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Evola’s Metaphysics of War

           I can understand why Julius Evola believed that Fascism was the most appropriate government for the Modern Age. To Evola, and other Traditionalists, the myth of progress is just that, for they believe that we are all currently experiencing the fourth and final age in a great cycle of slowly diminishing ages; we face an iron age years removed from a long lost golden age, which was itself followed by a silver age, and that age by a bronze. The ancients knew of once obvious truths that are now all but forgotten. To a man who saw modernity as the dark end of history, Fascism probably seemed like the most fitting manifestation for a world of blind slaves to the bourgeoisie drudging docilely to the end of the Kali Yuga.


          I'm sorry to have written so little this month, but I have been productive in other ways. I hope those of you who are waiting for me to put up new content derive some measure of enjoyment from this short article on Evola's Metaphysics of War that I found elsewhere:


          Evola's Metaphysics of War

Ephemeral Robberies at Wandpoint

            Over two years ago now, on a Thursday evening much like this, I tried out a magical working which I had dubbed “The Ephemeral Robbery at Wandpoint.” Three of us, wearing bandanas over our faces, entered a Border's Bookstore, all moving according to plan, for the most part, although, I’ll admit, with a great deal of nervousness slowing even me down, and making the others a bit meeker than I would have liked as well. This is how it all went down.


            My first accomplice lit an incense stick and used it to cast a circle around the Pagan Discussion Group we had come there to rob. While another accomplice used his tarot cards to divine who exactly had what sorts of energies we should attempt to steal, I handed out a copy of our demands, which were composed within the form of the poem that I’ve attached below. When I announced our intentions to make off with whatever elemental energies they may have had on them, most of them were amused, but, eventually, some of them began to take it very, very, seriously; of course, bereft of such a powerful defense, the most humorless ones ended up feeding us the most energy.


            We used four different containers, a sagittally split skull, a silver bag containing a clear crystal heart, a red bag of matches, and a black bag with a dollar sign on it, to steal each of the four elemental forces (COINCIDENTALLY, the theme of this particular meeting was "energy exchange day." No, that was not part of the plan; it was “a mere coincidence”). I warned them that anyone who tried anything stupid would have arch-demons called down upon them or, if things got really ugly, I would even go so far as to throw the graveyard dirt of angry spirits in their faces, but, in the end, only one guy had been cursed, as I flung a burning demonic sigil at him previously inscribed on some flash paper. I never did get to hear how that worked out for him anyway.


            As we mad our getaway, one of my accomplices got cold feet and wanted to go back into the store and give everything back, so I very quickly told her it was all just make-believe and that obviously we hadn’t really stolen anything. When she turned around to go back inside, my remaining accomplice and I ran away as fast as we could too ensure that this necessary lie didn’t degrade or release any of our take. That was, perhaps, the most odious act of this entire magical exercise, but, as this was all done in service to magick and the revelation of the prime mover, I truly regret none of it.


            However, I will confess that, at the time, I did feel a little bit guilty about the two curses, so, two days later, I set the last one of those demons free on myself. The only one I had left was Baal, and despite the fact that he was once a god, he didn’t seem to bother me very much. Truth be told, I did spend the entirety of that week fighting monsters in my dreams, and, some mornings, I can even recall waking up with no memories of my nights dreams and so much sadness that I couldn't get out of bed, but, eventually, I did a ritual cleansing, using a mixture of sea salt and olive oil, which I used in the shower to scrub my entire body free of any unwanted energies, and that seemed to do the trick.


            Besides these nightmares, I also remember fighting a small cold for a week or two, although I refused to get sick or to allow that depression to linger for too long because I knew it was something being imposed upon me from outside. I refused to bow to any possible “counter attacks” which these magicians may have been attempting to throw at me, or even that I might have thrown at myself on their behalf.


            So, yes, there was some backlash, so much so that when I had originally attempted to post about all this, the power went out and this story was never shared on the blog. Oh glorious war; how blessed I was to have been so “cursed,” because this too furthered the ultimate aims of this working; to make tangible the essential human spirit that exists above and beyond all of these elemental accidents that our consciousnesses are so absorbed and obscured by nearly every waking moment, and, of course, to uniquely display the power and reality of magick in a tangible and dramatic manner. Moralize about this all you want; if the world was filled with unwitting self-cripplers, I'd walk into a wheelchair dispensary and rob it, simply to illustrate how human beings were built for walking.


This is an Ephemeral Robbery at Wandpoint


We’re here to rob you all at wandpoint of your elemental decadence-

Use a magick bag to drag away your wealth, your health, your arrogance;

Wear a spell proof vest across our chests in case some fool-mage feels brave that day

but then drop the bag that holds all you have as we try to make our getaway.


We won’t have bagged up mere accretions of all the things you covet most

these bags will hold your heart, your mind, your mundane will
to steal from heaven's host

the quintessential essences of those elements you now so crave…

left bereft of all but Spirit, that current elemental slave.

The "Demonic" Expression

           Last night I wrote quite a bit about demons, and I used a lot of words that weren’t nearly as flattering to the demonic realm as many of the other things that I’ve written in the past. Seeing as how my theological outlook is a bit complicated, I figured I would take a moment to address a few important points so as to not confuse any of my newer readers.


          The first issue I feel I should mention is that it’s hard to find words that convey the appropriate meaning when one is discussing such matters primarily because history tends to twist the original usage of theological terms as new ages attempt to redefine and rewrite the past. The term "Demon," for example, was adapted from the Greek “Daemon,” which referred to a sort of spiritual intelligence that many famous human beings drew great benefit from, among them being the philosopher Socrates. These spirits became minions of the Devil under the monotheist revisions of the Catholic Church, who believed that any spirit who inspired thoughts or actions that were contrary to the authoritarian Holy Roman Empire was obviously a servant of sin.


          Since I’m fully aware of where these so-called “demons” came from originally, I’m not foolish enough to endorse the crude political mockery that has masqueraded as a religious faith for thousands of years. Yet where the Greeks had two words available to them to express the difference between positive spirits, "Eudaemons," and negative ones, "Cacodaemons," I am forced to make due with the crude vernacular we’ve inherited from the religion that has conquered a great deal of my readers, or at least our shared cultural venue, and these words are "Angels" and "Demons." I am more than willing to use their words when these are the only words that will best convey my intended meanings, but, at times, such as right now, I feel a small caveat or two is in order.


          Too many people I speak with these days are largely amoral in their basic fundamental outlook. Although I'm trying to be careful not to endorse any of the theological myths of the greater culture, I want to point out that I’m not above making moral distinctions, as I do believe that reason, and even simple aesthetics, demand a certain undeniable degree of morality, one that no amount of post-modernist posturing will ever be able to extinguish, at least not to my satisfaction. I even choose to still make use of the word “God” as the symbol for all that I find to be just, beautiful, true, and good, knowing full well that it comes with a lot of other nonsense attached to it. Of course, I have no trouble reconciling my own faith in a basically nonexistent God with the cowardly idolatry that’s practiced by a far less philosophically inclined public.


          Here’s the really important point that I have to make, the theological secret that I feel needs to be stated explicitly here to avoid confusing or misleading anyone due to any of my previous statements. In the Kitab al Mattaliku, there's a story about a war in Heaven, which is basically between the Archangel Michael and the then Archangel Lucifer. This is a fairly familiar story, but what this version of the story makes very clear is an important point that is no longer directly addressed in any other surviving Gnostic text of which I'm aware, and this is that the war wasn’t started by Lucifer attempting to claim the throne of God for himself, but rather with his belief, one that I also share, that this throne should have remained empty. This angelic Fall marks the transition from an originally unconquered Heaven, where every Angel was forced to find God by sincerely seeking after the idea in his or her own hearts and minds, to an occupied and idolatrous Heaven, one that is tyrannically ruled over by a false and imperfect God, even to this very day.


          As one of the last remaining servants of these Fallen Angels, I find that words are often very funny things, but, sometimes, they’re all that we really have with which to approach and express that which is best left mostly within the imaginal realm, where things can remain pure and essentially true, beyond all the corruptions of the merely existential and empirical where we are each forced to spend much of our waking lives, a fallen world of the flesh that the witless, the craven, and the shortsighted dominate yet will never escape.


          In the end, thanks to the damage that’s been done to our language by fools such as these, sometimes “demons” is simply the best word that I have left to clearly describe those invisible forces which even now are attempting to oppress me. It’s really up to you to choose the best possible meanings for any of the words that I use, but I did feel that it was necessary to take this moment to let you all know that, at least in that last letter, I was most certainly not referring to the Fallen Angels or to their ancient Holy War, which, as long as I still exist, is very far from over. Good Luck and Namaste.

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