There is no room upon my alter for a Christ that gave away his life for useless intentions. The scapegoat became the savior of the people of guilt. Their final cries echo the release in hopes of being forgiven within deathbed confessionals. Those born and raised, being spoonfed fear from birth follow blindly the corrupted manipulation of a Holy word. The martyrdom of the magician. The sacrifice of a rebel. The holder of gnosis. He was betrayed. He did not die for my sins, as sin is in the eye of the beholder. Do what thou wilt! Love is the law! Love is the law, love under will! My candles burn and drip with freedom, my incense burns with personal accountability. My amethyst stones reflect eternity, strength, and my awareness of self-realization. Runes of bone, reveal more than fortune, but the intent and desire of the universe. On my alter I offer truth. I prepare and manifest intentions of welcoming Shangri-la. The Black Star turns, the dark rapture spurns, false gratitude’s with secret mnumonic devices. Meditation, contemplation, isolation, alone I make my daily offerings. And here in this moment, I reflect upon a man, a myth, magician, and martyr. To die for a Holy cause dreamt up centuries later to control masses at masses, for power, land, and gold… This is the lie believers have fallen for, heaven of purity, freewill, sanctuary, and peace.
These are the materials, the secret ingredients of magicK, alchemy, the craft. My alter is a reflection, an extension of myself. Here I worship at my inner temple, my inner ark of my covenants, within my Eye of Horus. Magick is and has been eternal. Like the force of gravity undefined by science.
Blessed be.
So mote it be.
Namaste.
~93
*(matthew bowers)* ~93
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The House of Raven 🐦⬛ 