Living the Lie

While I can accept that there may be such a thing as traditional British witchcraft, the more it involves pseudo-masonic orders, the more it loses its cultural origins in pure esoteric myth. The epitome of arrogance is the insistence that theirs be the one and only true path, privy to their initiates. Well, unless they're Jewish, they can shove that bogus Babylonian lineage where no light shines, especially looking at the most recent DNA studies

Of course your wonderful collection of new agey books isn’t gonna tell you where they're really coming from- rather only so much as to allure you into paying every penny even for the sake of argument. These days, they seem to descend on forums en masse, making all kinds of enigmatic claims, which they avidly defend with every double-talking tactic of a snake oil merchant. However, they are nowhere near as dangerous as the ones who acquired their credentials through outright  treachery and intimidation.

While I am sure there are some genuine chapters that humbly abide by charitable means, the unfortunate fact is that some just can't resist the urge to let any degree of secret authority completely go to their heads. Indeed, this has been my experience with a certain English chapter in Strasbourg. Fortunately the French are real sticklers when it comes to the code of ethics, and disbanded the lot for "dubious practices". A particular orangeman from Dublin playing both sides against the middle to assume the role of civilian secret police in the Canadian military community. All the incredible lies told to avert attention from his own very dark past, namely developing the atomic bomb for South Africa. Oh, how they all wanted to believe this was untrue, but even that admonishing article in the local paper could not conceal the fact. "Researching radio isotopes in the world's largest dynamite factory". How he loved to wave those special gov't security passes in our faces, and especially the quaint little info card on the policies of apartheid to be upheld...but as the story goes, you can't fool all of the people all of the time. The moment of truth came when he aspired a feather in cap by giving the French Grand Master a guided tour of his secret empire. A police friend and I took the liberty of informing our mutual friend, the chief of the regional French customs office. Needless to say, the tour came to a most unexpected halt at the border as the gendarmerie tore the fool's car apart...and so began his rapid decent into the quagmire of suspicion. In the end, his office was searched and 34 dirt files recovered that he'd been keeping on us Locally Engaged Employees- with every intent of having us ostracized by those German authorities within the influencial allegiances of his brotherhood. Although it may take years to clean up the mess he made of our lives, at least I stirred enough flack that the parties in question will always remain under suspicion by a much higher authority.

The Ultimatum

Well, I had a good look at the “damning evidence”. Man, talk about spin doctoring. Reduced down to a few suggestive keywords- as if we didn’t see the strings and where they really lead. No, not just those pentacle waving syncophants they call their friends...or the cat and mouse gestalt games. Makes no difference what gospel they preach- ring the bell and get the peanut. The wannabe gurus of a New World Order. Honour? Sounds more like a misnomer for blind obedience. Read my lips. A lie for a lie.

Wanna hear a good conspiracy theory? Some may call it social reintegration therapy. I call it just plain brainwashing. Anything to make paganism look like just another rebellious fashion statement.

A proving ground for all kinds of experiments in behaviour modification?

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Be careful what you wish for.

Hereditary Witches

So you reckon your granny taught ya? A true aficionado of ye anciente crafte? Well lemme tell you something about Victorian times. A good domestic meant a very well versed knowledge in herbal medicine, because in those days it’s not like you could dial 911, let alone trust any of the doctors or their medical facilities. Indeed, the average household cookbook read much like a medical handbook. As for social entertainment- despite all grand expectations of perfect demeanor, these were megalomanic times, aspiring some of the wildest dreams of avarice. It was not enough to entertain your guests with the most elaborately planned exquisite dinners. Social clubs were full of profligate braggarts, spinning the most fantastic yarns of exotically dangerous places and superhuman feats in the most extraordinary circumstances. Anything that tickled any sense of awe over the great unknown was highly fashionable. As women were expected to serve little other role than household management, this rather limited their means of entertaining the enigma, to that of the occult, and no doubt where the term "parlor tricks" came from. Any truly entertaining parlour came equipped with at least a tarot deck and a Ouija board. Of course reading the grounds in the cup was a must after every tea ritual. Mind you, that doesn’t mean the men were exempt from the esoterica scene. Rather, they had their secret societies of illuminati, which with the reconstruction of Stonehenge, gave rise to a whole host of "druidic" practices within the higher orders of their OTO. It was out of these the Golden Dawn, and subsequently Wicca was quintessentially born. Some would like to think being privy to these "secrets", will grant them some kind of special magical powers of omnipotence. Face it, if that’s what you want to believe, you're obviously barking up the wrong tree. The big difference between you, DaVinci, Fucanelli and especially Tesla. As has been said countless times before, the term "witch" can’t even begin to define true adepthood. Even tapping the bone à la 1734 isn’t gonna wing it. There was someone who could have told you, as not all the cryptic rantings of madmen are necessarily deluded. Too bad you couldn’t tell the difference and drove him away- and that for all the paperback fantasies of your hero in a shiny tin suit. You and all your self-assuming masters of "it is written". That’s all what it really amounts to. Elitist social role play and an anal fixation on a few scribbled recipes of medieval hermetic hocum. The sleeper will never awaken.

Pointing the Finger

Received a most interesting message yesterday from a site making accusations that I am imparted to a "Heathen Conspiracy". Ooo, now this could prove intriguing! This allegation was made on the basis of a discussion mainly between myself and two friends in their chatroom. While I am aware those chatroom logs can be read by the admin, that’s fine by me. It had always been a place where members could vent their anger, rather than get into a flaming contest on the boards, so I’m sure the evidence of that is plenty. I’m also sure plenty of nasty things about me were said there, but I’m not inclined to regard that as a real threat. As I said a thousand times before, I’m just not into popularity contests, nor does my kind of ego need to rely on them. I admire myself way too much to let others agrandizations dictate my attitudes LOL. Although my adolescence had an earful of morality from the so-called pillars of the Christian community. The irony is, I wasn't baptized so I got ostracized anyway. While I am sure some are not so pious, the moral of the story is that any old ideology can be used for the "holier than thou". It serves to confuse the issue by deliniating any interpretation of "good and bad" into lobbies of us and them- but that’s only if you believe in it. I don’t...but I have a few of my own impressions of what they are trying to convey:

1) Human nature is flawed and should be humilated such that it accepts the wishes of others as first and foresmost. One’s own wishes are "selfish" thereby null and void. Of course if you are determined to make the ultimate sacrifice in order "to fit in", there are numerous institutions that can accomodate you:
a) The military
b) Mental Institution
c) Prison
d) Ghetto
e) Gov’t or corporate reseach labs.

2) Those superior are those who put on the most illustrious and impeccable fascade, regardless of what their actual human condition. Under no circumstances must you reveal any flaws in your condition unless it serves inspire the charitable commitments of your peers/minions to make compensations.

3) In order to fully qualify as superior your popularity must beguile the rewards that ennable you to conform to the "elite" of that class of society you wish to impress. Of course to maintain this status, you must partake in the competitions and give offerings of entertainment according to the customary rituals of ettiquette of that class.

4) If you wish to particularly achieve superior political or religious status you must strictly conform to the "double standard". That means that those under you must be regularly and rhetorically reminded of all the above mentioned, and justified with whatever moral or ideological excuses serve your cause at the appropriate time. Should anyone disagree then these justifications can be used to question their integrity. If they resist, put them under surveillance and hounding until they revolt. Should they suspect any instigation of this, "denial" further serves to make their integrity all the more questionable and suspect of complicity. Remember the golden rule: "If yer not fer us, yer aginst us" (sic).

Frankly I could go on and on, but that pretty well says it...and now the truth. Yes I am a heathen. What is a heathen? A mere mortal fetch with the ancestral pride and courage to accept natural order for what it is. Alot of interactive forces we can define both scientifically and culturally. The Asir and Vanir we identify with their character and behaviour is dynamic in that way- and like all things in the continuum; the many different integral parts of a very multifarious whole. There is no one-size-fits-all. The same goes for our view of each other. While outward appearances can beguile, it what’s underneath that fascinates the desire to explore. Life is a challenge, the great experiment of possibilities. More a question of tolerance than morality. Each responsible for their own actions. In our world, not even the gods are expected to be perfect. Rather, it’s the ability to make a difference where all else fails- that’s what’s important above all. Without it there would be no evolution.

Path of the Omnispirits

From the age of two, mine was a world of spirits, that my parents took some getting used to. At first they took mistook it for some kind of fantasy and tried to entertain it with story books- but only those of folklore interested me at all. My Prussian grandfather, being the clever one, knew what this meant. Thus, every time he came to stay with us, he brought me the loveliest old Prussian children's classics. Indeed he was a man after my own heart, and I still cherish them in my keeping after all these years.

Although my parents were absolute crap at family life, let alone their own domestic affairs; at least their atheistic attitudes spared me from any religious oppression of my psychic abilities. Ironically, their stalwarthy skeptism had no doubts about the paranormal, provided it didn't involve some self-proclaimed expert of the hocum. My father's parents were well known throughout the Niagara district for their own phenomenal skills. My paternal grandfather was an immigration inspector who could read people like a book. Of course he also put this to practical use in card games and checkers. I remember their livingroom was full of trophies as such. My paternal gran was typically old Welsh of Phoenician origin. Her view of causality was full of its ancient superstitions. She was an orphan of some lord's secret liaison, educated as Victorian domestic for the upper classes, particularly specialized in herbal medicine.

This was her job in the Marquis of Salisbury's household where my grandad got to know her. His father was the illegitimate son of James Gascoyne-Cecil, 2nd Marquess of Salisbury, employed on the Hatfield estate to train their racing dogs. He owned a pub just off of the estate, where he gained the name "Gentleman Jack" but was given to such drinking and gambling that my grandparents didn't see much of a future. So, they married young and emmigrated to Canada around 1899. In the Niagara district my gran prospered a great deal of acclaim for her healing and domestic skills. My father, however, being an adventurous sort, left home early and spent his teenage years in a mining camp up in northern Quebec. Growing up in some pretty remote places myself, this became second nature. The desire to pioneer on the liminal, forever exploring the unknown realms. On full moon nights my communion with the dreamspirits would be in the form of resonant humming. Indeed there are many things I knew from before the beginning, seeking to expound the limits of my young mind. Of the few children I ever associated with, they were usually those society had written off as "wild ones", mostly métis and cajuns who didn't fit in either. In the wilds we were free to explore the true essence of our being, away from the god-fearing paranoias of evangelist society.

It wasn't until I came to Germany and met heathens like myself that I was finally able to realize my own ancestral paths. Ironically, it was through a Hopi friend there, interconnectedness came to me in a profound vision of awakening at the age of 15, mind you, there never was a question of my sense of direction. This has been my path for the last 54 years because I've always sided with what comes to me naturally- namely instinct. That is the nature of my communion. In essense it requires no devices other than the multifarious integrity of my own being. Spirit magic, the channeling of will in that borderline state between causality and consciousness. Discover the continuum in your own interaction. It comes from within.

More Dream Spirits

Nature occasionally speaks to me in some very curious dreams. Like in "Dreams, Schemes and Propellor Things", there are always the most unusual symbologies, yet simple wisdoms, often in the form of unique verse, always insightful on some integral law of continuity. I remember a most dramatic setting of the street where I used to live in Darthmouth, Nova Scotia. One of the oldest streets, full of Colonial Victorian houses, I always found it to breath some very strange spirits of that period. It brings to mind the perpetual rantings of the long deceased Mr. Johnston. It was his house where I lived. In his time he was the premier of Nova Scotia, when Canada first became a nation. A notorious eccentric into Rosicrucian "enlightenment" in hopes of finding some higher spiritual plane of immortal existence. I am not keen to lose myself in philosophical questions of spiritual planes, especially the way Johnston literally did. I have always understood the seemingly paradoxical as the mechanical rudiments of a far more complex dynamical system. He had this strange idea he had escaped oblivion by transcending into the omnipresent but it was really just a dilation in local causality. It could only interact with those immediately aware of it. Thus his relentless pacing throughout the night, trying to figure out where he missed the big picture, only inclined to annoy me. Fortunately in this dream, his presence had long since faded into those distant echoes of the past. The house stood abandoned and partially visible through what little space between those massive trees. I turned to find the rest of the neighbourhood in much the same state. Deserted as if humanity had simply up and vanished very long ago. Trees had always lined the streets and predominated this part of town, but looking at the house across the street they had taken over its empty shell. It was at that point the breezy voice versed something softly about these trees- I sorely wish I could remember. The verse was so eerily beautiful. It was something to the effect of trees representing a timelessness in which human existence can only seem a brief interlude. Indeed I find it disturbing how much humanity takes its own existence so for granted.