It is in fact this descent into darkness that IS the Initiatory process.
The place where all fears, pains and demons surface to devour the unwilling victim.
There is never any guarantee of success, in fact if this process were not life threatening, it would not truly be Initiatory.
Only when every last morsel of mortality has been devoured and the final spark of one’s essence is cast deep within the crooked pot.
Only then when the Great Mother, the birther of souls, reduce's one’s spark to complete finality does the alchemical process truly occur.
Only then when the last thought trembles and is lost, will she birth a new soul.
Back up through the searing heat, gasping its first breath, into and beyond the gates of the
Where the spirits of the sky decorate and dress the now dancing specter.
Not in the attire of old, but instead in the gleaming new rags of the twice born.
Now adorned in the bellowing ribbons of rebirth that float gently back down to the quivering earth.
No longer alive or dying but instead revived, released from the land of the dimming lights.
Changed, transformed, now unrecognizable,
Except to the dark mother that birthed them.