Journal My Life Is The Fire

[FireBorn]

This isn’t aimed at anyone in particular, just me speaking my truth, raw and unfiltered. Ramblings and thoughts. Pure fire. If it resonates, cool. If not, scroll on.

I'm not pretending I know everything, or that my take is right, or the best, but fuck man. My ADHD brain fucks me over into thinking what you say is what you actually do. I have this thing, thinking that my experiences are the common baseline in magick. Weird right? Totally.

I honestly thought for the longest time that everyone was having shit tons of contact with spirits because I do. I'm not special, I'm not great at this stuff, I don’t get it from books so I'm probably behind others right? Right? Please tell me I'm right here!!!

It scares me to think about the fact that most ceremonial magicians, Thelemites and the like, do tons of rituals only to maybe hear a fart in the corner once in a while, then spend months chasing that again. What?!!!! In less direct, crass terms, most are NOT experiencing contact, let alone consistently. Why? Genuinely confused, and disillusioned. Why read a million books if you cant do the damned magick? Makes zero sense to me. Yet, this is the case for the mass majority in the occult/magick space.

I know I cannot speak in absolutes about ALL. Balance in all things, including here but... enter the fakes, frauds, the academics who are happy to let you think they are living it, doing the work (I killed my ego bro!). Makes it worse. I avoided forums for a very long time over this exact thing. I live by a code. Yes, a real code. I live and will die by it. In every aspect of my life. Truth over optics is one part of my code. Truth is more important than optics. If truth isn't pretty, okay. If truth slices my own ego, fine. If truth burns your tent to the ground, that sucks for you. The occult HR Department says otherwise. All inclusive somehow. Why do we banish? That's not very inclusive hahaha. Fuck HR. What the fuck happened to the rebellion??

Neurodivergence, a superpower. ND minds do not think in linear fashion. Pattern recognition at light speed. Active subconscious symbolic, micro expression translator in real time. Total superpower at times, in certain places. Only celebrated in movies in a one dimensional way. Magick is where the ND mind excels at lightspeed. No question about it, the ND mind was built for magick. That said, I can also read between lines, what isn't said, how it’s said, and when it’s said is more important than what is said (read that again if you need to lol). I use restraint way more than you can imagine. I don’t call out the undertones in threads, or posts. I don’t call out the hypocrisy when I see it 90% of the time. I’m not saying I’m better, I’m saying I clock it faster than you can imagine. Sometimes I wish I was “normal” and didn’t even see it. I wish I could be 'normal' and go with the flow like everyone else. I can’t. I also wish I was NT so life would be easier, you have no idea how great you have it. Being ND is life on hard mode, except when it comes to magick. So when you think magick is hard, that is but a small taste how how I feel about regular life. Hard. Confusing, doesn't work how my mind naturally runs. That's it right there.

I kind of wish this forum had a banner on the profile just underneath the avatar that was for practitioners and another for academics, and/or collectors. This way I know who I am talking to. Then I can understand what I am dealing with here. If someone is a practitioner, I can ask deeper questions and take it seriously. If that person is an academic only, I might as well go talk with ChatGPT and get the unvarnished truth on the matter, plus background, plus context, etc and cut out the middle man. The occult is made up of mostly academics and those who look into the circle from the outside, never ever getting inside it themselves. Not a bad thing per se, but to give the impression otherwise is when I bare teeth. I will always do that. To me, magick is sacred.

Everyone is welcome into the temple, but wipe your fucking feet before you enter. And keep your feet off the furniture. Some things are sacred and not spectacle for clout.

My perspective like my opinions are likely to change in a month. SO yeah, the fire lives, its burns, and of course, it moves.

Post automatically merged: Aug 19, 2025

Notes From The Field: Mimicry, Headache Magic, and the Pop-Tart Correlation

About 10 minutes ago, I was writing about Lilith. Out of nowhere, I got a vivid mind’s-eye flash, Elvira archetype behind me (dont judge), hunched forward, claws out, fangs bared. At me, not toward me. That distinction matters. She said, “Now that I have your attention.”

Immediately, I got an intense pain behind my left eye, the intuitive, feminine, lunar side. Sharp. Piercing. Specifically high on the outer temple side. That detail matters too.

Why would Lilith do that? She never has. Ever. Maybe I was speaking for her out of turn in the writing? Maybe she didn’t like me putting words in her mouth? She’s sovereign as hell, wild, unowned, and doesn’t answer to anyone. So maybe she was pissed? Or maybe it was just a surge of energy that hit wrong? Or a block on my end? Trying to figure out the WHY here.

I sat with it. Then I banished: “If you don’t align with my fire, leave. You do not have my consent to be here. I am the ward. Leave.”

The headache persisted. That’s when I wondered—maybe it really was her.

I tried to enter trance. Closed my eyes, focused in. But damn, this headache was creasing right through me. Couldn’t drop in. Banished again, this time with real heat behind it. Then the air shifted.

Clarity came. Finally.

It wasn’t her. When Lilith is present, my chest, my fire, responds. Every time. She doesn’t posture. She doesn’t perform. She doesn’t need to.
This didn’t match her current at all. I know her current like I know my own fire.

I’ve had spirits mimic her before. Voice. Appearance. Whatever. But they can’t hold it. Not long. And they sure as hell can’t fake her presence, my body knows better. My fire knows better.

Honestly? I’m not even upset. I’m relieved it wasn’t her coming in hot. Whatever that was, it’s handled now. Train of thought: gone. So bollocks to that.

Probably just a parasite trying to ride the high-energy wave I’ve been on. They get curious. They feed. That’s what they do. But they can’t hide their hunger long. They can’t fake sovereignty.

Takeaways For Myself:

• I am sovereign. Always.
• My fire draws attention, good and bad. That’s the deal.
• Discernment is not optional.
• Trust my intuition. Always.
• Poptarts and coffee are not adequate fuel for spiritual warfare.

 

[FireBorn]

I Am Not My Bloodline​

I’ve been thinking about my ancestral line tonight. Well, not just tonight. This has been showing up off and on for a few months. The question that keeps circling me is:

How important is it, really?

My mother’s side is where it gets weird. My grandmother and great-grandfather were supposedly the priestess and priest of a Satanic grotto in a tiny-ass town in Colorado. Hidden in plain sight, behind Freemasonry and the Order of the Eastern Star. Honestly, that’s a great place to hide if you’re into serious stuff and want to be left alone. But it wasn’t the kind of current I’d want anything to do with. It was dark. Really dark.

My mother told me things when I was younger. A lot of it I won’t repeat here, because it’s just fucked). Deep trauma stuff. She had a rough life. Her mother took her own life when my mom was still a kid. She told me she was an SRA survivor (before it was mainstream obviously). Whether it’s all true or not… that was the framework I was raised in.

My dad was gone. My mom was… not well. Medicated to the point of being detached from reality. Not really present. Definitely not equipped to raise kids.

She raised us as turbo-Christians. Full spiritual paranoia. Demons everywhere. Everything was about fear. Church wasn’t about salvation, it was about hiding. Hiding from the invisible enemies out to kill you and drag your soul to hell. That was my childhood.

And now, here I am. A man who works with demons. A man who’s walked the long, slow, crooked path to arrive at this place, and found something nothing like what I was told growing up. I mean its hard to put into words how angry that makes me about the lies.

I’ve also explored Satanism (Atheistic), Luciferianism, and eventually, ditched the Abrahamic lens entirely. It’s been a long road, but I got here on my terms.

So I’ve been wrestling with what that means, especially considering my bloodline. Were my ancestors really Satanists? If so, what kind? Because what I’ve read, heard, and personally experienced doesn’t match the stories I was raised on. The entities they were supposedly working with? They fed on fear, control, and depravity. That doesn’t sound like demons to me. That sounds like parasites. And real practitioners, even the edgy cosplay crowd, don’t really talk about shit like that. It doesn’t line up. Maybe some truth mixed with some Satanic Panic (It was all the rage).

Still, I recognize memory is tricky. Especially traumatic memory. We don’t remember the event. We remember the last time we remembered it. Each recall distorts it a little more. So while my mom had memories, maybe even vivid ones, they weren’t necessarily accurate. That’s a fair and sane way to approach it.

But even with all that said… where does that leave me? Am I still part of that current? As the firstborn male of my mother, does this even matter? I haven't researched it out of fear actually. Fear that the answers suck. The beliefs dont make me feel good at all. So many want there to be occult ties that make them special. I dont wish to be special, I dont wish for this to have any merit whatsoever. Fuck this.

Is there a bloodline thread I haven’t severed? Do I even get a say? I want to say yes. I want to say I get the only say that matters. Because I am sovereign. I do not carry their sickness forward. I don’t answer to it, I don’t resonate with it, I don’t belong to it.

And here’s the deeper truth: Only the present is real. The past is a dream we try to reconstruct from fog. If I can only touch it through memory, and memory itself is just a memory of the last memory, then the past is gone. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t define me. It doesn’t get to.

My sovereignty is here. Now. My practice, my fire, my path, all right here. Not theirs. Not inherited. Not chained to blood.

That’s the only ground I can stand on that won’t swallow me. Because I’ve seen it. The seduction of mystery. The spiral. The rabbit holes. I’ve seen people chase it until they forget why they started. Some never stop. Some never return. They get consumed chasing meaning, and die having found none. Just fog. Just spin. I won’t be one of them.

I want to stay sane. I want to stay solid. Maybe it’s time to stop wrestling what can’t be understood. Let the mystery be the mystery.

So simple a caveman could do it, right? Still I wrestle.

Some days this caveman… ain’t that smart.

Post automatically merged: Aug 20, 2025

You know what's cool about being an occultist regarding society? Freedom from the weaponization of guilt, and how being openly “other” in my case, an occultist, becomes both a shield and a scalpel.

Society has a convenient mental bucket for the Occultist: “Oh, he's one of those.” And in a strange twist of irony, that dismissal becomes my freedom. They don’t expect me to follow their rules… so I don’t lol.

The more they think I'm evil, the freer I become.

Once they let go of the hope that I will obey their imaginary moral standards, they stop trying to control me with guilt and shit.
I'm the bad guy. The devil-worshipper. Boo! The system writes me off, and in doing so, it frees me from its imaginary grasp. (so good!)

And you know what? I use it. Not manipulatively. Not deceitfully. Strategically. Because society isn’t playing fair anyway. It’s all shame-driven compliance theater, HR pamphlets stacked on altars of fragility and fake empathy, where feeling bad is the only true virtue.

And here I come: “Yeah, I don’t feel bad. I did what was right. You want to cry about it?”

No wonder they scurry. I'm a mirror, and they don't want to see their own chains.

Post automatically merged: Aug 21, 2025

Egregores. Everyone writes about them like they’re obvious. For me, they weren’t.

Demons? Easy. I see them, hear them, feel them. Lilith entered me once (for all of 7 seconds, relax).
Angels? Yes. I work with Raziel. Saw him, heard him speak, spoke back, he responded.
Astral shadows, parasites? Banished them, saw results.

All of that fits into a neat box for me. See, hear, feel, interact = real enough. Subjective, sure, but I own that fully.

But egregores? That one snagged me. I just create a “thing” and poof, it’s real? Compared to demons, that felt… fucky. How does it know what it is? How does it know about consent? Why would it follow my instructions? What if it doesn’t? Who decides? Is it just a placebo to trick me into doing the work I should be doing anyway?

Like: make an egregore for LinkedIn to draw in clients. You give it clean instructions, but then you still have to write posts, network, publish content. Isn’t that just… me? Isn’t the egregore just a trick to push me into action?

And if it’s a trick, am I just being duped? Nobody likes being duped.

Then the thought turned on me. Do I secretly feel the same about spellcasting? Do I hold back my fire because I’m afraid maybe spells are just another trick? That they don’t really do anything? That it’s “junior league” magic compared to spirit work? Maybe I could separate the two, keep spirits real, and keep spells as “symbolic.” Yeah, a lie I might be able to live with.

NOPE. My fire didn’t let me get away with that one.

I wrestled. Tossed. Turned. Couldn’t sleep. Mad at myself for even caring. Everyone else has surely worked this out already, right? But there I was, thrashing in circles, pissed off.

And then... tectonic shift. What if I’d been looking at it backwards the whole time? My fire either is, or it isn’t.

If it’s enough to stand eye-to-eye with demons… if it’s enough to stand before Raziel with his sword at my eye and say, “You can take my eye, but I am still sovereign,” then it’s also enough to cast spells, or to create an egregore.

Results aren’t the measure of my fire. They’re just one reflection of it. My fire just is.

And the second that truth landed, my ears rang so loud I couldn’t hear the AC. My chest burned like a forge. I knew. Lesson over.

Astaroth had been testing me, seeing if I was leaning too hard on spirit contact to validate my fire, instead of standing in sovereignty. And I was. I didn’t get the lesson until I stopped thrashing. But once I did, the whole frame snapped into place.

Boom. Done.


Why post this publicly?
Because this is the real work. Spirit contact is only a part of it. The real work is the forging of self, bleeding, breaking, rebuilding.
I’m not a guru. I’m not a teacher. I’m just some guy in the woods in Texas, walking with demons.
But my fire?
It is.

 

[8Lou1]

years ago when searching for truth in a pile of witchcraft, i found a picture of a garden shaded by bougainvillea. it was the home of an occult group in california. nothing else that i know about it, you reminded me of it.

i dont wonder about my forbearers anymore. i did have similar questions as you. we were always at war with the church at home and more. its just fact that is so ashamed of itself that it hides as lie.

anyways. this is your journal i wanted to let you know youre not alone in this path. raziel sent me simbi makaya for protection and i like him as he makes me trust again.

ive seen water burn...

 

[FireBorn]

Magick, Rebellion, and the Fire That Won’t Die​

You know what drew me to magick?

Not the fantasy of getting rich overnight or manifesting some perfect lover (though hey, if someone does have a working for either, I’m all ears lol). It was this: Magick is for outsiders. And I’ve always been an outsider.

I was the stoner in high school. Got expelled. Rebellion wasn’t a phase for me, I lived it. I chose authenticity even when it cost me everything. After serious drug addiction nearly wrecked me in my 20s, I got a GED just to join the Army. But I didn’t walk the standard path there either, I went Special Operations. Why? Because convention never fit. I took the hard road on purpose.

And I bring that same fire to magick.

No Posturing. Just Fire. I can’t stand posturing. You know those reels on X about biohacking your brain or “how to be interesting to women”? It’s all performance. I see right through it, and it pisses me off.

Be real, or piss off. That’s how I show up with demons too. No performance, no persona. Just me. Just fire.

Maybe that’s why Lilith hit me so hard. She is fire. She is rebellion. But not performative rebellion, not “edge for the sake of edge.” She’s truth with claws. She doesn’t rebel to impress anyone. She rebels because lies are intolerable.

Rebellion isn't who I am, it's what happens. Rebellion, for me, isn’t an identity. It’s a side-effect of refusing to betray what’s real. If I burn things down, it’s only because they weren’t true to begin with.

Lilith lit that fire in me. Astaroth helped give it direction. Now I carry both: The flame, and the aim.

My life is the ritual. Magick isn’t a phase. It’s not a hobby. It’s woven into everything I do. Making lunch? That’s alchemy. Doing laundry? That’s ritual. Everything I touch becomes a tool for intention. That’s how I live.

And yeah, I run a successful business. I’ve built a strong reputation in an industry known for corporate nonsense, and I’ve done it by cutting through bullshit. I learned not to just spray fire everywhere. I learned to aim it.

Lilith's Mirrors: People talk about shadow work like it’s a journaling exercise. Try standing in front of Lilith’s mirrors. She’ll ask you:

“What part of you needs to perform for others?”
“Whose approval are you chasing?”
“What lie are you living to be loved?”
"Are you ready to burn those illusions that aren't YOU?"

Those questions cut deep. But they’re a gift. Lilith doesn’t punish me. She doesn’t micromanage. She doesn’t care what I do, so long as I’m honest about why I’m doing it. Want to get laid? Cool. Sacred, even. But if I manipulate to do it, or hide from feelings in the process, she’ll hold that mirror up. Context matters.

And that’s what I love about her. Not control. Not guilt. Truth.

So Here's My Take:

I know everyone has a different relationship to magick. That’s cool. You do you. But for me? This is the path. This is the current. Authenticity isn’t optional. It’s the vow. I’m not here to play a part. I’m not here to look impressive. I’m here to live fully, burn true, and keep becoming.

Because I’m the one who has to look in the mirror. I’m the one who lays my head down at night. And I refuse to lie to myself just to belong.

 

[HoldAll]

Thanks for giving me just the right idea I was looking for for my own next journal post since I completely forgot about the classical elements when discussing martial arts!

 

[FireBorn]

Stay sharp. Keep your fire clean. Not all voices from the past deserve a seat at your table.

Lavina: A Brush with Bloodline​

About ten days ago, I found myself thinking about my ancestors, particularly the ones tied to the occult. The shit they were into? Super dark. I mean really dark. So I started asking: what were they actually practicing? What does that mean for my path? Are there ancestral ties to be dealt with here?

I thought I had resolution. Thought.

The Morning it Shifted

Early this morning, I was getting ready for a trip into town to grab groceries. For context: I live deep in the woods of East Texas, the kind of place folks go deer hunting. My mailbox is two miles from my cabin, and you won’t make it up the dirt road without 4WD. It’s about as close to off-grid as you can get without cutting the cord completely. I love the clean energy, the solitude, and the rugged lifestyle. (No skinny jeans here dude!) Almost 25 miles to town, this place aint for the weak.

I laid out my “going to town” clothes, don’t laugh, it’s a real thing, then jumped in the shower. Showering has always been a liminal space for me. Not here, not there. And water, especially moving water, carries weight. Water got in my ears, like it does, and suddenly my right ear started ringing. Much louder than my usual tinnitus, and a noticeably lower pitch. Only the right ear. Message from the outside?

I paid attention but kept moving. My water heater is small, no time to linger or you’ll get smacked with cold water. Then it hit: a muffled voice, like when we used to play records backward to "hear Satan’s messages" (lol). It was warped, staccato, distant. “Don’t go.” That got my attention.

It wasn’t Lilith, I know her voice like I know my own heartbeat. And it wasn’t another demon either. There was far less power in it. It felt… far away. Yet still familiar. Not known. But familiar. If you know, you know.

I logged the experience as-is, no intuition, no spin. Just facts. I do this for integrity, clean data before the emotional analysis. About an hour later, I was sitting on my porch watching the sun come up. It had rained all weekend, so a dry morning was a gift.

My cat Steve jumped on my lap, makes biscuits with Wolverine style claws (yes, she’s a girl, named her before I knew. She likes the name. Fight me) and promptly passed out. I decided to drop into trance and see if the voice had more to say. Was it Lavina? Could it really be her?

I never met my grandmother Lavina. She took her own life when my mom was a kid, went from Grotto High Priestess to... well. You know. Could be her. Could also be a parasite mimic looking to feed. I was game to find out. I ran it by Lilith first. She's my Matron. “If this doesn’t align with my fire, or if I’m about to walk into something that’ll fuck me sideways, stop me.” Nothing. So I dropped in.

It was surprisingly easy this morning, I slipped into trance like warm butter. Usual shapes, then a strange detail: I saw a square lens. It’s always a round lens. But I entered it. Either I popped out or transitioned, unclear. I tried again. Same thing. I usually respect resistance in trance. If something doesn't want me there, I don’t force it. I honor spiritual sovereignty. It’s not all about me. But this time, I punched in.

“Don’t Follow Me”​

I found myself in a grayscale room. No gravity. No sound. No light. Just... nothing. But I wasn’t alone. The voice was there. I said, “If that was you I heard earlier, thank you for the message.” “Are you Lavina?” “Yes. Your maternal grandmother.” Check. I started to form a question about the Satanic Grotto she was High Priestess of. I wanted to ask how something that dark found its way into a tiny town in eastern Colorado in the 1950s.

But before I could, she said: “You’re strong.” I knew what she meant. She either recognized Lilith’s current in me or was acknowledging the strength it took to push through and meet her here. Then she said: “Don’t follow me. Stay your own path.” That landed hard. Roger that.
That was all I needed.

I slipped out. Message received. I don’t feel any emotion toward her, I never met her. Ancestry isn’t an obligation in my book. I come from a distant family. Just because I fell out of someone’s womb doesn’t mean there’s love. I learned early that blood doesn’t guarantee connection.

I don’t hate Lavina, and I don’t pity her. She chose. I choose. I don’t owe her anything. Not prayers, not grief, not vengeance. I do give her respect.

Still, I always space out the important questions in trance. Every fucking time. I get in there and forget to ask the big stuff, where are you? What’s your origin? Is there a heaven? What is the astral? What’s the architecture of this space? But nope. I go in and blank out. Sorry, science.

Final Take​

So where does this land? My path doesn’t change. It wouldn’t have changed even if Lavina had begged for help, or offered me dark power on a silver platter. I’m on my path. And I own it. Right, wrong, indifferent, I own it.

Pretty interesting event overall. Was it the “right” way to handle it? Who cares. It worked. That’s all that matters. I'm sure there is a book with someone's opinion about the 'right way' to do it. Fuck them (but nicely though. Flowers and all that.).

Did I go to town? Nope. I’ll go tomorrow. I trusted the voice. Trusted my fire. Trusted the no. Still… I’d prefer not to hear Lavina in the shower again, if I’m being honest. That’s just weird as fuck.