In The Name of The Pentagram: A Witch's Grimoire Entry #1

I find myself in frequent need of a spiritual bath, floor wash or tea. I know most grimoires separate the three, but if a herbological solution can be used on the skin, it can be consumed. Do not be fooled Witches! Most Godmothers, Iyas, Coven Mothers or spiritual guides exploit the aspirant's need for remedy and milk you for your last penny. While no spiritual work is free, for the sake of honoring and appreciating the Source's energy, there's no need to make simples complicated. So the following recipe can and should be used for all that fall into the category of its title, big or small. Drink it! Dress your candles with it! (dry, of course) Bathe in it! If you can afford to do so, bathe in it daily! Put it in a spray bottle, spritz it! Remember, Witches, there's no such thing as little quantities doing large jobs when making a solution. There is no such thing as a splash of solution in mopping water spiritually cleansing the entire room. The water in the bucket dilutes it. So again, mop with it! You should smell it in the room. I use a half to a cup of each ingredient, depending on the size of my crockpot, and when it's gone, I simply make more. 

I purchase all of, or most of, my simples from Amazon.com. They sell large quantities for reasonable prices. They have nearly everything you'd need for a rootworking task. Do not be fooled by the bang for your buck! I have killed a large pesky demonic intruder with this recipe using Amazon products. But I'll blog about that later. When unpackaging, do so while hopeful and grateful. Meditate on your intentions for the spell while blending the dry leaves. If inclined, pray! (no matter your religion) I do so "In The Name of The Pentagram". Enjoy Pythonissam! 🤟🏾🧙🏽‍♀️🕯🔮🕯

BE GONE DEMONS
Rue - cleansing
Hyssop - cleansing
Sage - cleansing (crushed white sage leaves but crushed incense is useful while in a pinch)
Sweet Basil - self protection
Anise Star - strengthen spell's consciousness (booster)

Occult Observations: Grokking Harshaw's "Hanky Panky"

"Front!", he hollers, and very quickly, one of his three live in assistants runs to his side to grant his every wish. While Jubal E. Harshaw, attorney, medical doctor and neo-pessimistic philosopher, was no believer in divine beings let alone genies, it was no hindrance on his self- righteous claim to a Hugh Heffner-esque lifestyle of "hanky panky". A crucial character in Robert A. Heinlein's A Stranger in a Strange Land, Harshaw not only supervised the care and experimentation of The Man From Mars, but represented the demographic of educated, very well paid, prominent and renown men. The class of men who are well read and connected that have opted to value and explore the physical rather than the spiritual. Because He decided that God doesn't exist or care, he can watch a human being raised and metaphysically educated on the planet Mars send the animate and inanimate alike into a death sentence of oblivion, levitate these objects, even curl his body while simultaneously bringing all of his bodily functions to all but a complete stop just to be able to dedicate all of his energy to meditation, and still question whether or not God exists.

I wasn't surprised at Harshaw's agnosticism, though. I once dated an US Airman of the same neo-pessimistic philosophy. Only, these men reason on their life's sorrows in the most self-exonerating fashion and build their rhyme and reason of the world around the concept that they can do and therefore have done no wrong. This leads to the arrogant nature that causes them to look down on everyone. If the individual is simple, meaning easy to please or entertain, then he is stupid and can not possibly know all that He has reasoned on and can not lead the life of the strong. For example, his temporary fourth addition to his all American harem, Jill Boardman, was a nurse in a Federation Hospital, the only one who could dedicate her time to the social rearing of The Martian and did so flawlessly in her birthright as Woman, yet suffered Jubal's indignant nature at the thought of a woman doing so for a man as if he had the mental patience to do it better. He scorned her for implementing the ritual of washing and dressing after a swim and accused her of some terroristic pursuit of transforming The Martian into "a copy of every fourth rate conformist with a briefcase". Later the agnostic calls Boardman and all her gender a gift of "God's graciousness" to men of course, yet demeans her for her "Bible Belt morality". The neo-pessimist philosopher must have missed the discovery of Lucy, supporting the concept that before The Father, was The Mother.

Agnosticism is the questioning of the existence of God. When attempting to explain religion and who or what the concept of God is to The Man from Mars, Jubal grasped for straws in his explanation. Not because Mike would not grok if he gave a revealing dissertation, but because Harshaw himself could not define the word. After groping for what he felt would be an appropriate response he essentially left it to criminal church leaders to explain and expose the meaning of "God". Jubal went on to epitomize the theory that arrogance denotes ignorance when he philosophized, silently, that "sperm whales" and "sequoias"  were greater than humans as philosophers and poets and goes on to say that "Man is the animal who laughs". Well, dolphins, dogs and monkeys all laugh Doctor Harshaw, and unless your on a hallucinogen, I am more than certain that you don't speak whale and trees are silent. Man is, in fact, the animal capable of developing philosophy and poetry. I beg The Man from Mars, who was not allowed to socially separate himself from mankind by referencing Martians as "his people", to repose the question to the well read political socialite, "What is Man?".

Jubal did redeem himself though, in all my omniscient wisdom as Witch, when he advocated Mike's sexual exploration. Jill sought to protect his innocence, even down to withholding naked pictures sent in his fan male. Jubal wisely said that eventually Mike would meet the woman in the picture (if she wanted him bad enough) or one of her spiritual sisters. Very true, it is unhealthy and even sinful for adults of either gender to be restricted from sexual relations. It is what is needed for the proper psychological transition into adulthood and to remain there. Both are incapable of leading a relationship or pursuing secular heights without the innate confidence bestowed upon you when being honored and gifted with someone else's naked body against your own. You have proven to yourself and It that you are capable of It's equation that one plus two equals three. It is required for survival. You can be here. Take Mike for example, he made love to all the women in the house and later told Jubal that he was no longer in need of his care and was leaving immediately, and taking Jill with him, completely disregarding that Jill was essentially engaged to another man. She became is consistent mate on the path of immorality.

Though he would not and therefore did not argue with The Martian, who now knew what it meant to be a Man, I am sure Harshaw did not appreciate the disruption to his Kingdom. He had previously treated Mike the way he did women. They were all capable and necessary but could not be treated but could not be treated as such. And they were too sweet and innocent to notice. For instance, he did not take the time that a client's attorney should to explain money to Mike and what would be done with his hundreds of millions that hine inherited. It became Harshaw's money the way he passed it out at an alarming rate without Mike consultation. He belittled Mahmoud for being Muslim when he approached his household the same way. His character, though staunch opposed to traditional organized religion, still possessed the socio-religious nature of the men of his class. Socialite men, usually Caucasian, function much like Muslim men, both Black and Arabic. They prefer the respect and praise given for meeting all of the superficial requirements flawlessly while fearing the depths of the spiritual or metaphysical opportunities availed to you. They have their rituals and talismans, statues and cultural lingo for that strong pat on the back from their fellow man. While they all work hard to "stay on their dean" (I probably spelled that incorrectly) or to remain "in the state of Islam", Mike has proven that you can have the powerful capabilities of God on Earth while still striking the deadly blow in the bedroom and having the money to do anything your heart desires. You don't lose anything by prioritizing your spirituality.

I must admit though, I am a little disappointed my water brother lost his virginity. I wanted to take it from him properly. I wanted him to grok the fullness. We art God, Michael. Agape.

Occult Observations: The Black Cat by Edgar Allan Poe

"Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a vile or a stupid action, for no other reason than because he knows he should not ?" In The Black Cat, Poe gave a very telling,yet, non Catholic confession to his nature as a man of fire and lust. It is even more telling, to those of a different nature, to reveal that the strategy is mainly to break or disrespect morality. It can be a compelling or attractive quality to those of the opposite sex seeking to have a traditional good time, playing with the "bad boy". But this does not read as the most idealistic state of being for those living such lawlessness first hand. Poe goes on to say, "Have we not a perpetual inclination, in the teeth of our best judgment, to violate that which is Law, merely because we understand it to be such? This spirit of perverness..." Much like the little boy reigning in his parents' household with fire and fury, shaming his mother and worshipping the father who leaves in search of greener pastures, Poe describes killing a dog simply because it loved him. The dog's lack of desire to attack or kill his master is what lead his Master to kill him.

The Sun, Shango, Zeus, Jesus, Hades, Had, no matter what you call the power of the element of fire, it only respects that which who knows, promotes, promises and does eventually put him out. Poe goes on to explain that his desire to kill the weaker vessel was his initiation into demonic terror. After also killing a black cat, which may or may not be to his recollection, he realized that his existence was symbolized by his poorly chosen victim. The light of historic gods of fire have been always paralleled to black cats and self destructive behavior. Shango's debauchery leading to him hanging himself, The Lord's desire for a street gang and traveling magic show and staunch opposition to the government, leading to his execution and Poe's thirst for excitement by means of murder lead to his downfall as did his predecessors. He later goes on to murder his wife, who innocently and ignorantly pandered to his sexual perversions and used surprising masonic skill to bury her in the basement wall. Like all men descending from Fire, the black cat appears when he has reached his fate. In Poe's case, his drunken-like demonic rage influenced his arrogance when he invited the police into his home and taunted them as they searched for his missing wife. And while audaciously reveling in what he thought would be his victory, his blackened feline murder victim reappears in the basement and screeches in the direction of the Mrs. Poe hidden body.

I, that which who knows, promotes, promises and does eventually put him out, would have told him not to do it. Or at least, I would have told him how do it. But who am I?

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!

The Rogue Angel : Entry #1

She sat quietly in her a chair in the coven courtroom, on trial, listening intently, though her legs were spread shoulder width apart, elbows resting upon her knees, fingers interlocked and eyes fixed to the floor and as usual wings lowered, crossed, covering her rear end.

"For heavens sake, have the due respect of a child and appear before me humbled", barked The Coven Mother.

Deity, pronounced as one would Aphrodite, was accustomed to browbeatings on the weekly and at times daily basis. She trembled in anger knowing the expectation was to hold her tongue but her being would not withstanding the beating, at least, that's what It told her so through her nervous disruption. She spoke the truth.

"If you had wings you wouldn't feel so disrespected by the mere sight of me, Mother." Coven Mother immediately rose to her feet.

"What on Earth did your audacity just utter child?" She points condemningly to Deity. "You're wings are a sign of unholiness, rebel, and you would not have them were it not for your tendency to wander to dark places unattended by your Governing Witch!"

"She doesn't feel a need for my governance Dear Mother. We worship and work with those who look like she", interjected her governess, Terra. The Coven Mother made note and sat slowly.

"Granted", added Coven Mother, "but you were instructed at the time of her infantile discovery that she should be kept away from such things and raised in only the ways and morality of The Light Craft."

"Which Terra has done unfailingly Love", added The Coven Father, a scarce contribution to such matters. He adored Deity, secretly. One of four wizards to a coven of one hundred, he fathered Deity despite his wife's belligerent approval of the coven's adopting her when she was found in the woods alone, unswaddled, undiapered, unfed and crying at three months old.

"Keep The Pact of Coven Peace and disguise your flight", The Coven Father added. Deity unbagged and put on her hooded cloak, then sits erect, staring fiercely at The Coven Mother. The Coven Mother would have saw it fit to change her name upon her adoption and would have done so in a Catholic fashion if “Deity” weren't tattooed on the nape of the infant's neck at the highest of her spinal cord. If it weren't for the fervent effortf of The Coven Father to honor It and The Pentagram, The Coven Mother would be administering weekly and some times daily lectures of respect and submission, concluding verdicts and sentencing to a Mary or Prudence or better yet, Agnes.

"So she has, pardon the accusation Governess", The Coven Mother continued, "But Terra, you know the child best,"

"I will be 18 this Summer Equinox", interrupted Deity.

"Silence Child!", yelled The Coven Father. He turned to his wife to finish the sentencing. 

The verdict was ruled that Deity was guilty of unauthorized access and usage to and of magickal chambers, potions and utensils, which counted as charges of theft, totaling eight; five potions, one goat, a pocket knife and chalk. Deity began her silent treatment once informed that the charge for chalk was valid. And one charge of conspiracy, conjuring her angelic family of birth was forbidden.

"Again, Governess, you know the child best. Which punishment suits her?"

Deity assumed her original slouch in her chair and rolled her lowered head over to have her Governess in sight. The common courtesy of looking at the defendant during judgement was not returned. Deity supposed it didn't matter that sixteen of twenty four hours were spent under Terra’s supervision, when she wasn't instructing, because now, Terra won't bother to look her in the eye.

"The child hates my natural magic. Earth Magick is her least favorite and therefore her weakest subject. I recommend the brigs of the lower caverns. She'd struggle to escape for awhile. I estimate that we'd only have seventy hours between her imprisonment and her being trapped in a cavern wall. Then it's a death sentence Covern Mother. I am displeased with her trouble making but I dont want the child to die Mother", humbly adds Terra, finally looking at Deity.

"Nor do I", adds their Coven Father. Coven Mother sighs, discouraged with her options or lack thereof.

"My Lord, what are we to do with the child?", she asks her spouse of seventy five years. The Coven Father eyes the coven's prized possession, though it was unbeknownst to Deity. He sighs and twiddles his thumbs. With his chin to his chest he nods and then looks to Deity, “Ninety six hours in her personal chambers,"

"Ninety six hours?", yells Deity.

"Yes, deviant, ninety six hours", he says as a matter of fact, now rectifying his posture, "and now with no rations." Deity's confusion met with sensed betrayal made her stomach turn. Coven Father notices, "You're plump enough Child, you can afford it. Closing Off rituals every hour for the escape artist and visits by the Gremlin every twelve, since she must work so fervently. And the guilt of shaming fire and all that Is by absence at Beltane."

"Absence at Beltane? Lord Father, please", pleaded Deity, "My sisters wont let me forget it and who knows what fire will withhold from me for negligence."

"Good", he adds, "but, you can keep all that you've stolen. Practice in your chamber."

"I can't start a fire to offer a goat in my room and control it, Father. The chamber is too small."

"Figure it out Sorceress, and Happy Beltane", he quips.

Coven Mother is pleased enough by the sentence. "Then, Happy Beltane Child. Adjourned."

The Coven Father eyes the defendant sternly and finalizes emphatically. "Adjourned."

To Strip or To Scorpio

I remember being in third grade and wanting to be a stripper. As we sat at our desks grouped in fours, we went around the table during our scheduled free time, and I,at the tender age of almost eight, I pursued The Wow Factor. As I waited for the others to finish relating what I found to be ordinary careers, “Doctor", “Lawyer", “Engineer", I remember being nervous with excitement waiting to drop the bomb that I wanted to strip or do pornography. Unbeknownst to my crush, who sat adjacent from me, I knew that boys liked “sexy girls”. Although, what does a nine year boy or an eight year old girl know about sexy? Shit, I wanted to perform the routine dressed like Princess Jasmine. Honestly, I just wanted Kimani to like me. Hey, it worked though. He was my boyfriend on and off, straight through fifth grade.

The same technique of exceeding expectations of the adult Male psychology didn’t work so well with Victor though. That same academic year, I stole my mother's blue gemmed costume ring, after Victor said he wanted to marry me. But, once I was sat down for what turned out to be a party of four third grade harem meeting, I realized, Victor could get the fuck out my face. Needless to say, my mom got her ring back; after lying and saying that I never took it in the first place. I should have told Victor about my Princess Jasmine outfit.

Twenty years later, I've learned that the happenings of my third grade love life has been a constant motif, until now. After learning that telling a particular man of interest that I was willing to strip for him, especially in exotically erotic costumes, for the sake of impressing him with The Wow Factor, is even more ordinary than being a doctor and even less sexier than being an engineer, I've decided that being His Scorpio was more impactful. Every man that I've been with since losing my virginity after high school, can not forget Lauren Ashley, even if they lied and said that they have. I've progressively deduced from my experiences with each one that if I were to impress and gain this fairytale reward of a man's love, honor and respect of being sacred in his eyes, I had to reveal.

Not my body, though, that is easy and attained by the most ordinary. But with my mind, wired for the hidden. The hidden information and sanctity of that which is esoteric. While women seek for the one that is to lead them, she must be the one who educates and directs with the gifts that are only exposed to her gender. We as women hold both the egg and the womb; two thirds of the equation to create the most holy of creation, The Life of Man.

I never denied myself the ability to learn the magic of life by consorting with those whom I loved, each for their distinct, unique qualities; be them apparent or not. I love, I speak, I analyze, I appraise the worthiness of all that is, as Scorpio. I don't hold myself to commit to a lost investment. I stick to my Principle, indebted to cosmic placement. I am True, to my myself. I prefer to leave a lasting impression than to lose what men truly find to be impressive by submitting to a weaker man's desire for blind faith through his personal definition of submission. My chosen form of humility is in accepting the compliment from The Universe, or God, that not everybody or one deserves The Scorpion Loyalty of exceeding expectations. It is better to let them “Wow" than to say “You took it, Good.”

Holding on to my Princess Jasmine outfit, at twenty-eight, I'm so pleased that I never became a stripper.

Married to the Devil

Speak Master...

I've recently began studying the Mesmeric Revelation. During Poe's experiment, his sleep-waking subject reveals that our personal or individualized incarnations are mere portions of an unincorporate mind, an Universal Mind. Mr. V left me in existential meditation, one of my favorite pastimes. As I traveled through the snowcapped mountains of Denver, I pondered on what portion of what the more traditional call "God" could I, infact, be. My cultural roots conclude that I, Lauren Hunter, am a physical manifestation of Universal Love. Love. Those who are familiar with my work maybe inclined to agree but the sadomasochistic nature that tends to accompany the various forms of love making in which I self indulge can appear to be contradictory to my self professed and promoted purpose of incarnation.

Physical and Universal laws mandate opposites. Outside of such mandate, there is no means of making a distinction between manifestations. What is good if there is no bad? The status quo remains with Love and Hatred; though similar the two are not interchangeable with the aforementioned. I can not unconditionally choose, exercise or bestow love without first experiencing and conducting hatred and found the results to be short lived self gratification. While an entity like myself is capable of absolute destruction through the sentencing of a traitor or any sense of betrayal, the Love Making I exude is very clearly my reason for being.

With that said, it should be no surprise to my readers that I have a longing, no a fetish, no, more so of an emotional and sexual submission to the power of the villain, Hatred, The Devil. I glorify with watery offering the movie and television characters or portrayals of Hatred, as Dr. Hannibal Lector, Jafar, The Dark Knight's Joker and Once Upon a Time's Rumpelstiltskin. I find the unconventional, unfiltered and uninhibited psyche of the villainous Mastermind to be an unfailing disturbance to the slumber of my "Cave of Wonders". The Devil gives it the most pleasurable pounding pain. And, no, it is not because he offers a "walk on the wide side" or an uncontrolled element of danger. Rather, he uses his intelligence to prove his strength, capability, influence, mental freedom and overall power after being loving has left him uncared for, unsatisfied, hurt. "Is it really so?", said the Devil. Never Again! His experience with Love, prior to myself that is, had not affirmed his Being. So he rejects the notion of softness, blind faith, the illusion of justified submission and opts to constitute the fiery portion of the Universal Mind. He is Satan. He raises Hell and I am his consort. He reduces opposition to ashes and I wash them away. Only together can God truly swoon.

I AM Lyssa

| CXCVIII | 33,827 | IV

I want my child.

I want my Alyssa.

I want my child to know the power in her voice, in her laughter, in her desires, in her thoughts.

I want my child to look in the mirror and love her beautiful chocolate skin.

I want my daughter to know that boys are mean but trust and believe that girls are much meaner.

I want my baby to believe in magick, to know that She is magick, because said Disney We are!

I want my daughter to know what True Love is and it does not come from covering Her head, that restrictive path of death is Sin.

I want my daughter to know She is her Mother and her Mother is She.

I want and need My Alyssa to know that there is no Jehovah. She is God, She can do Anything, She is Everywhere and She knows Everything; so the word of the law Thelema.

I want her to fall in love with Herself first and only then will she be able to find the Love of the Man she truly deserves. He is not her Head nor is She is. They are One, they are none, they are perfect.

I want my child to exceed the accomplishments of her mother.

I want my child to drive and Hunt and reign, as her very blood compels her to do. Growl at the boys My Baby.

I want my child to feel the warmth of the Sun and realize her potential.

I want her to see the glow of the Moon and love her gentleness.

Dear baby, You are thy Master, not He, not even Me.

I want my child to know She is accompanied by the tens of thousands, the hundreds of thousands of Us who walked before her, who now walk beside her, Our Ancestors. You are a Descendant.

I need my baby to know her Mommy feels the pain of distance and separation.

I miss my child.

I need Alyssa to remember My Love and when She misses Mommy the most, to close her eyes and to call my name and Lula will make sure I answer.

I need my child to know that not a single soul on this planet or the next means more to me than she does.

Your Mommy sang to you, your Mommy dreamed and hoped and planned for you and still does.

I cried the very millisecond I saw you, Little One, and I cry as I type and long for you. Your Mother can not lie.

Remember who You are, My Daughter.

“Beauty and strength, leaping laughter, delicious languor (faith in Us), force and fire are of us.”

As so above baby, so below,

Your Mommy

She loved and she wrote. She wrote some more and she loved to write.

When You Peel the Onion

| CXCVI | 33,371 | II

                       

 "The Universe is the Practical Joke of the Fettered at the Expense of the Free”

F.P. laughed as he described the sorrowful reality that the majority of people prefer to wear chains, obey orders and move in fearful droves. Much like adolescent high school students, We free men and women are ridiculed for our distinct differences. We walk, speak and view ourselves and our abilities with a confidence that is as rare as our very existence. When those of Us who are born with the heroic wherewithal to know that the most unlikely means produce the best results, We are treated with a lack of respect. They scoff, spit, wanting to scrimmage, so sorrowful. He further explains their tiers.

“Those nearest to him wept, seeing… Sorrow. Those next to them laughed…”

Employing laws of power, Master Therion kept the hypersensitive closest to himself. There are those of us who can not help but to pity the fate of the fettered. It is a shame. Then those who are of the constitution to find humor in this reality most likely laugh at the weeping as well. The rankings continue down to those who were blind to the reason for either response but felt blessed enough to be present. Wisely, they laughed when He did. May we all be conscious enough to distinguish the Self from the Not.

“… in Himself He neither laughed nor wept.”

Who sorroweth are not of us. Beauty and strength… force and fire, are of us. (2:20)

As so above, so below,

The Huntress

She loved and she wrote. She wrote some more and she loved to write.

The Verdict of the Female Child

| CLXXXVI |

Occultists and metaphysicists alike debate our current place in the cosmic stream of time. One significant telltale is the unbridled lack of gratitude of Man. Like all beings, they crave and require love, beknown to them or not, and will do the most desperate and depraved of things to obtain it. After all, when they pillage they rape. Be them Black, White, Hispanic or Asian, there is an Age-old complex that they are worth more and capable of more than what they truly are. Their mothers, sisters, daughters, but especially their wives, Originators of Life itself, are casted as receptacles for their mismanaged emotional dilemma. Despite desperate attempts to heal and assist their male counterparts, Woman yields no result when desperately battling undeveloped interpersonal skills. Even when Man is of the highest of intellect and success, productive conversation is sacrificed for shouting fits of anger; spawning physical altercation, verbal abuse and when the opportunity presents itself, their established neglect turns abandonment. Their pack raised tenet that fear equates to respect manifests as disregard for their feminine Source. They raise their sons and their friends to believe that if the entity does not possess a penis its thoughts are worthless, if it has them at all. The mind of Woman is frozen and helpless in the provincial outlook of their male “superiors”. Man has spiritually surrendered to nothing, mastering only chronic masturbation. The danger being, when Self is your sole focal point, You deny Yourself the privilege and the responsibility of identifying with your evolutionary equal.

Unfortunately, though, when Woman makes a philosophical contribution to the conversation, if She is even perceived as present, He succumbs to instant bewilderment. “It spoke and it made a point far too logical for my manual stroke to soothe. What ever shall I do as the dominant figure the current Aeon? I know, hit it.”, with all ambiguity implied. The very presence of this unbalanced view in society is the very proof that the cosmic slate as yet to be wiped clean. Yet, how are we, as She, incapable?

When Swastikas were stitched, heads of households and even their regents sent overseas, the powers that be forced Woman to withdraw Her open hand and provide for both Herself and Her children. Upon return, though, He found the current ever changed. With gained self-esteem and a lessened need for monetary provision, Woman packaged respect along with Her criterium for love and companionship. A lack of such, is indicative of the measure of the particular entity. Thus, choose wisely.

Decades fast forwarded, Man remains unprepared to do more than what is no longer required by the Mother, two thirds of the Universal equation. Coupled with their general lack of desire to evolve passed what their forefathers deemed the norm, men now retaliate with heightened aggression. In order to accommodate the primordial and therefore merited egotisms, both sexes must relinquish the demand for indentured emotional slavery in exchange for metaphysical generosity. Seeing Self and serving that Self in the other person protects and preserves the ever so sensitive ego that would otherwise be catastrophically destructive.

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