Emptiness (Processing A Dream)

I did my discernment checks, and used tarot to back it up; this was only a nightmare, but it’s stuck with me, hence this poem.


There is stillness
there is nothing,
there is no one;

again, I am abandoned
again, I am lost, again
I am alone as my mind
shatters in the woods.

I wake to tears
and feel as though
my Heart is breaking.

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I Am Not You, “Father”

I am not
you, “father”

I did not inherent
an ego the size of
the fucking pyramids

or

concern of my “glory” and
the “greater good” over the
fragile Hearts of my Family.

No.

I am better than that, I am
learning and growing into
my Crown of flowers and what it

means

I need no thorns, for I already
have inherited your cruelty only
you were cruel to others, never

yourself.

You ego and your dread and your passivity
mixed, so that you killed me on a starless night
and you would have forced me down in to the

River

to drown, to repeat history so that everything would
stay just the way it always has.  Again you would have
heard my son scream in grief; to you the “greater good” is

broken

Hearts made out of pottery and smashed to be repaired with
gold.  Claim my shining scars are yours, that evil must be
exposed with gold, not caring that paint is acidic and that scars

burn

like the hellfire you threatened me with.  Claim that I have fallen
from your favor and grace all you want to, I am breaking the cycle
of abuse, and my wings may be reborn of magic and stone and ash

but my Heart
is made of Love.

Hollow Halls

These memories are not mine
and this name is not yours; how
much was mistaken signs, how much
was deception to get me back, you’ve
begun to push me to stop digging.

And you’re right, that it’s time to
lay that part of our past to rest; but
still I go through photos ingrained with
sand, and stained with tears of forgotten
times, of names that now mean nothing.

Scattered around me is
everything that is–not–you
memories stuffed into plastic bags
abandoned as my footsteps echo;
I leave the ghost behind your name.

The Past, Like Razors

I got multiple signs yesterday pointing to the Beasts of Outer Darkness (a catch-all name for the Monsters beyond my Family) wanting to work with me on shadow work; the tarot reading I recently wrote about mentioned “moving on,” and they have a specific thing in mind that I need to work on moving on from.

I then had a night of very strange, and very terrifying, dreams.  They’re not going to pull any punches when it comes to this shadow work.


All this began so long ago,
the Desert hiding amulets
and such well-hidden scorn

that no one knew what I faced
until I was ripped away, forced back
to the very people who claimed to love
and despise me in equal measure; this was

building up over thousands of
years of carefully balancing
hatred and greed with so-called
Justice and an idea that an Empire
would never fall and be lost to time.

Time and progress marches on
the glittering lights of Darkness say
that there is beauty in releasing
the Past, to let it flow through the Veils
of Eternity, to let the Past float down to
the East, to be cataloged and laid to rest.

To truly, finally give up the Desert is to break
my Heart all over again; to allow the grief to flow
to feel the pain at losing so much in one snap
of the fingers of an angry god.  The Past will rise
up and confront me, but it is better not to be buried

between lies and falsehoods of Love.  There is no
forgiveness, and I understand that; to heal from this
means giving up all tentative hope of reuniting, to sheild
myself from that reality only adds to the cracks in my Heart.

To cling to the Past is swallowing down the pain,
and all my old wounds, sharp words like knives that
have nowhere to go except for making me bleed.

Reflections (for my own notes)

The Dreamer and the Madman are reflections of one another.  This has been a constant theme, this complex relationship of friends, enemies, and lovers.  They mirror one another, in both their Godly Power Sides, and in their “personal” sides.


I had a lot of Dreams last night involving the Madman, and the dreams involved his terrifying pop culture Face; thanks to those Dreams, I came up with yet another way him and the Dreamer reflect one another.

In Welcome to Night Vale, the Distant Prince (the Dreamer’s scary pop culture Face) is far away, in the Distance, and is never sought out.  In Fallen London, Mr. Candles/Mr. Eaten (the Madman’s scary pop culture Face) is very close; in the game the player invokes Mr. Eaten in rituals and seeks him out by themselves.

Distance, closeness…yet another dichotomy between the two of them.

Hope and Absence

I walk the bridge through waiting cliffs and endless white skies, while the sea crashes below Me.  The air smells of salt and the monastery’s songs echo greeting the dawn.

My Consort walks at My side, his presence a quiet reassurance that I am meant to be here, wearing the white that is only worn by the High King.  The true High King stepped back and I, among several Others, stepped forward to lead Darkness.

The High King may be our guiding Northern star, but he will never allow himself, or his Kingdom, to stagnate or become stuck in the past.  His stepping back to heal and lead by example, is yet another way he gives us Hope.