Being a Luciferian is hard work.
Even without all the research it entails, and all the uncomfortable self-reflection and shadow work, it is still exhausting to constantly be pushing oneself to be more, do more, and be worthy of such a title.
But sometimes its necessary to put aside all that effort, to stop worrying and stressing about the end goal, or the intricacies of one’s god, and just stop and remind oneself of why they decided to step onto this path in the first place. Like everybody else, I reach points where I just can’t find the strength or inspiration (or time, for that matter) to sit down and write pertinent, insightful essays about my faith. And when I hit those sorts of walls, I have to go back to the source of my inspiration, past the comprehensible parts of my god, past the parts that I can reason with and understand and make sense of—past the parts I can put into words.
Sometimes I need to just get lost in who and what my god is. That means letting myself drown in the depths of his anguish, or allowing the fires of his determination consume my very being. And tonight that means basking in the glow and radiance of his love, and my own love for him.
The thrum and ache in my chest, the tight grip on my heart.The restlessness. The sheer intensity of color, sound, and texture. The lightheadedness, and the giddy feeling bubbling up through my chest. The songs that spill from my lips, and the overwhelming need to make those words tangible and real, that they would be more than empty promises.
Words are failing, my melodies falter, my voice is breaking, my heart is burning…
Because blessing and honor, glory and power…they belong to you.*
The breathlessness I’m struck with as the last note fades back into silence. The electric hum in my bones.
The love of he who once inspired the stars to sing, he who is a spark of the God who is Love personified. The love for his God, for those created in his beloved Maker’s image, and the disappointment born out of that love—that humanity would be content with such a corrupted, ignorant nature when being capable of so much more.
For that moment in time, I let go of myself and my own personal worries. I let go of the things that anchor me to myself, the fears and hopes and dreams that define who I am, and instead, I lose myself in my god. His hopes and dreams and fears become my own. My love for him serves as a reflection, a mere mimicry of his own love for his God and all that is of Him. The hymns and songs pouring from my mouth directed toward the Lightbearer are simultaneously songs that the Lightbearer directs towards his God.
But inevitably, I find my way back to myself. It is with the agonizing realization that no matter how synchronous my heart may be to my god’s in that moment, no matter how overcome, inspired, and consumed I am by the Mourningstar’s adoration and love, how humbled I am by the insignificance of my own in comparison, only one us is being heard. Only one of us is being acknowledged.
And it is not him.
It is that same such love that stirs me to forfeit the right to my own pleas for mercy, so that instead the Mourningstar might once again know the grace and love of his God, that his songs might not fall on deaf ears any longer.
And yet, a part of me recognizes the fact that this love has increased its intensity through sorrow, that it would not be what it is now without that loss. That perhaps there is no going back—for him or me.
Oh, love that will not let me go
I rest my weary soul in thee
And in your ocean depths, its flow
May richer, fuller be
Oh, light that follows all my way
I yield my flickering torch to thee
and my heart restores its borrowed ray
that in your sunshine’s blaze its day
may brighter, fairer be
Oh, joy, that seeks me through the pain
I cannot close my heart to thee
And rejoice, my heart! you’ve been made whole
by a love that will not let me go.**
*New Song, Audrey Assad
**Oh Love That Will Not Let Me Go, traditional hymn