The Blatanties and Subtleties of Demons

I’m a bit newish to the world of Demonolatry, Chaos Magick and related works – I began as an eclectic Wiccan reading Silver RavenWolf, D.J. Conway and J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter. There are a lot of things Hollywood and writers of fantasy embellish. I mean, let’s face it, shooting fire out of a wand is pretty bad-ass looking, isn’t it? Flying on a broomstick would be pretty exhilarating, wouldn’t it?

Ah, but sadly, we don’t live in a Hollywood world where flashy spells are all that common. Or I should perhaps say, where a hidden special effects team isn’t creating an exciting atmosphere.

No, we live in a subtler world than this and I think that is a lesson I have learnt in my journey. Nearly six months ago now, I entered a time-limited Pact with a trio of Daemons. I cannot detail this particular ritual to the world quite yet, but I can tell you what I learned and how I learned what I did on the third night of my Pact-making.

Three days of offerings and meditation. Several months of thinking, researching and pondering before that. And on the final night, the subtleties became blatant even to me.

I smelled roses. I heard rubies and coins clinking and glittering as if they fell like rain. I heard the sound of wind and sand. I smelled old paper and ink; that smell you’d associate with old books from a dusty little bookshop somewhere tucked in a corner of town you never go to.
I felt calm. Welcome. Acceptance. Peace.
And I slept incredibly well that night.

Nearly six months later, I have smelled those same smells, heard those sounds and found myself doing things on impulse that in my previous witching years, I never would have thought of doing. Nearly six months later, I discovered that it wasn’t just some lottery prize and the allure of luck that could get me closer to my ultimate goals. It was steps. It was opening books I’d never opened for the first time. It was doing the best I could do to look my own blind-ass self in the mirror.

And root out the buried ugliness that years of abuse can bring you…. and begin to exterminate it like the Orkin Man against an invasion of roaches.

Am I closer to my goals? Two of them, yes. One, I can say that for certain. The second, it a little more ambiguous but that’s the nature of humans: They’re ambiguous as liquid smoke. The third? Is the trickiest one; one whom I still wrestle with when it decides to unveil my fears of “Will I just be a one-hit wonder? I’m nearly 35 now. I feel the pressure. I grew up being compared to everyone else, so now, I wrestle with that too.”

But when I smell roses. When I smell dry sand and old books. When I hear falling rubies or the clink of metallic coins, I feel assured.

From Duchess Bune, I learn and re-learn frugality. I learn how to keep the collar upon my vaults.
From King Paimon, in His silent but subtle ways with me, I am learning how to take my dreams one day at a time.
From Grand Princess Astaroth, I am learning love. Love to myself. Empowerment to myself after years of being knocked down, figuratively and literally.

No, we don’t live in a Harry Potter world and we can’t fly on broomsticks. But we can make incredibly powerful magic, both for ourselves and to make the noise we need to make in this world.