In The Shadow Of His Horns
By Edward Bartlebaugh, member of The Sect of the Horned God
Within the shadow of his horns, I find the darkness within inviting and enter without fearful apprehension, a path untrodden by my steps, a horizon unseen with my eyes, thus I find the aforementioned to be strange and yet uncommonly beautiful to be true, but can only find glances within the past to be to contrite to understand.
Once forbidden to indulge of this knowledge or even to take quarry of an inkling of curiosity within this darkness. Always told and taught to fear the believed evil that lies behind the veil submersed and drowning in the misunderstanding of the light, this darkness that dwells in the realm of all reversed value of conscience thought or meaning is the only true freedom of self, often repressed or dismissed.
Once the spark of my black flame was ignited, to feel the sulphuric burning of the righteousness being burned out of the places that light once touched. To feel the brush of the talons to hear the swift extension of the wings to walk in the footsteps as the light within dies and becomes what was once was and now has passed within the mind, For I have bathed in unrighteousness and clothed myself with damnation.
To taste the freedom of thought not bound by the constant treading of the masses, The subservient in mind and speech, pleading for a future life that is filled with an endless eternity of unknowing without dignity without pride without self and forever on their knees. A promise of eternal bliss but at the cost of their own cognition of being, but never knowing the true freedom that dwells within the darkness.
The hand of the ancient one burning to the touch, and phosphoric to hold, as the embers of darkness are fed, fed to the point of ingition of the flame within, as the Old One guides my path deeper down into the abyss of myself, for I no longer fear the abyss as I stare into it and it into me, driven by my demons to see what has and what will come, much wisdom lies in the catacombs of self. The shelves of wisom the years retain, but just out of reach of conscience thought. These halls of solitude hold my future my past my present and my destiny. My darkness is my own!
Within this darkness my freedom resides, this ever urning to go deeper within, within the mind within the soul to find and embrace the darkness of which now I abide. To lean to see to feel even likened as a young child who’s first lessons are but hard but necessary to grow and become what was intended from my inception.
Their Wine it sours to my taste, their Bread molds before my eyes, their savior is no longer mine. The threat of an eternal damnation no longer holds value to me, For I no longer fear the hollow words that they dare thrust at me, their stares of discontentment and empty concern are as insincere and vacant as are the fraudulent words contained in their so called books of holiness!
My mind no longer encased in the binding thoughts and fears that their words once brought to me, my eyes no longer blind to what they believe is light, I’m no longer a servant to fear or a servant of others to whom would only grind me underfoot in their own path to their deemed righteousness. For in the shadow of the horns I will dwell protected at peace within myself and unrestrained to He who’d have me bow to any god’s made within their image.
I can only bear witness to my own darkness, to find and gather strength and knowledge, my hand is outstretched Old One come for I await your arrival, and in my darkness I will dwell and have solitude and solace within the shadow of his Horns!