Tuesday, 26 January 2016

Fires of Raziel

I want to talk about the notion of Evil. It’s easy to see it as something of an abstraction, something nebulous, belonging to a medieval world of religion, superstition and folklore. It’s not something we take very seriously in this age of subservience to the State, this age of atheism and reductive materialism.  We have very little patience for the Mysteries, the paranormal and high strangeness, let alone patience enough for serious meditations on the nature of evil.  There is a thirteenth century Catholic hymn I’m fond of; Dies Irae.  The Day of Wrath. An apocalyptic incantation that describes the Final Judgement. I’ve always found it interesting that the strange hymn, perhaps far older than the thirteenth century, came to be used as a key sequence in the Requiem Mass. Dies Irae, I would argue, is full of a kind of misunderstood necromantic power.  For the uninitiated, necromancy in its broadest sense is death-magic – either communication with the spirits of the dead, or the manipulation of the very energies, materials and secrets of death itself.  As any true practitioner or operator of magic will be well aware, death itself is not evil, and neither is magick.  The truest magicians, the truest seekers and the truest scholars all exist in a realm of nuances, subtleties and occluded interrelationships.  They discount nothing outright, and are always willing to be surprised or humbled by new knowledge and new experience.  But evil – the capacity and desire for control, defilement, desecration and abuse – this is something that very few men and women are truly willing to comprehend.  After all, if such a thing exists, either energetically or experientially, who in their right mind would willingly traffick with monsters?

Since I was a child I have been asking myself the same basic questions, before I even had the intellectual finesse to formulate these questions properly.  I knew back then, as I know now, that something is very wrong with the world.  I was a weird kid, but apparently very astute.  Gifted, many adults called me.  But what they didn’t realise was that my acuity came from a far deeper and stranger place than mere natural intellect.  Many sensitives, intuitives and psychics will relate to this, I think.  Childhood is usually not an easy time for us, especially considering we are not really supposed to exist in the eyes of the scientific mainstream.  But I’m still asking myself the same questions, still trying to unravel and gain wisdom from a spectrum of very dark and very strange personal experiences.

I’ve encountered evil in my life, both physical and spiritual. It changes you forever.  And yes, I’m fully aware that such labels are inexorably tied up with my own particular psychology and perception, my own private mythos.  But at what point and through what mechanism does the chthonic become evil?  Or to put it another way, at what point does the chthonic become something that could be resonantly if not ‘accurately’ described as evil? I would argue that when the chthonic interfaces with a particular kind of sentience, a dark intelligence utterly lacking in empathy, horrors can be born.  I’m no expert on either the human mind or philosophy, but I studied psychology at university and I was particularly fascinated with psychopathy.  Or what I later came to define as predator-psychology.  But I’ve also personally encountered individuals and energies for which the term ‘evil’ is the most accurate and intellectually honest description I can think of.  Forms of consciousness that don’t seem to be mentally ill in the classic sense of the term.  Rather they seem to revel, burnish and exalt their own psychopathy, their appetite for the most deviant forms of abuse. Unless you’ve personally encountered such things, you could be forgiven for writing it all off as nonsense or mental illness.  But I believe it’s more than that.  Much more.

In a Gnostic sense there are those individuals who seem to imitate what we might define as an archonic consciousness.  But there are also those – far fewer in number but exceptionally more dangerous – who seem to rather embody this archonic consciousness. From an energetic viewpoint there is no imitation involved.  Most people commit evil because they are in spiritual, emotional or physical pain. Most people feel guilt, and empathy.  But there are some among us who don’t, I would argue.  They really don’t feel or experience human connection the way we do.  For these individuals, especially among the ever-warring multinational predator-elites that rule this planet, deepening their perversity whilst attempting to maintain basic cognitive function is their highest thrill.  The razor-edged thrill of the truly powerful.  I understand that the notion of evil is really just a shorthand that arose out of religionist-thinking. A shorthand that’s been abused throughout history by the forces of the State to vilify and demonise both potential enemies and domestic minorities.  But I also understand, as the oldest fairytales have tried to tell us, that sometimes you can be unfortunate enough to cross paths with a monster.

There’s something that many people don’t realise about monsters.  They don’t just desecrate, defile and abuse.  They covet.  They covet all sorts of things.  People, places, stories, energies and knowledge.  These predator-elites, who for so long have had a stranglehold on this world – they see themselves as Collectors, as Carrion Angels.  They feed, and pocket what remains. They believe they are the only ones powerful enough to hold an ouroboros of divine fire in their hands. They believe their desecration is the highest magick. They are wrong.  

There are secrets we know, aren’t there? Things we’re not supposed to reveal, or even discuss with outsiders.  The histories of ritual magick and indigenous shamanism are multidimensional, multifaceted.  We know that recognition and comprehension of a thing can literally invoke that thing.  We know that our reality is darker, brighter, stranger, and infinitely more complex and nuanced than we first believed.  We know this now.  We know there are entire vistas of lost and suppressed histories, concealed from our understanding by various predator-elites, many of them with agendas and appetites far more sinister than even our fictions will usually contemplate.  We recognise that networks of meaning slide back and forth across thresholds of semantic drift.  We understand that there are languages, energies and entities that speak laterally.  We know there are beings and dreamscapes and strange thriving societies hidden within our various forms of art.  Fiction is not just fiction.  It’s the architecture of infinity.  We know the power and sometimes unfortunate necessity of code.  And we will not be vanquished by hate, intolerance, desecration, abuse, torture, slavery, or evil by any other name.  Here’s something else most people don’t know about monsters.  They are always afraid.  They’re afraid of us, of you and me.  They’re afraid of what we have within us.  They’re afraid of fire.


  1. Beautiful, Rajy. Keep that heart-fire burning xxx

  2. This is beautiful writing. I just discovered your blog, and I want to thank you for your work.

    The topic of evil is a fascination of mine as well. I, too, have had brushes with it (I think) and was changed forever. A book that really helped me explore what I was dealing with, back in the aftermath of my encounters with evil, was called "Evil: The Shadow Side of Reality," by John A. Sanford. I recommend it to, oh, probably everyone I meet. :)

    Anyway, I know I'm commenting late, so you might not even see this, but I wanted to ask you about your last sentences, that "the monsters" are afraid of us. What evidence do you have that this is true? I would like to believe it, but do not know if I can.