I don’t talk about the spirits I call the Beasts of Outer Darkness very much in public. They’re a group of monster spirits who live in Outer Darkness, and are deeply loyal to their Queen. The majority of my work with/devotion involving them takes place in the Otherworlds, though I do interact with them Here, especially the children.
What I’ve learned from them over the years has been a lot about asking for help when I need it, and even more about Love and Family (including that I may want to be a father someday Here.) The Beasts are much wilder than any other spirits I deal with, but in their own way, they’re Family to me, and I love them.
I can sense it creeping closer
the time of Masks, the Hunt,
that desperate Ride to Autumn.
White lanterns are hung around the square,
the markets, the docks, the temples, that
iridescent flame that whispers there is hope.
I will light the sandstone streets;
oh Beasts of Outer Darkness
turn your eyes away from us.
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.