The Blog of Baphomet

Stories have power. We tell ourselves stories all day long. Stories about the past and what it meant, as well as stories of how we want the future to be.

Other people tell us stories as well. Media bombardment about what and how we should think: slow-bleed toxicity leaking into our systems as we seek some space to think our own thoughts and to live our own lives. Their desperate hands claw at us as we try to break the surface to gulp in the fresh air of our own freedom.

Michel Foucault knew about the power of the stories we tell. The big stories or meta-narratives that we get told, and tell ourselves, profoundly shape our beliefs about who we are and what we are worth. In fear of nuance and complexity, we create stories to help manage our fears, and often push the source of our confusion outside of ourselves and as far away as possible! It’s hard not to do this, but as we wake up to it, we can begin to explore the possibility of writing something new.

In his groundbreaking work with David Epston, the family therapist Michael White recognised that his clients were often bringing a particular set of stories into the therapy room. Because of the nature of his work, these stories were often “problem saturated narratives”, i.e. ones that focused almost exclusively on the problems being experienced, and often bowing under the weight of medicalised diagnosis. In their evolution of Narrative Therapy, White and Epston sought to help people recover the lost, “shy” stories of function that were often hidden. In helping people uncover these stories they often helped them tap into forgotten veins of resilience.

The stories that constrain us are like the Gnostic Archons of old. They are spirits invested in inducing an amnesia that causes us to forget our true potential. They are the dusty layers that accrue on our Buddha Minds, impairing our ability to see and be seen for who we really are. These archonic tales make sense—of course they do! Otherwise we wouldn’t pay them heed. Sadly they often play to our fears about the other, the different, and the new. They deal in certainties that downplay the detail and rely on the grouping together of humans and ideas so that tidy labels can be applied.

Perhaps the first stage in recovering these shy stories is learning how to listen. Rather than anxiously projecting into the future or getting lost in the labyrinths of past “what ifs”, what happens if we try to taken in our current situation with a bit of Zen beginner’s mind? Contemplative practices are good for this, allowing silence and space to turn down the volume on our endless narrative that we keep telling ourselves. This is not an easy place to start as the uncertainty and apparent emptiness can feel bewildering as we sit with things rather than endlessly updating our internal status. If nothing else this is a good chance to do less and cultivate some curiosity: “What the hell is actually going on here?!”

Part of the power that big stories (meta-narratives, dominant discourses) hold over us is the sense of inevitability that they engender. These stories often like to fix identities and to locate qualities within groups or individuals rather than trying to understand the more complex interaction that occurs between ourselves, others and the social context we sit within. Yes, patterns can be reinforcing—e.g. you might bomb the shit out of people and they may get angry with you—but it doesn’t follow that all those people are angry at all times and in all situations. Thankfully Systemic thinking and Narrative approaches (with all their postmodern grooviness) have some interesting ways of interacting with, and disrupting, such viciousness circles.

In contrast with more Freudian approaches, rather than locating qualities within a given individual, Systemic and Narrative approaches are more interested in the dynamics between people, and the scripts and stories that are constructed as we interact within a variety of socio-political settings. Rather than being overly preoccupied with prying secret meaning from the depths of the unconscious, it seeks to explore new or lost meanings by being curious and Columbo-like about the way we communicate.

Just one more thing…

One technique that can open up such curiosity is that of externalisation. If we tend to locate current challenges internally: “I am a failure” or “I am depressed”, externalisation invites us to decentralise the issue and enter into a dialogue with it. E.g. ‘how long has depression been affecting aspects of your life as a whole?’. In working with this approach we might write letters to the given issue-

“Dear Book Buying habit….”

In writing we are not seeking a quick fix, rather we are seeking to explore both the negative and positive aspects of a given issue in our lives. Book buying might be connected to an academic pressure to know more than others but equally it might represent more helpful urges towards self-development. By de-centralising issues that feel problematic, good Narrative practice then seeks to explore the space created. Are there other stories of function? Can we tune into shy skills and talents that have become buried by problem saturation?

To disrupt, de-centre and externalise are innate to much of magical practice. Our engagement with spirits is a way of understanding and negotiating with differing aspects of ourselves. Things that we may want to exorcise and/or build pacts with. This is not to reduce them to mere psychological parlour tricks; rather it helps us understand the deeper motives for the alliances we seek. Those interested in this approach should check out the awesome work of Philip Farber, and Ramsey Dukes’ Little Book of Demons.

To be a magician is to awaken to the narrative being told, both by ourselves and the cultures that shape us. We can’t really turn the story off, but we can choose to slow the story down, listen more clearly and become more active in creating narrative rather than simply consuming those that others give to us. Don’t let the Archons grind you down!

The Glastonbury Occult Conference was a sell-out event, and a great opportunity for the folk of the British esoteric scene to gather. I’d spent most of the weekend hanging out with my children, so I wasn’t able to attend on the Friday or Saturday (though judging by the smiles of those I spoke with, the celebrations on Saturday evening had been suitably Dionysian). My talk was the final slot on Sunday afternoon and I spoke about the future of magic. Something I’ve been thinking a lot about recently.

My talk covered lots of material: the emergence of Artificial Intelligence and the magical power of technology, the wider use of magical approaches (things like psychology, mindfulness practice and the placebo effect) in culture, and the development of entheogenic spiritual traditions in the West (from rave culture to the urban ayahuasca drinkers of Europe).

mine is the ecstasy of the spirit and mine also is joy on earth

I like to be a bit playful when I speak and so during the drugs bit I asked if anyone in the audience had taken ayahuasca. While there may have been people who didn’t want to say, the fact that from an audience of around 120 only 4 hands went up, is something I find really interesting (though not surprising).

Of course I work with many magicians who never use psychedelics in their Work. My Spiritual Friend Steve Dee (with whom I’ve worked closely for many years) never uses psychedelics in his practice (though his capacity for tea is unrivalled). While I think drugs can form a part of a very powerful technology for exploring the self, illumination, obtaining magical effects and more, many of the practitioners I work with prefer other methods of gnosis. So this low level of psychedelic drug use within the self-identified Pagan community does seem to be a real phenomena.

Another weekend, another conference, this time in Holland at the request of the excellent Pagan Federation International (PFI), I asked my audience a broader version of the question I’d asked in Glastonbury: hands up anyone that has taken psychedelic drugs? From an audience of again about 120 people, maybe 5 hands went up.

An interesting point with this is that I didn’t ask ‘who here has used psychedelics as an intentional part of their spiritual/magical practice?’. I know from conversations with folk that this would put some hands down. There are, for example, people who have dabbled with psychedelics; getting wired on acid at a festival when younger for example, perhaps with a couple of difficult experiences behind them, who are subsequently put off the whole business. Note that I’m talking about the ‘classic’ psychedelics in these conversations. Sure lots of people drink alcohol, smoke cannabis and use other substances, but even then few seem to make these materials part of an explicit ritual practice beyond the celebratory cakes & wine (…and tobacco and tea etc).

Cakes and Wine

The dearth of psychedelics as sacraments within modern Pagan and even more ‘hardcore’ occultural communities is in contrast to their increasing use in other religious and spiritual cultures. From the Santo Daime Church and ayahuasca ‘tourists’ (or ‘pilgrims’), through the Native North American Indian style groups and peer-led networks such as the Psychedelic Society (who, as well as acting as advocates for psychedelic culture, are also beginning to offer supported psychedelic experiences); in these spaces the reclaiming of the psychedelic spiritual tradition is well underway.

My hope (which I expressed in both lectures) was that our understanding of ceremonial practice is something that occultists and pagans can offer to the emerging entheogenic cultures, especially where these are developing outside the ‘traditional’ styles of Medicine Shamanism and new religious movements. I also hope for a return to a more psychedelic magic, with an increasing range and number of practitioners feeling moved to engage with these deeply magical substances. While not for everyone by any measure, when done in a safe, sane, consensual and most importantly esoteric context they are perhaps one of the most surefire ways to empower your magic. Drugs (especially psychedelics) are demonstrably a vital technology in many occult traditions, they played an important role in the occult revival at the beginning of the 20th century, they helped kickstart the vast social changes of the mid 20th century, even getting encoded into Wicca as one of the Eight Paths to Power.

The opportunity to meet Morgana Sythove at the PFI gathering, and to spend some time in her company, was something I really enjoyed. Morgana is a Gardnerian High Priestess of many years standing. It was great to attend the conference and fully appreciate her significance, as part of a coven and a network that has given rise to operating groups and solo practitioners across Europe (and indeed Russia). Her approach to the Craft remains refreshingly undogmatic, while her lineage is direct from the original inception of Wicca by Gardner and Valiente. Along with members of her coven, we discussed the actual meaning of the Hermetic principle of polarity (which is by no means a synonym for heteronormativity), and the notion of Wicca as a Mystery religion (rather than a system for collecting degrees in the way one might collect stamps).

Her role in the recently released film Witches in Holland (from Silver Circle Publishing), and her approachable and profoundly unprejudiced introduction to Wicca Beyond the Broomstick, presents a Craft that aims to help the witch achieve a dynamic balance within their practice, as well as a felt recognition of the axiom ‘As Above, So Below’ (which, like the process of acquiring siddhis, also handily leads to magical power).

World Tree

It was also interesting to be in the company of a practitioner who has helped grow a movement but hadn’t found themselves lost and fearful when their ‘creation’ grows up and goes beyond them.

History is of course littered with the wreckage of people who, while they may have founded a spiritual practice or community, have been unable to move from the Heroic archetypal style (which is necessary to develop a new school or style) into the adult role of Wise Sage (who accepts the changes and developments of what was once ‘their’ system).

The famous disagreement between chela Carl Jung and guru Sigmund Freud is a great example. Freud cut a new path through the understanding of the human mind (though of course he wasn’t actually original, but just a firebrand of a synthesist who was in the right place at the right time). Jung comes along and becomes the master’s favourite pupil. All is well until Jung starts to outpace Freud and goes into areas (such as the occult) that scare Freud silly. Freud becomes increasingly dictatorial and eventually they split. Jung goes on to develop what I think is one of the most interesting psychological models (especially for magicians), and of course the basis of many personality testing methods used today. Jung escapes the dour subconscious of Freud into the mythic wonderland of the unconscious. Jung also goes through some profound personal initiations (such as the illness that led to him ‘channelling’ The Red Book and his experience of having two partners) as part of this break-away process.

face off

Similar Oedipal (as Freud would say) patterns can be observed in the stories of many religious and esoteric groups. A great example comes from Mogg Morgan’s book Tantra Sâdhana. In an appendix he details some of the craziness that took place when AMOOKOS founder (Shri Gurudev Dadaji Mahendranath, aka Lawrence Miles) started to feel he was losing control of ‘his’ magical order (the chapter is brilliantly entitled When Your Guru Goes Gaga). Other examples include dear old Gerald Gardner himself. Feeling that ‘his’ Wicca was out of control he ‘discovers’ a set of Wiccan Laws to try to reassert his fading authority and significance.

This instability with teachers, while not ubiquitous, is something that happens fairly frequently and, perhaps when considered from a kind of Taoist magical perspective this is destined to happen. As the control of a group moves away from the leader, if their teaching has any value it needs to go beyond the confines of a particular school or style; becoming embedded in wider culture (or occulture). In some cases the explosion of the initial group may be necessary for this to happen. Popping like a seed pod, the creation is detonated, spreading personnel and ideas into wider society.

Fit to burst

A good example of this is Thee Temple ov Psychick Youth who, while a clearly collaborative organisation, had Genesis P. Orridge as a leading figure. As I understand it Genesis left and eventually did the usual thing of declaring the order dead or dysfunctional. But whatever the details, the fact is that the work of TOPY was, like the genie, out of the bottle and no-one, least of all their former leader, was going to control it. Modern iterations of sigil magic, body modification techniques, new primitivism and much more; TOPY material is now to be found informing many regions of occulture, uncopyrighted and unfettered.

Luckily, from what I’ve seen, Morgana is one teacher who isn’t suffering from gaga-guru syndrome. This may be simply because she is a more thoughtful and sensitive person than your run-of-the-mill inspiring, but somewhat socially dysfunctional, cult leader. It may also be because of the coven based organisational structure of Wicca; the lack of any (formal) wider hierarchy in the Craft (there is no Pope) and no written authority (no Holy Book). These factors may serve to reduce the likelihood of The Teacher (successfully) becoming The (would-be) Tyrant.

But perhaps it even simpler than that; a wise teacher realises, when their students go beyond what they themselves can offer, this isn’t a threat to their authority but rather the sign of a job well done.