When it’s quiet and our life seems to steer more towards normalcy, I don’t really think to post as much here. In a way, I think the blog is a reminder that the quiet is just a facade; it reminds me that true horror lurks just beneath the surface of our world, and if I look close enough, that darkness can appear around even the most mundane things. Sometimes I just genuinely want to stop thinking about all of it and, for a few days (even a few hours) pretend that I do not know the terrible truths to which I have been introduced.
I did the Azathoth counter-spell yesterday, after finally putting all the necessary parts together. I was going to film it, for the blog, but William’s warning seemed to snap me out of it at the last minute, and I left the camera off. It didn’t matter anyway, because the spell was uneventful; there was some acrid black smoke and I felt light-headed as I repeated the chant, and then it was done – nothing moved, nothing fell, there were no otherworldly shrieks or discordant piping; it was all rather anti-climactic, truth be told.
The first real test was last night – I went to bed without doing any of the ritual that I had done for the past six weeks, give or take. Previously, on nights when I had neglected to perform this ritual, things went very badly for me, so naturally I was hesitant to try it this time, and even after a few glasses of red wine I had trouble getting to sleep.
When sleep finally came, it was thankfully uneventful – I awoke this morning feeling more refreshed than I have in weeks, and could recall no dreams or night terrors at all. It was a welcome relief, to be sure, but again, I feel a sense of unease. I have been dealing with these blasphemous dreams and supernatural experiences for more than half a year, and so to not experience them somehow feels even more unnatural than the experiences themselves.
For now, I believe I have broken the link with Azathoth and the black, winged creatures from my dreams – I hope I have, in any case. I know that still need to deal with the original problem, though; my family’s blood ties to Yog-Sototh. I need to understand and fix it soon, before the escalations begin again, before the dreams, before my dream-self is dragged through that gate, scattered across infinite worlds of darkness and madness.
When I reflect on this – truly force myself to think about it – I have to acknowledge that I have now successfully cast two magic spells. This fact alone should certainly give me pause to question my sanity, but I accept it as easily as acknowledging the first time I was able to bake a cake or change my own oil. Should it? Should the thought of casting magic spells, of seeing impossible three-toed footprints out my bedroom window, fill me with dread? Is my ability to accept these things as I experience them enough to keep me from complete madness, or is the effect cumulative? Will I continue to accept these things and feel fine until I finally reach some unspoken breaking point, and then lose my mind completely? It’s not something I care to think about too deeply.