The Bitter Graves

"Curiosity made humans courageous. Knowing that they must die, unable
to believe that something so dear and vibrant as the soul could
vanish into nothingness, they searched the worlds that lay beyond the
boundaries of fleshly strength, straining for glimpses of the sunless
lands that served as the last of human homes. Those lands partook of
eternity; in them existed the giants of creation and the old gods who
had defeated the giants, and the countless generations of thronging
humanity who had walked the earth in the centuries after the gods had
vanished. In those lands, one might learn the secrets of future and
past, for the dead, viewing all eternity, had foreknowledge as well
as memory; in those lands, one might again see dear companions who
had gone to dust fathers and mothers and lovers."

(Fabled Lands - "Realms of Eternal Night")


One of the greatest details of life and spiritual growth is the sense
of adventure. The mystery of not knowing what is going to happen next
or what your eyes will behold when your feet take you just over the
horizon. It could be said that our complete journey is our own
personal collection of the adventures we have had in our lifetime,
with all the trials and victories to close one story only to
introduce another. With each tale in our book of life we grow
stronger and we know that the next tale to be written will somehow
always outdo the former.

While people come and go along the way our age-old travel companions:
trial and error, instinct and passion, never leave our side. They are
always there looking in all the directions our vision can't see, to
offer us glimmers and warnings of things that lie just beyond the
corner of our eye. In this, we sometimes learn without realizing it.
And it is only when we come to a crossroad that the lessons of the
last path give us insight on which way to turn. But, at the
crossroad, there is often the sentinel of fear who has for us yet
another riddle that must be answered before we pass. If we answer
incorrectly the lesson we were meant to learn is still somewhere
behind us. So we are forced to go back and look again less fear
overtake us and we are not allowed to travel anywhere at all. Then we
join the poor lost souls in the rusty cages hanging at the corner of
the crossroads, as the crows look on, with laughter in their eyes, at
the hindrances of the minds of men.

It's much more complicated for the witch who has achieved a level of
understanding where the boundaries of death begin to blur and the
memories of one life begins to seep into another. The more we recall
from the past the more we place on our fragile mortal minds. For
while witches are similar to everyone else, in almost every aspect,
on our spiritual page so much more is written. In a little time we
find ourselves becoming more and more complicated. Our thoughts and
dreams become more complex, and in doing so, they also become more
vivid. We often spend a great deal of time attempting to see these
new details and find some sort of understanding or wisdom in them.
But in the end we are all forged by the same experiences and as a
mortal there is only so much one can experience before we simply run
out of time. So we look to others, some like-minded, who have had
different experiences than our own and these are the ones we see as
teachers and mentors. Some are simply good friends with many stories
to share. We listen to their experiences and we learn second handedly
but at least we are still learning.

The core of our journey is not of the body and where we might travel
but of the spirit and what we might come to understand. And the
journey of the spirit is often through a pathless forest, the trees
thick and the shadows deep. Our instincts often tell us to stay away
from the shadows because something inside us whispers of those dark
secret places and the dangers that might lie within them. When we
listen to those whispers we shy away, completely forgetting the rule
of nature that teaches us that where there is fear there is power.
The power comes from understanding and conquering our fears. That is
when we become wise as well as stronger and from those dark places
that still hold mystery comes new light and new growth. However,
sometimes the knowledge does not come easy.

Recently I was led to a very dark place. A twisted forest where the
only emotions invoked are those of fear, pain, emptiness, and a pure
soulless evil that would make the most warm and loving person cold
and heartless. In this place there are shapeless nightmares that claw
at your soul and do everything they can to rip it to shreds. Here
formless nightmare scream in the night in tones that make your blood
run cold. For here, even the pale light of the spirit is too bright
to go unnoticed. Here, those souls still warmed by life and blood are
unwelcome guests who are bid to not eat of the food, nor touch any
item, nor feel any hand. Here, the living walk alone in the cold dark
with only the torments of purgatory to guide their way. Here, there
are powers that turn dreams into nightmares, love into hate, and the
will to live into the passion of letting go. In this land every step
feels like your last. All of your drive and willpower leaves you for
brighter places. And the very air is a lead weight that constantly
pulls you to the ground.

In passing the forest I came to a black tower held in a forever night
by a sky that had never been pin holed by stars or moon. Until my
eyes learned to adjust the tower looked like little more than a black
outline on the blank sky and I could scarcely make out its form. This
tower has no oaken door, now stone walls, no foundation. It's nothing
more than a shadow in the night. My only hint that I was inside the
tower is that I could no longer see the pitch-black silhouette of the
forest around the tower against the sky.

The black tower is home to wraiths and tattered spirits of those left
behind in a breath of forgetting. Souls that were once touched so
gingerly with either love or hate are locked away in this tower,
forever singing the songs of all of our misdeeds and regrets. But
upon entry the songs stop as they look on with knowing eyes and after
a hollow pause they say, "Welcome."

Then they fell silent as their eyes looked to the walls where the
tapestries of life were penned out by unseen hands in vivid color.
Should it hold true that a picture is worth a thousand words then the
nightmares that I allowed to enter into the mortal realm from the
essence of my life are many and long. Picture tales of many battles,
curses, and pain. Of bloodshed and heartbreak. Such a collection of
misdeeds and mortal sins would be a humbling thought to anyone who
still has life's blood in their veins. And the thought of one day
being trapped in this tower like so many others who had gone before
made me feel very small.

A lesser wraith then came and led me to a winding staircase that led
up to the top of the tower. The steps were so ethereal that while
climbing them I could see all the way back down to the base of the
structure, as if each step was only in existence long enough for my
solid form to pass. The spiral seemed to go on for an eternity before
the steps finally ended in what appeared to be the only completely
solid room in the tower that was dimly lit by four sputtering torches
mounted on the walls. Here at the top of the spire the walls were
rough and cold to the touch. The floor was thick and appeared wet and
the air smelled stale and dusty. A waist high pedestal at the center
of the room was covered in some form of dead vine that grew from
somewhere beneath the floor. The vine seemed as if it would crumble
at the slightest touch and at the same time seemed to anchor the
metallic stand to the floor so that it could never be moved.

The top of the pedestal was a thick metal disk that had been
tarnished black with only hints of silver appearing in jagged lines
here and there. The rim of the disk was covered in some form of
complex runic script and I was never given any hint as to what it
might have read.

My ghostly guide remained silent but lifted her hand just enough to
point my attention towards the pedestal. As I approached the center
of the room the rough-cut stones that made the floor seemed to sift
into different positions as if the rocks themselves couldn't find
comfort in their final resting place. The closer I came to the
centerpiece of this dismal place the more I noticed a pale blue light
coming from the disk. And once upon it the light came to form in that
of a rosebud that had been chiseled and cut from a fist sized
sapphire. On the surface of each petal, played out the happiest times
and places of my entire life. And in watching the scenes unfold my
eyes filled with tears with the realization that in all the darkness
and negativity that was displayed below there was still a lot of
light in my life. I saw my grandfather setting with me under the old
maple tree on the back street of the village where he lived as
we "watched the cars go by" even though we were lucky to see one a
day. I saw my mother handing me a large bowl that still held a bit of
cake batter in the bottom. I saw my brother come home from the
hospital only a day old. My mother had wrapped him n a pink blanket
to trick me into thinking I had yet another sister. I saw my first
love smile at me for the first time. I saw my high school buddy
leading a happy life with a wife and kids of his own. And I saw my
own daughter laughing and playing without a care in the world.

I saw all of these things in this one enchanted rose and I longed so
deeply to reach out and hold the glassy bud close to me. Somewhere in
the shadows my hand moved on instinct to do just that and instantly
the sapphire rose swirled with an inky black stain and almost
instantly turned black, showing me nothing at all. The dead vine that
was doing it's best to choke the life from the metallic pedestal
creaked and cracked as it let go of its grip and slowly pulled itself
back into the stone floor as the now black rose lifted up just above
it's tarnished stand, hovered for a moment, and slowly floated
towards me as it were being carried by something that could not
possibly exist, even here. A detail I only realized in hindsight when
I pondered over the feeling of an overwhelming presence in the room
as the rose came to me and found another resting place in my hand.
But when it touched my flesh it vanished in a puff of black smoke.

I looked to the wraith who had led me here and I saw a deep sadness
in her eyes just before she lowered her head and began to make her
way back down the long staircase. Still, somewhere in the shadows of
that room something remained. Watching me with cold, dark eyes and
projecting a power and understanding that I could not possibly
contemplate. I knew that even if I searched every shadow for the
ghostly form I would never actually see him because there were no
mirrors in which to gaze. Instead I looked to the torch that hung on
the wall ahead of me. The flames strained and struggled to remain and
dance as flames do. But the inevitable happened as it steadily
sputtered out leaving me once again in the deep black.

It was then I felt a pressure covering my entire back as if something
was pressing closer and closer to me. It was soft and cool but warmed
quickly to my touch. Unseen hands wrapped a warm cloak around me and
I began to get a feeling of safety and peace. It was moments later
before I realized that the torches had not stopped burning but that I
had closed my eyes. When I opened them I found myself lying in bed
looking up at the shadow broken ceiling with slivers of dawn's light
spilling in through the window and I knew that it was only a dream.
Yet the memory of what I saw in the dismal place haunts me even now,
as I walk on this journey with the belief that a good life might
protect me from an evil one. But now I know to never forget the
graves that I have left behind...the bitter graves.

(Angel Snowden - 2006)