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The Jealousy of Gods

The Human Power no God can wield.


Navajo Man dressed as Nayenezgani (Naayéé’neizghání in the Navajo language) translates to “Slayer of Alien Gods”, or “Slayer of Strange Gods,” or simply “Monster Slayer.”


What a curse to be a God. It is no wonder that so many tales speak of their jealousy towards mortals. Clear to see why so many of them disguise themselves as mere aspects of their highest form and walk among us for the purpose of entertainment // envy. 

Like the boy who tires of his homework and escapes off into Hyrule to mimic the quest of the hero, as the Shaman dances in the likeness and skin of a wolf to become feral once more. We share with the Gods this need to abandon greater control over our surroundings. We stand with them in envy of those we -as a tribe- have deemed more free, and lesser. For with power comes duty, and with duty comes the heavy chains of command. 

These chains bind even the highest forces to what they have gifted, created, realized, or imposed. 

And yet -unlike the Gods that have revealed themselves to the ages and empires of man- the mind, body and soul have granted each and every mortal a great deal of changeability. This change is not always capricious in its nature, but rather I speak of the gradual process of self alchemy that each of us must undergo throughout the path of mortality. 

Often when a God is faced with a problem, it is almost akin to that of animal instinct in the way that they resolve the issue. Occidental Gods -although known to share human traits- often dealt with their problems with unique powers that were possessed by them alone. Some examples even prove this idea of feral instinct. For example, Thor confronts the Thursian threats with his hammer (this is the essence to the rune of thurisaz – reactionary force), Hephæstus forges powerful magic weapons for any and all who need them. 

In other words, he stands as an entity that fabricates answers to any problems that might have arisen in any time or space.  

So you see, when a God looks down upon us and sees us overcome our problems with no powers at all, this must be a curious thing indeed. To the Greeks, it was known that the Gods did not even create us, but it was through the power of :FATE: that Prometheus took that fire, and disobeyed in an almost Luciferian nature the word of the Sky Father. This was how Tolkien’s dwarves came to be also, and it is the darkest truth for any lesser spawn to know how small they might truly be in the eyes of their higher.  

I speak now to those who have been cast aside by their Fathers. This is a terrible fate indeed, and something that no other soul (no matter how close they might be to you) may aid you with. This is often the most intense of realizations. The two twin brothers of the Navajo creation myth tell the tale of how two sons of a God must undergo several trials upon the path towards their father, and then more trials still in his presence inorder to prove their origin to him. It was said that they went through ‘the rocks that crush and the reeds that cut’ and eventually arrived in the sky where their father doubted them until they proved their origin and personal powers. 

Mask representing the younger twin, known both as Naʼídígishí, He Who Cuts Life Out of the Enemy, and Tóbájíshchíní, Born of Water. Mask used in Night Chant Ceremony, recorded by Matthews in 1902
*Note this mask of Sun God’s child is decorated with the Germanic rune of Dagaz. Realize that there is no possible connection between the cultures and then understand the deep seeded connection we all share through symbols and gods. 

Like the agoge of the Spartans that so few survived, humans are interesting to Gods due to their varying degrees of rigor and vigor; many fail but the noble few emerge from trials with new heights of personal prowess and skill. Rigorous and intense to the point of death for many, but for those who survive? Oh how your fathers will watch how high you might soar with or without their gaze.

This is the human condition. This is Nietzsche’s ‘God is dead’ in its unsullied gleaming light.

To the base slew of the human Western populace, this means a simple sadness or excuse for excess decadence, a sure path towards the devil that Christians warn us about. But, even the lowest among us understand how easily they can change their morals, duties, interests, and cares. This is a true freedom, and it is not at all as gratifying as the contemporary west would like you to think it is.

To be free of morals and duty is to be aimless and addicted to decadence. The line between the two was not always as thin as it is now, to the point where even the smartest among us can’t quite wrap their head around how this eroded so quickly under the shadow of Europe’s last civil war. 

  The highest among us strive for Godliness, not for power, but for growth

(:ING: -> :GER:) . The weight of responsibility forever makes us stronger, and the act of understanding that we each play a role and wear the mask of a higher force moves us ever upwards through a mimetic relationship to a power that is indifferent about our love or hate for its essence and self.  But, as Hermes is messenger to one group, he is the fury and highest to another. Perception is at the whim of fate. The fate demands what one man sees and another does not. The fluctuating, spell-slinging, chaos driven well of the fates is in its essence a very feminine portal not unlike the vagina; all things sling forth from it. The Gods are phallic in their wishes to rape fate and instill within it something more to their own image. It is without question that every event and cataclysmic chapter of human history has been spoken of with a playful mention of some strange hair-sized butterfly effect which we all love to jest as the straw which broke the camel’s back. And then there are those that say it is ‘the will of the Gods’ for better or for worse.

But as the Gods cannot simply control the way fate expunges events, we find likeness in them in that we cannot hope to believe every other human we interact with thinks the exact same way of us.

We are all unique in the individual eye of the millions that walk this earth. To some, you are another face, to others you are a son, and to others still you are a piece of shit. It is not up to any higher power to remedy or even out this disparity, for it is the way, and we are bound to it so long as we exist as mortals.

To pretend this relieves you of your highest duty, however, the duty to evolve and understand until you die, is to die before you ever take your last breath, and to prove to the gods by proxy that you are not their son. This is a plain display: that there is nothing on you of which to be jealous, nothing to entice the immortals to go green with envy, and proves to them the greatest aspects of the human condition are little more than a collection of flukes.

Are you a plaything for jealous Gods or are you a Man?

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I, Thaumaturge

Θαυματουργία – Ancient Greek – “Miracle-Worker”

    It’s easy to say the time of magic, myth and monsters has long passed us by. I don’t blame the average man for having that opinion. Things have gotten stale.

Stagnation, uncertainty, and oppressive fear-mongering from corrupt lords within the ivory towers above; the serpents which feed us the stimuli to herd us to slaughter.

Merchants, charlatans, and those that crack their whip. Those that peddle their cures with the promise of peace of mind and soundness of body.

The street magician, whose magicks are as potent as the flaccid cock his wares promise to fix. His :VIRILITY: a mix of piss and nightshade for the cuckold husband who can no longer satisfy his wife.  

The False Wizard. The corrupted Thaumaturge.  

Many among us happily go along with this. They flock to the flashy signs and charismatic showmanship of the con-man in flamboyant clothing. They believe, they are comforted by so-called “Magic”

As cattle charmed by a woman’s kulning, many of us act the same; put into oblivious bliss in exchange for obedient submission. 

But what of those of us that don’t buy the snake oil? What of those that refuse to drink from the well of tainted wisdom? When the curtain falls on the carnival show and we’re left to wonder: 

What the fuck was that?

We who fall into this camp know magic exists. We live it, we work it, it’s a part of our worldview. It’s not regurgitated jargon from paid-off news networks and medical “professionals”. Thaumaturgy, the working of miracles, exists within the hearts, minds and greater consciousness of those that understand my words. 

The Thaumaturge, the worker of miracles, is not a man in a top hat or a face on your TV set. It’s one who sees through it all. The one who sees illumination everywhere in his waking world, through the smoke and mirrors, 

Magicks exist in abundance for those who seek them. We find them in art, in passion, in sex. The eroticism and beauty within body, mind, and spirit.

In romance, in violence, in exploration. In the path and the struggle. We live it all, then rejoice upon the summit. 

All are components in this alchemical process; in the flames and blinding lights of passion, whether entwined in the warm comfort of a woman, or in the blood fury of combat with your fellow man. 

A rite, if you will; rite of the erotic and the destructive, arcane ritual sealed in vaginal fluid and blood. 

Deep meditations within yourself, on the concepts of life and love, of death and rebirth, of your psyche as a spinning wheel, and life’s energy the thread. Luminous fibres from all directions, twirling and twining together as embers fly.

A paradigm is born. 

Limitless potential, weaving together of everything, and nothing. 

This is magic. It’s exhilarating, it’s mundane, it’s divine.  

Fan the flames during a drought and you may burn down half the village. Do nothing, and you may sit alone in the cold. 

Rays of negativity penetrate our minds from all sides. The stagnant period the world is in right now only worsens this. The power to ward off these spells of destruction exists within us, however. We are the vessel for the magicks around us. They are our shield and our sword; our staff and crystal ball; our :STORM-CLEAVER: to cut through the madness. 

Save your gold pieces, my friends. Turn your attention from the demon in a false halo and instead, direct it inward. Open your mind and body, allow the ebb and flow of the mystic to flow within you. Shape it, experience it, embody it.

Smile, rejoice, celebrate. 

Experience, love, and be loved. 

We are the wizards. We have curses to lift. 

I, Thaumaturge

I, The Alchemist

I, The Vessel

I, The Cosmos. 

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:The Grail Flower:

The trials of :JUPITER PRIMUS: move into full swing, and the golden summer is upon us. 

We jog through the nightshade forests below the cold moon

//

 Stretch mighty and wide upon our awakening, and greet the skyfather in the clear blue sky above 

Like the seeds of spring we stretch and reach for more and more. Towards that golden glory do we strike forever; like those that came before us who fertilized the very earth that willed us to grow.

It is the soil that is home, the earth that cradled us and nurtured us towards higher horizons. 

For is it not true that any good home will eventually hurl you towards the highest heavens? 

Any home that does not do so is not a home for you young warrior. 

Any place you deem to belong the most should never keep you as a sprout. 

If you feel no growth where you are, there is something amis amidst that sacred runic formula (the cracking of :ING:) 

Observe here that very spell.

Observe also this GRAIL FLOWER. A Bindrune containing and representing the growth from home towards the purest of realizations. 

The flow that is able to commence through the sacred structure of the home (OTHALA) is the pathway of the inner hero. 

The flowerhead, and prize being the rune WUNJO (joy) but there also the inversion of this rune; its shadow and shade. True treasures are the ones that give us joy and also strife. The grail is the western NIRVANA, and this rune is its sigil.

Enlightenment upon finding this prize of prizes is unknown to most men that live today, but we can all imagine its form in at least some rough essence.

Unstoppable and fervent is the will of all material growth that strives for the heavens. Trees, mountains, man, fire, etc. This is the magic of :GER: and it will take us ever upwards through heavens and hells unknown.

Ascend higher and higher

So that in your fall you may burn brighter 

Brighter than any who came before 

Lighter so that in your dreams wake you will be reborn again once more

For the thousand trials to strip you bare as Campbell wrote you must first make that step out as the fool. He who searches for the mountain king, and the boons of a million gods. 

Adventure is beyond the imagination, for within our wildest dreams we are always successful. In the physical realm this is never so. You will bleed, you will cry, you will run, you will hide.

You will strive for the mountain top only to reach its roots, and find there amidst the endless echoes of boundless aeons the hollow laugh that rings of the rocks, and you will know it to be your darkest inner shadows.

There is no way for you to survive adventure. You will be sacrificed from yourself to yourself, and you will see the boy you were cast into the furnace, only to return as a man.

The slumbering king (once and future) only emerges when he is needed most, and you will not find him buried in your couch, and amidst the hobbit politics of your current home town.

Struggles unknown, and fears beyond reason await you traveler.

Are you prepared to become a man?

Or will you wither as a sprout.

You need only look to your neighbours to see gelded souls, as you need only look to your gutter to see acorns that will never be oaks.

Do not find yourself amongst them, as comfortable as they might seem in the present.

As you find yourself unable to sleep in the pouring rain of some foregin land, you will think of home, and find yourself laughing at the things you once worried about.

There is a storm in every man, woman and child.