Writing about the darkness in my gods feels awfully presumptuous. Who am I to say that I can access the darkest parts of my gods? They’re deities and I’m a human; even when They show me Their shadows, I honor those alongside the light, because there’s something sacred in that darkness, too.
I have made mistakes in the name of my gods. I have followed my Father into what felt like Hell. I have believed myself invincible under His protection. I have allowed myself to breathe my Mother’s fire in anger. I have ignored my body because I had Her blessing. I have been a fool and been reckless because I believed Their love would keep me safe no matter what. Each time, I felt my reproach in the consequences of my actions. Each time, the gods remained near me, waiting for me to recognize my foolishness. Each time, They gathered me up again, reminded me that They have Their moments too, and set me on my way.
Maybe that’s what is most beautiful about honoring deities who make no attempt to conceal the fact that They are not omnipotent or perfect: that They can contain both light and shadow, joy and pain. They embrace divine imperfection, and allow Their children to embrace it too. If the gods can be dark, then I can love my shadows too; my flaws, my illnesses, my mistakes. If I can honor Their darkness, then I can honor my own.