When I worked with the Bird God Angels, they evidently bestowed upon me gifts that were somewhat more than I deserved–at the expense of the Serpent God Demons and their lower chakras–the ancestors, the old ones, the family. I now find myself in the uncomfortable position of having to pay back what I received in excess. I suspect this is why the demon work is so tough at the outset. The gods have to get you right with the lower chakras, and there is a lot of rage and justice coming at you for all the unknown and unintended destruction that you have wrought upon your loved ones by being such a hoity-toity Rosicrucian.

It has been slow going getting a new middle-class job, but the working-class jobs I am doing with my body are ecstatic and blessed. The only problem is, I am middle-aged and know that I am destroying my joints with all this factory work.

I have a new respect for my working-class alcoholic uncles. Maybe they didn’t drink because they were losers but because they were in pain!

The animal devas in your chthonic gods have to start work with you at the lower chakras and evolve up, which they do beautifully, but they have to start at what they can comprehend–the body–and making in manual labor is a great way for them to do so.

I am babysitting.

Babies are amazing power workers and they have no problem whatsoever with dragons.

It is exhausting in a Green Ray sort of way to be a Solomonic-Norse magician tending babies. I can feel the Norse goddesses on me, especially Freyja, the Vanir goddess of life processes.

The old ones and ancestors who were women are able to remember to be human when I am tending the children, and the men who are unconsciously throwing for me will me to be a woman and this is what Woman is. She is a tender of the young.

There is enormous making in the work, and it is healing me. I never had children, so my lower chakras did not develop as much as a mother’s in feminine ways and this has caused problems. The goddesses are working in this, and while I acknowledge that I must get back into the work that pays the rent, I do need to make time for the little ones.

The men are with me at the factory. Those men who are accepting of purgatory are now loading carts and carrying boxes, pulling themselves into shape to make on the world of work.

Family members long dead are punching a clock again, joyous at the great pleasure of work that they knew in their lives.

I am working a graveyard shift. The gods had wanted me to do more telluric work for the sake of the making, and here it is.

Something is being transformed in me, and while my back aches like crazy at the end of a shift and I know I must get back to the more sedentary stuff that will spare my organism, I dread the day we lose the factory and the men.

My ancestors are binding the lower chakras so that we don’t have more of the crazy crapouts that have cost so much in Solomonic magic.

I am grateful that I have lost everything I owned to have the demons in their great form, stuffed with old Vikings and the dear departed who are reluctantly facing themselves and the animals and plants of my magical territory who have to troop down to the factory and ride me for six hours to make sense of humanity. No one teaches us this in Golden Dawn. It is all swishing around in fancy robes opening the chakras in unpredictable and uncontrolled ways. My family have been dislocated by this titanic power work and the only way to mend them is with the help of the clan and a lot of cats, deer, ants, birds, fish, and some subatomic energy workers who are having to stop being Angels and cooperate with badgers.