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⚠️ This Blog is a space for honest conversations about my personal experiences with MS, mental health, and the weird paranormal, liminal, and everything in between. I’m not a doctor, therapist, or expert in the unexplained; I’m just someone sharing my story and offering solidarity. If you’re struggling, please reach out to a trusted friend, support group, or professional. And if the weird stuff sparks your curiosity, remember: stay open-minded, but always prioritise your well-being.⚠️
please remember I suffer with severe cognitive dysfunction, and use AI to proof read and help solve this issue so you can understand it
The Autumn Equinox: Nature’s Annual Reminder That Everything Dies
There is something almost offensively smug about the Autumn Equinox.
For one brief moment, day and night are balanced. The universe gets its scales out, checks the figures, and says: “There. Fairness. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Then the dark starts winning again.
Not with fireworks or a villain’s monologue. Just slowly. Quietly. Earlier sunsets. Colder mornings. The gradual realisation that summer has packed its bags, nicked the good weather, and left us with wet leaves stuck to the sole of life.
For those of us already acquainted with pain, fatigue, grief, illness, or the occasional full-scale collapse of the human operating system, autumn can feel oddly familiar. It does not pretend everything is blooming. It does not insist we “manifest abundance” while our brain is running on two percent battery and a suspicious smell of burnt toast.
It simply says: things change. Things fall. Gather what matters.
And try not to slip on it.
An Ode to the Autumn Equinox
The turning point. The razor’s edge of night and sun,
Where day exhales a breath, and shadows have begun.
No longer summer’s reckless, blazing, careless arc;
But measured light returning from the deepening dark.
We stand upon the balance, poised on perfect ground,
Where equal weight of shadow meets the golden sound.
The Great Equalizer whispers, “Rest now. Slow your pace.”
A time to strip away pretense, and find a truer place.
Oh, season of the harvest, where decay is rich with grace;
Where brittle gold gives way to what cannot erase.
We gather in this quiet—the things we left unsaid,
The haunted ghosts of futures that were merely shed.
You mark the thinning veil, where mystery starts to bloom,
Between the mundane silence and the deep-seated gloom.
A season for the digging: the roots, the pain, the seed,
For all those vital traumas that refused to yield.
Let us embrace the struggle, the fall, the slow decline;
The beautiful disorder of a complex mind.
To honor what was burned out, and welcome what remains—
The messy truth of living through these tangled veins.
So let the quiet come, before the deeper things take hold.
A sacred reckoning of silver and of gold.
We bow to you, Equinox: the breath held taut, the pause;
Where everything that lived must yield to nature’s primal laws.
The equinox is not here to fix us. It is here to remind us that decline is not failure, rest is not laziness, and losing leaves does not mean the tree has given up. Sometimes surviving is not a triumphant march into golden light.
Sometimes it is sitting in the gathering dark, wrapped in something warm, telling the universe to do one and then carrying on anyway. The Autumn Equinox is here equal light, equal dark, and nature once again reminding us that everything falls apart eventually.
Warlock Dark
Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)
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