Dark Moon in Scorpio, All Hallow's Eve 2016

The night of the New Moon, All Hallow's Eve, I dreamt I went with my mother and father out of town. We came to this church. It was almost exactly like my Uncle Boyd's church use to be - Asheville Full Gospel Tabernacle - but some things were different. A spiral stairway. An alcove in the sanctuary. It was as if the same people who built his church built this church. I wandered around marveling at the similarities and small differences. The preacher came in - a clean-cut older gentleman. Some event was starting. The sanctuary seemed very large and spacious - there was a runner's track put down inside it. My mother and father and I went and took our places on it. There was a referee type person. He said he would only measure the time. It was up to us to keep track of our points. I thought this odd, as cheating seemed likely. An older woman and her husband and a young woman came and took their places on the track. We were all waiting for the referee to start us off. I was bent down on one knee waiting to spring into action. My dad pulled an apple out and offered it to me. I took a bite. It was very juicy and sweet and refreshing. I handed it back to him to finish. After what seemed like forever the race finally started.

I had very little control of myself running - it felt like being in a video game that has very poor control mechanics. The running lanes were hard to stay in. As soon as I built up speed, the turns would really mess me up - I had to slow to almost a halt. The young woman - I was keeping up with her - side by side. I felt sexual attraction to her.

Overall this reminded me of going on trips with my parents when I was very young - a sense of exploration. A pretty girl eye contact has been made with. It felt good, wholesome.

Now that it is Halloween Night, I am very struck by the experience with my dad, and the exchange, the sharing of the apple. I had done ancestor work the previous night - and indeed tonight and I will tomorrow night. Life is very unsure right now. I feel like my dad gave me a symbol of a good omen.

Cursing w. Profile Pics & Black Skull Candle

If you don't believe in black magic, in harming others, in cursing, in causing pain and suffering, in revenge magic - then you must believe that there is no purpose in evil. That it is only a stupid vile useless force. Oh, beloved, there is great purpose in evil. Pain and suffering are the only pedagogues in town. Teach someone something - for their own damn good. Teach them really well. Open the maw of hell up to them. Watch as they are consumed. Take pride in such holy work.

I'm using what I have on hand. You can add or subtract as you see fit. You will need:

Photo of Target
Black Skull Candle
Walnut Leaves 

Poppy Seeds
Mustard Seeds

Red Pepper

Asafoetida

Black Pepper Corns
Blackberry Leaf

Mullein
Spanish Moss
Graveyard Dirt (from an appropriate grave)
Box of Pins
Black Arts Oil

For incense:
Calamus
Licorice Root

On the back of their photo write their name, stacked, 9 times. Turn the photo 1/4 turn, counter-clockwise and write the specific curse you wish to bring down upon their head, stacked 9 times. Example curse: "Fear, confusion, nightmares and delusions". Anoint the four corners and center with Black Arts Oil. Fold the photo away from you in half, turn it 1/4 turn counter-clockwise and fold it in half away from you again. Repeat this a last time for a total of three folds.

Hollow the bottom center of the skull candle out and place the photo in there with walnut leaves and Spanish moss. Use a rusty nail to inscribe the thoughts you wish to bring to the person on the skull. Remember - skull candles influence thoughts.

Anoint the skull with Black Arts Oil in swirling motions. Now put the rest of the natural curios on by letting them sprinkle down from your fist on top of the skull. Don't open the box of pins yet.

When you are ready to do your curse work, light a charcoal and place the calamus and licorice root on it. This is to enhance your power to dominate their thoughts.

Now light the skull candle and begin your curse work. Let the hate flow through you, as Emperor Palpatine would advise. As you curse, heat the needles and stick them in the eyes, the ears, the mouth. This work is best done in the deep hours, when your target is asleep, and more susceptible to your influence. You may pinch the candle out when you tire yourself, and come back consecutive nights.

When the candle is burned, take all that's left over to the graveyard and bury it. Cleanse your ritual space with Florida Water. Take a hyssop bath - steep the hyssop in rain water. Light two white candles, stand between them, and pour the hyssop bath over your head while reciting the 51st Psalm.

Waning

My passion is nought. The nights are long and arduous, leaving me with little energy for the morrow. Each day is a fallen ruin, in whose shadow lays all the power and all the sopor of despair.

The only thing I sometimes hope to strive for is revenge - people aren't even worth bothering with that about. Time will do that for me. They are pitiable creatures enough. At least I have the mind to know the misery of life. It is justice that I give them no pity. Let their illusions slowly be eroded on the jagged rocks. Let not realization come but before the darkness engulfs their terrified soul.

But this, it is not enough - I must constantly endure the wounds placed upon me in silence. Just endure, endure, endure, as a Christ crucified, with no witnesses to the horrendous spectacle but my own demons, who say nothing, do nothing, offer nothing but terrible patience. 

Some people would give the world for another day with family, friends, children. It aggravates my wounds as salt to see a pretty woman, to hear a song of love, to be in a place where people seem happy. I feel as though an invisible fist has mightily struck within my being when I see a woman smile lovingly at a man, a mother and child, to see people having lunch with someone with whom they enjoy the company of. Everything  speaks with vacuous mockery. This must be what it is like to be an earth bound spirit. Everything is a torment, a reminder of a time when you were once human. When once there was hope in a future, hope in being happy, fulfilled. In having a life and sharing it. In loving someone.

There is nothing now but enduring. I was not designed for this world. It is harsh. The people within in it are cruel and barbarous. All their actions are borne from selfishness. They really do not know what they do. Many people such as myself become more monstrous than the monsters. I have been that. It doesn't stop the pain. It doesn't stop the scenes playing over and over and over again; doesn't stop the words that were said from echoing in your head day after day. As the years pass by, the afflictions are not relieved. They only become a deeper source of pain. They become more deeply enmeshed in one's soul. A slow murder. They take everything and become all that you are, all that you can feel, all that you know.

I want them to know what they have done. I want them to understand and perceive what it was that made me different inside from anyone they will ever know. Why it was that I was so guarded, so unwilling to let my walls down. I want them to see the destruction they have wrought before their own destruction comes. I have no hope of this ever happening. There is no justice. There are only horrors and tragedy. I see the world for what it is. I see a place of pain and death, where none clings to anything but out of selfishness or desperation. If true love exists, it is not within this realm. Here true love is a term used to conceal mixed motives, dark secrets and sinister agendas, which is all the more Satanic, because these are pursued unconsciously, and called love in earnest.

A Fool's Faith

The Fool is going to go over the cliff. The Fool's number is Zero. There is nothing within The Fool. The Fool is empty. Folly is all that makes up The Fool.

The Fool is unaware of the unbearable pain and suffering that is about to come. 

At the bottom of the cliff The Fool's body will begin to decompose, for forty days and forty nights under the black star of Saturn. 

This is the shaman's crucible. The making of a true mystic. This will be the most horrific and transformative experience, other than physical death itself. 

If you survive the process of the black work, the old you will be forever a sad and distant memory.  You don't come back. Something else does.

Magic Isn't For Idealists

My first serious attempt at magic to change my world was a love drawing mojo. I selected a number of appropriate materia magica and used a pendulum to divine which ones to put in the mojo.

The name Michael came to me. Michael was the spirit of the mojo whose job it was to bring me love. And did he. Disastrously. It actually did work like magic - on two women. One was an employee at a local business. I went in, asked her assistance in my purchase, joked with her, got home, and she had contacted me on facebook - she had gotten my name off of my debit card. I made the mistake of telling her about my mojo eventually. That relationship ended very badly after around 2 months - my shortest relationship ever, and one that would cause me intense pain and sorrow for many more months. 

This wasn't the spirit's fault. As I heard someone say recently, just because a spirit gets you something, doesn't mean you have to take it. I fell hard for that woman, but she never fell for me. She was momentarily charmed by me. I was brought an opportunity for love - not the only opportunity brought by Michael, and I screwed both up. Big time.

We tend to have this idealistic view of the world, that whatever happens is for the best. Fate, destiny. God knows best, and he has us where he wants us. Magic is not for those type of sit-down people. Magic is for practical people who want to create their world.

Disaster looms, as is at the foot of the Zero Trump. To muck about with your own consciousness, your own immediate world, and infinite possibilities of future worlds, this takes first and foremost, balls. The Fool, in older depictions, had his balls out, which a cat was in the midst of pouncing at. The cliff was in front. The Fool is about to die the death. The Black Work. Nigredo. Putrefaction. The point of extreme despair, to kill off everything that has been preventing development as a person, as a magician. 

Back to this night of Venus. I've learned a thing or two in my sorcerer's apprenticeship. I'm taking the remains of that old mojo, and I'm creating a very special working. In a way, I'm honoring it, recognizing its value. I got what I wanted, and it destroyed me, and ended up being what I needed. The paradox is that fate doesn't happen but by free will. If you want to make your ideas real, you must act on them. When you act on them, everything changes, broadens, expands. The paradigm from whence your ideas spring is altered.

Nobody is going to save you. You are the master of your fate. You are the captain of your soul. This is the reality. You can sit high and smugly pretending to be content with your ideas of the world, or you can set out to conquer. Zephyrus and I are making haste across the 7 seas to see and seize.

Dream: Lava and Fences

Last night I dreamt of being in this multi-story wooden structure, large and somewhat rustic. There were lots of people. I don't think I liked them very much. From what I remember emotionally, it felt like a love interest had betrayed me. She had turned to her friends. They didn't like me. I remember frantically running around this building. I can't remember if I was trying to hide or what. It was very tense. I think I may have had a gun. In every single dream that I have a gun, I can't pull the trigger - I try and try, but the trigger pull weight is always too much. Somehow a fire started in the lower levels of the wooden structure and began to spread quickly.

I looked down and saw that people were being consumed in the flames below. They couldn't make it out or to the upper levels where I was. I watched silently as the flooring fell into a great fiery abyss. I saw a top-down view of a volcano erupting. I stared stupidly at it before I realized what it was. I was looking at lava, on it's way upwards. I began to run. I climbed over, through, up. I looked behind me. Some 30 feet back, the lava was coming. The wooden structure was being consumed. I was already tired. I pushed myself harder. I finally emerged from what had been something like a large multi-story temple. I was standing in marsh land - green with growth. The ground was very soft and in places saturated with water. There was a fence ahead. The lava was still coming quickly. I jumped the fence. Ran a few yards and had to jump another fence. This continued on and on. With each fence I had to jump I grew more and more tired. I woke up.

The feeling of having been part of these people - and of intimacy with one of the women was very strong, as was the sense of betrayal. I had been, for whatever reason, completely shut out and ostracized from them. Had she cheated on me? I remember a particular male from the dream. I had a distinct hatred for him. 

These are reoccurring themes within my waking life. Those scars will never heal. There is nothing so devastating to an individual as betrayal and rejection. To love someone, and have absolutely no reciprocation. No meaning to them. It is a type of murder. The person I was, is no longer. Something else is in his place.

Nekumanteion

Saturnine Prince

That Death didst follow from birth

Gazing downwards through life

Seeking that in deepest earth

Silence bearing the markings of time

Crystal tittering, echoes absorbed

The lithe white proteus in motion

Here I am present and unaware

Deep calls to deep
There is no revelry

There is melancholy

A warm bitter sweet anguish

Stirrings, tumultuous interruptions

Memories of what was and cannot be

The broken heart that dieth not

Mania, Larunda, Muta, Dea Tacita!