led you through. Now go. Carve your own keystone. The ancients left the door ajar for a reason: you are the next glyph in the endless spell. Created with Canva.com, Venice.ai & love.