Illusion of Karma

Self-esteem is an illusion, designed as a trap by the Universe.
There is no law.
There is no rhyme nor reason.
We can not accomplish our dreams nor our goals.
That also is an illusion.
Our reality is that we will never find what it is that we are seeking.
Burn the map.
Heroes or role models are con artists and liars.
Your fate will always be in the hands of the one that hates you the most.
Give in!
Submit!
Die!
We can do nothing.
There is no I.
There is no sanctuary.
There is no hope.
Faith is pointless.
Trust is illogical.
Love is fruitless.
Mask!
Mask!
Mask!
They can not shame you if you shame yourself.
Do not love I.
I is your detriment, your enemy.
Die!
Do not believe.
Do not hope.
But most importantly, do not wish.
Their love is opposite.
Their language is silent.
Their strength is in your weakness.
Die!
Sense has no sense.
Love is loveless.
Wooing is for the crook.
Submission is for the lover.
Do not want.
Do not pursue.
Do not work.
Do not try.
It is for the dead.
There is no such thing or land as Opportunity.
Your fate is in the hands of the one that hates you the most.
Stupidity is gold.
Intelligence is death.
Die!
Speech begets death.
Spirit and the pursuit thereof begets trials and tribulations.
Do not read.
Do not write.
Do not listen.
Do to watch.
Do not believe.
Die!
Do not hope for the best.
Karma is dead!!!!!
No one lays victim to her.
She does not exist.
Do not hope for her.
Do not call to her.
She has no line of communication to thee!
Master nothing!
Craft does not exist.
Work is not Great.
Triumph is the hope of children.
Know that no one is keeping score.
Victory is random.
There are not chosen.
Let no one change a word nor exclude it.
Champion is a lie.
Honor, a lie.
Respect, a lie.
Destroy.
Loyalty is a lie.
Peace is a lie.
War is God.
Spoils are spoils.
To have is to win.
Fame is a lie.
Mightiness is the possession of the weak.
Power is the unspoken.
Pain is the unspoken.
Hardships are the unspoken.
Know me, know we, by what is not said.
Die!

Cum Stained Comforters

| CLXV |

When we first met, his King-sized Serta was the amenity that sealed the deal. It was the “best sleep I’ve ever had”. It was a Stark contrast to the twin sized mattress I had been reduced to sharing with my five year old at my mother’s house, which, most of the time resulted in me making even less desirable accommodations on the floor with a solitary pillow, no blanket. He was my hero, of sorts, no cape, just a King-sized Serta and cable. For once, I was on clouds, instead of buried alone under cum stained comforters that I couldn’t afford to wash, my Savior with a Serta. Now, after eight months of corny courtship and one year of less than mediocre marriage, our mattress is lumpy and uneven and he doesn’t make enough to replace it. Needless to say, this has a bearing on my firm yet somehow fluffy fairytale of matrimonial bliss. What’s a girl to do when her standards of comfort have out grown her husband’s pockets? What’s the purpose of Serta sentimentality when my back remains unblown, the toilet runs incessantly, the window units are insufficient, and my hair and nails are undone for the twelfth consecutive month? I find myself flashing a food stamp card instead of my dust of diamond ring. But I don’t know which inhibits me more, the card that says that I, married at 27, can’t afford to feed myself or the fact that my marriage is symbolized by a ring that was too cheap to pawn to pay the bills. He spent two grand to stroke Kay’s jeweler. Every kiss since started bitterly, so I stopped wearing the sucker.  I didn’t marry a man 17 years my senior to go without. But, was he ever truly my provider? I mean, when we met I made twice as much at my job than he did at his two. Now that I’ve been encumbered with unemployment, what was once mistaken for shining armor is now dull and his white horse, a mangy mule. I wish my memory served me better. Was my money his extra or vice versa? I don’t know. I just wish my hair and nails were done. 

As so above, so below,

The Huntress

The Black Magician

| CLXV |

Magick has turned me into an asshole. I know it is considered unevolved to indulge in profanity but what other term better embodies the callus of having to view the man who was once donned “My Pharaoh” as an ATM and the child who was once the only reason for my heartbeat as a distraction? The fervent search for my purpose of incarnating and the subsequent will to carry it out has, indeed, turned me into a selfish, self-realized and actualized asshole. Am I saying that I no longer love my husband or need my child? Not entirely or, maybe, I AM.

I have agape for the one who holds the paper purporting my soul’s possession, in terms of wishing him his claim to the same path I AM on, if it were in his reach. The truth is, it simply isn’t. How can anyone, male or female, black, white or otherwise, be magickally invested in someone who doesn’t see your divinity and despite your best effort, refuses to see their own? I can not and will not exhaust my precious energy creating more monotony than with what the Universe has provided me. While I run the maze of life, I resolve to leave him on the hamster wheel that brings him such comfort and familiarity. I have deemed it impossible to remain soft while the Universe tries me intellectually. For I know myself to be the loftiest of its chosen children .

It took great effort and attention to universal patterns to realize that his current place in my life serves as a means to an end. I’d be denying myself what is solely mine if I ignored this reality and took pity on him or misprioritized aged sentimentality for our dead marriage. The undocumented vows we exchanged are simply irrelevant to my vision for my life at this point.

I AM this consciousness, called Lauren Hunter, in this vessel, in this place in “time”, just once. In my Godly estimation, who is he to dictate how my Earthly existence is to be experienced? Now, it would be a horrible mistruth if I said that this choice perspective didn’t develop until I began chasing magick. I began the work of letting us go long before receiving third party confirmation from beyond that it was bound to eventually end. After an overt supernatural sign, I along with my ancestors, the powers and hundreds of lwa in my corner, divorced him culturally when he showed us all that he did not and will not worship me as I deserve;  as I once worshipped him. When my Caribbean roots required that I connect with those of my European, the decision to divorce was finalized. But we would not do so until he served his apparent reason for incarnating, to see me through. And through I will make it. In the meantime, I shower him with all the "Yes Daddy"s and "Please Daddy"s in order to receive my tithes. Aren’t I such a benevolent God? Who is there to frown on my working of wickedness? Not a soul. I AM.

Now, in regards to my child, my first and only, my cutting the umbilical cord serves the same purpose as does milking my “husbandly owner”. Long before my European bloodline evidenced less recessive, my daughter found better financial and, somewhat, emotional support in the care of my parents. Until recently, I always had employment but income that only took care of the essentials. I previously suffered from clairsentience only, but as of recent, have been propelled into the realms of both clairvoyance and cognizance. At times it leaves me disconnected and even depressed. Once I determined my path though, the Universe validated my eternally wise decision to simply let them have her until she comes of age. Let it be known that I AM far too spiritually aggressive. and connected to go without working on her and securing our celestial bond and inevitable future. SHE IS her mother and I AM my daughter.

As so above, so below,

The Huntress