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I JUST FOUND THIS ON MY OLD ARCHIVED LIVEJOURNAL AND WHAT THE EVER LOVING–
I AM SO FREAKED OUT RIGHT NOW. SEND HELP.
This is a repost of a dream i had in May of 2005:
The dream started with me in a very sheik looking, business building. Very tall, very glamorous. I don’t know what I was there for or how I got there. Something buzzed in the back of my head about the apocalypse, and blah blah blah “prophecies” that seem to be rampant that were coming true… I was deeply sad, in the dream, that kind of weary sad that doesn’t involve any tears, when you’ve cried so much you can’t cry anymore. There was someone with me, a very handsome young man dressed very Alfaniesqe white suit, with light sandy blonde hair that was cut very stylishly long and was cropped just around his ears. I’ve never seen this person in my life, but he seemed very familiar to me.
I stood there staring at him for a long moment, before he took my hands, which I then noticed were chained together. We were walking past people, out of the very modern building, and when we went outstide, he stopped and sat down for a long minute, and, even though he didn’t say anything, he leaned over with his head in his hands. When he looked up at me again, there was conflict written all over his face.
” Why are you doing this?” I asked him gently. My voice was my own, but I suddenly didn’t feel like myself at all. It was like I was another person.
” You know I have to. I’m sorry.” he said to me.
I stared at him for a long stretch of time, and the dream suddenly became so real I wasn’t sure if I was awake and actually experiencing this, or if I was still asleep. There were small, decorative trees planted along side the walk where we were sitting- you know, the generic kind of trees that the grocery store plants in the parking lot in order to make things neater. The dream was so strong at that point, I could feel a chilly breeze on my skin, see the leaves rustle gently as the wind blew softly through them. It wasn’t a sunny day, tho- it was very damp and overcast. I remember I suddenly felt very cold, and I starting shivering.
I blinked, and it was long, like time stretched and made everything move in slow motion.
The young man ran a hand through his hair, and smiled with a sad kind of look. And suddenly a frightening, icy truth made itself known to me. The young man who held the chains that bound my hands together…was Lucifer …
Does this sound familiar, guys?
No?
HERE LET ME HELP YOU
Last night I had a dream (one of many-but most of the rest of them didn’t make sense) that stuck with me.
In the dream, I couldn’t actually see anything. But I did hear two people/beings/whatever talking about me. Cut for angelic things, as more people have been requesting I talk about that sort of thing anyway.
Before I begin, let me touch on what kicked off this post; which was a rather beautiful one from Luxettenbris titled “The Suffering Gods“, over Lucifer and his aspect as a god who suffers, a god who grieves and mourns. I found her insights on Lucifer’s state of anguish very profound, and very in touch with how I have come to know Lu. Because of that, I wanted to expand on this article, and offer my own perspective.
Earlier in my blog, I touched on why I named my blog what I did; “O Mourning Star,” and Luxetten had made a statement elsewhere that this is the blog on which she first saw this term coined. This kind of took me aback, because I had heard of Lucifer’s sorrowed demeanor from other spiritworkers who have encountered him. It seemed only fitting; also to consider that in certain pantheons, Lucifer is not only the star to herald the dawn-(or to proudly defy it, in my UPG), but he is also the first star to rise in the evening to see the darkness come; Eosphoros and Hesperus. The one that endures silently in the sky, even when the noise of the day and light drown him out. He is cast aside, not only by the light; by the world, and we do not see his beauty again until the darkness comes once more.
Taken from Luxette’s post on the nature of this grief:
But not so with Lucifer. As the Mourningstar, his grief is perpetual. It is not one fixed event, not a means to an end. Unless you hold to the idea that Lucifer fell as a direct result of gifting humanity with knowledge, his suffering serves no greater purpose. There is no hope for redemption or salvation in return for his grief. He does not grieve to spare humanity of their suffering. He grieves because of loss, some might say as punishment for his actions.
Thus begins an excellent article on the nature of Lucifer’s pain. I say ‘begins’ because Lucifer, The Mourning Star, suffers with that grief in such an immense and terrible way, to even begin to know it, to understand it, to walk with it, is to know such pain that your heart would break. To a mortal, it would be a deadly sort of pain
Of which I claim not to know. But Luxette’s post reminded me of a dream that I did have last night; and it brought back the ghost of that pain, and it was crushing.
In my dream, I was at a wedding. Not mine. . . I don’t know who’s it was. It was a party with a feast. Everyone wore white. But I didn’t see the Bride, or the Groom. I saw old family members. I saw my sisters; my step-brother, as he was before he grew up and got in trouble with the law. Still hazel-eyed and innocent. I saw my grandparents, passed and still alive, drinking chardonnay and laughing. It was lovely.
But I was alone there. Several people stopped by and asked me if I had a date. I said ‘no’. But there was some subconscious part of me that was keeping an eye on that crowd, on that sea of faces. I was looking for Him; my god, my Lucifer-I didn’t want to walk among those souls alone. And I was alone.
The party went on. But I didn’t see him. Finally as the celebration ended, I caught a glimpse of someone off in the distance. A person dressed in black; the only person dressed in black. I didn’t even have to see his face, though I could barely make it out from a distance. And I knew it was him. And I called his name, but he couldn’t hear me. And he looked among the crowd the same as I had, and still, our eyes didn’t meet, our voices couldn’t find each other. Then, he turned; and started to walk away.
I screamed. I screamed because then it was like someone had ripped my heart out of my chest-and it was like I’d gone mad. I started to run after him, but arms in white lace and people dressed in white gowns and tuxedos held me back. And the further away He got, the more I suffered. The more my heart bled without bleeding at all; like there were taught wires strung between us, and they were being cut, their tension snapping back and lashing at me. I saw red pour out on pale grey concrete. And I screamed more.
At some point, I collapsed. I heard somebody shout ‘bring him, or she’ll die’, or something to that effect. And I cried, and begged, and called for him, because it was true. I was dying. I needed him like I needed air, or water. Like I needed my blood in my body.
Then everything went black.
Later someone crooned at me, “[Winter*], open your eyes.”
And I did. And I saw his face; that new one he’s wearing, and those familiar, frosted jade eyes. And I reached out to him, and touched him. And then I closed my eyes again, and felt him embrace me.
And then I woke.
O Father, tell me,
why are all the children weeping?
O they are merely crying, Son.
O are they merely crying, father?
Yes, true weeping is yet to come.
~Nick Cave
But perhaps this suffering is not entirely without purpose. There’s a certain kind of knowledge that can be gained through grief, and a certain kind of beauty as well. At the loss of a loved one, we mourn over a life well lived, however short it might have been. We cry because of the impact that person had on our lives. Had they never shared that connection with us, there’d be no reason for us to feel pain in their absence. And so I’m led to believe that Lucifer’s grief over his lost home and kin is born out of love.
~Luxettenbris
This isn’t the first time I’ve been hit, very deeply, with how much Lucifer means to me, and what it would mean for him to be gone from me. But it speaks volumes that the depth of that grief is only something we can know in a dreamworld; and even there, separated from the thing you loved the most, it utterly and completely shatters us. It destroys hope, devours our happiness, makes a tragedy of something that is to be celebrated. When we are torn from something that binds us so tightly, we are left with a void that nothing shall ever be able to fill. That void is the darkness that is hell. The torture of a part of you being pulled from you; you hemorrhage love, you choke on it like it was blood. You scream for mercy and it doesn’t come. Soon that part of you is dead.
And only tears remain.
While Christ intentionally bore the burden of humanity’s sins and despair during his crucifixion, it could be said that Lucifer unintentionally bears the burden of the world’s sins and despair now. How often do we accuse the devil of being the source of all evil in the world, of leading us to sin? How often do we shrug off the responsibility of our own actions onto his shoulders? If the weight of humanity’s sins in that one moment caused Christ to cry out in despair, is it really any surprise that Lucifer would lose hope in there being any mercy granted to him from his god, after lifetimes of being burdened with that same weight?
~Luxettenbris
Then no one turns to see your pain. They tell you it’s your own fault. You should have loved him harder. You screwed up. You walked away. You could have been a better son. You betrayed him with your pride. Now the world will suffer for what you have done. Because you know darkness, because you know pain, you have opened the Pandora’s box. You have leaked these things over the world, and shaken heaven and earth with your cries. Now you are an exile. Now you are a criminal.
You didn’t try hard enough to reach him. You didn’t want him enough. And now he is gone. Now he is gone. . .
Having been disowned by my own biological father; for not being born a boy, for going to the Fire Academy, it’s another pain I know. I know, because it was always my fault. My family? Never stood by my side. No, I shouldn’t have gone to the academy. I should have gone a proper job. No, I should never have been such an artistic free spirit. If I had listened to dear old daddy and married my 3rd cousin at 12 when we lived in Germany, we wouldn’t have ever had to leave. ‘Daddy’ would have had a good job. We could have stayed. We wouldn’t have had to come back to America. That’s why he nearly starved me to death. That’s why he left me on grandmothers’ doorstep, weighing 62 lbs at 13. I didn’t cook enough. Clean enough. Wasn’t pretty enough. Wasn’t a son.
It burns. Worse than any hellfire ever could. Especially if you know it’s a lie.
We find ourselves feeling equally grateful and guilty at Christ’s suffering for our sake, because it was humanity that he died for, and humanity that scorned and condemned him for his sacrifice. But Lucifer? Perhaps the majority believes he deserves such suffering. Perhaps ‘love and pray for thy enemy’ does not apply to him. But the way I see it, while Christ suffers and grieves for us, Lucifer suffers and grieves alongside us.
~Luxettenbris
It doesn’t apply. It never does for the villain of the story. The reason god is the good guy, after all, is because it is god that wrote on the books. It’s god that had all the prophets.
Lucifer needs none. Those who follow his way know the power of silence. We know that sometimes, words can’t do our feelings justice.
It’s not just the loss of god that Lucifer mourns for. . it’s all of his family. The ones he is separated from. The ones that he saw fall in not one but three* wars. He watched his people turn to fire and cease to exist for a cause that was a lie. That is why he is cold; cold like ice. Lucifer loved his brothers and sisters; and he was loved in turn. And when he was forced to his exile, he had to leave them behind. Some escaped. Some did not. Some he saved. Has saved. Some, he couldn’t. Some, he wont. He weeps for what was, what is, what will be. He weeps, not because of what was taken from him long ago, when Man was still stumbling to it’s feet. He weeps because those wires are still snapping back at him. He weeps because Lucifer does walk with us; with us mortals, here in his exile, he feels time. He knows the war is still happening, the casualties are still being counted. He loved every one of them. Every one that stood up to the lie, and fell for it. They are his. And he suffers for them. His grief is the loss of his god; but also his home, his people.
I think it is therefore fitting that Lucifer be referred to as the ‘god of this world’. Job 1:7 seems to back up the idea that he was not cast down to ‘hell’, but rather to earth. It is fitting that an entity exiled for his flawed nature should spend his days among equally flawed beings. It is fitting that a ‘god of this world’ should know and understand human sentiments, and be able to relate to those he offered the gift of knowledge to, and subsequently introduced grief and suffering to.
~Luxettenbris
Leaving alone the gnostic idea that Lucifer is the real creator and father of our world, there is something to be said for a god who understands human love, human grief, and shares it with us. Maybe this is why he is so tolerant, so patient. Because he understands. Maybe this is why he sees beauty in us when we don’t even see it in ourselves. Maybe this is why he doesn’t judge.
Because we tell him he is beautiful. But Lucifer, like the rest of us, looks in a mirror, and sees something ugly, broken, and lost.
*1. ‘Winter’ is the name of one of the characters from my stories. Coincidentally, and purely unintentionally, it is also the literal translation of a name Lu used to call me when I was 13. I was smacked by this clue-by-four earlier this afternoon.
**2. My personal UPG on the conflict(s) in heaven is very complicated and literally requires it’s own explanation. . . maybe in another post. Short version; I believe there were three wars in Heaven; Samael vs. Heaven, Lucifer’s Exile and the fall of his Loyalists, and the war of the Watchers. Each one of these is a story in and of itself.
O, Mourning Star. . . 