I came across episode 98 again. It strikes a chord with me, mostly because E.T.A. Hoffmann’s Der Sandmann is one of my favorite books that I had to read for school. The language is great and it is as creepy as it is hilariously over the top. I illustrated one of the scenes back in school and did it and some more again during my Bachelor years. It was such fun.
Also some Maxwell Rayner here: One has I imagined him from Basira’s statement and one for how he is described in the statement from episode 89.
—————————————- [image descriptions: 1) The image is a digital charcoal drawing. In an long, oval shape it depicts a tall figure, with lengthened features looming over two people, a man and a woman lying in a bed. A stream of blackness is gushing out of the figures mouth. In what might be his hands it his holding the edge of a black shape, which melts with the surrounding darkness. The man is propped up on his arms, staring up at the figure, while his wife sleeps peacefully next to him.
2) It is a digital painting in light blues, greys and dirty yellows, showing a creature with a humanoid body and a bird’s head feeding its sharp-beaked bird brood an eyeball. The creature is dressed in a long 17th century frock-coat and wears a wig on its head. In one hand it holds a small string bag. In the background clouds are shifting in front of a moon.
3) This portrait of Rayner shows him as a black middle-aged man, with a collar that hints hat victorian times. His hair is streaked with grey, his eyes are completely white. He too is lit from the front, black shadowy tendrils are staring to envelope him from below.
4) The head of the People’s Church of the Divine Host is depicted as a white old, thin man, wearing a dusty, black robe and being surrounded by darkness in shadow and dark specs hanging in the air. He is lit from the front and slightly from below, the light shining on his white, cloud-like hair and beard, his milky white eyes and a stream of blackness flowing out of his open mouth.]
Am I afraid of the dark? I’m not afraid of the darkness per se, but what hides within is another story. It symbolizes many things, death, loneliness, hurt, anxiety and overthinking, it’s these feelings that find their ways toward me in the dark of the night.
Yet, although I am afraid of what lies within the darkness, I myself do as well. Physically, emotionally, spiritually—Zen does not necessarily have a color nor light, I tend to close my eyes to focus in and the dark brings just that. I close my blinds and I like the room basically as dark as possible to fall asleep. It holds me in comfort as I find rest, peaceful and deep.
So, am I afraid of myself then? Is that it? The imagination is what has the most power in the dark—creating beautiful dreamscapes and nightmare-ish demons—all spouting from the same wellspring, the same mind, the same spilled ink. I have the power to control what I see and think, yet sometimes it’s overwhelming and flooding with feelings.
The dark, black slate of the mind is a mixture of emotions; the colors of the world and the mind flow together and I find whatever I’m looking for. The subconscious plays a huge role, I believe. Do I want to find comfort? What am I thinking? The worries that I don’t have time for during the light of the day rush out in the dark of the night. They unintentionally become associated with the dark because that’s when I have time to face them, when waiting for slumber to take me; thus the fear of facing myself and my own inner struggles taint the comfort I once found therein.
I must remind myself of the beauty that comes with the darkness. The stars in the sky cannot shine during the time of the sun. The moon needs the deep slumber of the sun to lull us all to bed in comfort. Each firefly and spark of a flame shines brilliantly the darker the setting is, and each bolt of lighting that strikes through the sky leaves me in awe. The contrast between light and dark does not necessarily mean one is better than the other, as they can only exist together.
Rain cascading down on another darkened summer day, Satan’s Blessings as the day seems to beckon the promise of winter - I hate the Summer … the noise, the intense brightness, the shallow sheep of the masses basking in the light of their own socially contrived images - I much prefer the winter with its dark embraces, stormy skies and snow covered barren landscapes reflecting the isolation of my Soul!
