If you follow me on Instagram or have read pretty much any of my other posts, you’ll know that I’m not your typical New Age mystic.
I have unpopular opinions and harsh words and little patience for fake bullshit.
I do not walk a lightworker’s path.
I once attended a Reiki circle. It may have just been this specific circle of people, but I have to say that it was the most awful, steaming pile of horse shit I’ve ever found myself in the middle of. I was told to hold their hands and “visualize a warm, pink, fuzzy healing light around the earth.” Um…no. Get your filthy, fuzzy-ass pink hands away from me.
The darkness is the work. It’s Kali and Baba Yaga and all those who came before and after, who toil away in the absence of light. It’s the place where the dead go, where things are mended, where new things begin. This is the place to be. The place where shit is going down.
There are people who say to acknowledge the shadow but walk in the light, but it doesn’t work like that. Shadows spill and press in, they grow and stretch and creep.
If you went to a friend’s house and they insisted that their house was clean, yet you walk in and they’re standing in a two-foot square of clean floor with shit heaped all around them, that’s not a clean house just because they’re standing in a clean spot, right? It’s the same thing with darkness. I can see that shit. It leaks under closet doors.
Sitting down with the worst version of yourself is imperative. Serve that bitch a cup of tea and look her right in the eye. You cannot be too afraid to look at horrors full on. Do not leave monsters to run through your woods unchecked.
Your eyes will adjust to the darkness. You’ll find yourself organizing, discarding, sweeping up dust, setting out a saucer of milk for the monsters. You’ll hear the dead and the not-yet-living whispering through the groan of black tree branches overhead. Don’t be fearful. Listen.
Establish your kingdom in the light, if you must, but your dark garden requires daily attention. If you walk out far enough, you’ll find that everyone’s darkness eventually converges in a clearing. This is the hollow of human nature, and there is no worse place than this. I’ve been visiting this place often lately.
Go there. See things you can’t unsee. Witness. Grieve. And go back home.
There is nothing to be gained by hiding in the light.