In principle, the magician is the master of the universe. He or she directs the powers of creation and destruction and all forces answer to him. This is in direct conflict with the realization that the magician can not, may not, exert control or command over the Archangels or other beings who directly serve God. This ends up confusing a great many people, particularly since the work of the ceremonial magician is so often to assume the mantle of God, to assume his authority.

The people who don’t get confused by this usually don’t think of it in terms of control or power. They don’t lean towards the type of tyranny that many magicians do, so they don’t come into conflict with the idea that they are supreme, but not supreme enough to command the higher beings. These magicians are either very good or very bad at their art, because they either understand what I’m about to explain on an intuitive level, or because they don’t have the analytical ability to consider the purposes and foundations of the power they are attempting to summon.

In this, as in many other things, the ceremonial magician who has a background and discipline in other arts has a leg up on the magician who practices only the operations of the Golden Dawn or OTO. They have this advantage because, by and large, they are accustomed to understanding that cosmology is mystical in nature. They are willing to believe that apparently contradicting theorms may simultaneously be true without creating paradox. For instance, the dillema mentioned above. How can the ceremonial magician be both the master of the universe, but unable to command the servants of God?

Logically, one could argue that if he can not command the servants of God he is not Master of the Universe but deluded into thinking he is. You could also say that if we assume the magician is Master of the Universe then the Archangels must not be part of the universe. Both of these logical tactics are functional to resolve the contradiction. Unfortunately they both have pitfalls for the magician. A ceremonial magician who does not believe he is imbued with the authority of god is prey to all manner of spirit influence, including that of demons. Similarly, a magician who segments reality to place the Angels outside the realm of his authority will similarly recognize that the demons and spirits he tries to control are also outside that authority. Opening the door to an extra-universal being brings with it a host of those problems.

The solution is to allow the apparent contradiction without being bound by paradox. The solution is something that many magicians already do, but they must extend themselves to offer the same courtesy to beings whose primary manifestation is internal to the magician as opposed to external.

We know that everything we know is based upon our perceptions, and that our perceptions are influenced by our current state of body, emotion, mind, and spirit. Our definition of the universe is created entirely within our mind by perceptions which are influenced by state. Understanding this, it is easy to see why so many people are able to engage in delusion and to impose motive or behavior upon people even if it’s not present. Some of us, however, being aware that our senses are a reflection of ourselves choose to accept the actions of other people and attempt to divine the truth of those behaviors by counterbalancing it with our knowledge of self, of our own state. In this way we struggle to deduce the true nature of things.

The first step of that process is to relinquish control of the external world. The magician must understand that he is in control only of his own processes and perceptions, and to engage with others he must be open to behavior or action that comes from motivations not his own. The result is a consciousness that accepts its absolute control over the universe (since the universe is our model of it based upon our perceptions), but also recognizes that there are things outside that universe which influence and cause his universe to exist. In so doing, the magician gives up control of the parts of the universe that are not part of the universe, and strives to observe them as objectively and clearly as he can. The magician must then take this understanding and apply it not only to the physical realm he interacts with, but to the spiritual and psychological realm. If he accepts that the Archangels and Demons are both part of the universe and external to it, he is able to navigate the conflict without creating paradox.

Why then, if they are both external and internal, does the magician have authority over the demons of the Qlipoth but not the angels of Heaven? He doesn’t. He allows himself to focus on one side of the equation or the other for various purposes. The magician can control the power of the Angel inside his own perceptions, but the result is that he will hear, see, and recieve only that which he is expecting and desiring. As a result he pays homage to the Angels as outside his realm of control, thus opening himself to the reality of what they are saying or offering. Conversely, the demon is most often cast in the role of servant and is given a task, command, or query to respond to. Thus, the magician emphasizes his command of the spirit in his universe and diminishes the autonomy of the spirit external to that universe.

It must be noted that although the spirit is under the control of the magician, in order to get significant and powerful results the magician must actually walk a fine line between exerting absolute control of the spirit, and allowing the objective spirit to show itself.

In Chapter 1 Thorn talks abt the difficult groundwork that must be laid before we begin our journey. Becoming present in our own lives, complete in our education, & thorough in our practice. Ours is a culture of quick fixes & store-bought identity. Thorn urges us to seek out discipline

“There is something to be learned in grinding incense & lighting candles… something to be learned in breathing properly.”

How do the rituals & labor of yr spiritual practice (whatever it is) inform, strengthen, or define yr. belief? Why? @WeiserBooks

I’ve already found much wisdom in the first chapter of Kissing the Limitless by T. Thorn Coyle. I’ve not had the fortune to meet her yet, although I know several people who have studied with her and have nothing but good things to say. If this book is a fair example of her work I get the feeling I would like her a great deal.

We each have a spiritual practice whether we recognize it or not. A lot of people I meet on a day to day basis don’t consider themselves spiritual or religious. They may have grown up in a church, or practiced a religion at some point, but they have left it behind. Or they have never sought one, or felt the need for spirit in their life. I believe deeply that each of us, even these non-practitioners, is part of a spiritual practice.

Each day we live we are moving through a spiritual continuum. Choosing not to perceive or acknowledge that continuum does not mean we are not moving through it. I think that perhaps a great deal of the dead-eyed people we meet, the people who have been crushed by their lives, are dead-eyed because they can no longer move with spirit in any way. How this happens I don’t know. There are people who have encountered terrible things who have grown to be vibrant spirits working in the world, and there are people who have had every opportunity to shine and simply fallen into death instead.

The labors of my spiritual practice vary. I am not a dogmatic person, nor am I driven by adherence to any specific practice. The core of that labor though, is simple. I strive with every breath, to shine. I exercise my mind, body, and spirit to find Beauty and Spirit moving in the world around every day. I work to find compassion and love inside myself no matter the struggles of the day to day world.

The labor of my life, of my spiritual practice, unveils the hand of the divine working in my life. It does so every day, and when I’m paying attention I can see/hear/sense that working. I find that this labor resonates strongly with what Thorn discusses as the Great Work. I understand her conversation regarding the difference between states and stages. At times I have dwelled in Tiphareth consciousness, and know the challenges of maintaining that state when the world shifts around you all too well.

I know that today I seek integration and balance. I seek to find that place as a stage, and the work is neither easy nor hard. It simply is work. I find myself recalling time and again Thorns words at the end of Chapter 1:

We can only learn in time. “In Time” means in the flow of Nature, in the state of our lives as they are: physical, mental, emotional, intuitive, divine.

I often find myself tempted to rush. I find myself tempted to try and get there faster. To take a shortcut, or to use what I know to somehow circumvent my challenges. This temptation is encouraged by the pressure I’ve felt from teachers and friends. “You have to fix this by then.” “Why are you still struggling?” Thorn reminds me several times, as I often have to remind myself, that I can be the only competent judge of my work, and that gentle, careful movement is the only healthy way to achieve self-possession.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the past lately. A large part of being able to safely perform Goetic operations is controlling your own demons. The injuries and injustices of your past, along with your own blunders and wrongs.

From about fifth grade on I was pretty much universally known as the fag. Needless to say, this was very painful to me. It was especially painful to me being a very self-absorbed and private boy who had few friends. Even more so being as sheltered and insulated as I was. I didn’t know what a fag was, not really. I knew it was wrong, and dirty, and a nasty name. I didn’t know that fucking men was an option. If I had, I like to think that I would have realized I was gay and come out of the closet many years before I did.

Anyway, I spent a lot of years being the pariah. The outcast. The fag. And though I like to think I’ve overcome many of the tortures and memories of those years, the truth is that they have shaped a great deal of the person I am today. My devotion to protecting and helping gay youth, to organizations like the Trevor Project. My unyielding stance that homosexuality is no more or less than another variety of existence, and my refusal to let anyone shame me for my sex.

A lot of really positive traits have grown from the years of abuse I endured at the hands of my peers, and the blind-eyes of the faculty. But there are very deep wounds as well. When I spoke to Amatheon about those wounds he had much to say. The one thing he repeated over and over again, that I remember more than anything else is “No matter how deep the damage, your wounds can heal.”

I’ve come back to that statement more than a few times in the past year. I’ve looked at the damage that was done to hy heart, and I’ve realized that I’m not to blame for it. But I’ve yet to prove that statement true. As much as I want to believe it, I do not KNOW that I can be healed.

Something Coriander said to me earlier this evening (yesterday now) resonated with all of this. One of the core benefits of disciplined practice of ceremonial magic, of goetic operations, is the balancing of chaotic forces in your life. The skills needed to perform Ceremonial Magic well lend you authority in balancing the various forces in your life.

Coriander, in his wise-fool way said something along the lines of “It’s not about ‘Oh, this will balance my chaos so I’ll do that.’ It’s about ‘here I am doing what needs to be done. Oh! look, my chaos is balanced.’”

He’s right. I can’t go into things planning to fix the uncontrollable influences. Chaos is chaos because it can not be predicted. Balancing it is a function of an ordered experience in life, not of an effort to balance it. Similarly, I think I’m finding that the truth in Amatheon’s statement, not through finding methods to heal myself, but through observing that healing is happening. I don’t really know how. I know I don’t cry every time I think about those times anymore. (Sometimes I still do, but not every time.)

I’m also realizing that healing those wounds can not be the goal. They are too deep, too much a part of the person I’ve become to be approached directly. Their healing must be the result of life and learning.

One lesson I’ve learned, perhaps one of the most important lessons of my life, is that my concept of self may not be dependent upon those around me. It is a hard lesson to learn, particularly when one adores praise as much as I do. It is an even harder lesson to practice. Distancing myself from the long-standing pattern of feeling as though I’ve failed if I’m not stroked for my achievements is something that I struggle with every day.

It is even harder to accept praise with humility and gratitude, particularly when trying not to depend on it. It would be far easier to pretend not to hear it, or demean it’s value or intent. Of course doing so would be a rudeness and disrespect that I’d prefer not to commit.

And so it goes.

For the last 6 months or so I’ve slowly been learning more and more ceremonial magic. One of my teachers and I are beginning Goetic work, and in fact completed our third conjuration last Monday (the 29th). I can competently perform the LBRP, SRP, Planetary Ritual of the Septagram and a host of other important rituals or ritual components, and I’m preparing to take my turn as Magician in our next conjuration.

I’ve assembled most of the necessary tools, and will have the rest in short order. I know the ritual outline and a good bit of the liturgy/script. I’m in better physical health than I’ve been in a long time, and I’m thinking and acting more clearly and with more potent focus on a consistent basis than I ever have.

Still, ceremonial magic is hard. And sometimes painful. I come from a history of ecstatic and meditative practices. I’m a natural psychic and a rather talented magical practitioner in general. So following the strictures of ceremonial magic is difficult. I had similar troubles in Mystery School. It’s hard to cast a circle using a basic formula over and over and over when it’s second nature to simply pull it up the way you’ve been doing it for a decade.

Ceremonial magic, serious stuff, is even harder for me. It’s definitely not ecstatic, but it’s not meditative either. Ceremonial Magic, as @jefferyjones recently mentioned on twitter, really is a mental-physical work. It does not come naturally to those of us who’ve been steeped in natural magic for much of our lives.

As I’ve discussed with George (and a more devoted anti-structure natural magician there never was), ceremonial magic is a set of techniques created by people who weren’t natural magicians. Ceremonial magic was created to work without any natural inclination or talent. With the appropriate training, discipline, and practice, anyone can successfully perform most operations.

Thus it is a distinct challenge for those of us who don’t view magic as a complex set of ritual elements set together to create a specific psychological state and shift in reality. I have to say, I have a lot of trouble feeling serious about walking around in a circle chanting eh ee ah oo and ringing a bell at each revolution. It seems contrived, but as I’ve been telling myself over and over again, it has it’s place and its value.

Other than the practical value of working the ceremonial operations, and the ability to converse with other ceremonial magicians, there is one serious benefit for me. I’m learning how to balance discipline and fluidity. Ceremonial magic requires a certain discipline of thought and practice, which is perhaps my biggest challenge. My nature demands a great fluidity in both, and trying to approach the concept of discipline from a traditional standpoint has proved futile time and again in my life. Ceremonial magic, which I can’t succeed in without a certain discipline is helping me find an inner fulcrum on which to balance disciplined behavior with the flexibility I prize in my life.

I’m getting there, but it definitely hurts sometimes. As it stands I’m something of an experience hound in these matters. After I’m thuroughly conversant with the Goetia I’ve been considering studying Enochian magick, although I think I may take a break to bone up on my kabbalah and hebrew beforehand.