Birthing the Dragon

It was about my fourth mass at the church by my old job. Each one had conferred a different blessing, different knowledge, but this time I had decided to convert to the Catholic church to work with my Deep Self and the Deep Self line of my late grandfather, an old Copt from the dawn of Christianity, so I got in queue and ate the host like everyone else. I felt silly. Catholicism has a lot of gizmos, and you really have to get the whole thing down when you are small, not fifty like me, so on my way back to the pew I mumbled to the old ones (the fey folk of the Deep Self bound by Solomonic magic), “I am not clear about the procedure.” A relative’s immortalized Muslim saint said, “This is the procedure.”

I sat down and energy began whirling at the head. The demon formed in the shape of a thirty-foot dragon wafting above our heads. He was magnificent. He was eating and/or transforming the toxic ghosts of the old ones of my family and friends, the monsters who did not fully immortalize in life and who in death devoured humanity mechanistically and hide in vaporized form in humanity’s group mind and ambient energy. I saw the ghosts’ little feet all moving in lockstep to giant EMPIRE systems, marching still in the dragon’s belly.

The Dragon was elegant and wise. He was everything anyone could want from a dragon of the Norse.

We were exultant.

The gods and the old ones of the Norse–my Deep Self line is originally from Scandinavia–had kept bugging me to take this operation to “the crypt of the gods.” I had no idea what they were on about. I thought about all the crypts I had seen in Europe, with those noblemen recumbent in stone. I had burnt through all of my money on this crazy business of “making” the Fairy Kings and Queens and just didn’t have the cash for a freaking trip to Denmark.

Then I got it. All of the great monuments are crypts of kings: the pyramids of Egypt, my favorite the Taj Mahal, the Vikings with their lavish ships, each with a beautiful woman who had been mated with by all–“Tell your lord I only do this out of love.”

My mother–an old Amerindian in the Deep Self–had told me that a demon is different from a god. A demon is a magical form that draws from the electromagnetic energy of everyone around. I had only been able to form a small demon heretofore, about a foot long and somewhat snarky. The old fey said that the demon needs his smarts, and that only happens when he is very large–formed from the energy of a lot of people. Hence the cathedral.

She said that the best demons were formed when the olds gods enter demon form. She was so excited by our success with the dragon. She said Jews had much work of demons. They knew all about them.

I didn’t know all this because it is not taught in contemporary Hermetics, where the work is done with beings from different energy levels and phases of evolution, beings the church called angels and, in the mind of worshippers, a “step up” from the old demons who are rightly said to be nearly impossible to work with and cause much trouble if not handled properly. 

No one in western art magic had told me that very significant work of Solomonic magic is done in a large Catholic church. Repeated evocations are the “making” that enables the demon form to coalesce. The god cannot enter the demon until the wizard goes to mass and takes the host. This is why in twenty years and well over ten thousand hours of exhausting work I had never gone to mass. The impulse had been destroyed by the dark immortals around me, and no one in Hermetics had put two and two together enough to tell me–one of the principal faults of Enochian magic, in my opinion, which works different energy structures.

I thought the Greeks and the Romans and the Mayans and the Chinese and the North and pretty much everyone was kidding when they maintained that the chthonic dimension is underground. The gods have assured me that it is. The other day while sitting in the subway I wondered where one of the Kings had gone, if he was still with me, and he popped up from the ground six inches and assured me that he was. When we bury the dead, we are actually placing them in the zone where the death gods can deal with their energy.

The gods also read group minds, and the death of a person who is famous causes them to function differently because they can enter the minds of a larger group of people. Thus the crypt of a king is how the wizards of the Christian Church “make” the largest, most elegant and most intelligent demons who heal humanity and usually work with kings and their underworld spiritual workers, both of whom are in short supply today, leaving the job to a legal secretary with a hellish work ethic and a Deep Self full of fey Norse shamans, observant Catholics and Muslims, Confucian ancestor workers, and Voodoo/conjure workers, along with ancestors who had done the work.

“Grandpa” formed up as an old Roman Churchman said he didn’t know the church still worked. So much of dragon-making depends on the zeitgeist of the era and place. Maybe we should use the Catholic church, he noted, as he has driven me to do my entire life. HE IS ACTUALLY MUSLIM BUT CATHOLIC PRIEST SUIT IS CONVENIENTLY LOCATED IN UR CHURCH. In his Roman Catholic form he also wants to destroy this utterly because it should only be in the hands of the Church that is no longer willing to do the magic, or he would be in it. (Solomonic spirit forms are often conflicted beings, in that they are often composed of many people within a given Deep Self and have to take on the prevailing akasha. They also take a while to settle into a shape, and Grandpa is still composing himself, you might say, with his old ones modulating between their many forms while being healed by the dragon. WHAT IS A SPIRIT IS SOMETHING WE ARE WORKING ON.)

No one “makes” the demons anymore. It shatters an entire clan to do so, up to the ancestors who fight it tooth and nail, opening everyone up to Deep levels that are dangerous to ordinary humanity. Dark ones and the dimension itself can use this opening to eat the world right down to its atomic structure if we don’t “make.”

A common complaint among the elfs is that we don’t do this in the modern world; we construct nice folks who live quiet lives while their old ones work from the underworld. Most of them think I should move myself to the underworld, since I am already elfed and have reunited with my Norse gods and can guide Hermetists from the underworld. They want to let the chasm heal itself and humanity continue to function principally with the normal dimension work and the gods can lump it, really. They lost and too bad. We shouldn’t break the world like this. And a lot of them would like to eat me, my entire line of this Deep Self, and our beautiful old gods. It would fund an eternity of luxury in the underworld and make them titans with the dark gods.

One saving grace is the fact that our work has attracted the attention of an alien who works from the underworld–in the North termed an “Eagle”–and that he is willing to work with a living wizard. 

The Jews have a favored position with the Eagles, my mother maintains, and he can’t really walk away from Eagle work. A lot of the old ones are in agreement. Eagles do wonderful things. Eagles are the future of humanity. The archons and the dark wizards of humanity destroyed the akasha and the Eagles are reconstructing it. We should play ball. My mother, for one, wants some influence in how the underworld we are forming is constructed, in particular, how Judah will function.

And our Eagle is interested in working with this organization. He doesn’t usually work with living workers–they are too fragile, and he gets burned. And though he keeps an eye on the portals of Hermetics, most people do the Angel work and few the chthonic work, and rarely with enough power to hear the alien or be able to heal the fey folk and bring in their demons.

I spent twenty years performing the Black Mass of the Christian Cabala in the style of the Golden Dawn several times a week and accidentally bumbled (not accidentally says Grandpa) into the Art.

So here we are, in the crypt of the gods a few times a week, calling the old fey folk once more near humanity and causing them to “make,” reminding them that they agreed to always be of service to the world and not just mooching in the heights.

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