As I began to acknowledge my inner children, see them, hear them and love them, their unmet needs became easier to recognize and they began reaching out to me in healthier, less destructive ways.
In loving myself, and allowing myself to be loved, I found myself: a priestess made from darkness and bone, divining my dreams, entangling myself in their ever present mystery.
Without mystics and their material, we seek sublimity in the superficial. Religion formerly fed this need. Ever since Nietzsche, however, God has lost speed (and influence) with many. These are strangers to transcendence, and indifferent to mystics and their service. Thus, what parades perverts ...