Dei Plena Sunt Omnia

Scape the Goat

2010-01-16T21:19:00.000-08:00

This week was an interesting week, if by interesting I mean a week of finger-pointing misfortunes at blurred and mysterious forces at work in the world. “God did this to you,” “Spirits did this to me?” And I’m taken aback by the responses to these accusations – both for and against these particular points-of-views.

First off, as we all have heard in the news, an earthquake in Haiti wreaked terrible and heartbreaking devastation that Pat Robertson, seeing the world through the eyes of a douche bag, slapped the blame on two parties – Satan and the Haitians for making a pact with the party of the first part in order to attain freedom from the French. But this is typical Pat Robertson. His view of God is juvenile, narrow-minded, and anachronistic - in other words, shit-house rat crazy.

He’s not alone, though. CBN wouldn’t have endured as long as it has if his viewers didn’t find merit in his philosophy. Whether he’s disparaging other people’s religion – Hindus, pagans, and Muslims; agreeing that it’s okay to kill off dictators; praying for his idea of “righteous” Supreme Court judges; or considering a small nuke dropped on Foggy Bottom, Washington D.C. as a good thing; the man’s a dick, but he’s an empowered dick with his own group of dogmatists.

Let’s face it: there will always be Pat Robertson’s in the world who think that a choleric and punitive God really gives a rat’s ass about our daily affairs - how we pray, how we vote, what we eat, where I put my penis, whether Adams and Eve’s marry or Adams and Steve’s do.

There’s no avoiding them, people who think of nothing but reciprocity all the time. You have the alleged Great Flood from the Bible that says it happened because Yahweh got his panties in a bind. Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed because the Almighty is a prude. A reasonable person would understand that when bad things happen to people in history, the enemies of the afflicted are always going to put a moral twist to the story – to point like the Simpson’s Nelson Muntz with a mean-spirited “HA-HA!,” and say God did this to you because you think differently than we do. Because, sometimes people are asshats and they love it when bad things happen to other people that they don’t like.

On the flipside, you have the self-flagellating kind. These are the folks that believe that they had done something to warrant the disfavor from the Invisible. The feel that they are either being punished by Higher Powers or believe particular spirits have a toxic nature to them, like traveling nuclear fuel rods that grant you what you want, but exposure to them for too long may lead to ironic and unpleasant consequences.

On Wednesday a magician and a blogger, after days and weeks of pondering, acquired insights over the reason why his house caught on fire in December. After going through his own personal stages of grief, he came to some interesting conclusions. One, he felt a spiritual sense of renewal and appreciation for what survived the fire. It’s a very commendable response and a healthy one at that, too. Most people would wallow in self-pity for a long time before they achieved his realization.

The other insight he attained was that the cause of the fire was because of his workings with Goetic spirits as often as he had when he should have been working on himself, and not planning the process well. In his self effacing blog he beats himself up, describing his short-sightedness for working with the Goetia as long as he has and not seeing the connection between his triumphs for working with them and his bouts of tribulation that followed. Some of his argument I agree with whole-heartedly. I believe you should plan in detail what you want if you’re going to work with spirits. I think that you should get your “mind right” and change negative patterns that sabotage you from achieving your goals and keeping your prizes. No doubt.

However, was his conclusion correct? Did things happen because he worked with the Goety too much or for too long of a length of time? Was his misfortunes, including the fire, happened because the spirits sought the center of least resistance to give him what he wanted? I don’t know. I’m going out on a limb, assuming that he didn’t ask the spirits themselves if that were the case, that the answer is no. You can’t blame them, the spirits, unless you know for sure by using the correct mediums to get your answer. That’s just blind speculation.

To me that’s the same as if I were to blame God for my misfortunes. Indeed, it’s something that I did do a year and a half ago. When my wife died, I thought maybe I did something wrong. Maybe God was penalizing me.

Did my magic and workings with angels and gods bring about her cancer then her death because of me and the celestial company I kept? Of course it didn’t. You want to know why? Because no matter how adept we are in doing magic, how successfully we bring down LVX, invoke angels and spirits, life happens. There’s no escaping the truth that we are born, we die, and a bunch of wonderful and horrible things happen in-between

This is planet earth. We are mortals. Bad shit is going to happen to us no matter how pious of a life we live, how many spirits we employ, or offerings we cast to the ephemeral. We’re humans. We are hardwired to fuck up. We make mistakes and if we’re wise enough and brave enough, we own up to them.

Shit happens. We catch colds. We get flat tires. Family members die. We spill coffee on our shirt. Wars start. Then, eventually, things improve (or they don’t). And it happens all over again. At least with magic, you can change how you react to circumstances – even change your software. But that’s all you can do. The planet revolves around the sun, autumn turns to winter, winter to spring and summer, and we get to do this all over again as creases form at the corner of our eyes and hair grows out of our ears.

Sure, I believe there should be caution for working with spirits. They don’t think like we do. They’re graceful and clumsy in their handling of the mortals. They have a whole different idea what a blessing entails; therefore, we have to be specific with them when asking for their assistance. But…and I emphasize my disclaimer here…they can’t be blamed for when life sideswipes us. Life is going to speed-bag our nut sacks till we adapt to the pain. We either form calluses where need be, or we live our life in a fetal position twitching at every shadow.

For me, magic has helped me to get to this point in my life to feel that life is what it is, and we can change circumstances around us to a degree, a fraction, a humble smidge; but we can definitely change our inner worlds with no limits. Life is alchemy in which we may never achieve gold status, but we are never the same material leaving the furnace as we were going in the first time.

Question Acknowledged With A Pointless Rant

2009-12-30T07:37:00.000-08:00

I received an email from an online colleague who asked the question “what the hell kind of magician are you anyway?” The heart of this ass-hat’s – I mean, friend’s - question, and I understand completely why he asked it, was based upon our past email correspondences and my blog entries. According to my writings in one instance I behave like a solitary. In others I act as a member of an Order. Then the next thing I’m studying material from a correspondence course (an awesome one at that). Add experiences and practices that I’ve learned over the years since 1987 and my work with my HGA, and collectively my way of doing things presented confusion for him.

My answer is “I don’t know” what type of magician I am (so quit asking). I have no title or rank. I do what I do according to my needs. When I need more money or a better job, thaumaturgy (along with crafting a winning resume’) is the solution. That could mean working with planetary energies, candles and/or saints.

When I want to get closer to the Divine, theurgy is the means. That often means working with the system that was assigned to me by the Order, or I perform rites that my HGA and I developed over the years. Sometimes I do things that lie in-between. But neither to me – thaumaturgy or theurgy - is a single path all its own that I intend to embrace with a single-minded commitment; but rather they are multiple accessories, like a Swiss Army knife to a holy way of living that I want to attain.

Whoa! Did I just say holy way of living? Yes, I did. Because, what else is life altogether if not holy, if one were to put aside one’s cynicism for just a moment and think about that concept? Though, to be honest, if you had used that description in a conversation with me – holy way of living or a holy life - a year and a half ago, I understandably would have told you to shove it up your pious ass, considering what I’ve seen and what I’ve endured. And I still might tell you that; well, because I am kind of a jerk.

I try to remain mindful of the Divine in all things. It’s not easy. I get distracted easily from watching either too much TV, porn, dealing with work-related issues, living a regular life and my continuous coping with the loss of my wife. So, I have enough going to keep me distracted and focused too much on the ordinary.

But morning and evening rituals, and lessons that I’m integrating into my lifestyle do help more than I can say. One example is the daily offerings to the strata of spirits that I perform at dawn. With an open invitation to the spirits, incense, libation, and a lot of imagination, my offerings to them leave me feeling appreciative for all I have and my willingness to share. You know that good feeling you get when you make a donation to the Salvation Army bucket or you see a homeless man and you give him a buck or a cup of coffee and not expect him to do silly antics for your entertainment? That’s the feeling I come away with after doing my daily offerings. After doing my Order’s ritual work, I head off to the front patio and make the offerings.

Wait, wait! Are you mixing separate magical rites? No…yes…maybe. Meh.

I won’t go into the tiring diatribe of traditions and “currents,” and keeping them pure from unrelated skills and contradicting knowledge. I do, however, believe in being respectful to the wishes of a group that don’t want dissimilar spells, gods, spirits or talismanic work coalescing into their group, or as they say, their Temple’s egregore. Personally, I think the egregore can decide for himself what he wants circulating around his bits and junk. But I’ll leave the topic of the egregore for another occasion. I’m talking about what one does IN the temple itself. At home is a different story.

That’s why I love my personal oratory. It’s a simple spare room with a roll top desk serving as an altar. There are pictures of saints encircling around it. There are bookshelves glutted with a mix of magical books, novels, 30-minute Meals by Rachel Ray, and references for just about anything ranging from fixing a showerhead to selecting appropriate magical correspondences. There are cluttered corners and knick-knacks and menacing gargoyles with nobody in particular to menace. In spirit, the oratory is me, metaphorically speaking. A collage of meaningless meaningfulness scattered about with no rhyme or reason for their being other than the attached memories only known to me. Here in my oratory I can intermingle diverse traditions or create my own in cooperation with my HGA.

Here (including my front patio), the rules are my own. The consequences are mine, if there are any. As a matter of fact, in the years that I’ve lived the magical life, there’s never been blow-back that I can recall – and if I can’t recall any, then it didn’t happen. Disappointments, yes, when magic didn’t pull off the desired effects. Or worst, it did realize my desires, only to make me grasp the cliché: “be careful what you ask for….”

But the old tiring caveat that the short-sighted and unprepared magi who called upon “energies” that they weren’t prepared for were dealt a debilitating blow is an urban legend. Most believers carry over this dire counsel onto their students because that’s what was imparted to them when they were students themselves. But there are no documented cases to justify the admonitions, other than word of mouth of “I knew a guy who knew a guy….”

In my years of magic and invocations, the only injury I’ve ever bumped into was accidentally inhaling incense smoke and nearly coughing up a lung lobe. Aside from that…nothing that indicated a mental psychosis or a gimp leg as a result for my lack of forethought.

Though as ass-hole’ish as I may come across to some if not all, I do believe in being considerate to traditions by following the old adage “when in Rome.” It’s similar if I was a practitioner in a specific martial art and decided to try a hand in jujitsu. If I want to learn anything viable in the art, I have to release what I know and embrace what is being instructed on the mat. How I conduct myself outside the dojo is my business.

The same applies in a Temple. Again, the emphasis is “when in Rome.” While in my Order’s temple or when I perform a ritual that’s wholly my Order’s I don’t jumble them together in my oratory with another. This is not to say that later in the day I won’t practice a different tradition or style in the same oratory. Because, I do.

The truth is, as a magus, I’m not much on labels. Theurgist or Thaumaturgy, Hermetic or Hoodoo – it doesn’t matter to me. I have my needs like anyone else, and at my disposal I have the choices on how to face up to them. I’m not one to flit from art to art (and I mean “flit” in the most masculine way possible, thank you), but I’m not against learning a new trade while actively functioning with another. It’s all based on needs, and not on fickleness.

So I guess my answer to his question is stated as before: I don’t know what type of magician I am. I do what I do to get by in this world and make living in it worthwhile and sacred. Walt Whitman once said, “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes.” Ditto, Walt, ditto. That’s a very poetic way of telling folks to go do you-know-what to themselves.

Up and Coming Magical Rite

2009-12-20T19:38:00.000-08:00

A couple of weeks ago a friend asked me to help her, magic-wise. I am more than pleased to do this for her. Since agreeing to it and designing the rite, I’ve had very interesting dreams that seem to indicate that I've been given the green light to make this happen, or the correspondences - oil, incense, colors - I've chosen are agreeable to the Powers that Be.

I have all the supplies I need to make this happen. I designated Christmas Eve to perform it. For reasons only between my friend and me, it seemed very appropriate timing.

Halloween Past, The Following Day, and Who Cares?

2009-11-04T13:23:00.000-08:00

I have not written due to the need to study and pass my Neophyte examination. Of course there were other reasons, too. One being that October is a difficult month with Halloween on the tail of it, a fanfare of spooky movies, ornaments, and other little festive cues reminding me that the 31st was on its way. Other than being Hallows Eve, it was also – or would have been - my wedding anniversary, too. So, I had a choice. I can either focus on my loss, or I can focus on my test. I chose the latter since last year was dedicated to mourning and heavy reminiscing.

Not that this stoic and militant-like resolve kept the intruders behind the walls, so to speak, while I spent time reading and memorizing symbols and letters and other Hermetic concepts. Losing a wife a little more than a year ago is in no way an easy memory to put on the backburner till my examination was complete.

But I have to admit, a year plus some months of consistent magical practices, self-talk, meditations, communion with my HGA, a recent initiation into an Order, camaraderie with like-minded blokes, and dedicated ritual work helped me with the ability to heal and ground. Collectively they allowed me to do several things over time. One, they gave me momentary breaks from mourning. Two, they gave me something to look forward to each day or the power to do so. Three, they gave me the direction where I want my life to go, magical-wise…in the personal arena, the jury’s still out on that one. And finally, they assisted me to look at life differently - that there is no true separation between spirit and matter, between God, spirits, and us.

The separation lies within our specific and limited point-of-view. Whether we want to believe it or not, we are all interconnected in this huge mandala of ours - or for us western esotericists, instead of a mandala, picture a larger than life magical seal with us at the center of it and outside of us concentric hierarchies mapping the process of Grace from the realm of God Names to the denser center of form and illusion.

Aaaand…..maybe not.

I'm blowing air out of my ass. What do I know of such things? I only know what I read, why I feel, the experiences that I encounter – or that encounter me and transform me - as a result of me indulging in the bliss of ritual work and Hermetic studies. Again, what the hell do I know?

Which brings me to the result of last Sunday afternoon: I passed my Neophyte examination. In spite of Halloween night of drinking myself to near-retardation; a cruel hangover that lingered till Monday morning; last minute review of the study material; hand cramps from jotting my answers; and what felt like clumsy blundering through my demonstration of the required rituals, my teacher deemed my efforts worthy of passing.

This means that if everything proceeds as planned, I’m looking at a 1=10 initiation in January. Till that time arrives, my teacher gave me a new ritual to spotlight. While I work on that, I will also bring together the tools and resources to conduct angel summoning, Trithemius-style. Over time I’ve collected the raw material to design the table of practice, the wand, and the specific seals…but this lazy magus is not all about multi-tasking, unless multi-tasking means sleeping on the couch with the TV on and his laptop warming his lap. I have to change that ungainly way of living, that’s for sure.

I have to say, though, regardless of the incompleteness that identifies my life such as it is, I’m not doing too badly. A little more discipline and I should be able to make something of myself other than the complete buffoon that I am with a perchance to muse over the unknowable.

Oh, and what did the image above have anything to do with anything? Nothing. I just liked it.

Seven Times a Day…Unless I’m Likely to Forget

2009-10-17T16:53:00.000-07:00

Like an addict looking for his next fix, I enjoy reading the blogs from those who either share or almost parallel their interests with my own. It’s complete swag when I can crouch low in my cubicle when I should be processing invoices or monitoring work orders, and shoot up my brain with the insights of magi, mystics and conjurers instead, and see a world of spirits and demons, moon phases, tinctures, and geometric holiness dolling out changes where needed.

Their understanding gives me things magical and divine to ponder, and in some cases, rites and habits to consider for experimentation. Case in point is Carl McColman’s blog that involves Christian mysticism. Though I’m not a Christian in the common term of the word, his mystical discernments offer ideas to keep the meditation experiences that one enjoys in the morning and evening ongoing by doing small “one minute meditations” seven times during the day. He picked seven as a number based on Psalms 119:164 – “Seven times a day I praise You” as a reflection of the monastic Liturgy of the Hours. As a supplement to two anchor meditations, morning and evening, he suggests adding “short periods of recollection and quiet mindfulness at regular points throughout the day.”

Anybody who knows me, I can never leave anything well enough alone. I have to put my own twist on things and tailor it for my taste. You’d think that Carl’s suggestion is perfect as it is. It is, honestly, it is – if you’re a contemplative or meditate in whatever tradition that suits you. But unlike Carl, I’m not a Christian mystic or a contemplative. I’m a self-styled magus, initiated into an Order, and a self-learned thaumaturgist who sees no conflict conjuring spiritual assistance when need be, and sitting down for a time to watch my breath or perform a mantra of sorts. I commune with my HGA on an almost daily basis (sometimes I forget, when the day gets too hectic and I’m practically running the moment my feet leave the bed), though I would love to work with Her, my angel, more if being human with human needs wasn’t such an obstacle at times. That’s where Carl’s “one minute meditation” come in handy.

Three times in the morning, three times in the afternoon, and once before bed…I try to do a meditation that I refer to as Breathing in My Angel’s Name. I know! Cheesy title with an equally cheesy process, but it was an inspired technique after reading “Open Mind, Open Heart” by Thomas Keating years ago.

In my version of this Centering Prayer, I sit quietly, contemplating how my Abramelin Operation began in 2003, remembering some instances where I felt Her, what visions I saw, how good She’s been to me from then to the present. I inhale the first two syllables of my Angel’s name, and exhale the second half. I leave myself open to Her Presence, having no expectations. There is no particular visualization to speak of. In fact, minutes following (that is a full scale meditation and not a one minute type) the method will produce a visualization if not a full-scale vision in their own given time.

In the morning I do my required ritual work as prescribed by my Order, plus my own meditation and communion with my HGA. Then I do it again in the evening after my shower, unless I have a specific Thaumaturgist act I have to complete. In between these rituals, during the day, my one minute meditation takes the form of one minute Breathing in My Angel’s Name. This is my bhakti yoga, my brief devotional to my HGA, my personal Liturgy of the Hours. Easy, you’d think. Not.

Remembering to do the one minute prayers is a lot harder than you imagine. The day and evenings are so seductive you can’t help but forget. After tallying up the number of times I actually did them, three, five, or six, I never quite seem to reach seven.

I don’t beat myself up because I didn’t achieve seven meditations. But it does give me a perspective how my mind operates…how easily distracted I can be. Monkey mind leaping from tree to tree, branch to branch, focused on the next shiny thing. At the same time, I do notice that when I manage even a few of them, my reaction to the world as a whole changes a tad. It’s like I can extend that fresh, elation one feels after a ritual throughout the day till my evening ritual. Imagine what this lazy magus can mentally achieve if I can manage seven. Imagine if I can do seven everyday for at least a month.

But this is just an experiment. I don’t know how long it will last, or if I find it even worthwhile long term-wise. Like all things experimental, the one minute meditation may pitter or plateau. Or, it may become a regiment that I’ll always be grateful for. Either way, the benefits can only be a plus.

So far...today, I managed six meditations. If I don't lull into a sleepy state on the couch after a pint or two of Guinness, I think I'll achieve seven.

Pointless Rambling

2009-10-08T17:21:00.000-07:00

The awesome thing about being part of an Order is that you meet your brothers and sisters whose religious inclinations vary from one another, but whose goals match your own. It’s like being a member of a United Nations of Creeds. We all come from different backgrounds, but we all partake of a tradition that makes us dress a little silly to outsiders, perform anachronistic gestures, and in spite of it, it’s all done in the name of becoming greater than what we are now.

Say what you will about Orders and the common dichotomies that form and separate groups, give rise to flame wars, copyright issues, and angst. All those awful results are fleeting and never completely destroy the resilience of the essence of an Order. Bylaws come and go, curriculums are tweaked, but the need for like-minded folks to find a traditional group to bond, grow, and share esoteric experiences is a constant. At least, from my point-of-view, they are.

Eleven years ago I was a member of a Hermetic order in Houston. The experience wasn’t what it was all cracked up to be. There was some posturing, egos running amok, endless ranting over he-said-she-said among members between chapters. I left the group. Eventually this Houston chapter collapsed upon itself. Others sprouted following its decline, failed, were reborn again with new agendas, learning from past mistakes.

The wisest of men can draft the wisest of philosophies; devise mental technologies that can evolve our minds and bodies. But throw in the human-factor into this perfect machine, and somebody will sabotage a really sweet ride. That’s just the way it is. We are each other’s creators, destroyers, and regenerators – our own and each other’s Isis, Apophis, and Osiris. And like most family members or a circle of friends that we form over time, some folks, regardless of their Grades or religious proclivities, are going to rub us wrong. We break away from each other. We regroup, reform, and do it all over again.

Granted, whether you’re in a Hermetic group or order, a coven, a circle, or doing a correspondence course, and if you get the opportunity to meet your fellow students or teachers in person or in forums, you may become best pals or you’ll just flat out dislike the other, and want to punch him in the face. That’s the way the Eucharist cookie crumbles. That’s being human with either too much attachments to what pleases us, or too much aversion to what doesn’t.

Based on my experience, I like my fraters and sorors just fine as they are. There may be a couple that make me squint with some suspicion – making me wonder if that person will be future grief for all, a know-it-all that nay-says members’ experiences because it doesn’t match what he or she experienced or what was read from a book? That’s expected.

Magic is kind of funny that way. When you elevate your spiritual nature, sometimes your ego tags along for the ride. Online, I noticed Solitaries poking fun of Order folks that wear badges or emblems regaling their grades; but sometimes those critics wear badges, too…invisible ones. Their successes and experiences, gives rise to ego-inflation, and those instances are their emblems. Their outrage when someone disagrees with them is their big colorful badge that they wear on their proverbial sleeve:

“I invoked an angel from a Grimoire.”

“A demon heeded my call and brought me treasure.”

“My Holy Guardian Angel speaks fluent English and leads me to my destiny.”

“Your magic is all pomp and circumstance! Archaic hooey! Historical schisms scar your so-called egregore.”

Yadda-yadda-yadda...ad nauseum.......

Those are their badges. At least I can say ours are quiet for the most part, unless we’re sitting in front of a computer and entertaining grandiosity with a forum flame war of our own.

Overall, I respect anyone who practices magic more and pontificates less. I don’t care if a practitioner is part of a group or a solitary. I was a solitary for many years, and I understand what it’s like to go at it alone. I respect them for that. I also know what it’s like to be part of an order, too, and having to follow a specific curriculum, adhere to vows and rules, don costumes, and wave magical weaponry in the air. Both have their merits and pitfalls. No one path is greater than the other, having the fortune to have done both and can make that evaluation for myself.

As anyone who joins a group – whether it’s a magical Order, a coven, PETA, or the Republican Party – we’re going to get under each other’s skins at some point. For me, so long as I remain mindful within myself of the patterns that give rise to animosity, jealousy, pettiness, the need to be one up over the other, I think I can avoid most of the problems and the schisms – or, in the very least, not be a cause for them. As long as I remain true to the goal, the Great Work, if you will, then I can forego the spitefulness and the jadedness that collectively causes an Order to cave in upon itself.

I don’t believe in being a blind adherent to any group; but at the same time, intellectual territorialism is not healthy either. Somewhere in the middle, between touching the Glory of Higher Realms and human relationship, is a sliver of space to appreciate our occult-oriented comrades and not bug the shit out of each other.

A Visit to the Sri Meenakshi Temple

2009-09-21T14:14:00.000-07:00

Saturday, a Soror and I visited the Sri Meenakshi Hindu temple down in Pearland – a forty minute drive from Houston (at least for me it is, being that I drive like an old man high on weed on the Houston freeways).

There’s a warm spot in the good Soror’s heart for all things Hindu, or as the religion is appropriately named Sanatana Dharma. In many conversations we’ve had since we were initiated together, I mentioned in passing to my good Soror about wanting to visit the Pearland temple sometime in the future, since she made it seem as though it was her most favorite place on earth. For her the future was Saturday. Talk about wasting no time. I was more than happy to agree, though. For someone like me who believes that God is in all things, why not expect God to be inside one just as he would be inside my private oratory, a church, a mosque, or a sacred grove? Sure, it’s not western esotericism as the Order is; but nonetheless, it is place that has perked my interest and my curiosity for many years.

Upon my arrival I noticed the stone masonry. On the outside of the temple, imageries of the Gods, animals, and humans going about in an array of activity were carved at the corners of the building and the rising pagoda-like spire near the entrance. In wall niches encircling the main temple, darker images of deities clothed in bright colors with sprinkled flowers and spare change at their bases were tenderly caressed by passing worshippers.

Outside the main temple, we visited a shrine that housed Ganesha, the elephant-headed god who removes obstacles, and dare I say a powerful Being that’s helped me from time to time when I was in a pinch and needed “obstacles” cast aside years before I joined the Order.

To enter either temple or the main holy grounds, we had to remove our shoes, and walk barefoot wherever we ventured. This signifies leaving behind the worldly life as we know it before we enter the realm of gods – which was fine by me; my new Robert Wayne’s were causing bedlam to my Achilles heels.

Personally, I didn’t know what to expect when I entered the main temple, especially when I had my first glimpse of gurus, bedecked in their robes, and taking meticulous care of each deities’ shrines; when I heard Indians chanting before each statue garlanded and swathed in incense smoke, I thought to myself, am I intruding in a world that I didn't seem to fit in?

I also don’t think that the worshippers and the gurus knew what to make of one Hispanic and a very Caucasian blonde Soror as they entered, honored and prayed before the gods as well. But it didn’t take long for me to feel comfortable among them, as I sat on the carpeted floor before a statue of Lakshmi – who has helped me a number of times locating good jobs when drafting outstanding resumes and cover letters weren’t enough.

Soror had no problem at all as she prayed and prostrated before gods and goddesses that she felt a strong kinship to. It was wonderful seeing such devotion; and I was pleased with myself for bringing her and her daughter to Pearland. I felt like I had done a wonderful deed for a Soror who doesn’t always get the occasion to do such things.

Adjoining the temple were other shrines that Soror wanted to visit. Each was dedicated to different regional and geographical interpetations of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva, and their consorts and avatars.

Soror gave a special tribute to Krishna and Radha. I stood back, hands clasped Hindu-style in prayer, and smiled. She was really enjoying herself.

Indeed, God was here. Among the worshippers, immanent in the statues, in the wisps of incense smoke, in the peace and appreciative glances of my friend, there was no doubt God’s Presence was just as keen here as if I were in my own Order’s temple vibrating God’s Name among my brethren.

The visit to the Sri Meenakshi Hindu temple had me thinking about my view of God and the Hindus’. With all the deities that were present, it may be hard for westerners to believe that Hinduism is really monotheistic. All these Gods and Goddess, avatars, and enlightened saints are really the many faces of one God. Some Hindus believe that God is Nirguna Brahman, in which he is formless and without attributes. Whereas some Hindus, as this temple demonstrated, God is Sarguna Brahman, containing many attributes and forms.

Which to be honest, both Nirguna Brahman and Sarguna Brahman are actually how I personally see God in my own Panentheistic view. It’s how I can comfortably walk into a Hindu Temple and feel no discomfort because their ways are not necessarily mine; or how I can walk into a church where a carpenter is worshipped and not feel the shadow of dogma afflict me with guilt for not embracing a Nordic-looking Christ as my personal savior; or it’s how I can enter the Order’s temple or my oratory and call upon the Divine with the marriage of Hebrew and Egyptian names without inadvertently summoning the vision of Charlton Heston battling the Egyptian High Priests with their staves (I’ll have to do a separate blog entry for my thoughts on that phallic imagery). God is one, as was told to Asclepius.

I look forward to visiting again. This time, I’ll have fruit to offer Ganesha, and a bit of cash for Lakshmi for all the times she insured that I would always have a job to go to.

Raphael

2009-09-18T20:26:00.000-07:00

The mother of one of our Sorors went through an operation to remove a very large brain aneurism last night.

It’s only now that I’m starting to get to know the people in our Order. They all seem friendly enough. A lot more than I expected when I originally went in for my initiation. So, what did I expect then, if not a sense of camaraderie or in the very least the occasion for such a trait to come into fruition over time? I – who am a worst-case-scenario generator - assumed that there would have been a degree of monk pride exuding from those of higher grades. In my very sad imaginings I had envisioned myself being quizzed mercilessly on the type of magic I’ve practiced and bear a few sneers belittling my magical experiences compared to what the Order would supply. But I was wrong. None of those things happened.

They were very welcoming. I’ve had meals with them. We’ve talked about regular stuff – movies, comic books, liquor, and family life. There was no pretentiousness. There was only people with similar interests getting together to achieve higher aspirations.

Being among them whether in a classroom setting, temple, or out on a patio eating dinner inspires me to study, practice, and prepare for the next grade simply because I want to contribute what they’ve already started.

So when I hear that one of our own is facing a stressful situation, of course I want to help as best that I am able to without interfering in their family matters.

This past Saturday, I fashioned the seal of the Archangel Raphael, using Francis Barrett’s rendition. With an Exacto knife, I traced out the signature on the yellow paper, and adhered the purple paper behind the yellow one, giving it “flashing colors,” as well as making it look pretty damn awesome.

I have a tiny tripod that I was able to mount Raphael’s signature on.

Then on a small piece of paper, I wrote down my request for healing of said Soror’s mother. I added Psalm 103:1-3 below it:

“Praise the Lord, O my soul,
And forget not all his benefits –

Who forgives all your inequities
And heals all your diseases….”

I gave all the items on the mini altar where I was conducting this healing a cleansing by purifying and consecrating them with holy water and Cathedral incense.

At the hour of mercury, I dabbed the corners of my paper request and the lightly touched the signature with healing oil, softly chanting “Ave Raphael”.

I rubbed healing oil on a yellow candle starting from the bottom on up repeating the chants as I did so.

I read off my intentions and repeated Psalm 103:1-3 three times before I placed them under the candle.

I sat and concentrated on Raphael’s signature, inwardly chanting till I felt a warmth centered in my chest, expanding. There was a resonance to this presence that was unique compared to the other angels (including my HGA) that I’ve contacted in the past. The best way of describing this presence is as if one was being asked with a sincere inquiry in your time of need: “How can I help?”

I spoke to Raphael as one would to a friend, and described my request.

Since then, I light the candle as his offering each night, I recite Psalm 103:1-3 three times, and I remind Raphael of my request. Each occasion, I feel the archangel nearby, listening – patient.

So far, from what I’m hearing from my fellow fraters and sorors is that the mother in question just came out of surgery last night very well. She’s being observed with hopes that no blood clots form at any point where the bypass took place. From what I last heard before typing this, she is still doing well.

I hope that my simple contribution, among a host prayers that their family are sending heavenward, helps where it’s needed.

I believe because of competent doctors, prayers, and the Powers that Be, good will come out of this. It’s been a long time – a very long time – since I felt anything that comes close to having faith again.

My Altar

2009-09-11T08:58:00.000-07:00

This past Sunday, my parents came over to my home and retrieved an IKEA sofa bed that I had no use for in the spare room anymore. I don’t receive visitors that stay the night, and if they were to do so, I can always whip out the air mattress which is just as comfortable.

With the removal of the sofa bed came the need to rearrange the furniture and vacuum and purify the room. The room is more open and I was able to center my makeshift altar. Above it and in a flanking fashion are old pictures that once belonged to my Curandera grandmother. There is an El Nino de Atocha; the Hand of Power; and San Cipriano, the Patron Saint of Magicians. I’ll have more as time goes on. Those particularly belonged to her when she had her all-purpose altar of her own thirty years ago. The pictures I’ll end up mounting from time to time will be those that assisted me in the past, and those that I am yet to encounter. I can foresee a framed Ganesha, a Lakshmi, Isis, even an Ishtar or a Nabu. God has many faces in my world-view.

My old roll top desk converted to an altar is a work in progress. I may end up connecting smaller tables around it in time to serve offerings, candles, and statuary. As the construction, consecration of each item occurs, I'll add photos of it.

The Patient Angel and Her Slow-Witted Ward

2009-09-05T15:02:00.000-07:00

Even though I performed the Abramelin Operation six years ago, there is still that lingering uncertainty what She is? What is Her function? Is She the Higher Genius as some magical Orders claim, or is She a separate Being that works with the Higher Genius, to unite our Neschama with our Ruach.

There is no doubt that She is real – as real as my more intimate memories of a life since past. She’s demonstrated patience when it was needed in dealing with a bonehead like me. She’s directed me toward opportunities that made no sense at the time, but it all became clear once I was standing where I was meant to be.

So, who is She?

The solution to the query is as simple as asking the Angel Herself to testify on Her behalf. And I’ve done that. Her answer? Symbols and puzzles. She doesn’t communicate completely with words unless there is a message that has to absolutely reach me; and She does on occasion, especially when I’m being downright stupid. That’s the way She rolls.

If a person were to say to me that their angel literally speaks to them in clear English every time they meet, I wouldn’t feel envious. Why would I? To speak in puzzles only displays the unique quality of my angel and what She feels is an important method of imparting direction.

On the internet some of the more divergent opinions that present themselves are whether or not the angel is a part of the magician or separate from him; if the angel resides in the Neschama or the Ruach; should the angel be regarded as a Teacher/Guru or a body of force to have by your side when you conjure other spirits, especially the infernal ones. I think, based upon my experiences, and the communication that I received over time communing with mine is that the angel will be what She will be based upon what we need at a given moment in our lives as we thrive to exalt our true spiritual nature. For each person who successfully connects with their Holy Guardian Angel, the experience is matchless.

One time I asked if the angel should be looked upon as a Teacher or an influence over other entities, a protector of sorts. In the middle of an assembly, just she and I, of my own design complete with Basilica incense, candles, and chanting, on a Sunday at the hour of the sun, she threw at me an image of Mr. Miyagi from the Karate Kid. At first it made no sense, but then after contemplating the vision, it started to become sound. If you recall, Mr. Miyagi was a teacher – kind, wise, compassionate, stocked full of seemingly unrelated teaching methods that made sense later on in the movie. But when balls were up against the wall and darker forces were up to no good, opponents were lying at his feet, nursing their wounds and bemoaning their poor decisions. In one instance, the HGA is something like that, flexible enough to impart starry wisdom in delicate spoonfuls, and ignite into total combat mode when the occasion calls for it.

In other instances, when our desire is to elevate our consciousness and prep ourselves for Higher Worlds, the HGA assists us in achieving that, too. I think the wrangling over if the angel resides in our Neschama or the Ruach was settled for me when I directed that question to Her personally, and she presented me with the sensation of Her presence standing next to me. I questioned her again (because I’m not that bright), and as before she made her presence known as though an actual person was standing to my right.

After a series of examining what she was implying, presupposing it, and a final aha moment that left no doubt, I realized what She meant was that she is non-local. She could work within my Neschama in one moment and in the Ruach the next. Or she may, as the sensation of Her presence indicated, simply “walk” with me, stand by my side if you will, as I work to bring the two parts of me mentioned above together.

To be non-local, that would also suggest she is not the Higher Genius, Higher Self, or whatever is the flavor of the day terminology passed around the magical communities these days. She is an independent entity that’s been with me since the beginning of when Ray became Ray forty-two years ago, and probably for several lifetimes before waiting for me to finally open up to Her and discover my True Will, my true reason for being.

I don’t believe that my discovery, or the interpretation of it, is the be all and end all of the discussion. I think over time I will continue to question the nature of my HGA. But as I spend each moment, perplexed by her answers or the visions she presents me, and if I don’t fight them, they unfold ever so perfectly before me, reassuring me that I’m not alone in this big laboratory experiment that is my life.

As the process of inquiring, receiving, and putting forth knowledge out into my world as a practice and an observation I can almost see the beauty of simply being. It’s as though I can reconcile my inner disputes with God and the false old storyline I was lead to believe was as real and indisputable as a gospel. I’m beginning to know my place within this ever so tiny quadrant of the universe. It’s not a remarkable insight, mind you. But it simplifies things. The world becomes a place that I accept as is, and not how I think it should be. My angel promised knowledge and freedom in not so many words – and I feel that I may be moving toward that prize.

Searching, Finding, and Searching Again

2009-08-22T13:00:00.001-07:00

In my Oratory I purify, consecrate, and I pray that my Holy Guardian Angel points, in the manner that She’s so renowned for through visions and hunches, the direction that I’m supposed to follow. She hasn’t failed since I connected with her in 2003. Through the good times and bad, she’s been the voice and the hand that gestures where I’m meant to go when and only when I can look pass the tempest of my emotions.

So far I’ve managed to rein in my emotions long enough to gain a little insight of where I’ve been and where I am.

In this chapter of this absurdist novel that is me, I look for God in events, in other people, and in me. When you adopt, as I have, the notion that God is everywhere and everything, and yet transcends them both, it does make my idea of God a little more confusing.

The most part of my life, nine or so hours five days a week, I go to a job that I moderately enjoy. One day I’ll explain in length how it was a Goddess – another face of the multi-faceted One – that got me the job that I have. It’s through my co-workers, my reaction to them, that allows me to see God and more through them. I’ve been able to see what makes me happy, what makes me angry, worried, frustrated, and bored when I encounter these folks. There have been many occasions where I ask, what is God trying to tell me here? What is it that I am learning about myself or need to learn? Why am I reacting the way I am? Why is my life here a constant craving, avoiding, hoping and dreading? It’s like the Divine gives me a chance to peer into my own self and see people as either reflections of me or keys to observe the operations going on in my head. Sometimes I think the purpose of life is nothing more than to be a part of this world; to gauge and react to it; because in doing so, we’re reacting to God Himself. It’s our way of communicating to each other, God and me.

Then there is the Order that I am a part of that provides two things for me so far. One, it offers tools and means to elevate spiritual endeavors and have a better understanding of extending our Will into the world and make appropriate changes in it and within ourselves. Second, it gives me community of like-minded folks. If egos don’t get in the way of communicating with one another, the Order becomes almost a family.

I won’t kid myself. The members have their own families. I have about as much connection to them as a very distant second or third cousin twice removed. So, I don’t expect to be invited to a lot of birthday parties and holiday celebrations. Instead, I settle for occasional dinners, meetings, and class times. And for someone like me who’s lost his partner and the concept of “never being alone,” piecemeal encounters like those are just enough to stay the loneliness.

Let’s be frank, my interest in magic and mysticism does make me an outcast in this part of the South. Even my own actual family thinks I’m weird and hope that one day I’ll return to the Catholic fold. But I’ve long since lost my interest in the trappings of Catholicism since I was a teenager, and since then I’ve been looking for God through books, Temples, symbols, and exotic practices. And I think that the search itself is the revelation, and exploring is the impulse to have God constantly on your mind.

Waiting for the Message

2009-08-09T12:27:00.001-07:00

Very odd dream last night….

I was running in haste through the streets of Houston. However it was an unfamiliar area in real life, but seemed otherwise in the dream world. Spirit animals were delivering messages to their wards throughout the city. I had no idea if I had one. But I was in a rush to receive a message nonetheless.

As I ran to my vehicle I noticed a very beautiful white owl with a solitary dark brow over one eye staring at me unafraid, perched on my driver side rear view mirror.

I spoke to her.

“Do you have a message for me,” I asked her. “Or am I mistaken about you?”

She continued to stare at me, giving me ample time to take in the view of her. Her plumes were perfect white, and it seemed that if I were to touch her, she would be soft and comforting. She had beautiful yellow eyes, and they never veered their attention from me. Though no words came from her, it seemed as though just her very presence was the message itself.

With that said, she lifted up her wings and gracefully lifted herself in the air and veered to my left. She tried to perch on the edge of a sheet metal edge of a nearby roof. Pigeons resting beside her were unafraid, but flew the moment the edge of the roof broke away. The owl took flight into the night in a smooth and silent ascent.

I’m very curious about this dream and the owl.

Slow Changes

2009-08-03T08:06:00.000-07:00

Adjustments to my sphere of sensation seemed to have taken place since my initiation combined from the Work that I do on a daily basis. From the initiation end, I presume regulation to my personal four elements occurred, and is still occurring.

From the outset I typically view myself as easy-going. Some people even inferred that I’m stand-offish, which is possible but not entirely how I feel or think at the time when I’ve being alleged as such. I make every effort not to draw attention to myself is what it all comes down to. I’m a social ninja who, on some occasions if provoked, will lob a snarky passive-aggressive bomb in your direction then fade away as you consider what the hell was that all about?

I won’t say as a result from the 26th that I’m less snarky. Definitely not. In fact I’m more so, and more vocal about it and willing to remain behind to take in the view of the other person’s response.

But, there’s also a light hearted character in me that wasn’t as visible or conspicuous as before; but yet, there it is, cracking himself up and laughing at the joke that is me.

Further, I have to admit that there seems to be added confidence in the timbre of my voice when I speak. Before, I tried to say very little and keep my words short and simple. Because, let’s face it, I don’t like the sound of my voice. I stammer. Sometimes I stutter. I’m real self-conscious because I think I sound weird…borderline on the handicap – at least from my perceptions of me. Now, when I do fumble on words, I don’t mind. Talk like Forrest Gump’s dumber brother, I don’t seem to care anymore.

This alter ego transition didn’t occur overnight. It’s progressing day by day since the 26th of July. Daily ritual work, those that are given to me to do during my initial membership, and the ones that I’ve been doing before I met the group, seem to maintain and accentuate the changes.

I explained this to my teacher this past Sunday, and he said not to fret about it. Things like that are not uncommon.

Swell.

Who would have thought that this sudden bout of borderline belligerence could be inspired by an initiation? Worst, whoever thought that this and future initiations could be the hypothetical cause of losing one’s job or getting a shiner (the black eye kind, and not the beer) because I felt self-assured enough to speak my mind, and thought, “to hell with the consequences?”

I'm Thinking of Quitting the Night; What Say You?

2009-07-28T09:20:00.000-07:00

It’s an odd arrangement – God and me. How does one love the ineffable? You can’t see Him. He doesn’t talk back when you talk to Him. He doesn’t grant every prayer no matter how desperate you want Him to. He sees the big picture, as some folks defend, when you’re unfortunately hardwired to see a small fractured vision of His creation.

And yet, there are people who love Him in spite of the problems I see. Some do because it's what they're raised to do. You love Him because your family, the Church, the Temple, the Mosque says you should. "Inspired" literature is written that says “love God with all of your might, with all of your soul,” etcetera, etcetera, and leaves it at that. Some devotees, lost and searching or outright anxious to cast aside the mundane, go to ashrams and develop a love for Someone beyond their knowing with a myriad of Images of Him that don’t always do Him justice.

But how do you love the unlovable – Somebody who’s never speaks to you in the manner that one does for another; Someone to love who never does anything outright for you, but doesn’t mind taking credit for it if it pleases you; or Someone, if you believe the stories, who was once very active in human lives thousands of years ago, can’t even today answer a simple questions that begin with the word “why”.

Ah, I know…the key word that’s troubled me the moment I had my first catechism up to this day: Faith. I can’t even get into that word. It has no meaning for me. Faith is trust, and trust is given to those with a good track record of justifying it. There’s my dilemma. I don’t trust what I don’t see, hear, or touch. Someone who’s let me down often in life with no explanation after each infraction then expects continuous faith as a response is asking a great deal from me.

So where does that leave me? Atheism? That would make even less sense - it’s just trading one belief for another. Don’t kid yourself. Atheism is a belief: it’s a belief in disbelief. Just as we can’t prove God exists, they can’t prove otherwise. They have to work, just as the faithful do, with very small parameters of evidence. Whereas the faithful, such as the Christians, have the Bible to prove something is true, atheists use the same material to prove it wrong – throw some science in it and Walla! Truth! Or at least truth according to their capacity to understand it all.

There’s only one word that can rectify all of this for me – and only for me, because one remedy for one may not be the right prescription for another: Gnosis.

Gnosis is not a belief so much as an experience, like love. You just know it when you know it. Gnosis, like love is to all of us, is direct knowledge that shirks off the fastenings of clumsy words.

This is where it all comes down to. The search for the experience of gnosis.

Circumstances have brought me to this point in my life. The Universe, for lack of a better word for my now Panentheistic view of God and Creation and my place among them, has given me the tool and the associations to make gnosis possible - my membership to a magical order.

I won’t mention the Order’s name since I gave my vows. Though you may find much of their material and history in any given bookstore, a vow is a vow, and what good is a man if he can’t keep his word?

The purpose of this particular blog is not so much about the Order that I’m in or particular rituals that I do. But, it’s more about the transformation of one man as he plumbs the confusion of living as a human in a world saturated with God.