Names have power. You can call those names again and again, and no one answers. The key is, it's not just the names, it's the passion behind them. The vibrations are different, and that is where the power is. Many things have been misunderstood through the ages, castrated in some cases. Turned into meaningless rituals, all passion carefully and completely removed.
It seems at times that the vibrations are stronger in the darkness. Maybe it is just a trick of the mind, perhaps it’s the absence of those burning rays from the sun. You call the names into the pitch blackness, powerful, and sometimes the black becomes liquid. To touch it, to feel that new substance is unique, yet comforting... At least to some of us. It can be a door, but beyond that door, there is no simple way back, not as you are.
It can be that demons torment us in our sleep. No, they torment us in our dreams. There is a difference. They chase us down dark hallways, through ever narrowing passages, and we think we manage to escape. We are the intruders though, not they. We are the ones reaching out our minds, they are not coming to us. What is it that we really fear in them?
I sat once, at the shore of a dark lake, full moon above, reflecting the cool perfect surface. I could hear them sing, faintly, off in the vast distance. I lost part of myself, crashing down to the rocks I sat upon. I watched omni-dimensional beings poke through the surface, begging me to feel, and lose a bit more...
Led into a cave, where the music was loud. So loud. They sang in such mesmerizing beauty, such perfection, and such sounds, like nothing one can really hear. They resonate with your soul. Reminding you of something long lost, long forgotten.
There is a tipping point. Between here and there. A tightrope to be walked. You can call the names, and bring it closer to you. You can risk it all, and move closer to them. Risky, though, as the demons are always lurking. Any doorway will do.
The moon can shake the sky, and balls of fire drip down like rain. Images in the sky are never what they seem, they are always hiding another dimension, another reality to themselves. There is a magnificent view from the tightrope. Startling. Ineffable. Our minds are limited, more so than we know. There in lies the pleasure of it all, the expansion, the limitless creativity and exploration. So often one in the same. From that tightrope, up so high, there also lie the trappings of madness. You have to be mad, to walk across at all. The fall, drops you to the furthest reaches of the abyss.
So call the names all you want. It is stale and hollow without the spirit of the thing. Without the fire and passion. Without the understanding. A dragon’s breath, however, opens doors, and a trek through the underworld is good for the soul. Torn to shreds, assailed from all sides, and worn through. Ripped away and left, dead and dying… as it should be. Learn the gates, learn the names, and learn the proper meaning of sacrifice. Else, say nothing. In silence. Remain.
