Confessional (Fenrir)

[Originally written 1 June 2017, but it’s still incredibly relevant now. I don’t view Fenrir, my Father, as a father in the sense of a priest, but I believe I was in the midst of watching a lot of the tv show The Exorcist when I initially wrote this.]

A small grid pattern of shadows fall across my hands, and I focus on this instead of scrutinizing my surroundings. If I let my awareness relax, I can be in the darkness.

“Why are you here, my child?”, a deep voice slides out of the dark corners.

“Forgive me, Father for”, words feel caught in my throat and the silence grows, “I can’t say I sinned, but I made a mistake. I can’t feel You, so I stopped doing things for You. I can’t say it’s personal because I can’t feel Anyone and haven’t really done anything for Anyone else either. The silence and absence seem worse with You – I mean that I feel worse when it comes to You. I should’ve tried harder because I should trust that You’ll always be there because, I dunno, fathers don’t abandon their children or some stereotypical bullshit like that. I don’t know if You’ve abandoned me, but I can’t feel You either way, so it just didn’t seem important to drag myself through the motions.”

“What motions do you think you have to drag yourself through?”

“Ritual. Cleansing, formality, speeches, and memorized actions. Fancy prayer on a set schedule with a special robe and special glassware and offerings.”

“Who says you have to do all that?”

“I feel like it’s an expectation and I should do it. What else would I do? My Father’s supposed to be important enough to go through all the effort because not going through that effort means He’s not as important. I can’t say everyone else does all this effort all the time, but it’s what gets repeated. I like the idea of formality, dependability, structure – I just struggle with actually sticking with it all.”

“What does your Father expect?”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve asked. I don’t think He wants the fancy-shmancy stuff all the time because it’d be like suiting up and going out to a five star restaurant every night for dinner. It gets tiring and a bit too formal because it’s energetically expensive. That’s the kind of stuff you plan for a big ticket special occasion like a birthday or anniversary. Other occasions can be special, but it’s more like going to Olive Garden to celebrate the end of a school year. You’re not going whole hog, but you’re doing more than sharing a meal in your pajamas at home.”

“Have you thought of saving leftovers?”

“I thought He was too busy to be bothered. I didn’t want to be too spontaneous when I can’t hear Him. I guess it seemed better to ask for forgiveness than to struggle with getting permission.”

“Small steps, my child. Your Father may travel for work or be exceptionally busy at times, but He has not abandoned you.”

Silent Kind Darkness (quote)

[Cross posted and backdated from a sideblog. Originally posted on 11 Nov 2017 and tagged #tea in silence (meditation, contemplation, etc.).]

And silence, like darkness, can be kind; it, too, is a language.

Hanif Kureishi, “Intimacy” (via hollowstimulation) (via ruinofeventide-deactivated20161)

Cherishing Monsters for Their Uniqueness

[Cross posted and backdated from a sideblog. Originally posted 15 June 2018 and tagged #comfort in hell.]

user lizardywizard:

i promise i will stop talking monsters soon but like

i want to cherish monsters for their uniqueness not change them

i want to approach the monster who lives in the cave and instead of ~drawing them out into the light~ i want to learn what it’s like for them in the dark

i want black leather scale-plates oiled to a fine sheen to be respectable dinner attire without having to force the monster into a cravat

i want to learn love from them because soft-bodied warlike primates aren’t the sole keepers of understanding on love

Thanks for being honest, Dad.

Nine-for-a-kiss wanted to test out  a Hannibal spread, and I thought I’d go ahead and volunteer as a guinea pig. The following is the copy+pasted response that was waiting in my inbox today, and I’m still working out how to give feedback. (Wow, would you look at all this accuracy?)

1. What have you grown dependent on? – Fear. I’ve been considering this, since it seems to be such a bald and uncompromising answer. I’m an etymology nerd, and ‘fear’ comes from a Proto-Germanic word that means ‘danger’ – but before that, it passed through the proto-Indo-European suffix per-, meaning ‘to try, to risk’, which in turn comes from a verbal stem meaning ‘to lead’, or ‘to pass over’. What does all this mean? Yes, good question. Have you been taking substantial risks? Have you found yourself craving adrenaline, action, peril? Even little things like staying up too late, loving the way your hands shake over your cup of coffee in the morning.

2. What do you need to let go of? – Your desire or quest for a guide. Be your own star in all this lightlessness.

3. What emerges from the dark? – A kind of worship, or holiness, particular to you. Ceremonies and rituals that have meaning; the ability to be your own kind of worshiper.

4. What lies have you been telling yourself? – That you are only a worthwhile person if you’re in the process of creating something. That your production is synonymous with your success. It’s a capitalistic view, that a person is only valuable when they are producing, and if you have thoughts or vague dread in this area, it might be worth exploring.

5. What darker impulses do you try to hide? – A tendency towards callous reactions.

6. What strength do you find in the dark? – You’re not mired in anything. You’re not stuck anywhere. You’re able to move, stretch, feel the blood flowing in your limbs, and you can pick the plot of sunny earth in which to plant your roots, and know that nothing has to be permanent.

7. What weakness? – You’re afraid of not-having. Of being poor, but maybe not even so literally – of being lacking.

8. What is your darkest desire? – to consume yourself, or to be consumed. To be part of something so much larger than you that it can’t help but subsume you. I think this ties back to the answer to number two, your desire for a guide – you want to go outside yourself, somehow.

9. What lessons can be learned from the dark? – All the mysteries. Magic, secrets, the will of the gods. All of it is here in the shadows, waiting for you.