Yule time

I am writing this from the deep forest of wintery Norway, with a sort of view out my window that is from the past. Yet there is something timeless or classic about the atmosphere outside that it is hard to tell what age it is from here. The cold letting go a little, the snow and ice has melted a little to let out some fog onto the forest. Squirrels collect nuts, birds hunt for small creatures or any crumb off the table of those who collected food for the winter.

In my home every year I make sure to have enough food stored, so that I dont have to get out to get any. Because I like to read my occult books, or do rituals, it is a good time to burrow in and contemplate.

Looking at muggles media, sometimes, to add living images to my delight, especially one that reminds me of my childhood, the Stranger things series on Netflix does remind me of the 80’s, and when scary movies used animatronics instead of CGI, it left us kids more scared than todays dull and lifeless computer graphics. Even though you knew the situation was constructed, there is something eerie about puppets and special effects that bridge the gap between fantasy and reality by being a physical manifestation of a horrible fantasy, more than a mere cold computer simulation outputting graphics such as that in a computer game.

When I watch scary effect in a movie or series, I try to go back to when I was scared as a child, and remember what it was that scared me. Because back then I was not scared of the movie or television images themselves, I was scared of real entities, that were drawn in by fear. I would watch a scary movie just to be confronted by entities outside the movie, for example emanating from the kitchen, and those entities would haunt me for the rest of the evening. But eventually I stopped being scared of them and they became hardly noticed.

Today I thought about what it is that makes me really scared. I could invoke demons from Hell or confront life or death in reality or in multidimensions, but it is nothing more scary than a loony mother who desperately wants attention.

Let me rewind to yesterday. Me and my Nephew decided it was a good idea to spend time with my mother. Usually she manifests the old spirit of the 1950’s, being the “perfect housewife”, prepares dinner and cleans the house in a sort of way that is from a bygone era. Perhaps the compulsion to have “everything perfect” is the perfect pressure-cooker for insanity.

My mother thought it would be a good idea to invite us for a Christmas dinner at a local church. We thought it was a good idea that she could relax and have others prepare food, and not have to worry about all the insanity of cleaning and cooking simultaneously.

Nothing had prepared us for a full evening at a Christian church with a one hour long service, a long drawn-out dinner with 15 pages of songs being handed out, and the priest dressing up as Santa Claus, and then dancing around the christmas tree. As a Luciferian, I am quite bored and frustrated with a Christian mass.. now, don’t get me wrong. This is not just something out of principle or stereotype. I know what you are thinking.

Having had previous experience with seeing actual theurgy being performed, and experienced the successful invocation of the Holy Ghost himself into a cup, my repulsion was, this evening, how the priest did absolutely no theurgy at all. He comes in, spends one hour reading from the bible retelling the same story about the shepherds, Mary and their hotel-overbooking situation, and so on. Having to sleep in a barn etc etc ad nauseam. Booring. Then some “confessions of our sins” (there is no original sin) and confession of belief (there is no belief, only knowledge of good and evil, re the Tree of Knowledge after the incident in the garden of Eden). But no Holy Spirit! Not even an Angel! or any supernatural entity at all. The only entity that this priest did successfully invoke, was the Gestalt of Santa Claus and his one little helper, a young girl with fake angel wings, surfing on the church floor in Heely’s (hidden rollerskates inside a shoe) to give the appearance (perhaps even not intentionally but nevertheless) of floating like a supernatural being, angel-like.

To sum it all up: The Christian mass was boring and had absolutely no theurgy. The food was OK, and seeing the priest dressed up like Santa was hilarious. But to see all the people there, around 60 people, and noticing how the priest later had to sit down with one character in particular, who seemed drunk, to prevent more embarrasment to happen, was sort of seeing a mini-version of society, the world, in its fallen and imperfect place, with people of faith trying to hold the illusion together that everyone is happy.

Even though my Nephew and myself made this sacrifice to amuse my Christian mother, it was not enough, and of course I knew it even after droping my Nephew off late in the evening and driving home through the desolate forest roads late in the niht.

I woke up to a text message on the phone the next morning: “Help, I am dying”. Being used to my mothers usual madness, especially it seems to be worse around Christmas times, I just answer the inevitable phone call where she explained she may have taken too many pills and just brush it off with such stoic but uncomforting and cold words as “but can you breathe?” or “Should I call an ambulance?” to which her answer is always “yes”, and “no”. She wants MY attention, but apparantly not the kind of serious attention I once got her when I just called 113 (our 911) without telling her one time. Which I got a lot of hard time and scolding for ever doing. So I dont call an ambulance, but I dont want to give her my attention just because she wants it. And there it is, the scariest thing in the universe, to me, is not the kind of Daemons I could invoke using a Grimoire, it is the damn daemon riding my Mom, the one that caused so much abuse during my childhood, the unpredictable, self-indulging, egoistic want for attention, the crying, and the insensitivity to other’s needs.

She calls herself a Christian, and she prays every night to get better from her multiple disorders: arthritis, headaches, coughing… (the list goes on to about 499 items of illness). And it never occured to her that God is tired. Jesus is not listening. That even after 50+ years of daily prayer, nothing happened, and her health gets worse. Not to mention the sanity.

My hope would be that she could stop going to a church with priests who do not do theurgy, who cannot invoke the Holy Ghost, or do anything real to convey the Mystery that is buried inside the mundane christian faith. Without going to much into detail of the myriad possibilities of Christian Gnosis, I just see that she could have chosen a much better path. But alas,

She will continue to think highly of the dogmatic way of being a devout Christian, to never actually experience a real mass with priests who know what they are doing (even from a traditional christian perspective as it was from the beginning) or even to begin to work with the actual teachings of her redeemer. And without understanding how her madness hurts people around her that she should love instead of treat badly.

Her psychiatrist, a Catholic woman, is just played by this daemon, she can twist and turn everything to the favour of this entity to make the psychiatrist just another parrot to repeat the same kind of madness. Even to subscribe more medicines to increase the paranoia and schitzophrenia to higher levels.

Lucky for me that I do not let her or her daemon ruin my day any more. Now it just upset my world for a few minutes – until I can regain my composure and center myself – that this madness is not caused by me not giving her attention and love, because this daemon that rides her is not satisfied – ever.

Now the next logical step would be to banish this daemon – but then again, will I fix something that is already broken beyond repair or is it even a real daemon? As long as my defences of this horrible evil that resides inside, will it be OK?

No movie monster or childhood memory is as bad as this one.