Sunday, 8 November 2015

That Old Black Magick



There is darkness, and then there is darkness.  One is ancient and womblike, fecund, nourishing.  But the other is something else entirely.  It is not only the absence of light, but the absence of hope.  There are various magicks living in the hearts of the human kith.  Some of these magicks are stygian, predatory.  But some are darker and stranger and older than any desecration.  It’s these magicks the fallen ones fear – the archons, the demons, the vampires and their familiars.  They know little of this greater, luminous darkness – this holy place of creation where love and joy and passion are forged, and lived.  They know little of how this magick is made manifest, how these deeper spells are cast.  They know nothing of the rituals of lucidity.  They will look and see only their ruinous shadows, but if you look – with greater eyes – you will see holy, impossible things.  And voices will speak to you, strange and benevolent, and you will know.
 

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