To: alt.magick.tyagi,alt.magick,alt.satanism,alt.religion,talk.religion.misc, alt.pagan,alt.pagan.magick,alt.magick.moderated,alt.evil,talk.euthanasia, alt.recovery.religion,alt.magick.tantra,alt.fan.kali.astarte.inanna From: tyagi@houseofkaos.abyss.com (nocTifer) Subject: Adversarial Aeon Begins: Satanic Pact on 9666 Date: 10 Jun 1996 11:25:13 -0700 kaliyuga 49960607 AA1 (Fri, 13:04:42 -0700 (PDT)) Hail Satan! The Abyss and I packed mostly fresh veggies and fruits, stopped off at the store for Bactine, food and change, then jumped on the Lite Rail and took the Express bus over the Santa Cruz Mountains to Scotts Valley. At the bus stop waiting for the Express I met an individual whom I've only met twice before: once in Unitarian service and once in transit by bus at a peculiarly significant time. He is an older man, whose name I have long forgotten, yet his intelligence and wisdom of mind always struck me as starkly at odds with his severely handicapped legs (he uses a walker to move and used to extensively hike throughout Kalifornica). He did not recognize me, as usual, and I gave him the Metro newspaper I was reading when I understood he was about to scoot down to the corner for one. The relationship between Lisa and I had been fluctuating, finally settling out to the level of intimacy of friends, in which I can feel more comfort and yet now she is the one feeling the separation. There is no easy solution, and this special day (prompting an occasional 'Hail Satan!' to housemates) was a temporary suspension of that distance as we both felt moved to share time and make love earlier that morning. Holding hands in the bus, I read from the book _On Revolution_, by Hannah Arendt, concerning passion and compassion, the nature of pity, and their comparison in the works of Melville ('Billy Budd') and Dostoevsky ('The Grand Inquisitor'). This gradually led to watching the scenery as the evergreens of the mountains became more and more plentiful. The day was hot, in the midst of a week-old heat-wave, and we were dressed scantily, I in an African-style shift decorated psychedelically with hearts, other geometric patterns, leaf and line-forms. My hair was a mess, stuck up in all directions and I'd not shaved in days. I'd had my razor stolen and so it is now the longest it has been in years. My earring was a severed paw from some burrowing rodent, my white bottoms from my ordinary vestiment. We arrived in Scotts Valley about 330pm on 96-6-6, deciding after mismatching the transit costs to walk the mile or so to the park which was our destination: Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park. Walking along I noticed that the moths dwelling within the oaks scattered along the road were fluttering about like small clouds of angels as we passed their way. Receiving confirmation of our progress and intended destination from a passing resident, we entered the park on a sandy trail along Graham Hill Road, later discovering that the trail which we initially lost and then refound, was called the 'Columbine Trail', though neither of us knew if this bore any symbolic significances. I sought such symbolism in almost everything that occurred, sometimes only later realizing/finding significance. Haphazardly we deposited our gear (Lisa with her backpack and I with the rainbow magick bag) in the first shady campsite as we entered into the campground itself from the trail, and had a brief lunch of our food. The site turned out to be #65, which I associated at the time with Babalon, though thinking the 'six and fifty' of the Book of the Law reversed. Looking about and checking at the Ranger's Station we decided that site #44 was excellent yet unshaded, #93 was barren and inhospitable, and that while #65 was quite lovely, it was too close to a neighboring band of children. Having considered it briefly but somewhat passingly at first, we eventually settled on #66, for its numerical coincidence, ease of access, comfort and seclusion (the Ranger recognized the sextile correspondences but merely remarked on it). We set up the bed (bringing no tent) and again enjoyed some of the tofu, bananas, strawberries, crackers and chive/onion spread we'd hauled there, talking infrequently. Sunna was setting along the horizon behind the treeline (our camp faced West) and shortly we were both asleep, barely catching the last rays of light when awaking hours later. Laying in our bed still, we continued brief conversation and watched the pinpoints of light begin to reveal themselves through the arboreal canopy. Lisa's first sighting turned out to a star from Ursa Major, mine was never identified, but I wished upon it the fulfillment of its desire. Soon we arose and snacking once more, I began a fire in the pit with wood I'd purchased previously, along with newspaper we found at #65 and back home. By the time we'd been sitting a while, watching the flames, entranced and talking quietly about Satan, Christianity and the development of consciousness, darkness enveloped us and the heat of the day evaporated into a cool but pleasant evening. Eventually Lisa became tired (my sleep schedule had recently been shifting again to a 5am bedtime) and I put her to bed with a kiss, feeding all the combustables I could find to the embers remaining and determined to wait until the last flame was gone before beginning my trek. It may have been midnight or 1am before the last dancing flame I watched trickled along one or two remaining pieces of wood. Around me now there were clear sounds of moving animals: once before that evening we'd had to shoo away a passing raccoon who tried to get into our food (looking for bananas). The sounds I heard reminded me of careful deer and I did not more than occasionally look their way. Once while doing so I caught a glimpse of Luna, having risen over the Eastern horizon, and I laughed, for I'd not thought of her assistance in my darkened trek. The night was clear and even prior to Luna's presence I could see fairly well. As I watched the last twin flames on this small piece of wood it came to me that the City of the Pyramids was not only composed of pyramids of architecture but also of social hierarchy, and that the sounds which were most obvious to me in my campsite then (barking dogs and the swishing of automobiles on a nearby busy road, aside from the small noise of moving animals) were somehow directly connected to this City. I'd found that these were the most common sounds in the Temple of Kali at the Haus, and have begun to equate these with 'civilization'. At this time (and in conversation previous with Lisa), I began to relate my experience to a shift from the personal orientation and purgation of the Encounter with the Abyss to the social integration and revealed role which this working confirmed and set into motion -- adversary to the culture in which I lived. I connected it to the role of the Magus, and its pattern, in part along the Formula of Christ, martyr and passionate, was one that I'd tested and seemed confirmed in online interactions with my Church and those Satanists with whom I discussed it. The twin flames vanished in a moment after my patience had been tried and my resolve firm in remaining to its end, and I picked up the rainbow bag and walked off without knowing exactly where I was headed. I had some idea, yet my feet carried me toward the wrong loop, and as I wound up outside a bathroom I made use of these facilities and retraced me steps to where I knew the wrong turn had been made. I'd intended to take the Eagle Creek Trail as far as was necessary for isolation and intuition, and while I took a flashlight with me in my black robes I wore, I never used it, being determined to dwell in the dark among the wild ones. I passed up the trailhead once and then returned, venturing onto its mostly sandy pathway. The area in which I walked was a combination of chaparrel set into sandstone, with manzanita and pine strewn about a moderately dense forest, in some places including aged redwoods. The hills rose and fell beneath my sandals, Luna rose higher into the crisp cold night sky, and the trail before me flickered in and out of my vision. More than once I lost the trail and explored with my feet, being able to easily pick my way along the wide and sometimes water- carved path. At one point I came into a clearing and lost the way completely, yet was directed as (if intentionally) by a thin shaft of light from Luna, her guidance secure and true. Later, after walking perhaps half a mile at most, several times wondering if I'd gone far enough and deciding not to stop until I'd seen signs (deep darkness, some formation, trees or rocks which did NOT point me onward, etc.), I stepped off a rocky outcropping about 2 feet high and landed with a hard thud as I entered into a dense stand of redwoods. In the near distance I could hear a creek (Eagle), and I knew as the trail sloped down more steeply here it would lead to the river. This was the place, this was the time. I found a rather flat place in the trail itself, not moving off into the nearby vegetation, and set down the magick bag. From its interior I withdrew the maroon cloth, decorated with a large vessica piscis design and often hanging in the Temple as a Westerly light-barrier. This I laid upon the ground and spread out fully. Atop it I placed twin black wax skulls, inscribed with point- down pentagrams and positioned at the ends of the vessica, facing away from one another. After these I also drew out the rest of my working instruments, all of which had been consecrated with the black candles in a previous Dark Moon rite. These included the Blade of Love, which was decorated with screaming and cthonic gargoyles and the Stylus (which I had not named, but enwrapped by the red felt triangle given me at my II' initiation OTO). I also extracted the Bactine, matches from the hotel at which I'd just recently been Best Man at my brother's wedding, and the used parchment upon which I'd written this pact: 96-6-6 Satanas Paternas, I render unto You my entirety in the opposition to our enemies, in exchange for the satiation of my every desire. The Aeon of the Adversary is made. After searching fruitlessly within the bag for the bandage I'd brought (actually two of them) I gave up, lighting the candles and arranging the tools upon the altarcloth before me. I then intoned the words of the pact aloud, not singing, not rushed or furtive, announcing to Satan my intent and setting the paper before me. Just before beginning the intonation I noticed that its reverse (I'd intentionally used a piece of paper which had been used for two other workings) contained a circled 7-pointed star, surrounding a unicursal hexagram centered by a cinque-foil, point-down flower, the letters A-G-A-P-E in its leaves and S-A-T-A-N between these. The numbers 6-6-6 stood out before me then, the central being held firm in the lowest point of the unicursal, the rest lost to my double-vision and intention of the rite. I removed my sandals, then shifted my robes over my head and removed my Africanized top, exposing my breast and a necklace I know as the Circle of the Dark Source, its multicolor ring centered upon my chest at times where I knew Love would enter. I coated both Blade and breast with Bactine, and allowed them to dry. Grasping Love by the handle, parallel my chest in my right hand, pinching my flesh of my breast together in my left, I began testing the point and lead-blade upon my skin. Love's major edge is serrated, and I wished to avoid this portion in favor of the smooth edge near her tip, intending to pierce the skin and cut along it as possible. At first gently and then more forcefully I pushed and prodded, each time drawing Love away without leaving as much as a scratch, my skin an apparently impenetrable barrier to this action I'd feared and often avoided in the past (cuttings and bloodwork). Soon I saw that I would get nowhere like this, and became angry, driving the point deeper with less care about how it might carry, yet wondering what steps I need take. Gradually Love's tip penetrated my skin and I used this and the edge near to it to establish a deep enough gash to allow a small amount of blood to be massaged out of the wound. This I began taking up with the Stylus, at first drawing rather crudely and almost cutting through the parchment, yet leaving an obvious signature the same shade of red as the pen in which the text of the pact was drawn up (later darkening beautifully). Slowly but surely, and with a few additional slices from Love, I obtained enough blood as to sign my stars to the pact in a very recognizable form. I finished by driving the Stylus into the upper right corner of the parchment, fully through the altarcloth and into the soil. Assured of the completion of the signature, I washed the wound with water, then Bactine. With a last search for the bandages (I did not find them), I wiped off my breast with my shirt, put it into the magick bag, and pulled my robes down over me to keep warm. After then gathering up the working tools and parchment, blowing out the candles, shaking their wax onto the path and folding up the altarcloth, I put on my sandals and reached down to pick up the matches which had fallen to the ground. Not finding them I thought about using the flashlight and absently reached into my robes for them, realized that they were on backwards! Correcting this, I looked about and spotted their white jacket in the shadow, the last item returned to the magick bag. Upon emerging from the redwood stand I noticed a shroud of fog had blanketed the sky, encapsulating Luna in a mistery and delighting my heart. The horizon at several points along this trail was quite striking in Luna's light, several times reminding me of fantastic worlds or an eerie Lovecraftian demesne, and as I strolled back now with the fog skirting the treetops, the trail even more clear than before, the effect was more intricate, as if I was winding my way through some submerged tidepool, the twisting pine and redwood in a haze, reflecting Luna's evanascent glow. I reached the trailhead much more quickly in this light, at times pausing to hear the shifting of wild animals and wondering at their nearness given my obvious footfalls. Several times on the way back I stopped and admired the beauty and silence of the surrounding wilderness. On the road back to the campsite, very near to it, ahead in #70 I heard a deep, low growl. If it was a dog, this dog was large, and I did not wish to trust this supposition nor that it might be tied if true. I reluctantly backtracked to a trail leading to restrooms, abruptly finding myself at those I'd visited earlier and glad for my previous misstep, immediately oriented. In the morning when I checked campsites #70 and #69 and found no evidence of their having contained dogs. I crawled into bed and woke the next morning to a brisk yet beautiful fog-covered day. We broke camp after I'd described to Lisa many of the events of the previous evening. I finally found the bandages at the bottom of the magick bag and after again washing the wound, used one. We walked back into Scotts Valley and caught the Express bus just as it was leaving the stop. The only other passenger on the bus remarked at my robes while I fished for change and spoke to the driver, and Lisa said that after he asked me what this black thing I had on was and I'd replied, he also inquired if these were like the ones which the devil-worshippers wore. As I did not hear him I made no reply and declined to follow it up, yet thought it unusual that through years I've worn these in public and few have been so bold (or accurate!). As we passed evergreens and the occasional logging truck, hauling redwood carcasses out of the mountains, I again read from Arendt, this time concerning the heart, passion and pity, in particular of the inability of passion to voice itself in response to pity's eloquence, and the notion that only when being torn in twain does it come to beat properly. This struck me as parallel to my own discoveries about living 'on the edge' in order to remain alive and in tune with my world, and it was a poignant support for the struggles between Lisa and I, our concordance and connection enhanced, it seemed, through the ambiguity and challenge we accepted as our boundaries shifted and changed. We arrived at home earlier than necessary and I replaced the the yellow sunburst shift which had hung on the West window since this Spring with the now-punctured maroon tapestry from the pact, its central circle now sporting a pushpin-size hole. Unpacking, I issue a "Hail Satan" to our resident sorceror. nocTifer copyright 1996 tyagi@houseofkaos.abyss.com http://www.hollyfeld.org/~tyagi/nagasiva.html