Spirituality and Mysticism

Complete in the dark



It’s not always for the tough, or just because somebody wants knowledge and power. Sometimes, for some of us it so happens that we can’t understand and can’t keep it going. We want Good but The Good doesn’t want us. Something just doesn’t bind, sometimes, and when it is so, one starts asking themselves what’s wrong.
You close your eyes and pray, meditate. The meaning still fails to congeal and it just spins around in the darkness of the mind, like a row of fading shapes, without any meaning. And then, you supplicate for a break no matter how short but the life keeps hewing into you – just another of billion vivisections that occur on the planet, without any alleviation. And then, excruciatingly sharp, a long forgotten promise shows up, a word uttered back in the lonely childhood, spent under the terror of an abusive parent. A never kept promise, some repent then trowed in a hidden corner of self for so many years. After it hits, you start to pray to Rebellious with the fervor you should beseech the Savior. Not to be better – not this one more time, not even to stop the pain for a bit. Only that: may He never forsake you, may He never throw you – not now, nor in the future eternities – to Angels. May He forever live in you. May He fill your veins with blind darkness, or with the darkness of knowledge – it doesn’t matter so much. May you never forget anymore. May you never loose Him anymore. May you never waste so much time asking yourself why. In the bathroom’s mirror you see behind a slightly faded shadow and that feels safer. You know you were listened so that He is there, looking after you.
How many hopes had to be crushed for someone to rip the very own flesh for a covenant to be sealed with blood on the red stained edge of a magical athame? How much fright and agony and terror one should gather to throw away everything that once meant hope? If it was catharsis or something else got no idea but a healing peace went down and overtook me after the black ceremony of initiation. It was the serenity I promised myself at 16 and attained at 47. The peace with my own shadow. It happened how and when I wanted – in the night of the Dark Moon when even Mercury was turned back from Earth so nobody could help me in this. I stepped alone in front of the Universe with my one intention to keep a forgotten promise. So then I trespassed the world’s border and my own boundaries too. As inward so outward, as above so below, as they say. Slowly melting, the dark candles burned the whole night and the next morning till the noon. I slept holding inside my chest the light, the pain and the warmth of their flames. Little by little, the wound on my arm heals too and I feel more and more whole every time I step betwixt mist and shadows. It feels like feeding my soul after so many long years when I had no courage or I didn’t know I have to do it.

Spirituality and Mysticism

Intregirea in intuneric



Nu, nu e intotdeauna pentru cei tari. Sau pentru ca vrei sa stii. Sau pentru ca vrei sa poti. Uneori este pentru ca nu intelegi si nu mai poti. Uneori si unora li se intampla ca vor Binele dar Binele nu-i vrea pe ei. Este ca si cum ceva nu se leaga oricat ai incerca. Si cand patesti asta ai vrea sa pricepi. Inchizi ochii, te rogi. Meditezi. Sensul insa refuza sa se inchege. Danseaza nebuneste in intunericul din spatele fruntii – un simplu sir de forme geometrice fara nici un inteles.
Implori ca totul sa inceteze macar pentru un pic dar viata continua sa scobeasca in tine – una din miliardele de vivisectii fara anestezie care au loc pe planeta asta in fiecare secunda. Vivida, sfasietoare, ca si cand niciodata n-ai fi uitat-o, o promisiune din adolescenta insingurata si plina de spaime, petrecuta langa un parinte abuziv iti apare in fata. O promisiune pe care ai regretat-o un timp, n-ai tinut-o niciodata si apoi pur si simplu ai pierdut-o intr-un cotlon al memoriei pentru multi, multi ani. Si te pomenesti rugandu-te Razvratitului cu ardoarea cu care ai fi putut sa-l implori pe Salvator. Nu, nu sa fie mai bine. Nu si de data asta. Nici macar sa inceteze durerea, fie si pentru un pic. Atat: sa nu te mai paraseasca. Sa nu te mai arunce vreodata – vesnicia asta si toate cele viitoare – ingerilor. Sa vina sa locuiasca in tine pentru totdeauna. Sa-ti umple vinele cu bezna oarba. Sau cu bezna cunaosterii. Orice, dar sa nu-ti mai dea voie sa uiti. Sa nu te mai lase sa-L pierzi. Sa nu mai petreci niciodata un timp asa lung intrebandu-te de ce.
In oglinda din baie vezi in spatele tau un intuneric abia destramat si te linistesti. Stii ca este acolo, ca vegheaza, ca n-o sa te lase.
E nevoie de multa spaima, singuratate si deznadejde incat cineva sa-si spintece carnea pentru a pecetlui cu sange un legamant de renuntare la tot ce a insemnat vreodata speranta. Daca asta poate sa fie numit katarsis sau nu idee n-am. Dar a fost in mine tare multa liniste dupa ceremonia neagra de initiere. A fost pacea pe care mi-am promis-o la 16 si mi-am permis-o abia la 47. Pacea cu intunericul din mine. Atunci, in noaptea Lunii Negre, cand nici macar Mercur nu se uita spre noi am pasit peste un hotar al Universului si al meu. Cum cele dinauntru si cele din afara, spun paganii. Topindu-si incet ceara intunecata, lumanarile au ars pana a doua zi la pranz iar eu am dormit vegheata de flacara lor. Taietura de pe antebrat se vindeca putin cate putin si, la fel, eu ma simt din ce in ce mai intreaga de cate ori pasesc intre neguri. Este ca si cum mi-as hrani sufletul dupa niste decenii in care am uitat ca trebuie sau n-am avut curaj sa fac asta.