There are many kinds of darkness.
Some must be respected, avoided, acknowledged. Others are meant to heal us. Help us rest. Hibernate. Grow on the inside.
All seeds start in Darkness. Even ours.
We strive to be the creatures of light while being born of Darkness and Blood. We need not be ashamed of it. It is simply where we came from. Not who we are.
As the skies darken we must let go. Let go of all the things you don’t need anymore. Just like the leafy trees. Let go that which cannot be renewed. Pull your resources inward to survive The Long Dark. The Death of who we were. The germination of who we are. Dreams of who we will be.
It is also a time of Ghosts. Old and new ones. Ghosts you didn’t realize were following you. That you didn’t realize you cared so much about. Some you are desperate to be rid of, others you cling to.
This is the time of year I feel most myself. Most in tune with who and what I am. I wonder if Persephone has similar feelings? Does she relish the dark? The return of her Lovers caress? His all encompassing Darkness, and the comfort she finds there?
Hades is not my Lover but my God is similar. He is comfortable in Darkness. Was born into it. Comitted his first Tricks and Crimes in it. He travels through it. Becomes it. Bends it to his will with his masterful hands. I can feel him there the most.
Chthonic Hermes is who comes to me, his touch in the cooling winds, following in the footsteps of Death. The Aftermath of The Wild Hunt. The Wreckage. He walks among it, gathering souls to take Over.
Hail Hermes, my Beloved. Welcome Home.
Orphic Hymn 57 to Chthonian Hermes :
“To Hermes Khthonios (Chthonian, of the Underworld), Fumigation from Storax. Hermes, I call, whom fate decrees to dwell near to Kokytos, the famed stream of Haides, and in necessity’s (Ananke’s) dread path, whose bourn to none that reach it ever permits return. O Bakkheios (Bacchian) Hermes, progeny divine of Dionysos, parent of the vine, and of celestial Aphrodite, Paphian queen, dark-eyelashed Goddess, of a lovely mien: who constant wanderest through the sacred seats where Haides’ dread empress, Persephone, retreats; to wretched souls the leader of the way, when fate decrees, to regions void of day. Thine is the wand which causes sleep to fly, or lulls to slumberous rest the weary eye; for Persephone, through Tartaros dark and wide, gave thee for ever flowing souls to guide. Come, blessed power, the sacrifice attend, and grant thy mystics’ works a happy end.”