The Mysteries of The Dark Night of the Goddess
August 22, 2024
“The kingdom of Kali is within us deep.
The built-in destroyer, the savage goddess,
How then to set her free or come to terms
With the volcano itself, the fierce power
Erupting injuries, shrieking alarms?
Kali among her skulls must have her hour.
It is time for the invocation to atone
For what we fear most and have not dared to face:
Kali, the destroyer, cannot be overthrown;
We must stay, open-eyed, in the terrible place.
Every creation is born out of the dark.
Every birth is bloody.
Something gets torn.
Kali is there to do her sovereign work
Or else the living child will be stillborn…..”
~May Sarton, “Invocation to Kali”
She identified as a human once.
That was before her body awakened to the truth.
Before, it coiled and thrashed in the pain of her new realization.
Before, it chose to shed the layers of conditioning, and false programming, and broken dreams.
She passed through the chard void.
The Dark Night of the Soul
The eternal fall of surrender.
And she flailed, gasped, and drowned in the obscurity of her rebirth.
Her cells colliding and reforging into something new.
Something, other.
She was Kali, Hekate, Ereshkigal, and the black Madonna.
Momentarily overtaken by her madness.
She bled black.
And the pain of the entire world was her pain.
For it was flowing in her veins, suffocating her from within.
And the day was dark, but the night was darker.
And years came and went in an endless stream of black tears.
And even blacker thoughts, and thus, she reached the end of times.
The very edge of the universe.
An abyss as black as her soul, and she knew that her suffering could finally be over.
The end of the cycle had come.
And, so she crawled to the very edge of the abyss and looked down.
But, instead of the raging fires of Gehenna.
All she saw was a mirror and her reflection in it.
Broken and alone.
Dark tears streaking down her face.
Her hair disheveled, her clothing torn.
A mad gleam in her eyes and the voices in her head told her to stay down.
To remain in the night, hidden away from light.
Or better yet, to cease existing, altogether.
Surely, the world could do without this much darkness.
It was in that final moment that she found herself, again.
For the madness in her eyes was the madness of Hope.
And she unraveled her darkness.
Streak by streak.
Thread by thread.
Until nothing remained.
And so, she rose.
And she was darkness no more.
And so she rose.
And the morning sun rose with her.
And so she rose.
And the new cycle began.
And so she rose as a goddess. Her true self.
Finally, revealed for all to see.
So much more than a human.
So much more than a body.
So much more than a spirit caged in a third-dimensional shell.
And so she rose.
And she stood tall.
Equal in power to the sun.
Emanating light from the center of her being.
She was power.
She was a new beginning.
The most favorite daughter of Source.
And the Universe gathered itself at the feet of the goddess, guarding her like a loyal wolf.
And its power was at the goddess's fingertips.
Ready to do her bidding.
It is not by doing. But by being.
That the goddess chose to reforge the world.
It is not by doing, but by being that she chose to lead.
It is not by doing, but by being that she finally stepped onto her path.
And when the goddess realized her power, the universe bent its knee.
For she rose despite all odds.
By being, not by doing.
And the universe knew no other who could thus shift the fates.
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