Chapters one & two are in the same blog post and can be found here.
Dear Perry –
So, it’s Easter Sunday, and what a basket of goodies for us Scilon-watchers to awake to! An HBO documentary, a Saturday Night live skit, and a David Letterman monologue – all exposing the evils of the cult (actually, I kinda think the Letterman bit lacked “oomph,” he could have taken it farther). $cientology has finally gone mainstream, but not in the way old liver-lips planned. Oh, he’s going to get his name “pounded into history,” just as he wished – that’s a real quote, btw – it’s in his letters to Polly – but isn’t it almost as if he honestly made a deal with the Devil and got his wish, but completely perverted and reversed? His name will live, but as one to be reviled and ridiculed, even pitied, rather than revered and honored as he no doubt wished.
I have no idea what to make of Miscavige and what his deal with the devil would be. The second generation cult-child, while in the cult, is merely a reflection of the cult leader himself. That means, essentially, that the slimy, violent psychopath we see is only Davey’s cult shell, and might or might not reflect the real person inside. I imagine, once he gets in prison, there will be plenty of big-name psychiatrists who would love to have a chat with him. I pray Dr. Michael Stone will still be in practice; if you haven’t read his watershed work, Anatomy of Evil, put it on your booklist – this man knows.
How long until the good doctor is able to peek into Davey’s square little noggin? Well, as our friend Tory says (have you talked to her yet, Perry? she’s a gas to talk to – very sweet and funny!), time is running out, and Karma is on our side. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. I hope and pray I will live to see Miscavige in an orange jumpsuit. What a time to be alive, eh?
So, in your message to me, you’d asked whether or not I’d studied Crowley before meeting Jack. Well, I knew who Crowley was, but had not studied him seriously. In those days, I tended to seek my spiritual answers within my own mind and not in anybody else’s traditions. I knew about the Golden Dawn and the O.T.O, but regarded them the way I regarded Catholicism, Judaism, and the rest of organized religion: fine for others, but not for me.
Now, where did I leave off in our continuing story? The second installment only barely covered my first night with Jack, right? We’d talked the afternoon into night into the wee hours of the morning, agreeing to meet again soon.
The next evening, I think it was, I agreed to pick him up at campus and then brought him back to my apartment, where he was going to teach me what he called “101.” He explained that it would be the starting course at our University of Magickal Sciences – UMS. It was called the “Grand Tour” in traditional ritual magick, he told me, but he, of course, had his own spin on it.
Our ex-Scilon friends who read this are going to find the process hauntingly familiar, but that is only because our leaders stole from the same source. I am not even going to pretend to remember the actual words, or even re-create exactly what technique was used that night; as I would learn, he changed his systems more often than some people changed clothes, adapting one idea one day, abandoning another idea the next and picking up new interpretations of everything constantly. Thus, there is no way for me to remember, a decade and a half later, exactly what he said to start the spell.
I do remember that he’d described what we were about to do as terribly important, so I was trembling with excitement as I turned off the lights and lit incense and candles. He and I sat opposite each other – me in a comfortable chair, him cross-legged on the floor, about three feet away. He asked me if I’d ever meditated, and I said yes.
“Which method do you use?”
“I don’t use any formal method,” I admitted, a little embarrassed. “I just do it on my own, but I don’t really have a system.”
“Good,” he replied. “I won’t have to force you to unlearn anything then.
“First, close your eyes and allow your body to relax. Feel your muscles becoming looser and looser as you take one deep breath, then another. With each breath, sense your body sinking deeper into the chair, melting into it, until you can no longer tell where the chair begins and you end. You are soft, formless, your breath deep and regular. Your feet are rooted to the floor in front of you. Breathe in deeply, and allow the air to fill you completely; exhale and sink even deeper into the softness of the chair.
“With each breath, slowly filter your mind upwards, leaving your body melted into the chair. Breathe in and feel your consciousness collecting in the center of your head. Breathe out and allow it to float there. Breathe in again, and shape your thoughts into a sphere at the center of your skull. With each breath, the lines of your head disappear and the sphere that is you grows larger. Let your body dissolve as your consciousness expands and floats upwards. The walls of this building are also dissolving – watch them grow thinner and more transparent as you rise slowly upwards through the ceiling.
“We are now floating up above the apartment complex, floating further up, higher, above the clouds, up into the sky. As we travel higher into the stratosphere, you’re going to be able to see all around you – the atmosphere is clearing, thinning, and soon we see the Earth below us, and now we can see the moon circling her.
“Take a look around. Of course, you can see Mercury, there, just eclipsing the sun, and then there’s Venus, just between us and the sun. In the other direction, you see Mars, and beyond him, the asteroid belt and then Jupiter beyond that. Over there, in the distance, Uranus and Neptune, and way away there, Pluto and the Kupier Ring.
“Now, the traditional ‘Grand Tour’ involves remote viewing of the other planets, and supposedly who lives on them, but we know better, don’t we, sister? There’s no one living in physical reality on any of these planets. There aren’t any trains on Venus, there’s no palaces on Mars. Now, I want you to shift yourself slightly, realize that the physical space around us, the solar system, the planets and our sun, are just one shell of reality. We’re not going to explore the solar system tonight. Move the sphere of this reality just slightly clockwise, slip between the atoms of time/space, and we find we are in the deep red space of the Astral Plane.
“You’ve been here many times before. Now look around. Do you see, just over there, the Silver Lodge? You recognize it; it’s all chrome and glitter, looking like a giant motorcycle engine in space. Now, before we go there, you’re going to need armor. I won’t need it, because no one would dare attack me. But it’s been a while since you’ve been there – your street cred is really low right now, you should really have visited more. Well, I’ll just have to work harder to make it right, sister; you can pay me back later.
“Now, you’ve kept your sphere of light shining, so let’s make good use of it. Tighten the ball and make it brighter. Now, you notice how, in doing so, some darkness filters outwards. Take that darkness from the light and make it into a shell around your core of light, making it harder until it shines like a black pearl. This shell will keep everything out while still allowing you to interact freely with everything, as well as putting out your own energy.
“Speaking of putting out energy, do you know how to attack? No? Well, I won’t want you to use this, only as a defense, but I’ll have to teach you before we go in. All right, now, I want you to tighten that dark shell, and, at the same time, draw all the dark energy to one point of the shell. Now, intensify it with your anger. Let all your rage at the insanity of the world focus into one black, hard point, right in front, drawing it all into a tight knot. Wind this knot around and around until it starts bulging out – draw it out into a tighter and tighter spiral – pulling outwards from you, then drawing it back in. Pull it outward more, then let it snap back in. Draw out and snap back in, and again draw out and snap in. Now, let it settle, a tight ball of dark, sharp energy, a wound spear of pearlescent black. In a moment, you are going to gather your energy and attack me, but know that you could never hurt me, sister. I shall have my filter merely turn anything you throw at me into harmless rainbow sparkles.
“Now, this time, pull the spear backward, slowly, stretching it until it touches the depth of your core – do you feel it pressing into you? Take all your pain, all your rage, all your anger. Focus it into the spear. Draw it back even more. Now – RELEASE!”
I remember the feeling of the energy leaving my body. Resentment at my former fiancé, frustration with my family, shame and horror at the agonizing realization that what was supposed to be a truly brilliant life had been sidetracked into a barely tolerable existence of solitude and mundane servitude – all the angst of my young self raged into the spear and I flung it away from me, my body quivering with the shock of it.
“Impressive,” he murmured. “You’ll have no trouble defending yourself at the Silver Lodge. You remember, of course, that the mundanes – that is, the people who call themselves ‘normal’ – think that this is Hell. It isn’t Hell, of course, though there are a fair amount of demons who live there. Not that I mind; some of our best friends are demons, right, sister?
“So now let’s move closer in… let’s go over towards the south pole of the Lodge, shall we? You remember our old friend Mephistopheles? He still runs his bar here – I think we’ll pay him a visit before we check in on the library here; I need to pick a document up there. There aren’t any portholes, of course: we’re able to drift right through its steely shell and right into the bar.
“Maitre D’? A table for me and my sister, please – and do let the proprietor know we’re here. Oh, he’s waiting for us? Then, yes, of course, by all means, show us to his table. Well, you can see for yourself that they haven’t changed the décor much since you were here last – though I think that chrome fountain might be new. Ah, here’s old Meph’s table. Now, I know you two don’t get along that well, but could you try to be civil for one night? Meph, old man! how are you?”
I don’t know why, but although my imagination could conjure up a vision in my mind of this ‘Silver Lodge,’ I was not able to recreate the demon’s part of the conversation, although I convinced myself I was able to understand some part of what was said, taking, I suppose, my cues from Jack’s syncopated monologue as he paused to let the demon speak his lines.
It seems insane, now, while I type the words, but back then, young Karin thought nothing of listening quietly while this horse-faced boy with the greasy black hair talked to himself on her living room floor in the flickering candlelight. I tried very hard to imagine the demon’s half of the conversation, but only knew that oaths of fealty were being sworn and support promised in some upcoming battle, information on positions of troops were exchanged and rumors about old friends and lovers traded.
“Meph has a personal message for you, sister,” Jack said sharply after one of his longer pauses. “Are you not going to answer him?”
Apparently it was my line. I rather timidly asked the demon what information he had to give me, and waited what I felt was an appropriate amount of time, hoping that Jack would not quiz me on the contents of the message. However, he didn’t seem interested, but continued on with his conversation once I had thanked the demon for his message. Soon we made our goodbyes, and made our way to the Silver Lodge’s library, where I once again had no problem envisioning the scenery but unable to hear the conversation Jack generated between himself and the librarian, another demon whose name was a garble of random consonants. Once again, this demon had a personal message for me, and I dutifully pretended to listen and gave my thanks.
We left the Silver Lodge, and Jack directed me to the Halls of Amber, where we had to sneak in, apparently, because our father might murder us if he knew we were in his castle. He led us first to his room, which he described as full of magickal tomes, skulls, alchemical equipment, and fine weapons. He presented me with a sword, and took one for himself, one he called “Blood-Drinker,” which, I would find out later, was a fictional sword from another series of books by an altogether different author: Jack enjoyed a good crossover back then as much as any fanfiction writer does today. Then he led us through the corridors of Amber to my room, where he picked open the lock for me and “discovered” an untrustworthy servant lurking inside.
“What are you doing in my sister’s room? Away with you!” he barked, and I easily imagined a hunched figure rushing away from the room I envisioned as my own haven.
“I hope he didn’t steal anything important; you really should beef up your security, sister. I’m glad I haven’t been storing anything that matters to our cause in here. Well, get what you want and go; we won’t be able to get here very often, if my hunch is correct. And you know my hunches always are.”
In my mind, I collected a few bright talismans, a necklace, and a harp, and even felt a pang of nostalgia for the room I’d just created and now knew I would not see again for a while, at least.
From there, we visited Atlantis, and I tried my hardest to hear the actual words as we greeted my real fiancé, the God Poseidon, Lord of Atlantis. Once again, we visited a bar and then a library, and there were personal messages for me to collect and items to be acquired, most notably, a ring that Poseidon would be bringing in person, once his incarnations joined us in the physical realm. We bade my spirit-lover goodbye and then headed back towards earth. Jack slowly brought me back into my body, asking me to first focus on my breath and then on tightening and releasing my muscles, then wiggling my toes and fingers, before finally opening my eyes.
I looked at the clock on the nearby VCR; it was nearly an hour later. Jeff scowled up at me from his seat on the floor. “Well, you didn’t do as badly as I expected, but you’ll have to do much better if you’re going to survive the Cataclysm. We’re at war, you know.” He lightened up in mood as I drove him home, however, chatting on about the conversations we had had with the people we’d met, what our plans of attack would be, how we would even trick our father, who had tried to kill us many times before, to help us. By the time we arrived at his dorm, he was affectionate and cheerful again, and even allowed me to hug him – a rare bestowment, I would learn; he loathed personal contact, even with his sexual partners. However, tonight, he even gave my shoulder a light squeeze and said “Be well, sister,” before slamming my car door behind him and striding off onto the quad.
So, what next? Well, it’s 2:22 my time (make a wish; somebody loves you), and I have ham with the fam tonight. So I’ll post this puppy up and link it to the SP’s R US page. I wish a very good Easter/Passover/Ostara/whatever to all good SP’s everywhere, and even to the clams. Remember to eat that chocolate bunny ears-first, and save the black jellybeans for me.
P.S. I thought, since I posted the Fool last week, I’d give you the Mage. Those who check my Tarot Gallery will see that they are slightly edited versions; I am in the process of editing the deck so some cards will differ from those you see there.
Thanks for listening. So, what questions do you have?