Though I am not usually accustomed to following the rules, I suppose I should do this one by the book. An introduction, then.
I am a wandering soul. I move from place to place, never staying anywhere long. I prefer the old homes of my ancestors to the newer places the people have built. The spirits dwelling there seem to accept my presence in their homes for a time, though they do let me know when the time has come to move on. I am not afraid to dwell amongst them as most of the people are. They fear the spirits and their dwellings, as if they have completely forgotten that no one ever truly dies. Rather, they move from one area of existence to another. I suppose I can understand why the people stay away-For a while, it did feel like I was invading someone's home. I had to grow and accept that I was a guest, and welcome for a time.
Occasionally I wander among the modern people as well. I learned many things from many different people, though they never truly accept me because I belong to no one. I honestly prefer it this way, to visit, learn, and move on. I am beholden to no one and nothing except the great guides who point my direction, and the spirits of those whose homes I borrow.
I am also a dreamer, and somewhat of a spiritist. (These are the only words for it I could find in the modern English language...It is a close enough description.) It means that, through training and years of lessons, I can communicate better with the spirits and guides that many either refuse to acknowledge or cannot sense at all. As such, the old legends and the old places have always drawn me.
The reason I started this blog then, is because of one of the legends I heard about one year ago. I was visiting an old woman in a tribe in Northern Utah. She complained of evil dreams brought on suddenly when her grandson disappeared suddenly from her home late at night. At first I brushed this off as an old woman's grieving, but as I spoke to her more I noticed a certain darkness around her and her home. It was strongest in her grandson's sleeping area. I asked her if I might take a look at his things, to see if I might be of help. She first hesitated, but then relented when I told her about the darkness in her home. Naturally, she blamed it on the spirits of the dead, and how her grandson must have offended one of them.
While searching through his things, I found a wooden box buried in the dirt. It was so black with evil, I had to force myself to touch it. It was covered with X's, which is a rough equivalent to a warding symbol the people use when faced with things they feel are very evil. When the dead are buried, for example, they draw a large X on the burial box to prevent the spirit from doing harm. The old woman and I chose to bring the box outside in order to not release the dark thing inside her home. She first covered herself in the same symbol to ward off the darkness. Not wanting to be rude, I did the same.
The box was full of drawings, carvings, and written notes. The drawings and carvings all depicted the same thing: A tall black figure on a field of gray with arms stretched out to the sides of him. The arms were too long for the body, and the figure lacked features. The X had a circle around it, which I find strange. The circle is a symbol for the connecting portal between this world and the spirit realm, which lies beneath. Our birth legends tell that when we are born, our individual spirits come from below to inhabit the body. Why then, would there be a warding for evil over the circle representing life?
And then, there were the writings. They mentioned something about a legend of a tall, faceless spirit of evil who drives men mad with fear and anger. I only got through the first few lines introducing the legend when the grandmother snatched the papers away and covered them with dirt. I remember the following words as vividly as I remember the blackness surrounding the box.
"You must never read that legend!! It is evil!! Forbidden to tell, forbidden to read!! It always comes before death, death always follows soon after!! Long ago, an outsider came to our village and told this to some young scribes, who wrote it as they write all new stories that pass our way. The story was later retold by the scribes to our storytelling clan, who passed it on to us as is our way. Months later, half of our village was mad. People killed their families to save them from the Faceless Death. After this it was forbidden to mention anything of that legend, or to seek after it. My grandson was a foolish boy, and did what ought never to have been done!! His spirit will never find peace now-It has been claimed by the bringer of madness and death. Do not seek it, or it will find you."
She allowed me to stay one more night, but my spirit guides told me that it would be wise for me to leave the village before morning light and not return to it Since then, I have been searching for the rest of the legend, and searching for more who may have been affected by it. Currently, I am on the trail of a mother in Western Colorado who fled from her home mysteriously. Her family said that she dreamed of a symbol of death. I wonder if these are all connected, somehow.