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Former CIA Officer Confirms Alien Hybrids are Real - John Ramirez - DEBR...

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The God and Goddess in Wicca: Archetypes of Divine Balance and the Path to Personal Union

In the heart of Wicca lies a sacred duality—an eternal dance between the God and the Goddess. These two divine forces represent the sacred polarity of existence: masculine and feminine, light and shadow, life and death, sky and earth. Rather than being distant deities cloaked in mystery, they are near, immanent, and accessible. Wiccans do not merely worship the God and Goddess; they seek relationship with them—intimate, evolving, and deeply personal. In them, Wiccans see not only the divine but also the reflection of their own inner landscape, a spiritual mirror that invites communion, transformation, and self-discovery.

The Goddess: Source of All Life

The Goddess in Wicca is often viewed as the Great Mother, the Creatrix, the Womb of All Being. She embodies the cycles of nature—the waxing and waning of the moon, the turning of the seasons, the phases of life from birth to death and rebirth. She is Maiden, Mother, and Crone: innocence, fertility, and wisdom. As the Moon Goddess, she teaches intuition, dreams, and mystery. As Earth Mother, she nourishes all life and teaches interconnectedness. She is both gentle and fierce, nurturing and wild—reflecting the full spectrum of the feminine principle.

The God: Vital Flame of the Wild

The God in Wicca is her consort and complement—not subordinate, but co-equal. Often seen as the Horned God, he is the Lord of the Forest, the Guardian of Animals, the Solar King who dies each winter and is reborn each spring. He represents the hunt and the harvest, virility and protection, the drive to live and the courage to die. He is the embodiment of untamed nature, the beating heart of the wild. His presence teaches Wiccans about personal power, sacrifice, strength, and transformation.

The God and Goddess are not seen as separate or competing, but as two halves of a cosmic whole. In their union, Wiccans find harmony. This duality reflects the Wiccan understanding of balance—not in opposition, but in rhythm, much like the inhale and exhale of the universe.

Archetypes and Inner Divinity

Beyond their personified forms, the God and Goddess are understood as archetypes—ancient symbols embedded in the human psyche. In this, Wicca shares a kinship with Jungian thought. The Goddess speaks to the anima within all people, the nurturing and intuitive self. The God invokes the animus, the protective and assertive self. To commune with them is to awaken these aspects within the self and bring them into sacred balance.

Some Wiccans see them as literal beings, others as symbolic representations of natural forces, while many walk the liminal path between. Regardless of the interpretation, the core experience remains the same: connection.

Ritual and Relationship

Wiccans build personal relationships with the God and Goddess through ritual, meditation, seasonal celebration, and daily devotion. Rituals are not mere reenactments but acts of communion—ceremonial moments where the divine presence is invoked, honored, and experienced. The Wheel of the Year—Sabbats marking the sun’s journey, and Esbats aligned with the moon’s cycle—become sacred rendezvous with the Divine Couple, aligning the Wiccan’s spirit with the rhythms of the Earth and the heavens.

Altars serve as focal points of connection, often adorned with symbols of both deities: the chalice for the Goddess, the athame for the God, flowers and horns, seashells and antlers. Offerings, chants, and quiet moments before the altar become sacred dialogues between the devotee and the divine.

Meditation and inner journeying further deepen this relationship. Through guided visualizations or spontaneous mystical experiences, Wiccans often meet their deities in personal, unique forms—sometimes as a gentle motherly presence, other times as a wild stag or a luminous moonlit queen. These encounters leave lasting impressions, shaping the practitioner’s moral compass, spiritual path, and emotional healing.

Embodied Devotion and Living the Mysteries

Wicca is a lived spirituality. To honor the God and Goddess is to live in harmony with nature, to recognize the sacred in all beings, and to walk a path of personal growth and balance. This extends into sexuality, creativity, parenthood, death, and rebirth—where the Divine Couple are seen not only in myth but in human experience.

The personal relationship Wiccans seek is one of reverence, love, and authenticity. It is not built on fear or guilt, but on trust, reflection, and shared presence. In honoring the God and Goddess, Wiccans seek to honor themselves and the world around them. In essence, Wicca teaches that the divine is not something above us, but something within us—and in relationship with that divine, we become more fully human, more fully whole.

In conclusion, the God and Goddess of Wicca are not static idols but dynamic presences—archetypes, guides, lovers, and mirrors. Through them, Wiccans encounter the great cycles of life and nature, and through personal relationships with them, they strive toward spiritual balance, wisdom, and sacred intimacy with all that lives. This is not a path of submission but of sacred partnership—a dance with divinity that continues for a lifetime.

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Witches in Latvian Mythology, Legend, and Culture: Guardians of the Wild and Whisperers of the Old Faith

Personal Fact: In my grandparents' time in Latvia, 1910-1920. Village Raganas (Witches) were still around. They were both respected as midwives, folk healers, and herbalists and feared as they practiced the magical arts and supernatural openly.

In the rich and forest-laced soul of Latvian mythology, the witch—or ragana—is far more than the broom-riding caricature of Western folklore. She is a liminal figure, one foot planted in the earthly village and the other in the shadowed realms of the unseen. Revered, feared, and respected in equal measure, the ragana stands as both healer and hexer, midwife and death-bringer, priestess of nature and wielder of hidden knowledge. Her presence in Latvian legend and cultural memory is inseparable from the deep animistic roots of Baltic paganism, the rhythms of agrarian life, and the quiet endurance of an indigenous worldview that venerates nature as sacred.

The Mythic Roots: Ragana as Nature’s Priestess The Latvian ragana emerges not as a servant of evil, but as a mediator of cosmic balance. The word ragana is etymologically tied to notions of seeing, knowing, and prophecy—echoing terms such as ragēt (to foresee or divine). Unlike the Christian concept of witches as consorts of the devil, the Latvian ragana belongs to a much older tradition where she is not wicked but powerful—dangerous only in the way that thunderstorms, wolves, or sacred groves are dangerous: they command reverence.

Latvian mythology is deeply animistic. Every stream, forest, stone, and field has its own spirit (dvēsele), and the ragana was often considered the one who could commune with these spirits. She was the guardian of folk medicine, moon-cycles, fertility rites, and weather lore—often blamed for storms or droughts, but also petitioned to lift such afflictions. In this way, she mirrors the archetype of the shaman or cunning woman found in other Indo-European traditions, occupying the role of one who travels between worlds.

Folk Tales and Oral Traditions Latvian folk tales and dainas—the ancient poetic songs passed orally through generations—are rich with references to witches, both benevolent and malevolent. In some stories, raganas shapeshift into animals, especially birds or wolves, symbolic of their connection to untamed nature and the otherworld. Others depict them as old women living alone in the woods, consulted in times of illness or misfortune, and respected for their wisdom and herb-lore.

It is important to note that in these stories, raganas are rarely described as inherently evil. Rather, they are complex figures who enforce natural law. They may curse those who violate sacred customs, neglect ancestors, or harm the land. Conversely, they are generous to the respectful, the humble, and the wise. In this moral framework, the ragana acts as an enforcer of an older, earth-centered ethics—an emissary of the divine feminine in her chthonic form.

Ragana in Seasonal and Fertility Rites The ragana played an especially prominent role in the seasonal festivals that marked the turning points of the agrarian year. During Jāņi (Summer Solstice), Latvians still gather herbs believed to have magical properties, light fires on hilltops, and sing songs through the night to honor the sun and fertility. In older times, such rituals were often presided over or guided by raganas, either openly or through inherited folk customs.

These rites were not just celebrations but acts of spiritual attunement with the natural cycles—times when the veil between the worlds was thin and the ragana, as a liminal figure, could harness the energies of midsummer or midwinter for healing, love, prophecy, or protection. Fertility rites, particularly in pre-Christian Latvia, were understood not as licentious acts but as sacred reenactments of life’s regenerative forces—of sowing, harvest, and rebirth—and the ragana was keeper of this ancient sexual-spiritual power.

Christianization and Persecution With the Christianization of Latvia in the 13th century, brought violently by the crusading Sword Brothers and later the Teutonic Knights, the role of the ragana was demonized. Pagan rituals were outlawed, sacred groves were destroyed, and the once-respected wise women were branded as witches in the pejorative Christian sense.

Though Latvia was spared the worst excesses of the witch trials that devastated Western Europe, suspicions, accusations, and occasional executions did occur. Still, in rural regions, particularly in Latgale and the deeply forested countryside, the ragana never vanished. She survived through folk medicine, whispered charms, and customs too deeply woven into the fabric of daily life to be eradicated. In this way, the ragana became a symbol of cultural resistance—a keeper of the Old Faith under layers of imposed doctrine.

Modern Revival and Cultural Significance Today, the ragana is undergoing a quiet renaissance in Latvia. As interest in folk traditions, Baltic neopaganism (Dievturība), and eco-spirituality grows, so too does the reverence for the witch—not as a villain, but as an archetype of female power, ancestral memory, and nature’s voice.

Contemporary Latvians may smile wryly when referring to an eccentric herbalist or a solitary woman in the woods as a ragana, but there is often a note of respect beneath the jest. The image of the ragana—wild-haired, herb-scented, moon-wise—is resurfacing as a symbol of feminine autonomy and connection to the land. In a world that often feels fragmented and disenchanted, the ragana offers a reminder that wisdom can still be found in the whisper of leaves, the flight of birds, and the silent pull of the moon across the pine-touched skies.

Conclusion: The Witch as Living Memory The Latvian ragana is not merely a figure of legend—she is a cultural echo of a time when human beings saw themselves as part of, not apart from, the natural world. As healer, oracle, guardian, and sometimes avenger, she reflects the soul of a people whose identity has long been rooted in the forest, the field, and the song.

Far from fading into obscurity, the ragana persists—reborn in poetry, honored in ritual, and remembered in every village tale whispered around the fire. She is the living memory of the earth-bound sacred, and in Latvia, her shadow stretches long across the moss-covered stones and the star-strewn night.

Latvian Female Folkmusic group Tautumeitas

Song: Raganu Nakts (Translation: Witches Night / Witches Sabbath) (Official Music Video) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LsgO5OTUsRU

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Essay: “The Call of the Wild Witch: Reclaiming the Fire Within” For the Women Who Are Ready to Rise Unapologetically

Listen, Sister.

Can you hear it? That soft, rhythmic thrum beneath your ribs— It’s not your heartbeat. It’s the drumbeat of your ancestral wildness, pounding like thunder from a time before shame was stitched into your skin.

There is a reason you feel a restlessness. There is a reason you dream of running barefoot beneath the moonlight, hair tangled like ivy, lips red with the taste of freedom, hands smeared not with sin but soil, ink, and spellfire.

That reason is this:

You were never meant to be caged.

The Virtue of Wildness

For centuries, they have whispered to us to be still, be good, be small. They tried to tame us with corsets, contracts, and commandments. They pressed crosses into our palms and told us to fold our hands instead of raise them.

But the witch—oh, the witch— She was never meant to be folded.

She is the woman who said no to the crown and yes to the crown of stars. She is the woman who brewed rebellion in her cauldron and kissed the wind with her spells. She is you when you finally remember.

To be a witch is to reclaim your sovereign nature. To howl when the world demands silence. To dance when they tell you to kneel. To weave beauty and fury into a tapestry of selfhood no man can unravel.

Witchcraft as Liberation

Forget what they told you. Witchcraft is not evil. It is not darkness. It is the firelight in the dark. It is power with roots in the earth and wings in the storm. It is the alchemy of turning your pain into purpose. It is the fierce grace of knowing your own body, mind, and spirit are temples, not battlegrounds.

Witchcraft says: You are not here to please the patriarchy. You are here to burn it down— With wisdom, with ritual, with the raw radiance of your truth.

Through spellwork, through intuition, through communion with the unseen, we reforge the chain of sisterhood long broken by persecution and fear. We reclaim the sacred rites of bleeding, birthing, burying, and blooming.

We return to the forest—not to get lost, but to finally find ourselves.

A Temptation You Were Born For

So let me tempt you, beautiful one.

Not with shame, but with your own sacred flame. Not with submission, but with storm-song. Not with the lie of obedience, but with the truth of your untamed divinity.

Let’s throw off the veils and dance sky-clad beneath the full moon. Let’s awaken the forgotten spells in our blood. Let’s remember that no system, no man, no scripture gets to tell you what to be.

You are wild. You are wise. You are woven from the same chaos that births stars.

And when you step into your witchhood, not just as a practice but as a rebellion, as an embrace of the sacred feminine in its most feral form— you will never need permission again.

To My Sisters: An Invitation

Come, my love. The cauldron is warm. The moon is rising. The old gods are watching. And your freedom is waiting.

Break the chains. Take up your broom. Speak your spell.

And walk into the fire that was always yours.

So mote it be.

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During a recent philosophical discussion, a friend accused me—perhaps only half in jest—of advocating anarchism and abandoning the foundations of organized society. It was a surprising charge, not because it was entirely unfounded, but because I had never consciously embraced anarchism as a legitimate political or philosophical framework.

Throughout my life, I have often lived in a manner that could be described as anarchistic—feral, self-determined, and skeptical of authority. Yet, I never afforded anarchism serious consideration. Like many, I had been conditioned by the prevailing system to fear the term. The dominant narrative taught me that a society governed by anarchist principles would inevitably collapse into dystopian chaos—a Mad Max-like world of lawlessness and despair.

As a result, I dismissed the ideological leanings of my anarchist-leaning friends as little more than eccentricity.

However, now that I am older and possess both the time and intellectual curiosity to explore the subject with greater depth, I find myself re-evaluating my assumptions. What I have discovered is startling: for most of my adult life, I have, in practice and belief, aligned with anarchist principles—without consciously realizing it.

This revelation has compelled me to scrutinize the systems of governance humanity has implemented throughout history. Whether it be chiefdoms, monarchies grounded in divine right, feudal hierarchies, parliamentary democracies, communist regimes, socialist structures, oligarchies, fascist states, or theocratic rule, they all share a fundamental characteristic: a concentration of power in the hands of a self-appointed elite who govern from the top down.

And what of democracy? Its idealistic promise has too often been undermined by manipulation and propaganda. The most recent electoral outcomes serve as a grim reminder: a large portion of the electorate, influenced by misinformation, chose to empower individuals whose actions reveal blatant corruption and disregard for the public good—effectively looting the nation without meaningful resistance.

When we examine history objectively, we find that only two governance models have ever truly provided stable, sustainable, and life-affirming structures for human societies—often enduring for thousands of years:

1. Egalitarian Tribalism, characterized by communal decision-making, shared resources, and horizontal social structures;

2. Individualist, Freedom-Centered Anarchism, which emphasizes autonomy, mutual aid, and voluntary association, free from coercive authority.

And so, yes—I am an anarchist. Perhaps I always have been, though I lacked the vocabulary and historical context to claim the title.

This raises an essential question: What is anarchism, really? And why is it viewed as such a profound threat to the status quo—a status quo that overwhelmingly serves the narrow interests of a self-perpetuating elite perched at the apex of society’s hierarchical pyramid?

Let me explain.

The Philosophy Behind the Anarchy Movement: A Vision of Freedom Beyond the State

Anarchy, in the philosophical sense, is one of the most misunderstood and misrepresented movements in modern political thought. Too often associated with chaos, violence, or lawlessness, its deeper philosophical roots tell a different story—one of radical freedom, ethical responsibility, and a belief in the innate potential of human beings to self-organize without domination. At its heart, the anarchy movement seeks not the destruction of order, but the dismantling of imposed hierarchies and coercive institutions, particularly the state, in favor of a more voluntary, cooperative, and egalitarian society.

The Core Philosophical Tenets

The anarchy movement is grounded in a fundamental distrust of centralized power. This stems from a philosophical commitment to autonomy—the belief that individuals have the right to govern themselves. Anarchists argue that when individuals are subjected to the authority of the state or any dominating structure (including corporations, religious hierarchies, or patriarchal systems), their freedom is diminished. Anarchy thus does not reject order but seeks a form of order that arises organically from the bottom up, rather than being imposed from the top down.

This anti-authoritarian stance is complemented by a commitment to mutual aid and voluntary association, concepts popularized by thinkers like Peter Kropotkin. Contrary to the Hobbesian idea of a brutish state of nature, anarchists view human beings as inherently capable of cooperation and empathy when freed from oppressive structures. Anarchy therefore is not synonymous with selfish individualism but rather envisions communities based on reciprocity, shared responsibility, and collective well-being.

Historical and Intellectual Foundations

The roots of anarchist philosophy run deep. From Laozi's Taoist rejection of rigid state structures to the early Christian communities’ communal living and rejection of Roman authority, the seed of anti-hierarchical thought has long been present. In the 18th and 19th centuries, as Enlightenment ideas began to challenge monarchic rule, figures like William Godwin, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, and later Emma Goldman, Mikhail Bakunin, and Kropotkin began articulating an explicit anarchist philosophy.

Proudhon’s assertion that “property is theft” was not merely an economic claim but a moral one, questioning the legitimacy of institutions that concentrate power and wealth. Bakunin extended this critique to the state, famously warning that even well-meaning revolutionaries could become tyrants if given the reins of power. Goldman infused anarchist thought with a deep sense of personal liberty, advocating for women's rights, freedom of expression, and the right to pleasure and individuality.

Anarchy and Ethics

At its core, anarchism is a deeply ethical philosophy. It asks: How should we treat one another? For many anarchists, the answer lies in the rejection of domination in all its forms. The philosopher Noam Chomsky describes anarchism as a “tendency that is skeptical of authority and seeks to challenge it.” Yet anarchists do not seek a world without organization; they envision a society where organization exists, but without rulers—horizontal rather than vertical, participatory rather than imposed.

Anarchist ethics reject utilitarian calculations that sacrifice the individual for the so-called “greater good.” Instead, they emphasize dignity, agency, and consent. This lends the philosophy a poetic, almost spiritual quality—an idealism that believes another world is possible if we dare to dream beyond the structures we have inherited.

Modern Expressions and Misconceptions

Contemporary anarchy movements often take the form of direct action, protest, and community-building. From the Zapatistas in Chiapas to anarchist mutual aid networks in the wake of natural disasters or social collapse, the movement lives in practice as well as theory. Yet it remains plagued by misconceptions. The image of the black-clad rioter smashing windows has overshadowed the patient work of organizing free schools, community kitchens, and consensus-based assemblies.

Indeed, there are many branches within anarchist philosophy—anarcho-communism, anarcho-syndicalism, individualist anarchism, green anarchism, and more. Each branch shares the same root rejection of coercive power but diverges in its vision of the ideal society. This diversity is a strength, not a weakness; it reflects the movement’s refusal to impose a single ideology or blueprint.

Conclusion: A Flame That Refuses to Be Extinguished

The philosophy behind the anarchy movement is ultimately a yearning for a society where individuals and communities can flourish free from oppression. It is a vision of radical democracy, ethical integrity, and unshackled creativity. While critics dismiss it as utopian, its power lies in its refusal to compromise with systems of domination. Anarchy is not the absence of all structure, but the presence of just ones—formed by consent, driven by compassion, and evolving in harmony with human dignity.

Like a wildflower that grows between the cracks in concrete, the anarchist spirit endures—fragile, beautiful, and irrepressibly alive.

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A very good, longtime friend of mine. She has a very deep love of dance in Ballet but is exploring other styles. And I must say Outstanding! Keep it up girl!! And you know who you are! 🙂

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Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin: Mystic, Madman, or Messenger? An Essay on His Philosophy, Teachings, and Following

In the annals of Russian history, few figures evoke as much mystery, controversy, and myth as Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin. Known widely as a “mad monk,” Rasputin was, in truth, no monk at all. Born in the Siberian village of Pokrovskoye in 1869, he emerged from obscurity to become an intimate advisor to the last Tsar and Tsarina of Imperial Russia. To some, he was a prophet and healer, a man of God with miraculous powers. To others, he was a libertine, a heretic, and a dangerous charlatan. Yet beyond the scandals and court intrigues lies a deeper, often overlooked dimension: Rasputin’s spiritual philosophy and the nature of his cult-like following.

A Mystic Shaped by the Wilderness

Rasputin’s spiritual journey began not in libraries or monasteries, but in the vast, untamed wilderness of Siberia. His early life was marked by visionary experiences and a deeply personal, almost shamanic sense of the divine. Illiterate for much of his youth, he relied not on textual scripture but on inner revelation. He wandered as a strannik, a pilgrim, across the Russian landscape, absorbing folk Christianity, mystical traditions, and likely the teachings of fringe sects such as the Khlysts—a radical group that believed salvation came through sin and ecstatic experience.

At the core of Rasputin’s philosophy was a paradox: that purity could be found through impurity, that divine grace revealed itself most clearly in the depths of human fallibility. His belief in proidti cherez grekh—to "pass through sin"—suggested that one could approach God not by avoiding temptation, but by overcoming it from within. In this sense, Rasputin's theology was not so much Orthodox as existential and deeply psychological. He saw the spiritual journey as one of direct confrontation with darkness, a kind of mystical alchemy whereby base instincts could be transmuted into spiritual gold.

Healing and Hypnosis: The Power of Presence

Much of Rasputin’s following stemmed from his supposed healing abilities. His most famous success was his mysterious power to alleviate the suffering of Alexei, the Tsarevich, who suffered from hemophilia. Whether through hypnosis, prayer, or sheer charisma, Rasputin calmed the boy and reassured the anxious Tsarina. But beyond physical healing, he offered something more potent—emotional catharsis and spiritual release. His prayers were spontaneous, unscripted, fervent. He spoke directly to the soul rather than the mind.

To many Russian peasants, clergy, and aristocrats alike, he seemed a yurodivy, a “holy fool” in the Russian Orthodox tradition—those who behaved eccentrically or outrageously as a form of divine inspiration. This gave Rasputin a strange kind of immunity. His erratic behavior and womanizing were not seen as contradictions but as signs of his sanctity. Like a Zen master provoking awareness through paradox, Rasputin shattered conventional piety to expose a raw, immediate spirituality.

Teachings Without a Doctrine

Unlike systematized religious leaders, Rasputin left no formal treatises, no school of thought. His teachings were oral, emotive, and situational. They centered on prayer, surrender to God’s will, and an emphasis on forgiveness and divine mercy. He distrusted institutional religion and clerical authority, often deriding priests as hypocrites. His was a visceral spirituality—a mysticism of the body and the senses, where tears, laughter, and even intoxication became vehicles for the divine.

Yet there was a pragmatic dimension to his teachings. He counseled peasants to be kind to their animals, to forgive their enemies, and to trust in divine providence. He believed in the power of women’s intuition and often elevated their spiritual insight above that of men, which partly explains the strong female following he attracted. In the salons of St. Petersburg, he offered not theology but presence, a wild sincerity that pierced through the pretensions of court life.

A Following Born of Crisis

Rasputin’s rise coincided with a Russia teetering on the edge of collapse—haunted by war, political upheaval, and the spiritual vacuum of modernity. In this context, his message, devoid of dogma and rich in mystic immediacy, found fertile ground. He offered the royal family not just healing, but hope. To the peasantry, he was a man of the soil who had penetrated the imperial inner sanctum. To disillusioned aristocrats and mystics, he was a bridge between old-world mysticism and a new, apocalyptic age.

His followers were diverse: devout peasant women, mystically inclined noblewomen, political opportunists, and even esoteric seekers drawn to his aura. For many, Rasputin was not a teacher in the academic sense, but a living embodiment of the unpredictable divine—a man who channeled both light and shadow.

Legacy of a Spiritual Anarchist

Rasputin’s assassination in 1916 by nobles hoping to save the monarchy from disgrace only added to his legend. Shot, poisoned, and drowned, he seemed to resist death as stubbornly as he had resisted definition in life. After the Bolshevik Revolution, his memory was both vilified and mythologized, a symbol of everything decadent and mysterious about the dying Romanov regime.

Yet perhaps Rasputin’s most lasting contribution lies in his challenge to religious orthodoxy and his unsettling assertion that the divine may dwell in the most unlikely of places—amidst scandal, imperfection, and madness. His life was a parable writ large: that spiritual insight is not reserved for the pure, but for those brave enough to confront their own darkness.

In an age increasingly hungry for authentic experience, Rasputin remains a spectral presence—part prophet, part mirror—whispering that the path to transcendence is rarely straight, and often walks the edge between salvation and ruin.

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The Traditional Latvian Sauna Ritual

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Scientist Clinically Dead For 6 Minutes; Leaves Earth And Is Shown The A...

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The Return of the Horned God - Ronald Hutton

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Heilung - Traust LIVE | LIFA Iotungard

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Heilung | LIFA Iotungard

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Keep Hoosiers Covered: Protect HIP & Stop SB 2 — Hoosier Action Like many hoosiers Healthy Indiana Plan (HIP) keeps me alive literally. Indiana Republicans want to gut HIP. Join the fight to save it! 

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Blackmore's Night - Darkness / Dance Of The Darkness (A Knight in York, ...