Occult “Community”

Preponderance of the Great

The Judgment
The ridgepole sags to the breaking point.
It furthers one to have somewhere to go.
Success.

The Image
The lake rises above the trees:
The image of Preponderance of the Great.
Thus the superior man, when he stands alone,
Is unconcerned,
And if he has to renounce the world,
He is undaunted.

Or, anyway, so has my daily I Ching toss. I wouldn’t normally share something so private, but it happens to be relevant.

I don’t know how I am still caught off-guard by the generally awful behavior of the so-called community of those involved in occultism, magic, mysticism, and esoteric practice. I will grant that there is such a thing as purely faulty information out there, so it is sometimes justifiable to call people out on absolute nonsense. But it seems altogether more common for occultists to criticize those who are attempting to sincerely share what they have learned. More often than not, this is done somewhere on the spectrum near passive-aggression, and without adding anything especially useful to the discussion themselves, often without even addressing the central point being made.

Though this post is directly inspired by a specific example, I’m really trying to point to a trend which I have seen play out time and again over the years of my own involvement with such things.

Well, undaunted, I carry on with my practice; yet, that world I must renounce.

Intrigue

I have stumbled upon intrigue.
Not subterfuge, certainly,
for there have not been lies
nor even withholdings.
But Siva is a God
who conceals
until revelation will not blast
our souls apart.
So from my own karma
by Siva’s grace
has intrigue departed;
no lies to uncover
but only the messages
of certain men’s hearts
laid out
as offerings to Truth.

Tried for Truth

In my social life
I am forced to start over;
my personality was burnt to the ground
in a livid conflagration
whose pain I was not spared by merciful asphyxia,
but made to feel all the way down.
I learnt of friends whose smiles for me remained,
and discerned those who would be as anvils
as the blows rained upon me.
Old friends made anew,
new friends made venerable,
false friends left to flutter and fade
like misprinted book leaves ripped and tossed away.
I do not rise again from my own ashes, triumphantly,
but offer myself up as bhasma
to grace, as laurel crown,
the shining brows of those whose love stays true.