Algiz looks like one branch becoming three, or a stick with its arms raised.  It is the rune of self-interest and is connected with magical power.  It was once worn as a charm by those seeking protection and health.  There is a difference between self-interest and selfishness.  Drawing this stone means that you need to take the time to set your own house in order before you can be of service to anyone else.  This may be due to illness or exhaustion.  Other people’s concerns need to be put on the back burner for the time being.  This is the time to take care of yourself, develop a new hobby, or pursue your own brand of enlightenment.

When it comes to the healing interpretation of Algiz, it represents boundaries, which is very much related to self-interest.  It is important to draw lines and set limits, both to protect yourself and for the good of your relationships.  You need to decide what is acceptable when it comes to others and ask whether your boundaries are being respected or not.

They say that no man is an island, but for many years I’d acted like one, pursuing my own self-interests like a mercenary working for himself.  How many times had that lapsed into out and out selfishness?  Too often, perhaps, not by wanting more than anyone else, but by not taking time for others or valuing their perspectives.  It felt like if I didn’t find a way to have the experiences I needed, they weren’t going to happen.

My boundaries had mostly been that if someone got in my way or slowed me down, we weren’t going to have a relationship for long.  Was I sorry for chasing my passions like that?  Not so much as I was willing to change the way I operated moving forward.  I recognized that I’d entered a new season of life following the pandemic, that would require engagement and cooperation with others.  It was time to share some of the things I’d learned, and to be open to learning from others, as well.

That evening I walked up to the Central Park of Palenque again, seeing once more how COVID had drained the life from the streets.  There were four large Catrinas still standing from the Day of the Dead, all frightening skull faces with gritted teeth, in beautiful dresses and jewelry, one in red with a long black braid, another, also in red, with red flowers in her hair, a third in purple, with purple and yellow flowers, and the fourth, all in black, with a look of horror, as if she were plunging down a roller coaster.

On this night, the church was open.  There were a few people sitting on benches outside of it.  I approached and entered.  There was a cross at the door and it was clean and light inside.  It was painted white with blue trim.  I’d just passed the four Catrinas, wrathful deities, representing the frightening aspect of death and the great unknown.  The church now offered assurances of what lies beyond death. 

Jeus stood there in a white gown, light radiating from his heart, his hand reaching out, offering eternity.  Next to him was a nun, clutching a cross and a bunch of red roses to her chest, her face as young as a child.  At the altar was a large white dove, descending through a sea spray of golden rays.  Seven candles burned on the steps at the front of the church. 

On the way back to the hotel, I stopped to get some Chinese food.  The woman working in the restaurant freaked out when she saw that the skull bandana I was wearing over my nose wasn’t sealed around my mouth.  I dug in my pocket and came up with a COVID mask.  There was nothing to do then but go back and wait for the morning.  I spent half the night flipping through channels on the TV.  The pain of my arthritis seemed to be diminishing, but I still couldn’t sleep.  It felt like some disaster was waiting around the corner.