You come to this place, carrying nothing with you, carrying everything.

   The essentials, nothing more...


   There are people around you. At least you think so. But you can't really see them, can you. Because you have looked at mere shells, pretending to be people, all your life, you can't see people for what they are. These are the one sitting in shadows, the gods of gods. They are the shadows, so much more than merely the form casting a shade.

   And the voice in your head isn't really a voice...

   "Call forth The Demon, call forth yourself. Inside every shell of a man is the man itself, a person with all his or her fangs and claws intact. Behold The Wild Man, The Human Being, The Demon, the way she or he really looks. The Hunter, the stalker in darkness, the eternal Seeker in the wilderness, wandering the invisible labyrinth."



   The walls are dissolving. Perhaps, in the final analysis, they were never there.


   Is that a table or are you just imagining it to be one?


   You may have walked before in your life, but you've never moved… until this moment.


   The sky is gone. The ground is gone. Perhaps they were never there.


   Only The Mist remains.


   And the mists are parting before your eyes.



   This is a new dark lodge, made from the ashes of the old.
   This is Real. It's not a site made up for commercial purposes, it's not about a bunch of people dressing up in outlandish clothes every weekend or so. It's, in fact, not about dressing at all. The clothes doth not a man make. The man himself, she herself does. Oh, clothes can indeed be useful to make a statement, to do a setting, but it's completely and utterly useless if that person is a hairdresser or a banker in his or her spare time, wearing shirt or a dress and tie. Hiding in daylight, only coming out by night like a frightened little mouse. That's pretend, that's not Real.
   What's real comes from inside. What's real must be expressed, at any given time, any given place. What's inside must be brought to the outside. People who hide themselves live in fear.

   You don't, do you? You have traveled here, under the threat of great personal peril. Not to be initiated into a stupid cult, but to re-initiate yourself… as yourself.
   And none may say thee      nay.



   I salute thee Brother, I salute thee, sister and bid thee Welcome.

   There are no gods but man, doing their true Will.

   And the singing you hear is your own. And the Shadow you see in the mists is your own.


The Dark Lodge



Transformation and Metamorphosis




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