NASA – Earth and Moon as seen from the departing Voyager interplanetary spacecraft

Final Words from Anton Long

Esoterikos – Final Words
(pdf 60 kB)

Image credit: NASA – Earth and Moon
as seen from the departing Voyager interplanetary spacecraft


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Order of Nine Angles

O9A Adversarial Action – Success or Failure?

Between us, we [of the Order of Nine Angles] have over fifty years – half a century – of pathei-mathos resulting from personal experience of adversarial action, ranging from political, religious, and social activism, to ‘criminal’ activities, to clandestine revolutionary and subversive deeds, to military, paramilitary, and law enforcement experience.

For some of us, such practical experience was acquired before involvement with our esoteric Way; for others, such learning resulted from using and applying one of our Dark Arts, such as an Insight Role. Given that our base was and mostly still is in the Isles of Briton, perhaps the majority of this experience relates to events in these lands. From the protest movements of the 1960’s, to ‘the troubles’, to the social unrest of the 70’s and 80’s, to recent conflicts involving the alleged ‘clash of cultures’ between Islam and the West, there is a wide variety of experience. In addition, we have the mostly aurally related experiences and learning of several individuals – drawn to us decades ago and now no longer with us in the causal realm – whose pathei-mathos derived from major conflicts such as that commonly known as the Second World War, and which experiences of that conflict were of those who fought on both sides, allied and axis.

There is thus a diverse, rich, heritage here – an ancestral pathei-mathos of our new culture – from which we might learn, especially in regard to the effectiveness of adversarial action and regarding the use and manipulation of causal forms.

However, before proceeding further it might be useful to recall what we mean by ‘success’ and ‘failure’. For us, there are two criteria, individual and Aeonic; that is, whether such things have been shown, by experience, to work – to be effective – on the personal level and/or on the Aeonic level. The personal level obviously is that of a personal learning and development, and thus the alchemical, interior, change produced – in terms of esoteric skills, change in personal character, and so on – is often apparent, and often manifest by the progression of the individual along the Seven Fold Way. But the Aeonic level is often not so apparent, involving as it does an understanding and appreciation of our Aeonic aims and goals, and a shared desire, among us, to aid them. [1]

 

Personal and Aeonic Perspectives

 

In general, what we may with some justification call our ancestral pathei-mathos indicates that our particular adversarial praxis works both in respect of being a vector of alchemical, interior, change in our people, and in respect of testing and weeding out those lacking the character, the potential, to be of our kind. That is, it is and has been successful in breeding the requisite personal character and in enabling individuals, via their own pathei-mathos, to move toward the goal of wisdom. Or, understood in terms of our aims, our goals, successful in producing and nurturing our new type of human.

But what of Aeonic change, our Aeonic aims and goals? There are, in my view, several questions, here. (1) Has the use of adversarial praxis by our people over some forty years achieved anything Aeonically? That is, in practical terms of undermining, replacing, The System and/or moving toward our New Aeon? (2) What does our ancestral pathei-mathos indicate in this respect; that is, the practical learning from experience of those whose learning was acquired before the foundation of the ONA and who subsequently became ONA? (3) What does a reasoned, scholarly [2], overview of the past thousand or two thousand years of human history reveal in respect of methods of human change?

I shall consider the last of these questions, first. Thus, what – to use a mundane cliché – do the past two thousand years of wars, revolutions, empires, conquests, tyrants, kings, insurrections, revolts, riots, religions and their schisms, propaganda, rallies, marches, demonstrations, speeches, political parties, and so on and so on, teach the sagacious among us? Or, expressed more precisely, what does the pathei-mathos of those who endured such things, who experienced such things, who participated in such things, who lived through such things, who learned from them, teach us, as recorded in their writings, their aural accounts, their lives, their deaths, their literature, their reflexions (philosophical or otherwise), their artistic, musical, emanations?

My own conclusion, derived intellectually nearly forty years ago, was that they reveal something important; and quite a lot of my life these past forty years has been devoted to testing this conclusion in a practical manner, often via my own pathei-mathos, as well as devoted to acquiring more intellectual knowledge that might prove or disprove this conclusion.

My conclusion was that all such external things have not in any significant way aided, changed, evolved, the majority of humans. That humans, in their majority, remain mundane, rather primitive, beings – in thrall to their feelings, desires, and addicted to and reliant upon causal abstractions; easily swayed and easily manipulated. That the cultured, the noble, the aristocratic, among us are and have remained a small minority, never more than five per cent, often less. That the potential which humans have, as a species of sentient living beings, has remained unfulfilled, and that as a consequence wisdom is still the prerogative of only a few human beings per century.

In brief, that as vectors of effective human change, such large-scale, supra-personal, events and means, just do not work; that all they do is add a few more to the roll of those distinguished by their personal learning from adversity, hardship, suffering, and the overcoming of challenges.

The past forty years of my living has, for me at least, revealed the veracity of that conclusion, and which conclusion then at that early time was one of the inspirations that led to the founding of our esoteric, our Occult, Order.

The answers to the other two questions I posited, previously, also – and again to me – support this conclusion. That is, that both our ancestral pathei-mathos, and the experiences of our people in using adversarial praxis Aeonically, have shown that such external means, and our adversarial praxis, have not affected The System in any significant way, and nor are they likely to in the near future.

In effect, our people – those with us for a decade or more – have, via their own experience and their own scholarly studies, learnt or come to learn what I myself have learned, and which learning has affected them, changed them, internally, alchemically, as indeed is right and fitting, and Occult [3].

Where then does this leave us? With what knowing? What knowledge?

Our Aeonic Perspective

It leaves us with our unique Aeonic perspective, and which perspective is, in my view, a part of wisdom; part of our esoteric tradition. An inner inspiration for our kind.

This is of two things. First, how real, genuine, change in individuals – of their physis, their nature – is a slow process, and while our Occult ways and our Order exists to aid and propagate this process of interior change, to affect/infect a significant number of humans will take long durations of causal Time, from a century to many centuries. Second, that our real work, both as individuals and as an Order – our Magnum Opus  – is genuinely esoteric and Occult, and thus concerned with lapis philosophicus and not with some purely causal self-indulgence, or some ephemeral outer change in some causal form or forms, or with using such forms to try and effect some external change. For it is this esoteric, this Occult, work which will, affectively and effectively, introduce and maintain the Aeonic changes we desire and plan for – in its own species of acausal Time.

Which leads us naturally on to two other connected, and important, matters concerning the nature of our Order – of our family, our culture – and concerning the nature of our own human lives and why we are part of and stay with our esoteric family.

Our Order is predicated on us as nexions. Of we individual human beings having both causal and acausal physis, and of there thus being things that are Occult; of us having the potential, the ability, to change, to learn, to adapt, to develop, to evolve in a conscious manner, by using certain faculties, and certain Dark Arts, and so developing other Arts, other faculties; and of our Order by its existence gradually increasing the number of human beings who do so change, evolve.

In practice, this means, as I mentioned just now, that our Order is in essence and intent an Occult one, devolving around the individual quest for lapis philosophicus and which individual quests, collectively, over durations of causal Time – and involving as such quests do adversarial praxis and a certain collective, family, co-operation – are our Aeonic sorcery and thus produce and will produce Aeonic change in an affective, a lasting, manner.

But this predication also means that such an individual quest does not necessarily end with the termination of the causal shell, our fragile microcosmic physical body, that contains the inner acausal physis; which is why of course the last stage of our Seven Fold Way, of our individual Magnum Opus, has no representatives, and can have no representatives, in the realm of mortals. Since it involves using lapis philosophicus to egress beyond the causal and into the acausal spaces. Which is to say that the few achieving this, while no longer dwelling in the causal – no longer ‘alive’, no longer having their old causal shell – become, by the very nature of their now acausal-being, ‘unseen’ vectors of human, Aeonic, change, and of the evolution of the Cosmos itself. A type of change, a type of existence, open to many many humans, were they only able to see beyond the veil of the mundane and free themselves from abstractions, from the desires of their primitive, illusive, self.

Conclusion

In peroration, it is such understandings, such arcane knowledge, such knowing, such ancestral pathei-mathos, which separate and distinguish us, our Order, from the many others – groups, individuals – who in these times of ours claim to be Occultists, or of the Left Hand Path, or who now proclaim to use some adversarial praxis or other.

For we view ourselves, and our Order, in a Cosmic way, in an Occult way; as nexions. Our aims, our goals – our physis – making us a family bound by loyalty and oaths of initiation, and which family, in its growing, its slow, natural growing, is becoming a culture, a tradition, with its own ancestral pathei-mathos. Our perspective thus and of necessity including not only our family, past-present-future, but also being of the acausal spaces, the existences, that await for us beyond our own individual causal ending.

Anton Long
122 yfayen

This is an edited transcript of a praelection given by AL at an ONA Sunedrion
in Oxford, 122 yfayen, to which some footnotes have been added post-praelection

[1] These Aeonic aims and goals include breeding a new more evolved human species; developing new ways of living for this new type of human and thus replacing The System; and for our new species to leave this planet we call Earth (our childhood home), grow to maturity, and establish ourselves among the star-systems of our own Galaxies, and other Galaxies.

[2] By scholarly is meant both learned and having undertaken meticulous, unbiased, research on a specific subject over a period of some years.

[3] By Occult is meant The Dark Arts, and the sinisterly-numinous, and those matters and skills and abilities which are hidden from, or unknown to, or not possessed by, mundanes.


Symbol of Baphomet - The Dark Goddess

The Dark Goddess As Archetype

Introduction

The Dark Goddess is often called Baphomet, who is described, according to the aural tradition of the Order of Nine Angles, as:

a sinister female entity, The Mistress (or Mother) of Blood. According to tradition, she is represented as a beautiful mature woman, naked from the waist up, who holds in her hand the severed head of a man.

In former times, as again in this new millennia, it was and it is to Baphomet that human sacrifices were dedicated.

However, often – as in pre-ONA days (that is, before the tradition was given and described by the ONA name) – the Dark Goddess is not referred to directly by name, as, for example, at the end of the instructional text The Giving, where Mallam is sacrificed in a communal ceremony, and where Lianna says, “[Satanism] is not the way I follow. My tradition is different, much older.”

Understood esoterically, an archetype is:

a particular causal presencing of a certain acausal energy and is thus akin to a type of acausal living being in the causal (and thus “in the psyche”): it is born (or can be created, by magickal means), its lives, and then it “dies” (ceases to be present, presenced) in the causal (i.e. its energy in the causal ceases).

Thus the Dark Goddess in general, and Baphomet in particular, can be considered as types of living being, manifest most often in our psyche [1] but also capable of becoming present in our causal continuum [2].

Mythos and Aural Tradition

According to the aural history of the ONA [3] the old tradition inherited by the present Grand Master was carried on for many generations by mostly reclusive Adepts who instructed only a select, few, individuals. In addition, it should be understood that: (1) the tradition existed mainly in rural areas of South Shropshire and the Welsh Marches; (2) with a few notable exceptions (one being the present Grand Master) all those who guarded and transmitted the tradition, and who instructed candidates, were women; (3) the tradition – never called by any particular name or described by any term – consisted mainly of esoteric chant; the mythos of The Dark Gods (including tales such as later recounted in the stories Sabirah and Jenyah), certain ceremonies (such as The Ceremony of Recalling), propitiation of certain natural forces by means of communal culling, and so on; and (4) a fictional characterization of one such fairly recent Lady Master/Mistress of Earth is the character of Lianna in The Giving, and which fictional work gives a general background to, and a few details about, the old tradition itself.

Furthermore, the instructional account Breaking The Silence Down is a fictionalized account of the awakening (the development) of a young Rounwytha, manifest in the character of Rachael [4]. Rachael, for instance, enchants naturally, without words or ritual or ceremonies, and forms a natural empathic link to the area where she dwells, and has (being a Rounwytha, albeit a young one) the natural ability to bring forth, to induce, in her lover (Diane) a deep, intuitive, understanding of the importance of the feminine and of Nature.

Breaking The Silence Down also contains an old, traditional, text celebrating the female:

Wash your throats with wine
For Sirius returns
And we women are warm and wanton!
Before I WAS, you were sightless:
You looked, but could not see;
Before I WAS, you had no hearing:
You heard sounds, but could not listen.
Before I WAS, you swarmed with men,
But did not enjoy.
I CAME, opened my body and
Brought you lust, softness, understanding, and love!
My breasts pleased you
And brought forth darkness and joy…

(Synestry: The Dark Daughters of Baphomet)

Mistress of Earth as Sinister Archetype

In contrast to nearly ever other manifestation of The Left Hand Path, in the West – and in stark contrast to all other groups who claim to be or who describe themselves as Satanist – the ONA has always been biased toward the feminine aspect of The Sinister.

For example, a majority of traditional nexions, in both the Old World (England) and the New World (America and Canada) are organized and run by Lady Masters/Mistresses of Earth, just as the ONA has always had many Sapphic nexions (for example, The Dark Daughters of Chaos, in England). Conversely, groups such as The Golden Dawn, the OTO, the Temple of Set, and the Church of Satan, have all been dominated by men and are redolent of that posturing masculine Homo Hubris ethos that is anathema to Dark-Empathy and the gentility of the well-mannered Adept.

In addition – as hinted at in many ONA texts, such as The Rite of the Nine Angles and in The Ceremony of Recalling [5] – the ONA emphasizes that it is the female sorcerer (“the priestess”) who is one of the most important keys to opening a nexion to the acausal, and it is through her that acausal energies flow when a ceremony to open a nexion is undertaken.

As someone wrote concerning the depiction of women in the sinister fiction of the ONA:

In general, such depictions – and the mythos of the ONA in general – may be said to empower women; to depict them in a way that has been long neglected, especially in the still male-dominated, materialistic, West. However, this empowerment, it should be noted, is based upon “the sinister”: upon there being hidden esoteric, pagan, depths, abilities and qualities in women who have an important, and indeed vital, rôle to play in our general evolution and in our own lives. Furthermore, it is one of the stated aims of the ONA to develope such character, such qualities, such Occult abilities, in women, and the following of The Seven-Fold Sinister Way is regarded as the means to achieve this.

Furthermore, the ONA’s depiction of such women – its explication of the dark feminine principle – is very interesting because it is a move away from, and indeed in stark contrast to, the “feminine principle” of both the political “feminism” which has become rather prevalent in Western societies, and that particular feminine ethos which many pagan and Wiccan “White-light” and Right Hand Path groups have attempted to manufacture.

This political feminism is basically an attempt to have women imitate the behaviour, the personality, the ethos, of men – which is what the strident calls for “equality” are essentially about, and as such it is often a negation of the character, and of those unique qualities and abilities, germane to women. The pagan and Wiccan type of feminism is most often about some dreamy, pseudo-mystical vision of a once mythical “perfect past” or about goody-goody types “harming none” – in stark contrast to the dark sinister goings-on of the ONA feminine archetype, which most obviously includes using sexual enchantment to manipulate those Homo Hubris type men “who deserve what they get…”     The Occult Fiction of The Order of Nine Angles

 

Return of The Dark Goddess

One the primary aims of the Order of Nine Angles is:

to use the sinister dialectic (and thus Aeonic Magick and genuine Sinister Arts) to aid and enhance and make possible entirely new types of societies for human beings, with these new societies being based on new tribes and a tribal way of living where the only law is that of our Dark Warriors, which is the Law of The Sinister-Numen.    (A Brief Guide to The Esoteric Philosophy of The Order of Nine Angles)

It should be noted – and needs to be emphasized – that the Law of The Sinister-Numen applies to both men and women, and that no distinction is made between male, and female, warriors. That is, the only distinction that matters is living by the code which is the Law of The Sinister-Numen, so that, and for example, disputes are settled by having a man or woman of honour who is highly esteemed because of their honour and known for their honourable deeds, arbitrate and decide the matter.

Furthermore, it is possible, and indeed probable, that the new tribal way of living which will evolve – and which will replace the lifeless, un-numinous, male-and-HomoHubris-dominated, abstraction of the nation-State – will veer toward a new and natural balance between male and female, made possible by the real and natural equality that the Law of The Sinister-Numen manifests and creates, and by the re-emergence of the Mistress of Earth as Sinister Archetype.

For, implicit in this archetype – as in all those who are Mistresses of Earth (of traditional nexions or otherwise) – is that necessary dark-empathy which returns us to a correct understanding and knowing of our relation to other Life through a natural and esoteric resonance with the abstractionless emanations of Nature and the Cosmos. And it is this dark-empathy – this natural, wordless, ritual-less, esoteric resonance – which is the quintessence of the old tradition, presenced in the character, the very nature, of a Rounwytha. The Mistress of Earth – the warrior sorceress – is thus, in essence, an evolutionary development of the Rounwytha, where the practical (manifest for instance in the Law of The Sinister-Numen and in an outer sinister life of dark deeds) meets and is blended and balanced with the esotericism of Dark-Empathy.

Thus it is that one of secrets of a male Adept (and more so, of a genuine Master) is their unification of the opposites within themselves (for example, and in symbolic exoteric-speak, the archetypes re-presented by Satan and Baphomet), and the emergence from such an alchemical process of a new, more evolved, individual. Manifestations of this new type of male individual (in terms of character) are Dark-Empathy (a natural esoteric resonance and sympathy with Nature, other living beings, and the Cosmos), and the nobility (the excellence of personal character) that comes with being cultured and possessing personal manners and yet being prepared to die to save one’s personal honour. All of which stand in almost direct opposition to the type of hedonistic male Adept that all others Left Hand Path, and so-called Satanic groups, desire to manufacture and which, indeed, they do manufacture, perpetuating as they do that untermensch sub-species, Homo Hubris.

Our archetype of The Dark Goddess – our warrior sorceresses – are one means by which we ourselves, and our current untermensch way of life may be transformed, for:

Δίκα δὲ τοῖς μὲν παθοῦσ-
ιν μαθεῖν ἐπιρρέπει [6]

and it is through a real πάθει μάθος that a genuine alchemical transformation begins. Part of which πάθει μάθος is, of course, the Rite of Internal Adept, wherein the faculty of Dark-Empathy can be discovered and cultivated.

Thus does the Dark Goddess, Baphomet – Mistress of Blood and Mother of Culling – come to be both invoked and evoked and so presenced on Earth, since:

“It is of fundamental importance – to evolution both individual and otherwise – that what is Dark, Sinister or Satanic is made real in a practical way, over and over again. That is, that what is dangerous, awesome, numinous, tragic, deadly, terrible, terrifying and beyond the power of ordinary mortals, laws or governments to control is made manifest. In effect, non-Initiates (and even Initiates) need constantly reminding that such things still exist; they need constantly to be brought “face-to-face”, and touched, with what is, or appears to be, inexplicable, uncontrollable, powerful and “evil”. They need reminding of their own mortality – of the unforeseen, inexplicable “powers of Fate”, of the powerful force of “Nature”…

This means wars, sacrifice, tragedy and disruption…for it is one of the duties of a Satanic Initiate to so presence the dark, and prepare the way for, or initiate, the change and evolution which always result from such things…..” To Presence The Dark [7]

ONA - Sigil of Baphomet

AOB
Order of Nine Angles
119 Year of Fayen
(Revised 121 Year of Fayen)

Notes:

[1] The psyche of the individual is a term used, in the Sinister Way, to describe those aspects of an individual – those aspects of consciousness – which are hidden, or inaccessible to, or unknown to, the individual. Basically, such aspects can be considered to be those forces/energies which do or which can influence the individual in an emotional way or in a way which the individual has no direct control over or understanding of. One part of this psyche is what has been called “the unconscious”, and some of the forces/energies of this “unconscious” have been, and can be, described by the term “archetypes”.

[2] qv. The Grimoire of Baphomet.

[3] As has been explained many times, these traditions are simply aural traditions, and may or may not contain certain historical facts, it being for each individual to make their own judgement concerning them,

[4] A real-life account of one such similar encounter was briefly recalled in The Girl Goddess, published in the now defunct zine, Exeat. An expurgated version was later published in vol 3, #2 of Fenrir.

[5] Where it is written:

You who are the daughter of and a Gate
To our Dark Gods…

Kiss me and I shall make you
As an eagle to its prey.
Touch me and I shall make you
As a strong sword that severs
And stains my Earth with blood.
Taste me and I shall make you
As a seed of corn which grows
Toward the sun, and never dies.
Plough me and plant me
With your seed and I shall make you
As a Gate that opens to our gods!

[6] ” The goddess, Judgement, favours someone learning from adversity.”  Aeschylus: Agamemnon, 250

[7] For an explication of Satanism in an Aeonic context, refer to ONA texts such as Frequently Asked Questions About The Order of Nine Angles and A Glossary of Order of Nine Angles Terms, where it is stated:

According to the ONA, Satanism is a specific Left Hand Path, one aim of which is to transform, to evolve, the individual by the use of esoteric Arts, including Dark Sorcery. Another aim is, through using the Sinister Dialectic, to transform the world, and the causal itself, by – for example – returning, presencing, in the causal, not only the entity known as Satan but also others of The Dark Gods.

In essence, and thus esoterically, Satanism – as understood and practised by the ONA (presenced by means of Traditional Nexions) – is one important exoteric form appropriate to the current Aeon, and thus useful in Presencing The Dark.

Is the ONA a Satanist organization?

Yes, and also no. Yes, because Satanism – or perhaps more correctly, traditional Satanism – is one of our causal forms; part of our heritage; an important exoteric means to Presence The Dark. But our understanding of Satanism is not that of the mundanes, and in the mudanes we include most if not all of those who now consider themselves “Satanists” and who thus follow the mundane so-called “satanism” of the likes of LaVey and Aquino. Traditional Satanism is outlined in such MSS of ours as The Ontology and Theology of Traditional Satanism.

The ONA is not just “satanic” because even traditional Satanism (a term we first used, some decades ago, and now appropriated by others) is only one particular causal form linked to one particular Aeon (the current one). That is, it is only one means, one way, of currently presencing The Dark Forces; of provoking change and aiding our evolution, individual and social. That is, Satanism is but an exoteric (or public) form of the current Aeon – an outer shell which just encloses, or which can enclose/contain, some particular sinister, acausal, energies in a certain span of causal Time. Of course, most who today profess to be “satanists” will have no idea what we are talking about here, which is one reason why they are still mundanes.

Thus, we tend now – in this the Third Phase of our sinister, centuries-long, Aeonic strategy – to use the term sinister instead, to describe ourselves, and the ONA itself. Hence, we now describe the New Aeon that we seek to bring-into-being, by our practical subversion and our dark sorcery, as a sinister Aeon, rather than a Satanic Aeon, since the next Aeon will take us beyond our currently limited causal forms (beyond exoteric Satanism), and beyond the abstractions of the mundanes, who so like to pretend they understand some-thing by giving it some label or describing it by some term, some -ism or some -ology.

For the reality is that “we” cannot be defined in the simple, causal, way the mundanes want, and need.


 

Symbol of Baphomet - The Dark Goddess

AoB

Balocraft of Baphomet

Gruyllan’s Tale

Although he did not know it then, the prepossessing half-timbered large Edwardian house that he passed – a quarter of the way up Trevor Hill – would be his final destination. But, sweating profusely in the hot mid-June Sun, Gruyllan gave it only a cursory glance, and continued along his way, cursing the lateness of his train and oblivious to the exclusive properties that lined both sides of that steep upward lane which gave splendid views, to the West, of the Stretton valley, of Caer Caradoc, Hazler Hill, and of The Lawley, beyond.

He had been given only an ordnance Survey map reference, and a time, and his assumed lateness and the memory of the beautiful young voluptuous woman combined to make him walk faster until he was almost running.

She had leant toward him, so that he could see down past her cleavage to where her large erected nipples strained against the thin fabric of her low cut evening dress.

“Meet me here,” she had said, and pushed a handwritten piece of paper toward him, making sure her fingers touched his as they sat in the Tempus bar of The Station Hotel in now faraway York.

Even now he seemed still able to smell her scent, and, as he reached almost to the top of that lane he could see his destination ahead: the summit of Haddon Hill beyond the scattered grassy often wind-swept links that formed the highest Golf Course in England.

So he struggled on in the heat of that late afternoon; a young man dressed incongruously in black, seeking Satanic initiation. And when – clammy from sweat, breathless, and pleased – he reached his destination among the sheep-cropped grass and heather of those Shropshire hills, there was no one to greet, to meet, him. Only the breeze, that – warm – did little to cool him, and the westward vista of South Shropshire valley and hills. No beautiful woman, naked, to open her legs enticing as she lay with him to seal his oath by bodily fluids, exchanged. No words of Initiation to echo, Satanically, in his head.

You the nameless are here to give yourself to us:
To seal with blood your oath
To we your new family in this
Our Nexion to Bride-Mother
Baphomet…

Instead, only the wordful, wyrdful, wind. Sun, thirst, heat; the exhausted tiredness of disappointment where, under the blue sky, he sat down alone on that hill. Had it all been a dream, or some jape? Hope bade him stay – for half an hour, then more, until – nearly two hours later as the Sun descended, clouds came – he stood to walk, wearily, away. There would be no lips, rouged, to touch, kiss. No tongue to taste and toy with. No breasts to touch, feel; no nipples to lick, suck and chew upon. No moist, warm, furrow to plough; no painted finely manicured nails to clasp his shoulders as seed was sown. No scent to suffuse his senses as bodies meshed with sweat suffusing them.

It was painful, leaving, while her image, her scent, her promise, lingered in memory within his head. But he left, nevertheless, and it did not seem to matter to him that he had memorized their – her book, The Grimoire of Baphomet – given, the day before, in that Bar when first he saw her, enticingly waiting.

There had been e-mails, of course, exchanged – for weeks, beforehand. Questions asked, and answered. No real names given, required, presumed. And then that meeting, arranged. He had spent the days, before, trying not to hope too much, and failing. Hope of a sexual initiation, with a young woman, of course. Hopes of joining a secret elite. Hopes of lust, joy, danger; a new and darker way of life.

There were stories; almost urban legends. Many warnings from Undergraduate friends who shared his Occultic interests, though not his inclination toward Baleful Arts. “The ONA?” they would say, mixing incredulity with censure. “They don’t exist”, one said. “Avoid them; they’re hard-core; dangerous; criminal; immoral; they practise human sacrifice,” said another. “They’re a cult; they have these hard, brutal, tests – if you fail them, you become an opfer for their Black Mass,” opined another. “They’re evil; I mean – really evil; subversive…” said the fourth, and last.

Painful, leaving – but by the time he had arrived back at the small unstaffed Railway Station, to sit on a half-vandalised wooden bench, he was happy, again. Exhausted, hungry, thirsty, but happy. For it was all a test, he knew – or, rather, he assumed it was a test. The first, perhaps, of many. So he would re-apply; and wait, for it was a test, just a test, he kept repeating to himself, and he was still thinking this – idly smiling and idly feeling, knowing now, how stupid, how studently stupid he was to wear black clothes – when the Shrewsbury bound train arrived to disgorge a few motley mundanes.

He rose to move toward a still open train-carriage door. But an elderly women, tweedily-dressed and carrying an umbrella, smiled at him and blocked his way. He tried to deftly swerve around her, as a young athletic man could, but she was too quick, for with a flick of her umbrella she tripped him up.

“How clumsy of me,” and she looked down at him, sprawled on the platform. “Do please forgive me.”

“No, no – it’s perfectly all-right,” he replied, somewhat clumsily rising to his feet where she still stood blocking his way to the train.

“I imagine, ” she said, in her smiling grannyesque way, “you are in a hurry to board the train.” But she made no move to move aside. Instead, she said, “Such a lovely town, this. Do you not agree?”

“What?” And he was about to smile, politely, and turn toward the carriage when he sensed the strangeness of the scene, as if it was some dream of the previous night, half-remembered and still a little haunting. And so he let his train depart.

“There is a quite lovely tea-shop, just around the corner,” she was saying, and so he walked beside her, silent, up the slight incline toward the tree-lined road, until she said: “How very perceptive of you.”

“Have I passed, then?”

“You are quite thirsty, so let us have some tea – and cake – and then talk, a little more.”

The tea-room – atop a cluttered, dusty, antique market – was small, quite stuffy, and quite full, and he sat still and waiting despite his rather nervous anticipation, and he had consumed two pots of tea before she spoke again.

“I imagine I am not what you imagined,” she said. Then, before he could reply: “But yes, you are correct.”

“You’re an empath. So, you would have passed me by had I decided not to re-apply.”

“More tea?” she smiled.

“No thanks.”

“There is another test…”

“Of course.”

“But first – go here, now, where we await you.” And she pushed a handwritten piece of paper toward him, making sure her fingers touched his as they sat in that stuffy tea-room in sunny South Shropshire.

He left then, enwrapped in her – their – scent, to walk through that small town oblivious to everything until he came again to Trevor Hill, snaking upwards as its lane did from, and to the right of, that narrow road that led to Cardingmill Valley.

The house, on the second corner of and set back from the hilly lane, seemed almost to grow out from the ground, its black-painted timbers mirrored in the wooden verandah that surrounded its south side and overlooked the terraced garden with its large century-old tree of Oak. Several stone steps led to the large front door and he was about to tug on the cord to ring the antique brass bell when the door opened.

His memory was there, before him – the beautiful young woman whose crimson lipstick, fulsomely applied, matched the colour of her dress, and she, wordless, led him into the cool if dim interior, along a tiled floor, and up an oak staircase to a spacious high-ceilinged curtainless room of parquet floor whose only furnishings were a chaise-longue and a marble mantel above the Coalbrookedale fireplace, and which held a large clear quartz crystal tetrahedron.

The door closed slowly, silently, behind them and it did not take her long to remove her dress. She was naked beneath it.

“Veni omnipotens aeterne diabolus!” she lisped, to supinely wreathe herself around, upon, the chaise-longue, and he, eagerly stripping away his earthly coverings, obliged to lay upon her and enter her warm moistness as her crimson painted nails sank into the flesh of his shoulders to draw forth fresh blood.

Her sibilation was almost silent but it beat upon the tympanon of his ears –

You the nameless are here to give yourself to us:
To seal with blood your oath
To we your new family in this
Our Nexion to our Bride-Mother
Baphomet

He was soon spent, drained, unused to such female – almost feline – ferocity, and she turned him over to lay upon him to lick his shoulder wounds.

So she whispered to him his appointed task, his test, and waited while he – enwreathed in his sweat and hers – dressed himself before taking him down to the cellar. The tools, the instruments of death and slaughter, were there, in plenty, and he watched while she placed her chosen items, and bundles of money, into some nondescript suitcase. Then – a silver chain with sigil pendant of Baphomet placed around his neck; a kiss, tongue seeking his; her still naked body pressed to his. A promise that he could – should – sow his seed within her again, again, again. And then he was out, dazed, back out into the bright day of light to walk with heavy suitcase down the hill.

There was no train at the Station; no elderly women to block his way when train arrived. Only the journey, the long journey of no doubts.

^^^

She was never there when each evening he returned to that cocktail Bar, hoping. Never there, red lips touching Champagne flute; never there to take him to her suite where he would lay upon her.

The money certainly helped – to ease his pain of separation and his preparations, and he worked assiduously, planning, enticing, ensnaring, while maintaining the appearance of a student life. The mundane he selected was eager, willing, as well he might be, given Gruyllan’s weeks of preparation even before that wyrdful meeting, with her.

So Peter The Mundane sat with him in that vulgar bar of Vanbrugh College, anonymous in their student anonymity, while darkness came to the world outside. Thus Gruyllan The Cunning continued to weave his web of lies, and the younger student listened, weakened as he was from netorrhoea spread by specious sites, from abstractions believed, and the money Gruyllan had lavished upon him.

“In every war there are casualties; collateral damage. Anyway, they’ll be plenty of time for the area to be cleared. Just remember, those there in that place on that day are flunkies of the repressive, immoral, State. Waiting is defeat, and the State isn’t simply going to collapse; it’s got to be pushed; the capitalists are vulnerable, and one of their weaknesses is the confidence that the money markets require. Dent that – get them into a state of fear – and you’ve got them ready to topple. Keep them wondering where and when we’re going to strike next…”

So Gruyllan talked, and Peter The Mundane listened. Talked of the struggle; of Bonanno; of the need to inspire others; and when they parted, hours later, each to their own student rooms, Gruyllan knew Peter was primed.

A few days, and they were in a rainy London, with the mundane carrying a large, heavy, rucksack. It was a symbolic target, near the Bank of England, and they shook hands before Gruyllan left, ostensibly to telephone a warning. But the timer, unknown to that mundane, was set for only a few seconds delay so that he had walked only a few paces away before the bomb exploded.

There was bloody carnage. Bodies, buildings, damaged, And around, among, the dead, the dying, waiting demonic shapes gathered, unseen by any mortal mundane eye – shapes feeding on, upon, the pain, the suffering, the deaths; transforming the life-force – leaking, leaving – into new life, Their life, as one more portal opened, allowing other shapes to eagerly egress forth. Agios o Baphomet, Your Balocraft be done, Gruyllan intoned from his well-kept distance, and smiled, knowing a reward awaited.

He was correct about the reward. She was there – when he, hours later, safely arrived – to take him to her spacious high-ceilinged curtainless room of the parquet floor. And when his passion spasmed in its ending, her almost silent sibilation beat upon the tympanon of his ears –

Our being takes form in defiance
Of mundanes.
In you, of you – we are.
Before you – we were.
After you – we and you shall be, again.
Before us – They who humans cannot name.
After us – They who will be, yet again.

There was a feast of welcome, in the Sitting Room below; family to meet, greet. And – most of all – deeds past and future waiting to be toasted, planned, and told. For Vindex will, must, have her baleful day.

Anton Long
121 Year of Fayen


Symbol of Baphomet - The Dark Goddess

AoB

Silently, unseen, They come ashore in various places, there from Their restful lair beneath such offshore sea as hides Them. Come ashore, to especially seek out the young, the vulnerable, whom they entice to suicide, to murder, and to death, and whom they sometimes steal, alive, and breathing, for it is the acausal energy, the very animator of mortal human life, that They, these shapeshifters, need, acquire, at the very moment of human dying when such humans give up such mortal limited causal lives as makes and marks them as but temporary mundane vessels for that acausal energy that is the essence of Their very Cosmos.

Thus did some few of Them for well over a year set forth across the Bristol Channel to come ashore near Ogmore-by-Sea and thus did They entice with Their wiles, Their chants, Their sexual shapeshifting enchantments many young people, male and female, with visions of the real eternal life in the acausal world to come where all would be pleasure and joy and freedom from illness, death, and sadness. Thus did those humans, young and mostly inexperienced and sad with the problems of their lives and of the world, willingly and often almost with gladness give up their own mortal living. And thus were these acausal shapeshifters – that strange and alien race of living-acausal-beings – there at the moment of such human mortal death, stealing, snatching, containing, or imbibing, draining, the acausal life-energy that left those young and human ones in that the last moment of such mortal human causal life as made, and as marked them as, human.

For They – these visiting acausal-beings of unformed chaotic darkness – lurked not in the shadows of our world but in those hidden angles, that nexion, between where our three causal spatial dimensions met and meets our one linear dimension of a so slow and so dreary causal Time. Thus can and thus did They in one instantaneous moment of causal Time reach forth to snatch their prey, unseen, unheard, unsmelt and unfelt, by humans: by all but those few of we, the vessels, who possess that special, peculiar, that magickal, empathy: that esoteric-life which takes our mortal, human, being out away from a safe, tame, mundane and human existence; out away from the conventions of the causal into the very living-being of that limitless eternal acausal Cosmos, unseen, untouched, unvisited, unknown, except to they those few who willed or unwilled – in dreams or through a Dark and Sinister Magick – ventured forth or explored there and who never returned quite the same; if they, those venturesome vessels, ventured to return, at all.

Silent, unseen, Their own Earth-bound place of unwilling dreary rest was beneath the sea near the shore of that westward English town whose long curving sandy beaches – on sunny and not so sunny days – would often be alive and festered with living happy humans. And it was there to their lair where They these shapeshifters returned replete with victims dragged living, dead, or dying.

Thus it was by that shore where she, the strongest most determined of Her kind, was waiting – DeepSpace-dark and almost transparent – as the clear night sky shed light from a waning moon in May. Waiting, there, as the incoming tide covered those mud flats beyond that curving sandy beach and where the sea, flowing, fractured such moonlight as seeped down seaward down and briefly to make flashes, pulses, of almost incandescent iridescent beauty on and just below that English tidal shore.

She: waiting, for her much needed food. Waiting, for some human unsuspecting – the younger the better for thus full, replete, with such acausal energies as gave to them those humans such causal life as ambled them along their causal-spaces. She; waiting – for someone unsuspecting to walk alone along that moonlit shore when she would and so swiftly pounce to drag her prey away; back, down, under that sandy-muddied water to where Their lair existed, waited, and where she would feed until satisfied replenished renewed replete, and sated; able thus to change, to live, to shapeshift again in those causal Spaces that had somehow trapped her, and her travelling curious if predatory shapeshifting kind.

And there would be no evidence for meddling, curious, human vessels to find. For the body, the life, of the prey would be gone, leaving no trace, as the sea would leave no trace with its flowing soundful tidal tideful ebbing. No trace, of what few marks she and her kind might have made as one more of those the half-struggling because caught was dragged down to drown where the shallow inshore sea met the deeper sea of that unseen because shapeshifted lair.

No, no evidence; no dismembered corpse to float – bloated and bitten – back at high tide. No bones, brains or flesh. Nothing ever to be returned, leaving perhaps perchance only one more disappearance, unnoticed, or perhaps always unexplained. No, there would be no evidence for those human vessels to find: for she and They would devour or use them all: every ounce of human brain, muscle, organ, flesh; every drop of plasma, fluid, blood; every inch of marrow, sinew, bone. Needed, required, as They needed the very acausal life-force that seeped out from such vessels as and while they, those humans, cried, spluttered, gurgled, and died: food, energy, to maintain such forms as formed Them, there as They schemed, plotted, lived – and dreamed as They dreamed – of how to find a way back to the home that was Their home: there, where the acausal dimensions kept them replete with Life and ageless amid that Time that was Their time.

1.

The nearby town, the sandy shore, the coast, even the sea, was not, of course, Their choice. But it would do – for now, as it had done, for nearly a decade after They, these travellers, had somehow in some way become sealed, trapped. Thus had they lived, but only less than half-alive, there on that water margin that somehow marked one meeting of such so different worlds; there, beneath the water where the lowest of low tides gave way Westwards to deeper sea as the mud-flats at its edge gave way, East, to that curving sandy beach, play-thing for many of that modern causal species, Homo Hubris.

Once, perhaps two hundred years or more ago, the town itself might have had much to commend it: a small fishing village of mostly small cottages built from locally quarried stone, rising above one rocky and one sandy cove. And even when the railways brought prosperity and building – with houses spreading steadily down and beachward from the rocky northern sea-front beneath that Iron Age fortified hill – there was a Victorian attractiveness, of sorts, two Piers, and a visiting still discerning almost always impeccably dressed clientèle.

But now: now as the tide of causal Time had marked and passed a new century, the town, easily accessible by hubrismobile from both motorway and road, had grown eastward and southwards to attract an entirely different cast of human vessels. Commuters, to work in the nearby larger towns and that city to the North; and young, mostly playful, things who could be found in the early evening or the night, often in large gaggling groups, thronging to and from the many Bars, Clubs, foodful places, and those dealers in drugs, which had grown, arrived, to serve then need them. And come the light of morning, some such young playful thing might be found beach-or-bench-a-sleeping – while jabbering querrelesome Gulls jabbered and jibbered – there where the mile-long promenade rose above that sandy shore. Humans, vessels, lost but found: surrounded, perhaps, as such young mortal causal beings often were, by discarded bottles, hypodermic needles, or squashed empty cans of beer. No wonder, then, that fights, and stabbings, became such a regular occurrence, so that as Dusk descended or another wearisome working day ended, regular Police patrols, a pair on foot, or cased within cars, egressed forth: pride in a stabproof vest; egressed, much as throbbing music seeping unslyly out from buildings when freshly falling night came to only half-cloak them, those vessels, for Homo Hubris, clubbing, favoured bright street-light.

But it was not only warmful night of Spring, Summer or Autumnal seasons that brought and caught them. For even the typical bleak dreary windy rainy Winter did not deter as it settled down there upon that modern haven made for Homo Hubris.

Synchronicity, or not, it was one such bleak dreary English Winter day that brought Elena and her two friendful-lovers to the town. For there had been a dream, one night, to both startle and awake her while her two lovers slept. A dream of such a mysterious, such a sensual, such a voluptuous woman as made her – there on that sandy moon-hewn beach – strain to reach out to touch and kiss her. Then she was running, after her, down toward where the flowing sea fractured such moonlight as seeped down briefly to each wave to make flashes, pulses, of almost incandescent iridescent beauty on and just below where that night of the highest of high tides only a small strip of sand was left exposed. Then she was in the water, kissing this not-quite-human woman of such beautiful beauty. Kissing, kissing, touching, fondling, entered and being entered, naked body to not-quite-human-body, fingers lips hand to moist cleft: until her lungs, her whole body, her very being, became filled with life – a stellar supra-personal un-dimensional life – and they two became, were becoming, one, there, where she became so briefly joyfully transported to that new beauteous formless living that awaits. But it was then and there as joy overcame her that the strange not-quite-human but warmful soft woman left, came out, from within around her, and a deeping sadness arrived to enter her – an uneerie, wordless, crying shrieking sadness that in its inner silence seeped in then out from her own new now strangely watery flowing fracturing body to become a part of her own weightful human feelings. A sadness so bleak – desperate – that she cried, and cried, and could not cease her crying until suddenly she awoke to lie rigid, unmoving, lest the love, the sensation, the beauty, the life, of that woman left her. And it was there as the sweat of the dream dried in the cooling breeze from her bedroom window that she sensed, knew, felt, touched and tasted the wordless straining silent longing of her new if strangeful lover: that longing to return to that wyrdful haunting acausal beauty that was her – now their – home: light-less, timeless, space-less, endless, and totally bereft of any and all denseful causal form.

Thus, and slowly, very slowly, she gently awoke the two that, with her, formed the empath that they were, so that they – her male and her female lover – would, without a need for words, see, smell, touch, feel and be what she had seen, smelt, touched, felt and been in those so fleeting moments of her just past dreaming and joyful joining. And afterwards, as they lay supine, entwined, and almost exhausted, each one of those three knew exactly what it was that they must do.

[Note: The next part of this story will appear here soon, AoB]

Anton Long
120 Year of Fayen