This was one of the most powerful pieces of work I’ve ever undertaken, the spearhead of years, maybe decades, of intentions, so it’s been a bit daunting for me to try and fit it into forum postable size, but there were some events that I want to share because they blew my mind, and these days that’s not easy.
This post is in two parts because those are the main events (also, there’s a word limit) – so, long post alert.
On Thursday 8th I was asleep and dreaming the dreams of the virtuous, as usual, when the dream became lucid, by which I mean I was aware of being in an altered state, and also, instead of being the slightly distracted person I usually am in dreams, caught up in the shadowplay, I was alert to my full waking level of consciousness.
I was standing in the hallway of what I will describe as the symbolic “Hall of my Ancestors” - in reality a fairly normal suburban house, but one of deep emotional and spiritual significance for me, where I’ve previously dreamed and travelled for ancestral work.
This house is no longer in my family and last time I stalked it on Google, it had been somewhat remodelled and certainly the décor, which had furniture dating back to the end of the 1800’s, is no longer there – I actually own some of it myself.
And yet, at the moment I “woke up” in my own dream, there I was standing in the small hallway of that house. I was dressed in what looked like black pyjamas, and wearing my everyday boots on my feet, and I tapped the toe of the boot against the well-remembered patterned tiles to test the materiality of the dream – and I both felt, and heard, the noise.
I could even smell the smells, the furniture polish and faint scent of cigarettes, cats, and traditional meat and two veg cooking, and the emotions of “coming home” that they stirred in me. I proceeded into the pantry-cum-storeroom, drinking it all in, and then into the kitchen, touching the doors and running my hands over things, marvelling at the fact I was there – back home with my folks.
The small paint bubbles in the gloss paint of the doors, the changing scents from room to room (faint smell of gardening tools in the pantry, stronger smell of roasts and veggies in the kitchen) – all there, all 100% as solid and tangible to me as the room in which I’m typing this post. That I was physically walking, in a physical location which no longer exists in anything like this form, was amazing to me, and I stood awestruck for a while taking it all in. I was aware of what an immense privilege this was, to be returned to what had always felt like the safest of havens.
No-one was there – this was often a busy house, but when I walked from the kitchen to the front room (combined dining room and living room, old dusty box TV, scent of tobacco and polish) the room was empty.
A sense of purpose kicked in, and I returned to the hall and turned to go up the stairs.
The stairway was carpeted with a detailed pattern influenced by the atom and star motifs of the early 1960’s when it was first laid (I don’t even think they even make things like that any more) and I took that in as I walked up, along with the feel of the banister, more gloss paint applied by beloved hands long gone.
There were several bedrooms and a box room upstairs, and as I turned into the largest room, I saw that there was a camp bed between the twin beds that were always there, and that children slept in two of the beds, with a youngish woman in the third.
I didn’t recognise her, and the overwhelming reality of the dream (which was exhilarating, emotionally intense, and yeah – a little bit frightening) really hit me, I had a moment of panic, of imagining that they’d rise, ghoul like, maybe drag off their faces and…
Well, you get the idea – this was a room in which some of my direct ancestors had died, and now, strange younger people were in the beds – I challenge anyone not to go full zombie-apocalypse there, for a moment at least.
I checked all the other bedrooms, same thing – beds full of youngish strangers, and children, even the box room, which had been my sanctuary at times, and still had the wallpaper and the distinctive feeling of safety. I stood in there for a long time, breathing in the atmosphere, and looking at the unknown people and the familiar surroundings, and then turned to go back downstairs.
Something shifted – the tangible reality of the house altered very slightly, things began to take on an aura, and strange symbols appeared on the walls as I walked back down to the hallway, my starting point.
When I reached the hallway, a spirit I’m working closely with on this appeared, as solid (but, now, slightly changed) as the rest of the surroundings, and told me to hurry – we didn’t have much time.
It was time to begin to fight.
As I stood there, my mind throwing up all kinds of things like “But it’s only Thursday!” and “But I’m asleep!” the people in the rooms upstairs began to walk solemnly down the stairs, looking like sleepwalkers and with their eyes half closed.
At this point, although a little glowy, the room was still a solid physical location, and I turned away from them to see what was outside the door.
I was afraid – I often am, doing serious magickal work, it never stops me, but neither will I deny that it happens.
Outside the front door some thing had begun to cast a shadow through the rippled glass panels, and I knew that this was a confrontation between myself, and some aspect or format of the entity I have been at war with for most of my life.
That which others mistakenly refer to as “God,” and which has commanded the deaths of witches, kuffar, the sinful and the goyim, as well as endless sectarian wars between the deceived, and which has attempted to make this world into a grey prison populated only by slaves, trapped and destroying in a delirium of its lies.
At that moment, the people behind me walked into me, one at a time in a line walking into my back and merging with me, in some way that was both physical and real, yet obviously impossible. This was reassuring, somewhat, but also confusing (I was still me, still aware I was dreaming, and this wasn’t even Sunday yet) – but I knew the time had come.
I took up the weapons gifted to me by the gods, and with every nerve in my body screaming and begging me to just wake up (make nasty thing go away, be imagine, it’s only a dream) – I opened the front door.
The thing that stood before me was bizarre, grotesque, and mocking – if you took one hundred human faces, flowers, ornaments, shapes and all kinds of wonderful things, cast from them a mask from the embers of burnt bodies and decaying shit, and then proudly toted these imprinted masks of vileness into a form, you would begin to have something approaching an analogy to what stood there.
It was as though everything real, good, and true – everything dynamic and living, whether of darkness or of light, had been mimicked by something fundamentally oppositional, untrue, and decaying, which could only become the more grotesque the more it attempted to find a handhold in the form of the Real.
And there was a colour to it that I don’t think I will ever describe to anyone, but I’ll recognise it when I see it – a hideous kind of light flooding from inside the thing, nothing like the alien light of demonic worlds (that I described here) – this had more the sweetness of a child-murderer’s box of candy bait.
I attacked this with the weapons I bear, repeatedly engaging again and again, rather more of terror than fury fuelling each engagement, and still with the small weak voice in the back of my mind hoping that I would wake up.
The fight continued, and here I’m going to be vague, because the thing attempted to shift through various locations, and I followed it, experiencing both massive energy shifts and, once again, real physical contacts with the ground at my feet.
I struck it again, and again, and again, using weapons of energy and intention that have been placed in my hands to use only for tasks such as this one.
Or rather, WE won – every god which has blessed me, every demon which has empowered me, every last spirit and magician that has allied with the cause of releasing this world from the grip of this troll-like little entity – won.
How do I know this? And what does it mean? First, I’ll return to the timeline of the dream.
Goodbye, But Only For Now
After the final decisive engagement, the gods and spirits that I honour took care of the remains, such as they were, of the entity. I don’t think it’s a good idea to say any more on this.
The dream became normalised again, solid, and I was standing in the hallway. To one side stood an elderly man who was no one individual I could remember or recognise from photos, but I knew that he represented, embodied, my ancestors, and as I looked into his wise and loving eyes, I saw the people who had walked into me earlier drift back out, still like sleepwalkers, and return back up the stairs.
He held me, as the goods stood in the shadows behind him, and I felt the fabric of his clothing beneath my cheek. I felt exhausted, still shaken, but also exhilarated from my triumph in the fight.
He asked me what I wanted most in the world, and I told him, and we spoke a few more times about personal matters, for which he gave me the same favourable answers I’ve received elsewhere.
I held him once more, feeling so much love to be back in the arms of my ancestor, and then he stepped backwards, my own spirit allies stepped forwards, and gently pushed me back into my body.
I woke up in bed covered in cold sweat and with the bedclothes tangled, and aware of a deep and profound joy in my heart.
Analysis, and part 2, to follow.