The Tar of Darkness
Tar oozes slowly, a thick substance that clings to everything it touches.
I’ve always described black/dark magic as the consistency of tar as it clings to everything it touches. The smell of death and rotten meat, mixed in to heat up like laid asphalt on a hot summer day.
Not something most people would want to walk towards or in, but your girl does. Or that’s how I had to categorize my life to make some sense out of it.
Somehow, along this way of life, I’ve found myself attracting humans with the darkest and deepest attachments of demonic beings to leaders. Dark leaders older than Jesus himself with legions of followers.
The kind that infiltrates your lives through the invisible walls of our human existence. I write this as I am coming out of a dark hole, once again, back into my human body. To tell a story of a dark leader from the depths of hell in Haiti.
To meet something or someone of this nature requires skill and courage. A sense of respect for each other’s roles because there are some entities and attachments I would have to go in with guns blazing. Yet, this meeting was different. In the last ten years, I’ve only had a handful of encounters…
