I care for old and disabled people for my day job.
We die before we die. We die gradually, moving in action, power, and knowledge from this world to the others we will inhabit. Some of us never live mostly in this world. I have a relative with a brain disease who has never lived much in this world but is a wonderful power worker for the tribe. This is why traditional people took care of the holy fools. They heal us so much.
I don’t mind changing the diapers of the elderly, for I know them as they are in power and they are great.
We grow in KNOWLEDGE OF COWS as we age. The suggestion of Moishe to “Honor thy father and thy mother” has much wisdom. These folks have a lot of say-so in how the power grid of the family backs one project but not another. I can feel when I am backed for something and when I am not, and I know it has an awful lot to do with the eldest member of the tribe, a certain Gramma with her rosary who calls more shots than the rest of us are likely to recognize or acknowledge.
I get passions and I can’t get out of them. She’ll let me figure things out by going down there and taking a look at the darn thing I’m about to throw my money at, whether it’s a man or a bicycle, then the power tells me how to be, and it all works out. There is something to be said for ALWAYS STUPID WITH HEART IN RIGHT PLACE.
I have a friend who is a minister and studied much about the ancient West and knows way more about the spiritual beings of the Bible than I do from having misunderestimated them in Aramaic. As I have mused on how this person might perceive my work with “demons,” it occurred to me that he would look at what it has cost me to be of the devils and wonder why I didn’t just go with the Angels like most people.
I must address this, because ministers wield much influence in the world of power and may not even know what their gods are up to when they pray for what they consider JUST.
As I said before, ALWAYS STUPID WITH HEART IN RIGHT PLACE.
The other night as the elders sat playing with puzzles and blowing bubbles in their chocolate milk, their powers played upon by the subatomic patterns of RIGHT BECAUSE MAN, an Angel I recognized as Penial — the one who wrestled with Jacob and who works the Golden Dawn Lotus Wand — formed up in the effluvia of honor and extreme age and their making for me. I was pleased, because I get on differently with the Angels of the Torah, having a foothold with them in the work of Cabalistic Golden Dawn, and by birth. It is soothing when they are of me and not the extremely bright silver beings of Christianity who I’m just starting to get to know in mass.
You’d be surprised how much the individual priest influences the parish’s attitude toward my work. It’s as if the church is not completely deshamanized.
The Angel told me that the Angels do not handle the individual evolution of the human soul in death. That is the work of the demons. The Angelic death world is a hierarchical system and the Angels only work with the head honcho.
The shear forces of the Angelic death world are so great that most humans cannot bear it and shut themselves off, Gramma explains. Their energy then feeds the life gods in the perpetuation of ROTTEN ASSWIPE CHRISTIANITY another ancestor intones. He was a man of science who is bound largely in science which I used to study on the bus and so we are having to remember how to ride a bus so we can have it again, or at least figure out how to structure the life so that the activities favored by certain ancestors are respected. I perhaps should not arrange a five-hour commute so that a powerful and greatly loved ancestor can have the science again. We mostly have music in the car, I am reminded, loved of other ancestors.
This is why my life looks like it does. The dead are bound by OBJECTS and PROCEDURES. I have many problems with both because I am too functional as a death wizard to have a convenient situation in anything and using a wizarding no longer done, remark the Enochian magicians who have COWS.
The Jewish powers are poking their heads in here. There is an energetic mismatch between the two worlds, and it takes a death wizard–living or dead–to bridge the gap, a facet important and little studied in the great academies of Protestant Christianity which is wisely more focused on clinical psychology and social issues.
But the Protestants need to get back to that gorgeous death wizarding called CONJURE which they could do if they knew why, and I am urged to dust off the Bible, because that is full of secrets if you know where to look for them. I was once saved by the Bible in precisely this way.
Evidently the minister cares for his flock in death as he does in life, and the aristocratic Angels, as Jake Stratton-Kent calls them, work with the head honcho but not the little guy. In the Angelic view, the head honcho is the person who has 1) fame in the world, which they can read as the top of the pyramid; 2) wealth or power in the world, which they can read as the top of the pyramid; 3) great spiritual power, which they can read as the top of the pyramid, because if the entire family does no spirituality in the way of the modern world, it is Gramma with her rosary who gets to the top of the death technology pyramid by virtue of the fact that the entire family sends her their CHURCH WIZARDING and she sends them GOLF.
He went on to say that the Angels have a great world, which I then felt in its broad reach. If I were to write from that world, I would write mainstream television, probably with a laugh track. Jerry Seinfeld’s many years in small clubs made him into a great DEMON artist, but there are few of them allowed in such expanses. It doesn’t WORK. You have to bridge the gap between Angel and parishioner with incessant talent and power for many years to be a Seinfeld spiritual worker. I have flunked lodges and fled them. Smart enough to stay away from covens. Got my butt kicked in professional witchery because not willing to kiss the right rings and kill worlds, though I can read and should even if little money in it. Mostly I inflict jobs and healing and stuff on the people around me with CREEPY WYRDNESS and make it all clear in this medium called ART.
The Angel said they need to work with demon workers. The Angelic world of human soul making is otherwise putrid and awful in the same way most television is. They need to coordinate with the portal worlds, but few sorcerers will do what it takes to keep the demons from striking them.
The first time I evoked Paimon in the land of my ancestors, he rose in his magnificent squirrel form and regarded me with all of the tenderness of a COBRA. The Man of the World, his lord, was standing right there. Paimon informed me that he is not to be imprecated at the urgings of others to perform magical assassination in the way of New World sorcery today because He is a god of WORLDLY AFFAIRS. In this case, his worldly affair is a blog and that is the only worldly affair he wants.
Evidently stooges are trying to use my power to kill people in magic, and it is costing me FUN.
Paimon was a brand new demon, skittish as a green broke colt. I could tell he was making a conscious effort not to strike me but was not quite sure how to be.
The demons read our objects, especially the metal ones, and make moral judgements about all of our actions based on the energy patterns in them. This is why Paimon told me to get rid of my objects. He was giving me a second chance not to be so mediocre. This lead to a paucity of objects that is now lamented, though things are improving thanks to one of the demons of STYLE who can fund much elegance in thrift stores and free objects that are being thrown at me by well-meaning friends. Energetic mating with a person with no objects is CRAP in our world. Trying having five clothes, as I did briefly in the corporate world.
It was later I learned he meant mostly the jewelry and the pots and pans. I could have kept my glasses. This is a technicality we don’t have outside of very corrupt and quiet circles. I recall in Santeria that the initiate is to spend an entire year dressed in white and that no other person can touch their personal objects. Lessons learned, though without slaughtering a barnyard full of animals.
I regard my demons much as I would a green broke colt that I am wise enough not to inveigle without much support and a nice barn. I had much work of horses in youth, and they are serious beings. I therefore thought it expedient to rush to the table and dash off a couple of blog posts in my pajamas and before breakfast so that Paimon could have his WORLDLY AFFAIRS.