Sunday Musings of a Heretic


Everything was fine until we woke up once upon an eternity, from the sleep of primordial unity. Into the dream that wasnโ€™t our dream, or even a true dream. It was a dream of a unmedicated god and the spider-web fantasies of our demented egos. Calcified by whatever brought about childhoodโ€™s end. We woke up one day and found ourselves in a world we did not make. Our souls tied to the carcasses of dead mammals. As Yeats wrote: “Claustrophobic in a body that was nothing but a tomb“, and as Plato bemoaned, or more like a prison, as Basilides warned. We woke up as roaches, struggling on our backs in a universe that was but a sewer for the gory waste of Aeons of worship. We woke up drunk, suffering from amnesia and plagued by nightmares, as Jung called gods that had become mortals: us. We woke up in a hellish world, as nothing more than slaves to silver-haired pharaohs and their soulless institutions. Forced us to build pyramids from the rocks of their own greed and intolerance, meant to be the very tombs of our dreams and opportunites. The moral landscape teaming with corporate hob-goblins who gorge our psychic throats with the salt water of material desire that can never be quenched, while Botox Baba Yagas in the skies of shallowness, tossed as pieces of iMeat, riddled with the longing iMaggots of neighbourhood status, social network fame and apple product worship. And they promise we can be free, if we toil harder on the desert sands of yappy wet dreams or socialists orgasms or religious scrabble games. Be good, but feel bad for yourself when no one is watching. Youโ€™ll go back to sleep to that primordial unity, be good. Just take this opium of โ€œkardashian consumerismโ€. Thought atomising reality shows from the shores of Jersey, orthodox news programs with demagogic demigods, compromised romances and fast food faiths. Be good, donโ€™t let them know you feel so bad little roach. What did you dream? Itโ€™s all right, we told you what to dream. And they further plugged us into The Matrix.

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The War on Dreaming

f169331947dd049f3728d4735567e8c9ย reaming is an essential part of our lives. Just as meditation has a profound effect on our psyche and our body, dreaming is a vital process of our lives and it has a strong connection with our past incarnations and it keeps us in close proximity to our ancestors.

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Emerging from the sometimes literally psychedelic period of Greco - Egyptian syncretism, Hermanubis is a hybrid form of the Egyptian funerary god, Anubis, and the Greek messenger-trickster, Hermes. The combination of the two provides a psychopomp par excellence. He is depicted as having the body of Hermes and the head of Anubis. Hisย most famous surviving statue is viewable in the Vatican Museum.


So 2018 is the Chinese year of the Dog (I can hear my neighbour's husky barking about when i'm typing these letters). I don't know a better timing to write and post this chapter from Gordon White's excellent book, "The Chaos Protocols" about Dog-Headed Deities and Archetypes and HIGH STRANGENESS, then at this particular moment.ย  Don't shoot the messenger, but rather thank the deputy and give him some credit. (that would be me). After all we're on the glorious live-hunt for those nasty and sneaky Archons.ย  As you may probably already tell, I really, really enjoyed reading this book (read it twice now), and I KNOW it can change your world view on so many levels. It's also a rich practical guide and it arms you with a vast range of spells and rituals for overcoming this "black iron prison" we find ourselves in.ย  ...But enough of my ramble. Locked and loaded, let's get to the actual meat!

The revealer of mysteries of the lower world, not of hell or hades, but of our Earth (the lowest world in the chain of worlds), and also of the sexual mysteries. He was always represented with a cross in his hand, one of the earliest symbols of generation or procreation.

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Hymn To Pan – Poem by Aleister Crowley, and my personal view about the man behind the mystery. …or the mystery behind the myth!


This is certainly one of the finest poems ever written by Crowley, despite his bad image in media or in pop culture, he remains a major figure of the early 20th century’s Occult revival in Europe. He was quite an oppressed youth, because of his religious upbringing in the hostile and devoid of all freedom and free will religious environment in rural England. He traveled extensively, had a passion for mountain climbing, poetry, art and a good taste for life (who doesn’t have a good taste for life?), and in the end became one of the leading scholars of MAGICK and the OCCULT.

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