You are currently browsing the monthly archive for October 2013.
A: To start with, there’s good reason why Lu and Sam are so often confused with one another. They’re bitter rivals; and the former does nothing to put a stop to the confusion that the latter likes to perpetrate about him.
Consider. Hell is an ongoing battle between these ‘King’ demons, and they’ll look for anyway they can to subvert one another. The best way for Samael, who is The Satan in title (but not in power, that has always been Lu’s edge) to subvert Lu is to convince everyone that Lu is not who he says he is, or that there’s no difference between them.
The rivalry stems back to yonder heaven days. Samael is the angel that perpetrated “The War” in heaven in the old ‘satan tried to sit on god’s throne’ way. Lucifer, by contrast, left under self imposed (but Heaven enforced) exhile. He forswore it, so this is not to say there’s not bad blood on Lu’s side of things, no matter how much he may still love god.
Telling the two of them apart takes some know how, because as mentioned, Lucifer seems to dismiss Samael’s slander and Samael keeps piling it on. Both of them have an appreciation for ‘finer’ things, but since both of them can look however they want, that gets tough.
Firstly. Lucifer will typically appear in a manner that the viewer finds most beautiful, or as close to it as the person may be aware. Samael usually doesn’t; Samael will chose something that may be pleasing to the eye; he’s too vain not to, but it will be based more on his aesthetic, not so much the person doing the viewing. Lucifer, in whatever form he chooses, has jade green eyes. Samael’s are a really cold blue, but they might not always show.
Lucifer enjoys dark, decadent things, but in a rich, aristocratic way. He’s very Hannibal-esque in that he is a gentleman, abhors rudeness and vulgarity, is patient and calculating, and prefers to speak softly,albeit in a rich purr that makes the person listen. He plays the violin, or when he’s really thinking, I’ve seen him twirl a finger around a wineglass.
Samael, by contrast, has an edge that borders on madness, a very quick temper, and although he’ll play at being rich and flaunting, when something trips his anger, he’ll suddenly have the foulest mouth on him you ever heard. Tripping his anger is not hard to do; in terms of film portrayals of “satan”, the movie End of Days actually is pretty spot on with regards to Samael’s countenance. Ironically, if you want to think of a movie that portrays Lu (without him being named), Paul Bettany playing Michael in Legion is actually pretty spot on (to say nothing of the movie itself. It was terrible).
As far as their symbols go. With Lucifer, you can expect to see mostly white animals: serpents are sacred to him, but constrictors, especially albino ones. The same with peacocks, though he favors the colored ones also. If you’re a devout follower of Lu’s and you’re lucky, you might be able to hear him play his violin; it’ll happen in the wee dawn hours before the sun rises, and it’ll be just on the edge of your conscience but likely rouse you from sleep. And yes, Lucifer was the serpent in the Garden.
Samael, by contrast, favors venomous serpents; pit vipers, especially. Any type of snake that’s known to have a bad temper. Also any black animals, but particularly goats, cattle, and chickens. Samael’s kingdom is very much the fire and brimstone we think of when we think of Hell, and so the air when he’s about will typically be stifling, smell of sulfur or something like lit fireworks. Awful heartburn isn’t uncommon when he pays a visit, either. You might also see clocks stop at a particular time.
Lucifer, on the other hand, is icy. He’s cool and collected, almost fluid. His presence is airy and not stifling at all. The air with him typically smells like a late fall or early Winter’s morning, maybe with a hint of something like damp leaves on a misty day. He manifests physically as a feeling of being slightly chilly to the point of wanting to curl under a blanket and nap, or pressure in the left shoulder. His kisses are almost clammy like he’s been in cool water for a long time, but not unpleasant.
. . Goodness. This went on for longer than I intended it to. And these are just the basics.
I hope some of this helped answer your question! L3
All I ever wanted was to close my eyes
And have you carry me
Carry me
Carry me down to the sea.
I see your tears, and your lips pale and cool
And I will press close to you,
and inhale.
O,
This way you suffer.
Take me with you.
Take me with you.
Don’t leave me.
You can’t leave me here alone.
Please don’t leave me here alone.
Your footprints still linger on my heart.
How could you leave my hands empty, even for just a moment?
Let me sink with you.
And I will stroke your hair until you fall asleep.
And take your pain unto me and weep.
You say ‘but I have you’
Where you exist there is no time
Because you drift on.
And for me,
One minute without you
Is an eternity.
Hold me just this once more.
Before the world wakes me again.
In my opinion, you should always question yourself, and your faith. Comfort equals complacency, which can lead to indifference. Which is how many a crime against our fellow human beings are perpetrated, and allowed to happen. If everyone was held accountable for their actions in equal measure, imagine how things would be.
Unfortunately, that’s not the case, and that’s not the world we live in. So the best we can do is check ourselves. We can feel good about what we have. We can be happy with it. But we should never be content. I can only speak from a Luciferian standpoint and say, it’s important to never stop asking “Why?” -or more importantly, “Why should I?” and “Why is this important to me?”
And when you look at the world through questioning eyes, you’re also looking at yourself through the same. That way leads to growth. If every tree in the forest just shrugged and said, “Eh, that’s enough”, we wouldn’t have the Avenue of the Giants.
“The Gods we worship write their names on our faces; be sure of that. And a man will worship something … That which dominates will determine his life and character. Therefore it behooves us to be careful what we worship, for what we are worshipping we are becoming.”
| — | Ralph Waldo Emerson |
There is a place devoid of light
Where even gods do fear to tread
Where bare feet tangle in thistle and bleed,
And the water runs black with the dead.
There are no footsteps gone before,
This is not a safe place to walk,
and the crossroad fork points every which way
To accuse and wither and mock.
Lo those anguished calls arise,
And the lovers cry tossed by the gale.
And the icy cold bites and scratches your eyes
Even through your pious veil.
And only an echo lingers there,
To lead you on your way.
You must go through hell, the baritone warns,
For freedom? A price to pay.
“Be careful what dark & terrifying things you wish for with your hushed, whispered breath… those things might be wishing for you right back”
| — | (via shivian) |
Tell the arms not to worry so.
Between our hearts
I
Throw myself into the water
Our kisses
Wandering
By degrees
And a fiddle
Rang thinly
Full of shuuuussssh
But dry, sterile thunder without rain
And blood and wine were on his hands.
“They always say it’s darkest before the dawn,
the light is truly gone from the world.
Wait long enough and the light comes rushing in,
filling everything and holding the watcher tight.
In this darkness, she waits for the light.
The morning star to embrace and guide her steps.
The shining light of the fresh day beginning marks
the love of a true companion and loyal friend.
With every ray warmth takes you. With every beam.
Let His light in, let it fill you, let it love you.”
~From Ladyofthewrathfulcalm
Hasn’t it been so long in coming?
This road is scorched and barren.
So few footsteps marr this sand, you see.
You see,
Plucking these strings is never easy.
And now, precious child risen from the dust,
Shall I give you life?
Shall I write your name in the sky?
Only give the word,
And
I will crush you in my claws,
And
Forever
You’ll be mine.
Yesterday. . .
I saw
A sea that was made of acid.
There was no shore.
Just a pier.
And
a drop
that
boiled me
away.
~30 Days of Deity Devotion~
Day 1: An Introduction to this Deity
One of the most common questions I get on Tumblr, and by extension, here on OMS, is the most difficult one to answer. It’s simple enough; ‘who is the Morning Star? Who is Lucifer?’, and in attempting to write up a well thought out response to this for my FAQ, I found myself tripping up several times and having to go back and rethink the whole thing just as many. In attempting this as often as I have been, I came to a conclusion, and that was this: that no matter how descriptive I make my words, they all fall short of Him. And I could carry on for a lifetime to capture every element that makes Him up (which is the whole point of this blog anyway), and even a hundred years later, I feel it would still be found wanting.
No one, I feel, can know everything about Lu.
Lu is a deep, fathomless well; his depth drowns people. . . as does his sorrow. It’s a draw to those who would follow him, that there is a part of him that is profoundly broken. It’s that devil that appeals to you by whispering in your ear, ‘your love can fix this. Your love can mend this broken heart’.
The catch with Lu, you see, is that it’s a sweet nothing, those whispers.
It’s a promise that will always go unfulfilled. Just as you can’t train a lion to eat tofu, you can’t ‘fix’ The Mourning Star. In a way, he is defined by his sorrow. And it’s a sorrow he will never let go of. It turned the most beautiful Seraph in all of heaven into something dark and decadent and butter, like the richest, blackest chocolate melting on your tongue. It’s the sadness that makes us roll and churn. And it’s that power that makes Lucifer something dangerous. Because he is beguiling in his woe. There is more than one satan in this pantheon, but the name Lucifer is always uttered (however begrudgingly) in the same’s presence with due humility. Not because The Morning Star lords his powers over others, but because the others know well and full what the Great Seraph is capable of. What appears to be a gracious and empathetic exterior hides a heart that is blacker than asphalt ice in the depths of winter, and a calculating mind that foresees all the moves on the board before the game even begins. Not because of any precognition, per sey. But because of his keen and quick skills of strategy, of logic. . . and because of his uncanny imagination.
Lucifer, The Morning Star, Prince of the Power of Air, The Great Seraphim, was once the greatest and the most beloved and beautiful of all the angels in heaven, The Golden City in the Skies. . . and of God’s eternal servants. Not only was he the most treasured set of wings to YHVH, he was also the most adored by his Brothers and Sisters-almost all of which were much younger than himself in the cosmic scale of things. They fluttered around him like twitterpated bluebirds singing in the new spring.
Those that devote themselves to Lucifer have, at times, spoken of a maternal feminine side to The Great Prince, and this is something that those who have walked in his company would agree on. When, in the Shining City, there was so much as the spiritual equivalent of a skinned knee, Helel-for so he was named before his fall-was there with an encouraging word and a helping hand up. There wasn’t anyone who wasn’t graced with a tender smile and a fond word. His countenance was gentle and non intrusive, like starlight, and the air about him was soothing, like a cool breeze in the fall, caressing your hair. Other angels orbited him like planets, and they were never sent away. He welcomed their presence and loved them all tenderly, deeply, tragically. Because they were his family.
It sounds like a happy dream. . . and Lucifer himself would tell you that it was. He had loves of his own, of course, but these he kept private and close to his heart, and spoke to none other about his passions. Even with those bonds, there was something lonely in Lucifer. Though he seemed content enough, and carried on only as second to God himself in grace and beauty, and none could rival him in this.
It seems then like the next line-‘but a storm was brewing on the horizon’-could be one out of a carbon-copy fairytale, but for the moment, it’s the most appropriate. As with even the most beautiful of dreams, it was time for it to end.
Samael, The Poison One, was the first to raise his fist skyward and mutiny against his creator. Samael, always having contended with Helel for the title of the General and Leader of Heaven’s military, found the idea of being second to anyone, God included, nigh intolerable. The story of what happened next varies. Some would say Samael quite literally took a seat on God’s throne, others would speak that his plot was more subversive and divisive. Regardless, Samael made his move against the throne. His plot was uncovered and Samael was forcibly expelled from Heaven. Those that were taken in by his cause followed. They rose again later, their numbers far greater than they had been at their departure. Samael had found dark powers and darker allies, and it was these allies and unfamiliars that nearly brought Heaven to it’s knees.
As if the situation wasn’t dire enough, Samael’s own absence made things infinitely worse, for it was Samael who had been in charge of Heaven’s elite military; The Powers, it’s own soldiers. The situation was a disaster in the making. Here was the former Prince, who had been in charge of training those very same soldiers to hone their skills, now declaring war on Heaven. Lucifer had a rush to fill the vacant position, and by then the situation was already chaos, ranks broken, walls breached. In the end, plenty of Heaven’s protectors met their demise, and when Samael finally came to blows with his named brother Michael, he was hurled into the pit from which he had rose. And thus the first war on Heaven was claimed by the angels as a victory.
Most celebrated.
Some didn’t.
Helel took a look around him, took stock of the losses, and for once, an angel came to ask itself. . .why? For if God was perfect, just, loving, all knowing all seeing, utterly caring for his children, then why had he not foreseen Samael’s betrayal? Why had such ugliness, death, and destruction been allowed to happen? What sort of lesson could justify that type of bloodshed? And most of all, when so many angels-angels, family that Helel had so loved-had fallen, if they were indeed Heaven’s keepers, then where was *their* ‘after’? For these angels were gone, and never to be seen again. Nothing more that cosmic dust, scattered in the winds.
These were all the nagging questions that plagued Helel, for eons, and then some. So one day when eyes were turned elsewhere, Helel quietly departed Heaven, to search for a truth greater than what he had known before. To find his own answers, his own way. . . an answer to perhaps assuage the guilt and grief over the loss of his brothers and sisters.
When he departed the gates of Heaven, Helel left, still radient and glowing with all the light of the heavenly host, golden and glorious. He did it so quietly that only rumors trailed after him, and even then those mumbles and murmers over the location of the Prince of Air gave way to the daily goings-on of the city, and things returned to a semblance of normalcy.
It was when Helel returned that the peace was again broken.
He was The Mourning Star when he came back through those gates. They welcomed him home, but it was his home no more. His gaze was sharp like volcanic glass turned to ice, his expression dark and joyless.
His clothing, too. Gone were the golden silks, traded instead for black leathers and eyes that were like frozen jade. It was a change that left many in his wake, as he stormed past, slackjawed and agape, eyes large and round. Only his hurt, his pain, his heartbreak remained.
This was how Lucifer came to be.
And who can say what truth he found, when he walked away from the light and into the dark, the void, the Endless. Who can say what answers he discovered; but from then on, God-his beloved, the only one to whom Lu would ever bow-was his enemy.
It was Lucifer’s renown as a leader, however, that etched this name into Earth’s stone, and time. Lucifer disavowed himself from heaven, marching strait to the throne for words with his Creator that to this day remain a mystery. His recoil from heaven was so abrupt, his departure so swift that indeed his very element ignited, and lightning followed in his wake. A second war would follow over those that would leave with him, but found the gates barred, themselves locked inside. Brother turned against brother and sister against sister, and fingers pointed became damning evidence. And love with it. It was only Lucifer’s return, and his own calculating nature that allowed him a chance at diplomacy. The battle that was the short ‘second war’ was a battle for free will. ‘I will take my family and go,’ he said. And so those that were able would follow Lucifer into his exile.
From there it’s conjecture as to what brought them into that frozen underground that is Lucifer’s realm. If it was his own tears that quenched those fires, or else his own cold demeanor to make a hell of his own power. Lucifer doesn’t wear a crown, and his own wandering and endless searching for something greater than what he has known takes him away from his kingdom for increments of time we may not even be able to measure. In this way he is throneless, unless he is called back to that place, to tend to his people. Then he will sit among them with steepled fingers and expressionless, beautiful face and hear those who would appeal to him or earn his favor.
What, he asks from that black throne, could you possibly desire so much that you would trade eternity-and your soul for? Yes, he will grant it.
Is it worth it?
This is what Lucifer, The Mourning Star, The Black Seraph once Great, is about. He is your deepest pain, and your most aching desire. He is loss and desperation and wanting. He is the Sin of all Sins, the sin of pride. It was he that was so slighted, that how could God lie to him, of all people? How could God not share with his most beloved everything, and yet ask Helel to give the same in turn? And Helel gave God his complete trust. And far from earning the same, Helel found there was More; and he would know what God would not tell him. For himself, for his people. He is endless curiosity, but far from being innocent; it is a hunger that can never be sated, a thirst that can never be slaked. He drinks, and drinks, and yet would have only another drink if he could. He is what is forbidden; ‘look, but don’t touch. Touch, but don’t taste. Taste, but don’t swallow.’
God slighted Lucifer. Lucifer loves his creator, for this is how he was made. But he will not be a pawn. Never again He, or his brothers and sisters.
He will win this game. And his people and he will finally be free.
And now, Ladies and Gents, let’s sit down and have another one of those serious talks, shall we? Today’s subject is: demonic possession.
Whoa, pump the brakes, you’re saying. Yes. . . I realize that for a lot of you, this is going to be a very uncomfortable subject. I don’t expect to win any friends over it, but lets face it. It’s a post that needs writing, because if I don’t talk about it, at least from a Theistic Luciferian sense, then no one else might. And everyone will continue on with this delusion that Luciferianism is all about a really hot looking god-ex-angel and that every single one of his followers are well-spoken but mostly hermits who have expensive taste but disdain the company in which to flaunt it.
Well, mostly, you’d be right. Speaking for myself, anyway. But this particular ugly topic is one that I feel many many spiritworkers has been avoiding like the plauge, and so I come to you in the spirit of the devil’s advocate (pun intended), and we’re going to sit down and have a nice tall glass of Wiggidy Whack. That is to say, you’re probably not going to like what I’m going to have to say about all of this.
Too bad.
So with that obligatory disclaimer-not-disclaimer, I’ll get started. By saying that any student of Angelology and Demonolgy at least has a rudimentary knowledge of what demonic possession is. For that matter, so do students of the paranormal. Ghost enthusiasts may run into it on occasion. However because of the pantheon of some magical practitioners, myself included, there are times where working with the looming threat of possession doesn’t just become a fiction; it’s something that is very very real, and once it intrudes in on your life, it never really leaves. Like a looming cloud off in the distance, you’re always on your guard for it. There are entities that perpetuate the phenomenon, or circumstances that come close to or resemble it, and it’s important for anyone who even talks about demons and angels to understand the benefits of working with them. . . and the risks.
For most of the average public, mention demons and demonic possession, the first picture you’ll typically conjure in their minds is that of Linda Blair, pea soup, and someone’s head rotating three hundred and sixty degrees. Although most people would dismiss this movie as Hollywood fiction, the film that portrayed the demonic possession, The Exorcist, was actually based on a very real event that occurred in the 1940′s. The subject was a young boy, and nearly every event depicted in the movie was said to have occurred, with one or two minor exceptions, as verified by the diaries of the priests involved in the exorcism. It was one of the only Catholic church sanctioned exorcisms of the times.
The other that bears mentioning, of course, is the story of Anneliese Michel, on which the movie The Exorcism of Emily Rose is based. Both movies contained in them references to at first providing the sufferers of the possession with modern medical treatments; for Regan Mcneal, the girl depicted in The Exorcist, it was said to be a cry for attention, and the doctor in the story (and, as we can presume based on the information provided, to the actual subject on which the story was based) prescribed Regan with Ritalin. When that and other treatments failed, a priest was then called in. For Annelise Michel (Emily Rose), the disorder was thought to be Epilepsy, Schizophrenia and/or depression, and treatments included medication and hospitalization. None seemed to improve her condition. Michel’s parents finally appeared to the clergy to perform an exorcism, which the Catholic clergy at first declined. However later the declination was rescinded, and a series of rites was performed on Michel. However Anneliese later succumbed to malnourishment and dehydration; some said as a result of the neglect of her parents and attending clergy, others because of the strain of the rites themselves. Various reports state that Michel refused to eat towards the end, others that she contracted pneumonia during the rites over a several month period; pneumonia that was subsequently untreated. The Catholic Church at the time came under heavy fire for the use of such “archaic” ritual, and also for having not ensured that Michel was under the care of a Medical Professional. All claims which were disputed during the trial following Michel’s death.
Docu-dramas including “A Haunting” and “Paranormal State” have also brought the subject of Demonic Possession into the public eye. Catholic Priests are often called in in such cases, and the Catholic Church, perhaps recognizing an instance of ‘see a need fill a need’, has recently expanded it’s curriculum for it’s priests to include special courses on Exorcism. The show Paranormal State has also showed cases of ‘demonic summoning’ gone wrong, and the after-effects of such botched attempts at darker esoteric magicks. Often these effects not only include household disturbances such as dark shadows, growling noises, object displacement, and a general disturbed atmosphere, but individuals may also be targeted for harassment by these darker energies. Rumors abound even that individuals have been driven to suicide by such malevolent spirits.
Whatever your belief, if you have even a shred at all, the pervasive idea here is that these sorts of evil spirits do exist, in some fashion or another, and they are malevolent towards human beings. Even the most light-and-sparkles Doreen Virtue cotton plushy bunny *must* acknowledge that just as there is light and good in the world, so to is there dark and destructive forces. Nature is destructive; and everything has it’s opposite. This is not to say that there is not plenty of grey area in between; seldom are things so clear cut. But in the case of what we’re speaking of, it is. If you are going to believe that there are good entities in the world that have good intentions towards your spiritual development, whatever path you may walk, then you must also be willing to accept, on natural principal, that there are entities who want nothing more than to rip your life apart and watch you struggle and suffer.
Yes, they do exist.
In my own experiences in various communities over the years, the pagan one included, I’ve seen the idea perpetuated, time and time again, that ‘demons’ are nothing but helpful ‘shadow’ entities that may be summoned up on a magicians will on demand. . . . maybe to help the practitioner to their laundry, or act as an invisible best friend or minion. At worst, people look on ‘demons’ as indifferent entities, or entities that are just ‘hungry’ and ‘feed’ off of the energy perpetuated by fear. This is not what this article is about. For semantics sake, I don’t consider these spirits ‘demons’. Whatever you want to call them is of course, your prerogative. But demons, real demons, have no love for humanity. AT ALL.
The origins of various demons can be debated from person to person. Some of them are fallen angels. Others are part of some void that may have existed nearly as long as heaven itself. Demons of the pantheon are most often followers of any one of the numerous respective satans; the Satans themselves including, but not limited to: Lucifer, Samael, Mephistopheles, Azazel, Mammon, Beelzebub, Astaroth (debated), Sariel, Abbadon, Mastema, and Belial. Out of all of these satans (‘adversary’, Ha-Shaitan, remember), only one left heaven on, at best, marginal terms. The others left out of pride, greed, malice, wrath or contempt, and only one of them, (Lucifer), has any sort of tolerance for man. The rest would like nothing more than to watch every single soul of the world burst and burn.
Demons in a theistic sense will typically be found serving one of these satans. The Greater and Lesser Keys of Solomon (eg, ‘The Goetics’) name a great many sub-demons, and contain instructions for summoning them. Some are dukes, some are presidents. In general, if they have names, they are more powerful than the average imp stoking the fires with a pitchfork. If the demons have names, they have power. And that is why they are ‘summonable’.
It therefore stands to reason that if the entity itself is desirable for some reason or another, and serves a master that has only malice for humans at heart-or optimistically, only serves themselves-wouldn’t it also stand to reason that it’s a bad idea to toy with summoning these entities? Do these entities actually hurt people? Do these entities actually posses people?
Mind you, here we are not talking about Horsing, or ritual possession by godforms as a form of worship. I should stress right now that there is a rather large difference, which we shall discuss later, and as written about by the controversial Raven Kaldera in “Drawing Down The Spirits”. Here we are only talking about malicious entities , IE Demons, that seize control of people and places against their will for the sake of harming those individuals.
The notion that evil spirits can and do harm to people has been an integral part of human culture for thousands of years. Traditionally, it was the duty of Shamans and spirit healers to do battle with these beings; to fight of the supposed causes of diseases by going to battle with the spirits. Methods included dancing, fanning, drumming. . .elaborate displays and specific rituals meant to drive the evil powers away. The rituals of Catholicism, of course, are no different. Catholic Priests are Holy Men, and those that do exorcisms are specifically trained for this purpose with a specific set of tools and liturgies at their disposal to vanquish those demons. So why, then, when a house is being pestered by a malevolent spirit, do we call Catholic Priests? Why when a person is possessed do we think of the Catholic establishment first?
Because they are one of very few institutions left that have, on hand, specific instructions to follow, and traditions with them, to get rid of malevolent entities. They are trained to recognize the evil demons of their faith and know exactly what to look for to determine if a person is possessed or not. A Catholic Priest calls apon Jesus to drive those son-of-God hating evils away. Usually, he is successful. Because he has the tools, the training, and the strength of conviction.
In our ‘modern’ society, we often scoff at the idea of the spirit world having any bearing on real life. We say that people who deal with spirits are ‘weird’ or ‘artsy fartsy’ or . . . well whatever. (*cough*). People who become possessed we call ‘overzealous’ in their faith, or else are labeled psychotic and drugged. There is no spirit world. There are no demons. All of it is just an elaborate fabrication and nothing bad ever happens to anyone because of something invisible that we can’t see.
Right?
Shamans from a small tribe in South America once received word that there was a woman in a nearby village who was wandering about, muttering in tongues, claiming spirits were coming on her and speaking to her. A council of tribes was called together, and as being a Shaman in this particular area of the world was serious business, they decided to investigate the claims the women were making. These are ‘third world’ cultures, mind you (at least as dismissive morons would call them); but trained to recognize the difference between a shaman’s spirit-talk and the mumbles and rantings and ravings of a lunatic. True to this very idea, the experienced shamans conducted their investigation, and concluded that the woman was simply ‘ill of the mind’, and was not, in fact, possessed. This is a society that is not exclusive of the idea that possession is possible, either benevolently or no, and at the same time understands that there are people who are simply sick in the head. Going back to the example we take from the story of “Emily Rose”, we can then state that isn’t it a good idea for someone who knows and understands ‘modern’ medicine to be on sight for an Exorcism? Why aren’t more people trained to recognize it in our culture? Is it the dismissive nature of ‘normal’ society that waves away cases of demonic torment in favor of medication and incarceration? We may never know.
However; for spiritworkers, I feel it’s very important to know the difference. And this is why I advocate that anyone who works with any of the satans, demons, goetics, angels, ect, be well versed not only in the paradigm itself, but also in the behaviors and patterns of those entities. It’s also important for us to not be as dismissive of the idea of possession just because we saw it in a movie. We are people who hear/see/experience the gods, usually in direct fashion; and speaking from a Theistic Luciferian point of view, it’s not just practical to get to know the other beings of your pantheon, but also the opposition, as a manner of speaking. Most theistic Luciferians will tell you ‘hell’ (or more correctly, Hells, as there are many of them) is a dog-eat-dog place, and almost no one gets along. There in intruige and backstabbing enough to make Wall Street on Black Friday look like a game of Sorry.
In a time when we are seeing many more shamans, oracles, and godspouses/servants called into their respective roles and situations, it seems that much more important that we be ready and able to assist our communities in whatever capacities they need us in. I often wondered why Lu pointed be down a path to be an Emergency Medical Technician. Especially after years earlier, I’d achieved a degree in Massage Therapy (and had no desire to return to a medical profession). Since I became an EMT, I *have*, as a matter of fact, come up against crazy people. I’ve seen people who are suicidal, homicidal, schizophrenic, epileptic, and everything in between. I’ve seen a person on Bath Salts, I’ve seen a person slit their wrist in front of me and I’ve washed arterial blood that *pulsed out* off my scotch guard medic pants. It’s not always so dramatic, but you come to understand what dilated or constricted pupils mean. You check blood pressure, pulse, O2, asses how conscious and aware of their surroundings they are. ‘They Sky is Blue in Cincinnati’ isn’t just a cute poem we made up. We don’t ask you who the president is because we want to talk politics.
Now, looking back on it, I think this training was very useful for me as a spirit worker. Not only do I talk with gods, work with them for people if and when they ask me to, but the day may come when I’m called on for matters of healing, or at least, my opinion as someone who works with these beings and entities on a regular basis. I have to be prepared in that event. I have to be able to tell the difference between someone who might just be really high on drugs and seeing funky shapes at night in the corner of their room as opposed to someone who is speaking Aramaic and calling themselves ‘Legion’. The latter poses a significant problem if medical opinions have already been sought to no avail. It also helps to have someone on hand who knows and speaks medical jargon. It might not mean anything to Joe Blow investigator over there that little Helen who is speaking old German backwards and hurling crosses at people, but if the parents tell me little Helen is taking Haldol or Prolixin or Thorazine, I’m going to raise an eyebrow and wonder. All three of these are medications prescribed to treat Schizophrenia. It’s important as a spiritworker to be knowledgeable about these sorts of things, but especially for me. I feel like I was set on this course for a reason.
It’s easy to sum up this post by saying, ‘be careful playing with fire, you might get burned’. But it disturbs me, even as a Luciferian, how casually people in esoteric magical circles treat summoning demons, playing with goetics, using spirit boards. . ect, ect. ‘Ha ha if you want to be possessed, just do this!’ one (idiot) person recently posted in the Pagan tag on tumblr. Or just the other day, when I was watching a program on TV and the subject of demonic haunting arose. One of the people in the home admitted to attempting to summoning a demon in his brothers’ house to attempt to convince the brother and his wife that demons were real. They saw something, of which they did not mention, and panicked and broke the containment circle. They were plagued for years afterwards by growling noises in their house, dark shadows, and other eerie disturbances. In the end it took someone seriously talented in Energy Work to drive the entity away. This is just one case of someone ‘playing with fire’, and burning someone else. Any experienced practitioner knows never to break a containment circle. And any onlookers should be educated in the ritual and safety BEFORE it’s began. This should be common sense. In addition, you should know how to deal with a botched ritual *before* something goes wrong; not leave innocent people to clean up after your mess.
Often I get people that ask me why I study demons so much; why I read up about them, get to know them (why at the moment I’m studying Goetics. That’s a recent one). And I tell them, because it’s important for me to know what these entities are; how they’re evoked, how they’re banished. Their signs, sigils, names. I was raised a Catholic, but there will be times when Catholics cannot and WILL not involve themselves with getting rid of a mess. A possessed object or person is a very serious matter, and Lucifer makes no secrets about the fact that he disdains entities that posses people. It’s spiritual violation of the worst sort, and utterly intolerable. Learn to fight it, he told me. Do battle when you’re called on. Know what you’re getting into.
Everyone else who dabbles should, too.
And taking it lightly? Is not just stupid. It’s stupid stupid. And there aren’t many people who know how to help you if you screw it up. Why take a chance? Yes, things do happen. But ‘playing’ with demons is almost as bad of an idea as standing on top of the Empire State Building on a stormy day wearing wet copper armor giving the sky the finger and calling Thor a bastard.
(I love you Thor, that was an example, dear.)
I’m a Luciferian, and although I am prohibited from dealing with other demons (wouldn’t want to anyway, they’re, as mentioned, evil and dangerous) , I *am* being trained and educated in how to deal with them, should the need ever arise among others in similar paths to mine (minus the godwork). I have a plethora of tools and assistants to help me, but in addition to that, I feel it important to stress that there are very real dangers out there in the spiritworld, very much so in my own pantheon, and there are people who are being taught how to handle them. It is important. You can’t always drug evil away. Sometimes, you have to. But even if only out of 100 cases of ‘possession’ just ONE is real, shouldn’t we be capable of handling it?
(And now, I open the floor for discussion. Thank you all for reading).
Recently on tumblr one of my followers mentioned they’d like to see me write a post on “Luciferian Magick”. After sitting here for the past couple of hours staring at my mocking, blinking cursor, thinking of something wise and witty to say, and to write, I came to a kind of ‘ well duh’ revelation. Mostly, about why such an article was going to be hard to write.
Here’s why.
Aside from Goetics, which I am admittedly not well versed in (though I plan to start studying), there is no universal form of “Luciferian magick”. Luciferian Magick can best be summed up as, any form of magick which doesn’t specifically rely on deities to make them work.
Luciferian magick, like the path itself, should be focused solely on the will of the practitioner, or. . . the application therof, specifically. Ergo any such spell that hinges on such is acceptable.
Additionally, Luciferianism, though theistically has no definite set of rules or code, generally operates under the ‘what you cast out’ rule, or rather, what goes around comes around. Now I’m not talking about the Rede here. What I mean is, Luciferianism, or at least my practice, revolves around manners. Ergo, if you are treated cruelly, and have first utilized practical means to get the mistreatment or misrepresentation or misdeeds against you negated, and nothing works. . . then it is 100 % acceptable to hex and curse that behavior into oblivion. Now, I am not advocating this lightly. Because there will be prices to pay for this sort of thing. Much like a stone thrown into a still pond, your choices have actions over the greater universe, and eventually, cause and effect will bring you face to face with those choices. However, what I am saying is that, if someone is a guest in your home, they shouldn’t pee on all your houseplants. You can kick them out of your house and slam the door in their face, even, if you’ve been slighted. And hey, if it gives them a bloody nose as they’re turning around to cuss you out in the meantime? Bonus points.
The morals guiding a Luciferian should also be used to guide how you use your magical talents and abilities. But there is no one set way that I know of. Again, there’s the Goetics and the Lesser Key of Solomon, and I know that Michael Ford has written some material on the matter. Those Satanists who also don’t distinguish between Lucifer and other named satans also would point out Alestair Crowley as a source of material, but again, I’ve not yet investigated these, so I can’t yet vouch for those; however as I read through them I’d be happy to keep my followers apprised of my opinions.
And now I will leave you with an old quote that many of you may or may not remember with some degree of fondness:
“True magic is neither black nor white. It’s both loving and cruel, all at the same time.”
By popular request!
(pictured without frosting)
1 cup honey
1 cup butter
3 eggs.
1 1/2 cups flour (self rising)
1/2 pack cream cheese (my own mod on the recipe)
1 tbs vanilla
Dash of nutmeg and cinammon
Dash of apple pie spice (optional)
Cream butter and honey in a bowl. Add eggs, beat all together. Slowly add in flour. Then add in cream cheese, stirring until smooth. Add in a drizzle of extract of vanilla with a dash of nutmeg and cinamon. When I’m baking for Lu, I add in the dash of apple.
Put into a regular sized greased baking dish. Bake at 350 for 35-40 minutes or until knife comes out clean.
For frosting:
1/2 tablespoon melted butter
1/2 cup milk
1 tbsp honey
Dash of cinammon
Powdered sugar
Warm milk and melt butter. Stir in powdered sugar to acceptable (not runny) thickness. Pour over cooled honey cake. Enjoy!
So this turned up on my Tumblr dash after seeing a particularly harrowing bit of footage regarding faith and the afterlife [and being in tears].
There was no conversation to be had, no empty words to be said to fill in the gap silence had made. He guided her through snow covered streets and alleys, moving like ghosts through a silent city. His fingers tightened against the fabric of her dress as they moved through the snow, the devil holding his facade as he murmured greetings and offered short nods. He cared not for these people and their beating hearts.
Only one mattered and he felt its slow thumping through his palm.
~”Diamond Eyes”, apaleviolin
Thanks, Lu. I needed that.
Not directly related to Luciferianism, BUT. . .
So, several people recently have actually asked me about my first encounter with the supernatural. . and why I decline to do medium work when I seem more than capable of it. . I’ll share that story here with you (as per popular request).
Now, I’d always been an imaginative child and had lots of “imaginary” friends as a kid. None of these encounters were ever frightening or scary to me. I spent the early part of childhood on my grandparents two acre farm with our orchard and horses and I don’t think there could be a safer place in the world.
When I was 10 years old, I moved out of this house to live with my biological father. We lived in a duplex that wasn’t far from a busy road. Noises at night weren’t a huge deal.
Except for one night, I was, I can only presume, asleep. When I heard a noise right outside my bedroom window. The noise sounded like someone dragging tin cans on a chain across the parking lot. Clinkity clinkity. And it kept getting closer and closer to the window. Clinkity clinkity.
Doing what kids do, I sat up in bed and peered out the window. I saw a shadow . . thing, with what looked like red eyes and dragging hands, far off in the distance. Terrified, I ducked back down. But the clinkity clinkity noise kept getting closer. And closer.
Being a stupid ten year old kid, what did I do? I sat up to look again.
BAM!
This thing was RIGHT AT THE WINDOW HOLY SHIT. And I didn’t get a look at it then, only that I saw red eyes. Screaming, I ran to wake up my dad, who said it was just a nightmare. I slept with the blinds closed after that, but I never heard the noise again.
. . .
Until I was 16.
I’d moved back in with my mother and been in High School, and her house, for two years. We had a nice green lawn with a large 200 year old oak tree outside. No concrete. No gravel. Nothing.
I woke up to that noise again.
Clinkity clinkity clinkity.
I must have screamed, because my step dad and mom came running in. Soon as the words ‘out the window’ came out of my mouth, my step dad grabbed his shotgun and after seeing nothing called the police. There was a whole ordeal, and the final conclusion was that someone must have hopped the fence into the yard and run through in the night.
I knew better.
Things went quiet again.
Fast forward to when I was 20. I went to stay the night at my mother’s house to spend some time with my then four year old sister. In the dead of the night she woke up screaming. My mom and I ran in the room, and my mom tried to calm her hysterics. When she finally got my baby sister to talk, she said,
“Mommy the black man was at my window.”
. . .
I only thank Lu that now I live on a third floor apartment.
And there you have it. My big ghost story.
Named after the singer from Godsmack. Sully is a baby albino corn snake. Still very VERY tiny and very timid, he zipped right out of my hands when I tried to put him in his cage and it was a half an hour ordeal to get him out from under the bed. He’s still too little to be handled, but here he is!
I know this might come as a startling revelation to some people.
But it’s ok to make mistakes.
There’s this notion going around on some blogospheres that if you’re a spiritworker, particularly one that’s been at it for a while, that you can never botch your gnosis, or make yourself look like an utter idiot, or anything and everything in between. And most of the time, people won’t call you on it, and most of the time, you’ll find some way to justify it. And the whole thing becomes a big nightmare.
This happened to me a few years ago. Let me explain.
First off, I had a friend. Since I adore working through stories and fiction (as a writer an an artist, this seems a practical mode to me), when this friend of mine started to integrate his gnosis with mine, I, in my infinite wisdom (that was sarcasm), saw my own do a heavy bent to mesh in with his. Of course it goes without saying this was a disaster, and eventually after we parted ways, I was able to get my head on strait and fix the problem. I also apologized profusely to Lu, because during this time I feel he didn’t get the attention he deserved and he must have been thinking, “What is she doing?”
And I don’t blame him in the slightest. Looking back at the direction my ‘personal gnosis’ took, it’s easy to see where I was bending what I felt was right to make someone else more comfortable with it, it ‘fit in’. I can still recall how wrong it felt, how not true to me. I can remember every vile, vulgar word the person used to reference both Lu and myself, with even worse filth spat from them when they went so far as to speculate how often Lu and I were having sex.
Which of course was NONE of their business, and it made me very uncomfortable. On the few occasions I asked them to stop, their excuse was, ‘this is just how I am, deal with it’. Since this person was my friend, far from helping me check myself, they only pushed me further and further into a corner. I could either suck it up and deal with their foul mouth and their callous attitude towards something I held dear and keep them as a friend, or I could just cut them off.
Which, the latter is what I eventually ended up doing. But not before I endured years of inappropriate comments about both my own sexuality and Lu’s sexuality, with the result that I was so terrified of losing a friend I tweaked my own personal story to fit their idea of what Lu and I’s relationship should be.
It was a disaster. And only when I was away from that person was I able to see this better. When I spoke with Lu about it, he was, for him, silent, and pensive. But at last he told me not to dwell on it any more. What was done was done, and did I learn a lesson?
Yes I did. And thats, check yourself. If you’re changing your beliefs or watering it down to make other people more comfortable, you’re doing your gods a disservice. You have to take their good and their bad. In addition, if any of your ‘friends’ are making you change your story to fit theirs, they’re not your friend. If they ever make you uncomfortable and you ask them to stop and they still don’t respect your boundaries? Get rid of them. They’re toxic, and in the end, they will only bog you down. Like a great big ugly pothole in the roadway, they will make you sink and probably do damage to the front end of your car, and you’ll probably have to buy at least one new tire.
Lu and I’s relationship took a blow during my little escapade. We’re healing, but it was definitely a pothole.
For that matter, don’t be a pothole. Respect other people’s stories, their ideas, their UPG, and don’t ask them to change it because you don’t feel that’s what that god should be/is/ect. If you can’t cope with your friend’s gnosis, you’re only going to be poisonous to them, and you should politely excuse yourself. Tell them your ideas aren’t meshing, that you’re uncomfortable being around them. And for Hell’s sake, if you’re asking someone a question or addressing matters of their faith and they tell you they’re uncomfortable, either with the way you’re addressing their gods or how you’re speaking about their relationship, STOP, RIGHT THERE. To some people, there is a difference between ‘ecstatic spiritual union’ and ‘well I hope he gave you a good fuck’ (pardon my french). On top of that, don’t assume all relationships between a Godspouse and their god is all about sex; you shouldn’t be asking about that anyway unless the Spouse ™ in question wants to share ( I don’t, thank YOU).
In summary, it is possible for us to make mistakes. With our gnosis, with our gods. I have, and I regret them. Deeply. However they’ve made Lucifer and I grow closer with what we’ve been through. Don’t hang yourself over them, but do your best to fend them off beforehand, and after the fact, communicate, communicate, communicate. Talking with your gods about what you took from the experience is going to do you a lot better in the long haul than running and hiding your shame.
Running from the gods never turns out well for us mortal folk anyway.
He scarce had ceas’t when the superiour Fiend
Was moving toward the shoar; his ponderous shield
Ethereal temper, massy, large and round,
Behind him cast; thebroad circumference
Hung on his shoulders like the Moon,
His Spear, to equal which the tallest Pine,He call’d so loud, that all the hollow Deep
Of Hell resounded. Princes, Potentates,
Warriers, the Flowr of Heav’n, once yours, now lost,
If such astonishment as this can sieze
Eternal spirits; or have ye chos’n this place
After the toyl of Battel to repose
Your wearied vertue, for the ease you find
To slumber here, as in the Vales of Heav’n?
Or in this abject posture have ye sworn
To adore the Conquerour?
He [Beelzebub] had hardly finished speaking, when The Morning Star did rise.
And he moved towards that shore, the celestial waters churning at his ankles, his shield hung on his back, heavy and gleaming like the moon,
And he gripped his spear, taller than any of Earths grandest pines, and said with a resounding thrum of the deepest of string instruments,
“Warriors! Elite of Heaven, which was once yours, now forsworn, are we so shocked at this? We eternal have chosen this place. To rest in our weariness, to make our place, and here we shall weep and lament. Or will you turn away from this path now? Will you take knee to your creator? Or will you follow me still?”
“I remember once. . . you used to dance.”
She tilted her head, and peered though a cloud of whirling smoke. Her hair was black, damp, right out of the shower and smelling of coconuts and argan oil.
The smoke that whorled smelled of vanilla and mint. Her lips parted only just a little, the heavy black lines from her makeup had smeared carelessly. But she closed them, and answered.
“Da, My Prince.”
“It has been forever, it seems. Tell me. . . do you still?”
Her black eyes turned down, and gazed at her toes. There was only a sharp shard of honey brown where the light hit them.
“You have seen me.” she answered simply, and went back to a long draw off her nicotine-free cigarette.
He perked the corner of his lips, and lay a gentle palm across the top of her head. “But it is not heaven that moves through you.”
“No,” she answered truthfully. “These mortal bones. . . they are heavy. Not made for flying at all, Great Prince.”
“If there is any mortal capable of defying gravity, I would attribute such a feat to you.”
“Flattery.”
She flicked heavy eyelashes back up, peering through black strands.
“I am not a bird, Highness. I am to this earth as a stone. The world is full of acrobats and pilots and hang gliders. I am none of these things.”
“Shrewd, as always.”
“Honest.” she smiled.
Jade eyes like frosted glass glittered back at her.
“When next you dance,” said he, “Will you let Hell come to you instead?”
“For you?” she cooed. “Anything, My Prince. Bring your ice, and I will have earned my name.”
“Dearest Winter. You did this long ago, with your stories and songs of woe.”
“Still flattery.”
“Never,” his purring voice came like a bass tremble. Then, “Are you weary?”
“It takes effort, to stir, to wake.”
“Rest then, beloved.”
The haze of the smoke curled between them both.
“Send me dreams. . . ?” the singing voice ventured.
“Always.”
He planted a kiss on her forehead, and then, all faded to black.
“If that is so, then who am I, marked as I am? Tell me. Tell me what you think you know. Tell me what a broken Queen wants.”
“I think I’ll dismember the world and then I’ll dance in the wreckage.”
| — | Preludes and Nocturnes, Neil Gaiman |
Today feels like this is one of those days for me.
I shouldn’t be wringing my hands and angsting today as much as I am. Except for after stumbling on at least one other person who claims to be Lucifer’s wife as of like four months ago (I take only small comfort in the idea that he claimed me back in ’08), this is where my scathing of others who claim to be his comes from.
Never mind the fact that the person in question had no vocal aesthetic, a mouth fouler than a donkey’s personal port-a-potty, the other girl *is* skinner than me. She’s pale with dark hair and looks wise, I’ve always wanted to be pale and thin with long dark hair. But I never will.
I’m short, 5’4, with a big round head and a figure that approached hour glass. Broad in the shoulders, and my firefighting days left me with muscle in my arms so I weigh about 165 lbs. My calves are really big too because I dance regularly. I don’t wear a lot of make-up, but I do use expensive shampoo and styling products and spend about 20-30 minutes flat ironing my hair every day. I try to pick clothing that’s flattering, if not on the pricier side of my budget (I usually shop at American Eagle or Zumiez, or Rue 21 for jeans). I invest heavily in lotion and perfume (I have at least a dozen bottles of perfume; I alternate back and forth between Fitch 8, Polo Blue, or Sweet Dreams by Victoria’s Secret. I believe smelling nice is next to godliness, you know that whole speech.
But there are girls out there who are real and pretty and I feel like I’m nothing next to them. Especially if they decide to pursue him. Just the idea makes me irrational, and spiteful. And for me? That’s a dangerous thing.
I don’t know what to do. This is depressing me something awful.
“Blue Jeans”
Blue jeans, white shirt
Walked into the room you know you made my eyes burn
It was like, James Dean, for sure
You’re so fresh to death and sick as ca-cancer
You were sorta punk rock, I grew up on hip hop
But you fit me better than my favourite sweater, and I know
That love is mean, and love hurts
But I still remember that day we met in December, oh baby!
Walked into the room you know you made my eyes burn
It was like, James Dean, for sure
You’re so fresh to death and sick as ca-cancer
You were sorta punk rock, I grew up on hip hop
But you fit me better than my favourite sweater, and I know
That love is mean, and love hurts
But I still remember that day we met in December, oh baby!
I will love you ’til the end of time
I would wait a million years
Promise you’ll remember that you’re mine
Baby can you see through the tears
Love you more
Than those bitches before
Say you’ll remember, oh baby, say you’ll remember, oh baby ooh
I will love you ’til the end of time
Big dreams, gangster
Said you had to leave to start your life over
I was like, “No please, stay here,
We don’t need no money we can make it all work,”
But he headed out on Sunday, said he’d come on Monday
I stayed up waitin’, anticipatin’, and pacin’
But he was chasing paper
“Caught up in the game” ‒ that was the last I heard
I will love you ’til the end of time
I would wait a million years
Promise you’ll remember that you’re mine
Baby can you see through the tears
Love you more
Than those bitches before
Say you’ll remember, oh baby, say you’ll remember, oh baby ooh
I will love you ’til the end of time
You went out every night
And baby that’s alright
I told you that no matter what you did I’d be by your side
Cause Imma ride or die
Whether you fail or fly
Well shit at least you tried.
But when you walked out that door, a piece of me died
I told you I wanted more-but that’s not what I had in mind
I just want it like before
We were dancing all night
Then they took you away-stole you out of my life
You just need to remember….
I will love you ’til the end of time
I would wait a million years
Promise you’ll remember that you’re mine
Baby can you see through the tears
Love you more
Than those bitches before
Say you’ll remember, oh baby, say you’ll remember, oh baby ooh
I will love you ’til the end of time
Hush now and goodnight.
The stars will light your way.
Here I have left you a part of me.
Here I have left you a part of me.
Oh my Prince who counts the atoms
Whirling in the sky,
How you have held my hand.
How you have held my hand.
Before I knew you I was so alone.
In the cool dark air I would lament that you were just a shadow.
And the light would hide your smile.
And the light would hide your smile.
What do you want to dream of?
Close your eyes, and I will make a candy world where your innocence still endures.
I don’t want you to hurt.
I don’t want you to hurt.
It’s not black.
The colors only sworl in this void to come together.
And now I lay you on my altar.
And now I lay you on my altar.
I will write my name in your blood.
I will make the dust in your veins forever.
Now we are one.
Now we are one.
“At least it’s snowing again.” She said, and drew herself into his coat. “But. . . one thing. . . “
“Yes?” inquired his deep timbre.
“Where are all the children. . .?”
“They have grown. They have gone on to other worlds now, to topple towers. Build new monuments. New homes.”
” Then. . . it’s just us here?”
“Of course not. There will be others. In time.”
“Then the balloons will come back.”
“And your smile with them. Yes.”
Having recently made the decision, in close conference with my spiritual team and Lu, to start doing oracular sessions, I sit in pensive thought and wonder just what I’ll be getting myself into.
There’s a lot of speculation going online, a lot of the Old Fogies vs. Youngins over things like espousing, “The Godphone ™”, hearing and communicating with the gods, and offering up your services with the idea of getting involved in community. To expand in this a little further, how there are certain pantheons who are having a revival of these sorts of things in and among them (supposedly, Loki and Odhinn’s Wives, although I’m not ‘on the scene’ with regards to these so I can’t speak much on it), while the “old fogies” seem to be noticing a lack of it in other pantheons. Well, coming from another pantheon, I feel obligated to offer my own thoughts up.
I mainly decided to do the Oracle work because, having been dealing with the “god phone” for most of my life and especially since my teens, I’ve been listening to them offer up their insights for years now. I’ve had some good and some not-so-good run ins with other spiritworkers when I’ve made the words of the gods known to the other party, so for a long while, I stopped. I kept their words to myself. Lu, especially, I’ve kept close to my heart. I’ve been greedy. I cling to him in a way because I’m spiteful and jealous. I don’t want to share him. I don’t want to have to give him to another person.
However, as the only walker of this particular path (that I know of, anyway), I feel that there are certain responsibilities I have. I’ve been speaking with so many different entities and gods over the years I feel I’m good at interpreting their energy, and I don’t tend to focus on my own pantheon (the Judeo-Christian one). Lu says this makes me ideal when it comes to being available for intercession or intermediary work, though he’s always had very line-in-the-sand stipulations on who I can actually speak with vs. who I can’t, or who he’d need to be present with, or for. But I’m in the middle of it. I’m not Hellenic, or Norse, or Celtic. .. my tradition is no tradition because I am a Luciferian; our myths are our own, our experiences unique, our diversity a celebrated thing because we are solitary. Although sometimes it’s a terribly difficult thing . . . there are no teachers or those who have gone before to speak of, of course. . . it’s also liberating in it’s way. Not every male authoritarian voice to be would be Odin, or every female Freya. Hopefully, that gives me an edge and counter-balances out my own very tangible ‘first timer’ panic. Yes, I’ve been working with Lu for years. But this is the first time I’ve placed myself in the precarious position of service to people who would come to him in a formal manner.
It’s a bit daunting.
O, Mourning Star. . . 