Lana feels

Satan worship. Bah. What I do holds naught of Satan. What I do, what I believe, what I follow holds all the grace and majesty of pines so old you cannot count their age. What I do rings still of the beauty of the world before humanity evolved enough to destroy it. The world wherein lies the mist and uncertainty that science will never be able to explain. That nobody will ever see unless they believe. I walked down the path tonight looking at the moon. The almost-round Samhain moon, shining through the clouds. I walked down the path, looked up at that, and my blood sings in my veins. Even now. I want... I want to dance. To fling off everything, restraints, manners, politics and technology and just dance beneath the moon. I want ritual and ceremony of the soul and I want to shout and scream and move and let some of this out because every nerve in my body is tingling. The moon is almost full and I am so full of the beauty of it, the absolute majesty and perfection that is simply the moon shining through the clouds that I think I may burst from it. This is why. Everything. Ask me why. Go on. Ask. The answer is simply because.