There are some, still superstitious animals, bound in an ancient spell placed long long ago upon the brow of the primal savage who believe in the Soul – in the breath of life given to them, by the God Almighty, in his original shape before Man knew Him. Today, even today, after millennia, it is still an ingrained custom to fear the loss, of the Soul – and to hasten its return to the body with a blessing following any violent exhalation that threatens the departure of the breath. There are some, still superstitious animals, who, by way of veils, have the kind bliss and blindness of God’s protection and who do not see Them or They.
They say, in some circles of black magic practitioners that the consciousness and the incessant chatter of the intellect harbours a godly protection from the Elements, a natural shield from the other worlds. Metaphysically – they say it is the particular intensity of the mental Hz vibrating above 110 via the momentous clatter of the mind that ceaselessly spews forth idle banter, fantasy, form that prevents the threshold into other worlds from being crossed. LSD, Psylocibin, Severe Trauma, Extraordinary Shock or Horror can dislodge this natural protection, placing the internal chatter into a severe catatonic state, silencing the organic motor of the thoughts and effectively shutting down the protective generator. Silencing of the mind allows things beyond the rational control exercised by the mind to seep in – anyone with any significant time spent in Solitary confinement in prison, or has experienced the void of sensory deprivation will attest to the proximity that silence brings one closer – as if pulled through a wet wall – to God. Or to the Devil. And other Things.
There are some, through charity of oblivion, who never get this close, and keep every possible thing – every argument, every rehearsal, every doubt, fear, fantasy, dream, analysis, object, name – between them, and this wall. This is the stance of the rational fortress – which dare not let go of its babble, of its tower of Babylon, its knowledge, its books, its endless torrents of forms and geometry. We do not believe in Angels – there are no angels. And there is a Him.
Eccar Vartis is a pact with the Devil. Regardless of the ritual form it takes, the secrets are the same in any ley geometry where only very little is required to perform the transfer. So go ahead, ask Satan for his gifts. All you need is your soul.
Dressed for Lust, Orgasm, and smear your juices upon a fresh pomegranate.
Add your spit. your blood.
Before a banner of our Eye,
Say word for word, the following.
“My name is ——– “
“Tonight, I abandon all that I was given”
“He opens the Gates through Me”
“Into this place I invite all that I fear”
“And all that has forever been feared”
“All that I have not seen, all that I do not know, all that is hidden from me”
“Into those that dwell here, the Devil”
“Into those that dwell here, the Lost”
“Into those that dwell here, Death and Destruction”
“Bind – through my knot, of Seed, Saliva and Salvation my Word”
“And through my Word my Flesh”
“And through my Flesh my Soul – My I, my Am”
“In forfeit take that most precious to me”
“In fiat provide that most desired by me”
“My name is ———“
“I Remember THEM”
“THEY forever Remember me”
“Take me from this place if I should forget”
“It is done and cannot be undone”
The Pomegranate is to be taken at the nearest opportunity to a place of great height or a place of enduring darknes where you must cast it – or some other place, you cannot possibly reach it without extraordinary effort. Do, not, cheat. Into the sea off a cliff, down a well, into a forest or buried in the deepest hole you are able to will yourself to dig.
That is all.