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I want to break you

in humid fashion, 

and

leave you thundering

making eternity

Tremble beneath you

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Because they cut you,

And you bleed red.

Because of the salt in your veins,

That I drink.

Because of the carbon,

In your footsteps.

Because of those roses

That you tend.

Because of those scratches,

you’ve endured.

I vowed that you were all nothing, 

nothing nothing nothing nothing, 

Because you did not burn or shine or glimmer

And you were stale and filthy like a latrine.

Funny how wounds will mend,

and leave their scars behind,

and make a thing

unexpectedly beautiful.

 

“Space is big. Really bigYou just won’t believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is.”

-Douglas Adams

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Who would choose to live here?

Who would choose these alley ways and this cobblestone street,

Where the tremor of grey rain pools at my feet?

I threw myself before you,

With the wind and embers scortching my heels,

And screamed when our hands separated

and you were drawn up into the sky,

and I couldn’t reach you any more.

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A very obliging friend of mine over on my (usually) nonsensical tumblr posed an excellent question to me today, regarding what boones that The Morning Star bestows on his followers. There was an initial joke about a gift of a feather handed to one who has earned his favor,  but underneath I felt there was a more poignant question being asked. I’ve heard it before in many other forms, some innocuous, some not. What’s the plus side of being a (theistic) Luciferian? More specifically, is there any good that comes out of it? It’s easy with the sense of humor that several of us seem to have for an outsider to see us as flippant about our spirituality. I find that any spirituality that doesn’t have a silly side about it is largely not worth anyone’s time. . . just like I don’t feel you can have a universe without a light, a dark, and the grey material in between, I don’t think a person can truly be whole and spiritually fulfilled unless they embrace a certain freedom when it comes to spiritual growth; humor, in short, is good for the soul.

That being said, I think this is why Lucifer himself, who is normally a very serious entity besides, tolerates most of his followers very awful and cheeky sense of humor with a mere roll of his eyes and a shake of his head. Lucifer has been likened in many ways to Hannibal Lecter; enamored of finery and eloquent things, derisive and disdainful of the rude, full of wrath for the crude and the vulgar, eager to instruct with gentlemanly countenance those who would learn from his backwards ways. He knows that his is a hard path to walk, and there must be a form of respite to it all. You still with me? Hang in there, this has a point, I promise.

Being Lucifer’s usually means embracing a form of gallows humor. Suddenly jokes about hellfire, brimstone, and damnation seem ironic, maybe even funny. Most of us will chuckle to ourselves when people throw that particular sort of vitriol our way, although we fully acknowledge the fact that in a manner of speaking (pertaining to the afterlife), it’s quite possible the joke might have been on us all along, and we will indeed face a very unpleasant afterlife-if you’re the sort of Luciferian who believes in one, that is (reminder I speak from a theistic perspective here). That sort of idea makes one deeply inclined to make peace with your affairs while you’re here on earth, not wait to be reincarnated as a dung beetle or whathave you to atone for your “sins”. It’s the idea of John Constantine trying to buy his way into heaven; only in this way, it’s more a notion of buying a cozier spot in hell. Or that hell is a nicer alternative in the first place  (“better to rule in hell than serve in heaven”, as the motto goes). It’s about personal responsibility; there’s the very real notion that because you’re already damned, you can go about your way and be largely unconcerned with other people’s accusations or insinuations about your immortal soul. This doesn’t mean you’re not a good person; but it serves as it’s own armor, in some cases. I can’t tell you how many different religious groups I’ve had approach me-not knowing I am a sworn and oathed servant of Lucifer’s-and talk to me about this afterlife or that afterlife or read this book or read that book or the devil will devour my soul or I’ll burn forever or be picked at by crickets for all eternity. . . you get the picture. As if that idea somehow will frighten me into joining their religious establishment. Mostly I just listen to them patiently, and with some degree of amusement, because those things don’t frighten me. From the first time I said to myself, ‘I am His’, to the time I put that together with Bosch’s “Musical Inferno”, which is a creative if not gruesome depiction of hell, I had to make peace with that possibility. I confess sometimes, I’ve been outright disrespectful when a particular colorful [attempted] thump arcs strait for my head courtesy of the good book, when I’ve laughed entirely too loud, out loud, at the person who was attempting to do the convincing. I apologized abruptly for my behavior and made them tea. Thankfully they never came proselytizing at my door again.

But that ‘armor’ that being Lucifer’s gives one is not an armor that is bestowed for service; it’s the armor given through meditation, through self examination. There is a particularly colorful puritan account of heaven vs. hell, where it is said that the blessing of the righteous in heaven is to have a front row seat for the suffering of sinners in hell; and the ‘righteous’ are expected to enjoy the show, even if those burning and writhing in hellfire and agony are their own loved ones. Horrible? I thought so, and it was one of the first things that I thought to myself when I made my oaths. . . I would much rather be the one burning, because it would be a worse hell of heaven to be one of the spectators. I’ll take fire over watching the suffering of someone else. What kind of god would do that anyway? Two thumbs way down, on the list of things that are not okay. . .

It’s like being forced to look in a mirror at the ugliest parts of yourself. Once you’re secure with those things that may very well damn you, you’ll be surprised how little they phase you. This is not to say that you won’t still have to deal with those insecurities occasionally. However, as an example, people have noticed [and commented] over the years how very little anon hate seems to bother me. Stupid flippant comments that demonstrate a person knows very little about what they’re talking about only serve to amuse me and add fuel to the fire of  my sometimes self depreciating (though not self-demeaning, I don’t lessen myself for the sake of a laugh unless it’s in a mode of pure flippancy) humor. I usually use it for fodder for inside jokes later. It’s amusing when they try so hard. . . because I find it funny that someone damned with a voice out there on the web has more grace than a coward hiding behind an anonymous face. Anyone will tell you have no problem telling someone face to face (so to speak) when I feel a person is being an intolerable disgusting cockroach. They usually get the same amount of due regard from me as the crushed carcass of the same, after the fact, too.  So therin lay the pride, or the self confidence; either a fools bravado, or just the wisdom of someone who is very selective and picky about those they choose to spend their time with-and their energy on. Life is too short to waste on spending time pining over people who could care less about you. That’s another thing I learned from being Luciferian.

However, although this armor is something naturally granted to Luciferians,  it’s it’s own curse. I’m a lonely person; I fall in love too easily and spend my time dreaming about strangers I’ll never meet, places I’ll never visit, arms I’ll never fall asleep in. Though I love my family, my conventional marriage was, even according to my spouse, one borne out of practical necessity and a desire to improve both our lot than any desire that came out of wooing and romance. I’m grey-asexual but not aeromantic. The saying goes, ‘I crave a love so deep the ocean would be jealous’. I’ve always wanted the kind of love that bears letters written across oceans, the kind Vincent wrote to Theo, the sort that makes stars out of lovers. I’m a passionate person that way, and so often, I look around and judge people as shallow and undeserving of my affection. To be fair, I’ve never had it bestowed on me. This is where I say my own aesthetic also gets in the way; I don’t consider myself attractive by any means, but I won’t tolerate less than anyone who’s physical looks move me to poetry. It’s a never ending search that starts in the flashes of cameras or celebrity autobiographies and dreams that take place in the back of a limo and end in the wee dawn hours in a cold bed under cold sheets as the sun comes up. Being so closed off to people, wearing that armor, makes you incredibly lonely. You’ll tolerate nothing but the best, but you feel you have nothing to give. You’re damned after all, aren’t you? And oathed, your soul doesn’t belong to you. And Lucifer himself has very high standards. If you want to share something of his, nothing less than the best will do. It’s terrifying, some nights, how yawning the void is. Especially for me, because I’m  a very empathetic person. Those strangers I fall in love with, I can feel , across all that distance, sometimes even see in my minds  eye exactly what they’re doing [I don’t have this connection with just everyone. There seems to be a stipulation or two, although I’ve come scarily close to guessing what people are doing or where they’re sitting just by thinking about them]. The worst part is not being loved back. And that’s painful. A hell of it’s own kind. In some ways that makes the armor stronger. Lucifer needs soldiers, and he’ll not be shy about this fact. In other ways, it isolates you even more. Ever pined for something so much it makes your chest ache? Imagine living like that every day. It’s literally exhausting. I know a lot of Luciferians that suffer from a form of burnout that way. We are dreamers who see beautiful things in the dark. . . and terrible things in the light. And when we come back to the waking world everything seems dull, and grey, and can’t even come close to the color we’ve known when we close our eyes. ‘Love’ to most people is nothing more than a swapped word on a second date. To a devotee of Lucifers, it’s damnation. It’s hell, because it’s something we can never have. Our own pride keeps it from us. Lucifer’s Claimed are stars struggling not to be pulled to earth; and more often than not, what we are burns off as we are sucked into the atmosphere. We are hardly what beautiful shining creatures we were when we finally come crashing down.

What sorts of things does being a Luciferian give you?

An incredibly strong sense of pride that lifts you up like never before. And a horrible fall to come after.

It just started snowing here, and at work I have a window seat here at work and it’s just beautiful.

Little things, preserve the moment.

 

A right implies equal opportunity. I don’t mean this in the way that right wing journalists mean it when they say that a petty thief has forfeit his rights because he didn’t meet his responsibilities. I mean that if we recognize that someone possesses a right, we must also recognize our own responsibility to protect that right. -Julian Assange

“I see you everywhere, in the stars, deep in the river, to me you’re everything that exists; the reality of everything.”
— Virginia Woolf, Night and Day

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No no no,

Don’t turn away from me.

Is this the ghost that walks my halls,

When the clock strikes three am?

Shiver and bite down

On this grief deep within,

I know you can’t even hear

Me singing to you,

Singing to you,

Stay strong and carry on,

defy the rising dawn.

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About this Blog

Online Shrine and Devotional Space dedicated to Lucifer-Helel, The Mourning Star, The Lightning Bringer,and the Aeon of Air.

Blogger is Danyel, Pop Culture Pagan, Godspouse, Spiritworker, and Witch.

Member of The Internet Defense League

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