A new experiment

I've decided to find blogs that speak to me and leave their author's a little something special in the comment section.  I don't want to creep anyone out, so I will sign the message with a code I can use to verify myself later, and a link back to my own blog.  If they find their way back to me and want to share their blog, they can, but I'm not going to out anyone here, except to post what I wrote in response.


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There is a reason that ink is black.

The words on parchment form'd illuminate more completely than any sunlight.  Children fear the dark, for it hides the unknown.  But we are no longer children.  We are no longer afraid of that blackness.  We can still recount pushing our toe out into the void, cringing and squinting, waiting for the bite of monsters.  But the bite never came, did it?  So we thrust ourselves into the night, breathing in cooler air than we had ever known before.  Our eyes adjusted and we found that small bright bedroom painful to look at.  Here, in the dark, we accept that we cannot see everything, and what's more, we do not care.  The darkness is beautiful. The universe is dark, and there is no end to our exploration.

And so we make our home in the pitch.  We crave it -- slaver over it.  We recognize each another slipping through the shadows, devouring the unknown as we each grow into gods.  We nod and whisper and trade our magics, which occur when, lacking an obvious form anymore, we impress upon it our own.  And we do make magic, don't we?  Magic for us is born from our intellect.

How then can we respect our neighbors who still fear the dark?  I tell you that we cannot.  These people are content to see only what the light has shown them.  Listen to their friends and parents tell them stories about the monsters -- the same ones we were told.  Let them cower from the dark corners of their room, huddling under little bulbs in cells etched by light's border. Perhaps we will patrol their little lamp garden, and at first sight of a small toe, we reach out to snatch at it.  If they pull back, they will fear us.  But...

..if they reach out.  Oh, if they dare reach out to us --

-- we will love them and make them one of us.

There is a reason that ink is black.

(JIFIZNDBMBT:BDOQBZVEOJHMUQT)