The working theory of Emergent Animism breaks down spirits
into three general types. The type of spirit helps determine the general
approach and method of communicating with any particular spirit.
The three types are:
spirits of the dead, spirits of place, and alien spirits.
Spirits of the dead are spirits of dead human beings.
Spirits of animals and other entities that once had physical form can also be
included in this classification but may also be considered alien spirits
depending on how closely they still relate to the concerns of the physical
world. Dead humans may also transcend this category if the spirit becomes
something that personifies archetypal quality or has major concerns beyond this
plane of existence.
Spirits of the dead are by far the easiest spirits to
communicate with as they still have some working knowledge of physical form. Depending
upon their ability in life and how often they interact with the physical world
will determine how easily they communicate. Many maintain language skills and
an understanding of human symbolism.
The most useful spirit of this type a magus can interact
with will usually be ancestors. “Blood calls to blood,” is an axiom
almost universal in magical systems. There need be no reason why spirits would
suddenly lose the desire to procreate. By this I mean the drive to continue
ones imprint upon the world, be that genetically or spirituality. Your
ancestors want to live on and can only do this by effecting the physical plane.
They have a vested interest in the welfare of their descendants. Even an
ancestor who did nothing but spit venom at their family when they were alive
can quickly change their tune when they realize their descendants are the only
game in town. Okay, not the only game, but certainly the path of least
resistance. There persists plenty of stories featuring vengeful and angry
spirits. Some people never learn even when faced with the ultimate teacher. But
these spirits can be easily avoided by a competent magus. They can even be
exploited if a magus is so inclined. If they can’t learn to chill even after
they’re dead, fuck ‘em.
Cute. But I don’t get married; I get obsessed. I couldn’t stand to be around you every single day anyways. I’m selfish and very protective of my time and space. Besides all that, I accidentally consecrated myself to God a while back, so I don’t think I’m allowed.
A stone marker at a holy site dedicated to the dual lunar cult of Tanit and Astarte; Phoenician night goddesses worshipped from the Bronze Age through classical antiquity, alongside their horned consort Ba’al Hammon, “Lord of Braziers”, classically associated with Saturn.
In my last post, I said something that should have given you
pause. When describing spirits of the dead, I said, “They can even be exploited
if a magus is so inclined. If they can’t learn to chill even after they’re
dead, fuck ‘em.”
No one told you that being a magus makes you a nice person,
right? There are reasons why necromancy is reviled by many cultures. Most of
those reasons are bullshit based on fear and control. But being a necromancer
does sometimes mean blurring some lines. If you as a magus decide you may need
a weapon at your disposal, even just for self-defense… well weapons come at a
price. A weapon is not an innocent thing, despite what the NRA wants you to
believe. A weapon always requires you to compromise your innocence. A weapon
symbolizes you are willing to do harm. A spiritual weapon can be a costly thing
indeed.
The most powerful weapon in my spiritual arsenal? Without a
doubt – Deadwater. What is Deadwater you ask? Lucky for you folks I know the
leading expert. The number one source. I turn you over to the words of my beloved
brother, Frater Yaramarud, the man who provided me with this amazing substance.
“My first encounter with Deadwater came nearly a decade ago.
At the time, I saw it purely as a novelty and not something with the nearly
boundless potential that I know today. Traveling down the road with my good
friend Frater Dreadnaught, and an ex-partner of mine, the three of us had made
a late night decision to stop at the next cemetery we found in order to waste
time in a way that people in their early twenties are wont to do. When we
finally found one and had parked the car, a light in the center of the cemetery
had drawn our attention to a pump well gently illuminated beneath it. My
initial thought was one of curiosity and bewilderment. What reason could there
possibly be for there to be a well here? With this question unanswered, it
dawned on me that the corpses surrounding us had, beyond any doubt, decayed and
seeped into the table from which this well drew.
I’m assuming this is because I said I’d make that sticker (which I’m totally serious about btw). Well, I hope this doesn’t get me in trouble with the devil police. But okay. I’ll bite. Blah blah blah this is all just my take. If you wanna know if the devil is real, I suggest you ask him, not me.
I don’t “work with” the devil. I don’t “work with” any spirits. They work for me. And there’s a man in the forest, dressed in black, and he doesn’t work for anyone except himself, or so I’ve come to believe. I’ve seen him in the places that are on the borders of human territory. Where the pastures meet the woods. He beckons for some, but not for me. Why that is I’m still not quite sure. But he’s real and he’s that devil you’re asking about.
There is a lady in the forest as well. She is aged bone and red flowers and a decaying breeze. Her breath is death, her breath is sex, her breath has been on my face. If I “work with” anyone, it is her, although, again, that’s not really how I operate. We see each other in each other. We respect each other. We are the same, but not. They’re Mysteries, damnit.
Yeah, that’s true. He don’t work with anyone. But he is a hell of a lot of fun to hang out with.
So last night I was preparing to meditate, and I wanted a
candle to watch as I did so, to add to the trance state. I looked at my
ancestor altar, and wasn’t feeling it. I looked at my Babalon shrine with all
her candles and I seriously considered it, but nah. I looked to my shrine of my
main man, Thoth. The god who has always been good to me and has seldom given me
bad advice. So I lit one of his candles and did my thing.
My thing being playing a bone rattle for about fifteen
minutes. While I did I had a vision of myself, at least someone I once was. I
was a terribly thin man, his bones sticking out against his dark skin of deep
reddish-brown. He was sitting on a comfortable blanket of rainbow colored
weave. I looked up and saw myself to be in a temple, like Karnak, with many
carved pillars. But it was more of a courtyard without a ceiling, and the sand
blew through on gentle night breeze. I was sitting with my brethren, all of
them priests of Thoth. Many had shaven their heads as I had. We were all high
as fuck, having drunk a couple of jugs of lotus wine, and we were all sitting in
front of a small brazier in which we burnt cannabis.
And we were having a good fucking time! We were all jamming
on some kind of drum, or rattle, or even just banging together sticks. We all
played like fools smiling and laughing and gazing up at the stars.
Then today I find out about the mummy of a priest of Thoth
being found in Egypt. I’m not saying the vision coincided with the event. It
was found back in February, but I only now first heard of it. I think it was a
reward from Thoth for playing for him. Because knowledge itself is a reward
which I enjoy deeply.
So last night I was preparing to meditate, and I wanted a
candle to watch as I did so, to add to the trance state. I looked at my
ancestor altar, and wasn’t feeling it. I looked at my Babalon shrine with all
her candles and I seriously considered it, but nah. I looked to my shrine of my
main man, Thoth. The god who has always been good to me and has seldom given me
bad advice. So I lit one of his candles and did my thing.
My thing being playing a bone rattle for about fifteen
minutes. While I did I had a vision of myself, at least someone I once was. I
was a terribly thin man, his bones sticking out against his dark skin of deep
reddish-brown. He was sitting on a comfortable blanket of rainbow colored
weave. I looked up and saw myself to be in a temple, like Karnak, with many
carved pillars. But it was more of a courtyard without a ceiling, and the sand
blew through on gentle night breeze. I was sitting with my brethren, all of
them priests of Thoth. Many had shaven their heads as I had. We were all high
as fuck, having drunk a couple of jugs of lotus wine, and we were all sitting in
front of a small brazier in which we burnt cannabis.
And we were having a good fucking time! We were all jamming
on some kind of drum, or rattle, or even just banging together sticks. We all
played like fools smiling and laughing and gazing up at the stars.
Then today I find out about the mummy of a priest of Thoth
being found in Egypt. I’m not saying the vision coincided with the event. It
was found back in February, but I only now first heard of it. I think it was a
reward from Thoth for playing for him. Because knowledge itself is a reward
which I enjoy deeply.
