In an earlier post, I revealed that Paimon had commanded me to throw away everything I owned.

A couple of days later, I noticed that Paimon was shaking. I asked him what was the matter. He said, “Paimon is responding to the energy work of the blog of being discussed as a god of garbages.”

I must here rush to Paimon’s defense. Paimon is not merely a god of garbages–he is also a god of wastrels.

I lived in great luxury with a man for many years yada yada ya. Then I tried to get away. This was not easy. This man does not believe in his women getting away. He believes in visiting his women every few months and bestowing many gifts upon them.

One of these days those gifts will include DIFFY Q’s — AIDS — for that is the price of being a frump in love with a Greek god.

I was trying to get away because I needed to see the world in a new way–a way without gifts and this man. This is when I summoned the power to help me start a new life.

That the gods of the underworld and the old ones evaluated my condition and decided how it was possible to start a new life. ALSO HOW TO BROKER A DEAL BETWEEN JEWS AND NORSE WORKERS.

Once you use significant amounts of Golden Dawn ritual to evolve, you are part of the system of Enoch and a target of its fundamental magick–and all of your erotic activity is taxed by it, whether you make a sex magick petition or not. It is how the system funds itself. My life force is being used by the guy four blocks away who is trying to buy a new car. I wish he would fund himself with candles. I recommend green.

One of the biggest things about sex magick is to acquire sex with a woman who won’t have you otherwise. That’s the whole point, really. Much blinding of women is built into the magick itself, even if sorcerers are trying to use it for other things. Since ceremonial magick is almost entirely man magick, the tenor is the fooling of women not to remember the twenty years of bills involved with the making of a child, i.e., that there are any consequences whatsoever. I was badly discombobulated by my entire home situation, and not just the gifts. I had more chops than this. I was enervated and ridiculous. It was clear to the demons and the old ones that the gods of Enoch had funded my enslavement to the rich war guy in the sex magick. ALSO FUNDED BY EXPENSIVE SANTERIA.

It was also clear that I was in so deep with the karma that I could not avoid being taken from the underworld by this guy as he made the rounds visiting his many wives. I hope I was the jewel in the crown, but I am old and a jerk and kind of too smart.

They evaluated the situation and decided that the karma at this point was mostly a matter of HOTELS and RESTAURANTS.

I had tried very hard to be frugal and moderate in our life together by cooking at home, keeping a garden, and always being a great devotee of Frigg in the making of everything wonderful in house stuff. This was not accepted by the man because Frigg bestows too much power when she comes in to make butter and beat rugs. Thor can hardly stand it when he has to be around when I am cooking.

Thus the necessity of the HOTELS and RESTAURANTS in our relationship. They transferred the power of home from the woman to the man, which gave him double power and great losses in the pocketbook.

Nothing I understand. Move right along. Also fun.

So I was commanded, after the severance of our relationship, that I must purchase for myself an elegant vacation featuring HOTELS and RESTAURANTS while continuing to work at my day job and pretty much CRAP OUT ALL THE MONEY LIKE A FOOL. If I did not, I would not withstand his elegance and the fundamental reasonability of THE SAME OLD SAME OLD when he arrived in Manhattan.

You do not change the structure at midlife. At this point, we have our routines, and they must go on. This is what we count on to track ourselves. Otherwise we are lost.

In order to get past the great power of stupid in our many magicks, the gods and the old ones invoked the power of REAP WHAT YOU SOW and said if I want the capacity to withstand this man the next time he ordered up his conjugal visit in Manhattan, I would have to buy the damn hotels myself. And then the gods could heal the whole situation in some ways that are now clear to be elegant beyond belief.

This is where we must remind ourselves of our Masters.

All this time I had imagined that my Master of magick was John Michael Greer, the wonderful prose stylist who had reworked some of the Golden Dawn Cabalistic material into a magick manual based on the magical eucharist that I had pursued with blockheaded persistence and wonderful outcome as well as agony for nearly twenty years that nevertheless did not tell me some important building blocks of the demon work that I hope to spill the beans on in this blog. Like, go to services in your religion, and stuff like that.

I needed a new apartment, because my then-apartment, which the gods had tried to get rid of by losing my furniture in a warehouse in Vegas for several months, had bedbugs, so as part of the evocation, the Kings had gotten me a great new crib in Larchmont. With no furniture.

This is part–but not all–of the great divestiture of things.

My playwriting Master, Edward Albee, who had grown up in Larchmont, a lovely old money town on Long Island Sound, had died sixteen days earlier and I saw his energy in the power push that got me an impossible apartment a block from the train into the City.

It was a dream dwelling, but the power gave me a little nudge. Larchmont is insular and entitled, a place a playwright runs away from, not a place you run to, so after five minutes of contemplation, I, too, ran away from it.

We all have one demon who needs to rule the roost, and it is different for everyone. We need to stop being idealistic or bureaucratic about our demon and just accept who it is and the principle it represents by looking at our lives.

What always saves you when you are about to go wrong?

Thelema is supposed to built on sex magick, so everyone is probably banging their chest about the demon of love, but the truth is, many lodge peeps are really all about ESTABLISHMENT POWER. Their demon should be Haures, not Beleth, who has the notorious stinking breath from all the ghosts he brings in who immediately start ordering you to reorganize your life and bringing in THE FEY FOLK and turning the whole thing into a show about them. Beleth is also the only way past Enochian sex magick.

I will discuss my first evocation of Beleth another time. He is a great god.

This is just another proof that the demons offer their sorcerers all kinds of tasty treats so they can get into the world. Whenever you hear about hot stuff, money, or social preeminence, get ready for weird luck and lots of hard work.

I have seen men drunk with lust for power crying out for Paimon. Yet in the underworld these very men are actually women curious about how this man thing works, and really mostly interested in KNOWLEDGE. Perhaps this is why Paimon is also a god of teaching.

I, of course, am a career woman, moving straight up the ladder of success in the least possible time. You would think I would be all about MONEY, and Belial, but the one thing that has always saved me is falling in love with the seemingly wrong man. I know I am on the right track when things are illogical. The truth is, I am a woman worked from the underworld by men, and when I require particular KNOWLEDGE, I fall in love with it. I have acquired many fine things in this way. Men are useful. Paimon says that as a woman, I also have to go at power sideways.

So I took the occasion of this move to briefly fall in love with a person from long ago, also common in the demon work. I knew my fellow needed to see me in a nice cocktail dress, and since the business of the god of garbages in throwing away everything I owned had been hard on my wardrobe, I knew I needed to get into Soho to snare the right togs for a drink that we had planned and scheduled and rescheduled and was going to involve Negronis and talk of Hindu temples with a hopeful side trip to my hotel in the Bowery but ended up fizzling with enlightenment and boils.

The demon work often involves boils. Check the grimoires.

Aaron Leitch got boils, and quite frankly, others could probably come forward with tales of boils, but then here we are. Boils and no tantra.

At least my head didn’t fall off.

He would have been transcendent, but maybe not. Who knows.

No. He would have been transcendent.

He always welches on our social engagements. Or I welch. We have been cancelling dates for twenty years. Then we reconnect and do nothing. We were once inseparable of course.

But this date got me into the Lower East Side, where I needed to be to encounter the spirits who had been arranged to be my teachers.

I spent three months in the greatest magical neighborhood in New York and the New England WITCHES there raised me from a pup. It was glorious, but in the end, I was not entitled to draw those fine old fey out of their places of sanctuary into the open where they might be injured, and where there is too much of the human energy and not enough of trees. I knew the minute I came back to Seattle that I needed more ambient trees.

I am not recommending that everyone throw away their stuff and spend their life savings on a nice vacation that doesn’t make sense. I am recommending that they figure it out for themselves.

Here I must come back to my Master Edward Albee who warned us of the ONE DAY in class when he would reveal the secret of great playwriting. That long-awaited day finally came, and we sat expectantly waiting for some new gimmick. He said merely, You must know everything about the world of the play before you write the play.

Is that it?

You can’t imagine the shrieking after class. People were blue in the face. There was no way they were going to figure out everything before starting to write.

I was a girl and therefore docile, and spent the next twenty years working that months-long slog into my playwriting routine. I am not rich and famous, but I can write a fine weird play, a suitable recommendation for work with Paimon.