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The Dark-Re-Vamped

23 Aug

Just another excerpt from ‘The DarkRose Journal’ and the thoughts that occupy my mind. This excerpt is from the original DRJ from the early 90’s. Enjoy the dark pleasures…

The Dark
By DarkRose
© 1996

Re-published (But not re-written or edited) in Issue 5 of the DRJ-Re-Vamped
©2013
*Images are from issue 5-2013.*

It was dark…
So very, very, dark:
An envelope of darkness.

And it was warm…
So very, very, warm:
An envelope of warmth.

And the only sound
Was the distant, comforting murmur
Of the Great Being.

It was, in other words, a perfect place.

This is the opening of a short story* that describes the pre-natal comfort and security of the womb. This is how I feel about the Dark: warm, secure, comforting. I reflect in the irony that so many people are afraid of the dark-the literal as well as the abstract-when it was the dark in which we all lived so peacefully for those nine or so months. It was the glare and the harshness that caused us to first wish we had never been born; to wish we could retreat to whence we came; to go back into the Dark.
So we see that the body and the spirit have a natural affinity for the darkness. It is only through learned responses and the anti-dark prattle of others that we become fearful of the dark. We are told that the dark provides safe harbor for the evil and nefarious, that the dark obscures the truth, and that the dark is the last refuge of the weak of spirit. Nothing could be further from the truth.
We must start our understanding of the Dark by shattering the biggest misconception there is-that of the dark as a place of Evil. If being of the Light is necessarily good, so goes the argument, then being of the Dark is necessarily bad. Neither of these positions is accurate-at least not for everybody.
This idea stems from the human need to put things in two categories. Yes and No. Wrong and Right. Good and Bad. Black and White. Light and Dark. The problem is that there is not a person known who is totally good, or totally evil. We’re told that even Hitler loved children and animals; that even Jesus Christ lost his temper and promoted alcoholic beverages; and that even the Prince of Darkness is a perfect gentleman. Yet we seek a balance. An eye for an eye. A yin to a yang. A tit for a tat. Quid pro quo. And a Dark for a Light. Since most people see themselves as creatures of the light, and they further perceive themselves as good and worthy, which leaves the balance to fall to the dark, and thus is created a world of evil.
You stub your toe in the dark, the cat springs at your feet in the dark, you lose your way in the dark. That’s where the bogeyman lives, in the dark-and it must be true, because our parents said so. You shouldn’t wander the streets at night. Why? Because it’s late? No, because it’s dark. Light a candle, flip a switch, turn something on-dispel the dark!
In medieval times a solar eclipse was a portend of impending doom. Even a dark cloud passing in front of the sun at the wrong moment could brand someone a witch. In the darkness there is the Unknown, and the human animal is by nature terrified of the unknown. Beyond these seas there be dragons, the cartographers warned. Beyond the dragons, there be the edge of the world. And once you fall off the edge of the world, there be eternal darkness. Magellan finally put a stop to that, but his crew kept a wary eye out for dragons anyway!
The Unknown. The Dark is the perfect metaphoric hiding place for all that we do not understand. Our fears. Our biases. Our hatreds. And most of all, that part of ourselves that we do not wish to examine in the bright light. Yes, my dear friends, the Dark is the ultimate scapegoat; the repository of our sins, real and imagined. But just as one can clean out the cobwebs of a spooky old attic and then enjoy the treasures that are revealed, so can we all learn to if not love, then at least appreciate the dark.
But is it true? Is there evil there? Some. There are deceitful spirits and lost souls and a certain amount of karmic dredge. But there is much more of that in the Light. The contemptible con man that cleans out his victim’s bank account does so with a pressed suit and an engaging smile, not with a black hood and mask. The church goer sings long and loudly in the pew as sunlight streams through the stained glass window, then rushes out to bed his neighbor’s wife. The perfect housewife dumps out a half gallon of milk exactly on the due date, then snorts in derision as she passes a homeless family on the street. And it’s all done by the good and pure people of the Light. Jeffrey Dahmer was the boy next door. Ted Bundy wad the Boy Scout next door. John Wayne Gacy was the clown next door. Tit for tat. Quid pro quo.
So instead of being turned away by the perceived evil of the dark, let’s look to see what else there might be in there. We’ve admitted that it’s hard to see in there, so let’s step in long enough to let our eyes grow accustomed. As the pupils dilate, so let the mind open and expand. Let the senses be aware. Let the soul be eager.
Let’s imagine a scenario. It is somewhere around the year 1200. We’re in England-a scary place at that time, until you realize the rest of the world is even scarier. Power and position come much more swiftly at the point of a sword than the nub of a pen. The local sheriff is subservient to the Earl, and enforces the law as it is convenient and handy. To get from one town to another, one must walk-only the rich have horses. And to walk on these roads is to take your life in your hands. Bands of outlaws have free reign outside the gates of the city, and are eager to relieve a passerby of their purse and their life. The outlaws live in the thick forest; since by their outlaw status, they are denied citizenship. Thus the forest is a place of the Unknown. Evil lurks there. The forest is the Dark. Beyond these woods there be dragons. Beyond these dragons there be death.
Everyone has his or her place in the pecking order. Peasants serve craftsman, serfs serve knights who serve nobility who serve the king. Everything in the system works until someone decides that they don’t wish to be a part of the accepted system. Maybe they feel they should be able to own land without having the royal blessing; maybe they feel they should be able to have authority without having a noble lineage; maybe they feel they should be able to worship according to their own belief system rather than that of the powerful Church. Whatever the reasons, these people feel slightly apart from the norm. They are independent. They are the exception, rather than the rule. They cluster in small groups of like-minded souls, finding solace in the very few who also wish to chart their own course. They realize they can’t continue living in the city, because the city is very intolerant of those who are intolerant of the city. People hang for things like that. They want to go live in the forest, because there the city will leave them alone. But the forest is Dark, and in the Dark, there is evil.
This small band of society’s displaced ventures tentatively into the woods, keeping their eyes and ears open for the dangers that dwell there. They find a cave. It is dry and warm, but it is also dark. Their desperation finally overcomes their fear, and they move into the cave. It’s not bad. As a matter of fact, they become quite comfortable there. Other people hear about this new little sub-society in the forest, and the braver of them venture past their apprehensions and find the cave. They, too, find support there.
All of these formerly displaced people are now placed. They have found a home in the Dark. And they are making discoveries-the differences between their home in the Dark and their old residence in the Light. Now please don’t misunderstand me when I say that these people lived in the Dark. That doesn’t necessarily mean that they lived in actual darkness, that there was no light, and that they had to stumble around in an unseen void until their senses developed bat-like sonar. They used candles. They used lanterns. They built fires. They were artists and writers and mathematicians and scientists and scholars and parents and clerics and sellers and buyers and all the kinds of things that people of the Light are-and for these activities they had to dispell the physical darkness. They had to venture out of the cave to interact and commune with the world outside. They were bifunctional. They moved at ease in both worlds, when necessary. It’s just that for their personal growth and nourishment they preferred the Dark.
Why? Because the Dark is an incredibly sensual place. Their sense of being has become focused. Their senses of being have become sharpened. When they seek pleasures, they are rewarded with ecstasy. Intense touches, intense aromas, intense sights and sounds. They have never known an odor so fragrant and full-bodied, or a taste so fulfilling, or a sight so beautiful. They have never known an orgasm so full of love and so full of life.
They have discovered that the Dark, rather than serving to mask and deceive, does instead act as a filter. It forbids the invasion of the cluttered and confused. It intimidates the cowardly and short-sighted. It makes a barrier that the hypocrite and self-deceiver find hard to penetrate. The kindred spirits of Thoreau, Epicurus, and Dionysus make it past. Diogenes shines his lantern approvingly here.
The cave-dwellers, those disciples of the Dark, live in one with their surroundings. They love nature, for it is nature that has given them their safe haven. They do not wish to exploit their fellow denizen, because that is their family. They do not want to shut out that which is mysterious and incomprehensible, for it is there that new knowledge and discovery dwell. They sincerely wish to find their inner spirit, for that is their essence. They sincerely wish to find their other kindred, for with them is their past and their future. They learn to look at everything that comes their way with an appreciative and curious eye. In the Dark, things reveal themselves slowly, but once they are revealed, they are true and pure. It is only in the Light that there is a need for pretense and masquerade, for it is only in the Light that judgments are handed down based on surface rather than substance.
These cave-dweller citizens of the Dark were my ancestors. They were my family. I, was one of them. I watched from the safety of my cave as the outside world slowly turned increasingly to turmoil and destruction. I ventured out as necessary, for my life in the Dark better equipped me to deal with life in the Light. I was on to them, yet they were helpless and blind in my Dark.
I was then, I am now, and I will always be, a daughter of the Dark. Night* is my Mother. And, I, her faithful child continue to find solace within her dark embrace. My lover, my teacher, my immortal Mother opens her veins to me, and I drink. From her flows the blood of life. The blood of life washes my soul clean. I bathe in its sensuality and truth. I celebrate its wisdom and beauty.
It is time for all of Night’s children to come home. Our great immortal Mother longs to embrace her lost children with her black wings of endarkment. She longs to fill your mortal life with dark pleasure and love. She longs to teach your spirit the wisdom of the Dark. She patiently awaits for the return of her beloved and beautiful children.
Although my recollection of what came before is sometimes dim, my spirit most assuredly remembers the dark from whence it came. It recalls fondly the security and comfort that was found there, and it rejoices that I have found my way back.
I look out from the Dark with bright eyes, and my senses revel in its erotic purity. The Dark is home, and the home is Dark. Welcome to my home.

*From “Light at the End of the Tunnel” copyright 1985 by L.L. Hart
*Night, also known as Lilith, the Sumerian goddess of beauty, sexuality, and truth; in Judaism, the mother of darkness and demons.

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Ebon Rhapsody

20 Aug

Property of DarkRose Productions
© 2014 Julia DarkRose Ray

Ebon Rhapsody

Come to her empty of your day fire misery.
Embrace the rubescent maiden,
most perfect Lady of Night,
who brings a noise of valiant winds
and the rushing rivers of ebon truth.

For the liars burning glory…
Your acid rains and shallow ruins are over
and all your seasons of betrayal and vileness,
shall now wither to poisoned dust.
The days dividing lover and lover
are washed away by Her mighty storm.
The light that loses substance,
shall be replaced by our precious Night that substantiates;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
and frosts slain,
and nighttime flowers begotten.
In shadowed underwood
we are covered blossom by blossom,
the crimson Spring begins…

Before the beginning of years
there came to the making of human kind,
time, with a gift of tears;
Sorrow, with a glass that always flowed;
Pleasure, with pain for genesis;
Summer, with flowers that fell;
Remembrance fallen from ebon rhapsody
and beautiful madness risen from Pandemonium;
Strength with the spirit to smite;
Love that endures for all breaths;
Darkness, the creator of light, and life,
the shadow of Death.

Then the sun was borne,
and swallowed the gospel of our Lady Night.
Eyesight and speech, they, those vacant souls wrought
for the veils of the spirit therein,
a time for labor and diseased thought,
a time to serve false verity and enslave;
They gave us, the children of the Moon,
the false light of their ways and selfish love,
and a space for insipid delight,
masked beauty and the length of disturbing days
and the dim gloom, they call midnight,
permission to sleep in the arms of our own
luminous Dark Mother.

Their speech is a burning fire of atrophied spiritual waste;
With their deceiver lips
they travail the delusions of the begotten son;
In their hearts is a blind desire,
in their shrouded eyes
foreknowledge of untrue death;
They try to weave our lives,
clothed with derision
of what they mistakenly fear.
Swine they are
and shall not reap the dark joy
and wisdom of the eventide.
They exist as a confused vision
between a sleep and asleep.

Oh, we have seen thee,
O false love,
thou aren’t true;
Thou aren’t goodly,
thou aren’t the burning
of unconditional love,
of the spirit of creation,
thou art a lie…

For your words divide and rend;
But ours, the red moon tribes,
eclipsed silence, is most noble till the end.

~JDREbon Rhapsody

Nocturnal Passage Society

6 Aug

If you are interested in haunted places, Occult/Paranormal Research, having the bejesus scared out of you and then sharing that fear with the rest of the world, then you might want to stop by my new group, have a look around, sit a spell and hopefully join all the ensuing supernatural shenanigans.

Click on the link below to be transported to the Nocturnal Passage Society…

 

11439-408x294-hauntedhouse
This group exists for the sole purpose of making journey’s to extremely haunted locations, scaring the bejesus out of ourselves, documenting said scary crap and scaring the hell out of the rest of the world.

Spectre

24 Jul

Property of DarkRose Productions
© Julia DarkRose 2014
261aa03135b0bbe1386cc7c3a5011731

Spectre

How shall you cease from drowning from within your spiritual sleep?
Where you have taken refuge in deep silence?
Doth deception already rouse you with its musical treachery?
No, the spectre has naught to do with melody or song.
It is a malignant sound, a ghost of sound,
an echo of some heedless laughter you have known-
yet where is your laughter now that lies are revealed?
Yours is the sound of hurtful noise changed to stone,
and warmth to frost, and false fire to reflection:
O fearful ghost!

You are but…

Scourge of the enslaved,
Doom of freedom,
Egg of the serpent,
Web of the spider,
Servant of lies,
Lamp of delusion
Beacon of indecency,
Bearer of erroneous power,
Broken crystal of knowledge,
Mirror of madness
You are not redemption.
In truth, you are self-damnation.
Why do you adore the spectre?
In truth, you should abhor thee.
Oh how you rejoice in your “awakening,”
oh how you, that are bound and gagged, crawl from
the beautiful music of truth,
to be embraced by deceptions comforting.

Warm is the dark kiss that will break your brainwashed soul,
bound in your desolate web, try to set yourself free;
Dying in formless, cold flame, now try to learn to live:
If you hold fast to your frail thread,
your last false light shall never be shed.
Ghost, and ghoul, Banshee of filth,
What matter is it if you feed that evil:
Can it not be a beauteous beast,
are you not better for beauty still?
Oh my, yes, let yourself be well betrayed
and led to death by discordant singing
where no sting blinds, no pain astounds,
and even in anguish, no voice sounds.

Shatter your mirror of madness
Live free and fearless!
The moon has risen,
she is here to bear a mirror
for your altered face.
Look through the spectre
and into the darklight.

Drink from the sanguine well,
quench your parched spirit.
Part your lips and blow…
Blow that spectre far, far away.

~JDR

Social Media

23 Jul

Bloody FB Like

‘A newbie to social media’
Definition: If I may borrow a line from one of my favorite movies,
“Fresh meat for the beast.”
~Julia DarkRose Ray

Chained

22 Jul
Copyright 2014
By Julia DarkRose

*This is a harsh truth of life, of the beginning of my life, told through my prose. While other little girls were playing hopscotch or riding bikes or having Strawberry Shortcake themed birthday parties, I was chained to the wall and up for sale. This is a harsh truth that happens in your own communities. Please, put down the video game controller, turn off the TV, put down your vampire fantasy novel and look up, look around. Pretending that you don’t see is the worse evil I can imagine.*

Chained

Chained
(My Story)

I was a lovely child,
So fresh and wild,
Chained to the secret wall
Where no one else can see.

A dirty little cherished prize,
My body displayed like
A bruised butterfly.

Innocent vision,
A feast for their
Cold, dead eyes.

A fragile beauty
That they dared
To touch…

I was their caged flower,
Freshly cut and so
young and beautiful.
His sharp knife,
cut deep,
But it won’t hurt for long.

New life, shining in from the streams
Of light,
From the bloodied window
From high above,
My lashes stirred
Like feathers of a dove
On my bone smooth cheek,
Glittering midnight eyes uncovered,
From what seemed
Like a life long sleep.

They thought that I
Could be their freshly
Cut flower,
So young and beautiful…

Now I willingly shun the
Daylight fire.
I’m an earthbound angel,
Yearning for the twilight’s
Dark desires.

To die for my salvation,
My flesh must be strong…

Don’t worry he always said,
It won’t hurt for long.

~JDR

 

Vampiress

13 Jul

Property of DarkRose Productions
By Julia DarkRose ©2013

**It’s back to work for me. My break from creating the most awesome issue of ‘The DarkRose Journal’ is over. I leave you with a simple little prose of mine. Enjoy…I hope. Thank you kindly to those who take a few moments to read it. :-)**
FB DRJ Profile Pic
Vampiress

Cloaked in velvet darkness,
a dancer in the flames,
I am called by many names.
From the misty hidden caverns
in ancient days of magick,
comes the truth once forbidden
of my Earthly shrouded ways.

Bewitching goddess of the crossroads,
my secrets are kept in the night.
I am half remembered, half forgotten,
I am found in the shadows of the moonrise.

I call upon the universal wisdom,
that dwells within,
and beseech thee from days gone by,
to enter my expectant soul.
I am the Mother of Sacred Earth,
my power is beyond compare,
when my dreams are given birth.

Lady of desire, reflection of the night,
I am motion, direction, and second sight.
Mother of creation,
the original source,
I am potential,
dark power, the ultimate force,
Grandmother of time,
wisdom from below and above,
I dwell here with honor and perfect love.

Glorious Queen of the twilight hour,
wise and vigilant protector,
my silent love is regal and most splendor.
Great mystery behind life’s veil,
I rise time and again.
I am the truest keeper of the grail.
I am she who whispers, gentle and strong,
I am she for whom your soul doth long,
by most men I am seldom seen.
I am the virgin, mother, and sable Queen.
Through the moonlit veil, I pass with pride,
all who beckon me, I shall be at your side.
I am she who knows,
I am she who reveals.
I am she who gives birth,
I am she who feels.
For I am the goddess and mother of all.

Ask for me now–I come as you call.
Now through the mist you hear my voice,
you invoke me, gracious goddess, by choice.
I suffer as all men die,
doth with the victims in dark love I lie.
I am the maiden and crone of despair,
and with me your ending you must share.
You feel my passion,
you feel my presence,
you rapture in my vital essence.
I am the dancer of eternal bliss,
I bestow upon you my wondrous dark kiss.
I am the creatress of heavens, hells, and Earth.
To your dark dreams and passionate wishes,
I give birth.
I am the truest child of nature…
I am Vampiress.
~JDR

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