Satanic Unitarianism – A Hopeful Alternative

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““God, conquered, will become Satan; Satan, conquering, will become God. May the fates spare me this terrible lot …”
– Anatole France, La Revolte des Anges

What happens when, after rebelling against the authority, you become the authority?

This post, submitted by one of my readers (whose girlfriend is the author), explains that “By saying theistic Satanists are not “real Satanists”, the Church of Satan is creating a distinctly Satanic religious identity not in opposition to American society, but in opposition to those “proximate others” who are too ideologically close for comfort, which might threaten their position in America’s religious landscape.””  The subject of the paper focuses specifically on the Church of Satan; however, this notion of opposing “proximate others” prevails throughout all rungs of Satanic culture.  Prominent theistic Satanic groups, such as the Order of Nine Angles and the Joy of Satan Ministries, are as violent in their opposition of LaVeyan Satanism as they are against mainstream religious disciplines, for exactly the same reason — within the Satanic subculture, the Church of Satan is “mainstream.”

In my opinion, this is not an integral failing within either discipline’s theology, philosophy or metaphysics; upon closer scrutiny, many well-read Satanists agree they espouse the same ultimate message, regardless of the differing spiritual (or lack thereof) trappings.  This is indicative of an integral human failing.  Becoming the assumed majority opinion in any cross-reference of society seems to breed an attitude of “us vs. them” — and if acceptance is finally reached within the larger-scale community regarding the veracity of one’s claims, the vitriol turns inward to any who would “jeopardize” their new-found validity.  But at what cost?

If you ask those of us, like myself, who don’t wish to fit into any mold — who wish to embrace the essence of Satan as complete lack of convention, tradition, or hierarchy — it means accepting group identity at the cost of your principles, or consigning yourself to solitary practitionership forever.

There is another way.

I call it “Satanic unitarianism” (although a more advertising-friendly tagline has been suggested: ‘orgiastic Satanism’).  It is based on two simple premises:

1. No one group of Satanism is any better or worse than any other.  Upon closer examination, every group has its failings, its shortcomings, and its skeletons in the closet — some over, some subtle; some tolerable, some harder to swallow.  That is why Satanists are implored to accept no one’s authority as the “one true path;” it is a self-defense mechanism against indoctrination and stagnancy of thought.

2. Every Satanic group has something of value to contribute.  Yes — I do mean EVERY group.  That means even the ones you can’t stand, that make your gut turn, that disagree so strongly with your principles that you have a hard time thinking about it without getting angry.  That means even the ones inundated with Nazi iconography, even the ones saturated in Judeo-Christian themes, and yes, even the ones that reject the principles of magick.  Satanism isn’t about compartmentalizing things into easy-to-process chunks; it’s the difficult but all-important revelation that simplicity of any kind is an illusion, and if you think something’s simple, you haven’t examined it hard enough — or talked to enough people about it.

Not everyone is cut out for that kind of daily mental exertion.  Even people who find it fun and interesting also admit it is draining and difficult!  But I believe it can be taught.  I believe, given an atmosphere supportive and open-minded of new ideas, burgeoning Satanists aloofly guided by these principles will breathe new life into us.

These principles are what the blog, the page, and my Satanic faith are based primarily upon.  Based on the blog and it’s accompanying Facebook page’s growing following (and even the vitriol from its dissent) I can tell I’m not alone, and the idea has traction.  So I propose that people who agree with the principles I have just stated, and who are interested in hearing from all sides of the Satanic debate — rather than engaging in the regrettable feedback loops that so often occur when claims are made in a vacuum — should come together under the banner of Satanic unitarianism.  Join the debates on our Facebook page, distribute the learning material, and most importantly of all, be supportive of all your Satanic brothers and sisters, no matter what path they follow.

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Personal Meditations on The Cosmos, Life

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I was born upon a drifting particle of iron orbiting a G-type main-sequence star. The particle is approximately twenty-five thousand light-years from the galactic center of the Milky Way. The star is located in the Orion Spur of the Milky Way galaxy, at the coordinates X:-25996 Y:+29 X:-49. The entire Milky Way is a cell forming the body of the local galactic group, which is comprised of almost fifty other galaxies. This galactic group is itself a cell within the Virgo Supercluster; over one hundred galaxy groups and clusters compact to form its roughly thirty three megaparsecs’ worth of length. It is one among sixty clusters which merge to manifest the Pisces–Cetus Supercluster Complex, a galactic filament among a hundred billion others producing the foam-like superstructure of the Observable Universe.

Beyond these parameters, light older than thirteen point seven billion years has yet to extend; aeons to come promise a universe far broader in scope than even the one I currently occupy.

I am composed of sixty five percent oxygen, eighteen percent carbon, ten percent hydrogen, three percent nitrogen, two percent calcium, one percent phosphorus, point three percent sulfur, point two percent sodium, point two percent chlorine, and point one percent magnesium – although I contain fourteen other trace elements of less than point one percent. Ninety nine percent of me is comprised of the six foremost elements; point eighty-five percent comprises the other eighteen. All are necessary for me to exist.

As early as four point four billion years ago, foreign bodies pelting my particle’s surface deposited liquid hydrogen in its atmosphere and upon its surface in proportions sufficient to pockmark its face with early oceans. From the raw materials left by the egg of earth and spermatozoa from the cosmos, I drafted the last universal ancestor – a simplistic prokaryote, lacking even a proper nucleus to house the precious DNA that would go on to code all other life.

I fermented for billions of years, enduring the constant onslaught of asteroid impacts, volcanic outbursts and an anaerobic environment until enough of me had formed to fight back. The star my particle orbits shone less brightly then; as aeons passed, temperatures cooled, and the star’s rays pierced the dense, heavy atmosphere, I learned to convert its precious light-energy into the resources I needed to survive. As a bi-product, I formed oxygen, which clung to limestone, iron, and other minerals until it was ready to oxidize above the water. Upon its release, the world reshaped. A great purge occurred. The parts of me that thrived in the time of darkness could no longer survive in the oxygen-rich environment.

My trials were not yet over. Although I went on to continue photosynthesizing, the oxygen I produced reacted with the methane in the atmosphere to form carbon monoxide, whose properties as a greenhouse gas are far less effective. My particle plummeted into a period of ice. Others would follow, delaying my flourishing until five hundred and forty two million years ago.

Then, abruptly, I exploded into being. I assumed millions of unique forms. I adopted hard shells, bones, organs, and skin. I took to the ocean and the land. I perceived the majesty and enormity of my mother Earth through billions of subjective perspectives – her wrath, her compassion, and even her cruel indifference. I knew her to nurture for some aeons, and cruelly purge in others. Whether she reclaimed my raw parts for future generations or enabled their formation into multitudes of life in the current, each becoming more complex and magnificent than the last, I never fully departed.

Now, my presence on this particle is undisputed. I am born, die, and am reborn again. I create anew from the material of the old, behold my own divinity through billions of lifetimes, and cast my ambitious gaze upon the cosmic grandeur that lay beyond this place.

I anticipate a future in which the very small interfaces with the very large, perceiving – at long last – infinity.

Regarding The Frequency Of My Posts (Again)

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Readers,

It’s been a minute!

First, as of Monday, January 6th, I’ve accepted a full-time job. This means the frequency of my posts, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, will – and has – greatly stymied. Rest assured, however, I will make at least two blog posts every Saturday and Sunday to keep the blog’s content fresh. As much as I love setting aside time daily for research of Satanism and the occult, my real passion in life, I have practical affairs to attend to first. I hope my regular readership understands.

Second, I’d like to repost a status update I made on the 2nd on the blog’s Facebook page:

“The blog is now officially half a year old!

It has a total of 25,600 pageviews, 429 posts, and 714 followers (including all email subscribers, Twitter, and Facebook).

When I began, I was informed by a jaded commentator that such endeavors to blog about Satanism usually lose their steam after three months. Well, I’ve doubled that estimate, and I’m not planning to retire it anytime soon.

I hope that the blog project has been as much of a delight for you to read and resource as it has been for me to compile. As always, I invite my readers to send me related material (YouTube videos, articles, .pdf files, images, etc.) they’ve found in their studies, or some of their own, to add to the growing (and impressive) cultural legacy of Satanism.

Hail Him!”

 

Regards,

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A Preview of The Book of the Black Goat

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Readers,

I apologize for my recent lull in posts. I was busy compiling my newest published booklet, The Book of the Black Goat. It’s available on my Lulu.com Author Spotlight for 2.49. It explains the origins of Baphomet as a mythological figure, and a thorough overview of how to harness Him for occult ritual purposes.

As with my prior eBook, Epoch, I’m offering a free glimpse for my blog readers here. If you like what you’re reading, follow the hyperlink above to purchase a digital .pdf copy.

“… [general scholarly consensus agrees that] Baphomet is, in fact, a French corruption of the name Muhammad, the holy prophet of Islam. Some Templar groups, who oversaw decades-long military occupations in the Outremer (meaning “overseas;” the name for the Crusader States established after the First Crusade: the County of Edessa, the Principality of Antioch, the County of Tripoli and the Kingdom of Jerusalem), began to incorporate Islamic philosophies and practices into their belief system. Upon their return to Christendom, they were branded heretics. This xenophobia lead to a widespread campaign of misinformation against the Islamic faith. Medieval Christians, for example, falsely believed that Muslims worshiped Muhammad as a god in the form of idols. These idols, called mahomet, later became mammet, the English term for an idol or false god.

To select Baphomet as a patron deity is, in essence, to select no patron deity. Baphomet fosters and encourages communication with Gods of all kinds, conventional and Hidden, Demonic or Angelic. Adherents of Baphomet are encouraged to study the literature, beliefs, and faith systems of other religions and adopt whatever of their mannerisms makes communion with Baphomet the easiest and most intuitive.

Communing with Baphomet Himself, rather than merely inviting His handiwork, is tricky, because by His nature He prefers to go unseen. He prefers to be spoken through by others, rather than spoken to. When contact with Him is successful, His messages can be vague, cryptic, or spoken in a language the individual may not understand. Bring a pencil and notepad to write down your stream-of-conscious experience for later examination. Many witches keep this information in a Book of Shadows, a consecrated tome in which they record all of their ritual workings. It need not be an affair of great pomp and circumstance. This shy God prefers to appear in places of isolation and total darkness – the more overcast, starless and pitch black it is, the more likely He is to heed your summons. Places in nature, such as hiking trails and camp grounds far from other people, are preferable locations.”

 

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An Excerpt From My Next Story

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Readers,

The following is an excerpt from my work-in-progress novel, a Satanic adaptation of Dante Alighieri’s Inferno. It’s told from the perspective of a sinner escaping his punishment by descending all nine layers to confront Satan Himself.

It contains strong language and graphic violence. If that offends, spare yourself the revulsion of reading it.

Enjoy, and there’s more to come soon.

“… Where am I?”

“The better question is, ‘who are you?'”

I thought to reply, but drew a blank. I scoured my fuzzy mind for a name, a species, a gender, but nothing replied.

I realized I wasn’t seeing anything, or smelling anything, or hearing anything, or tasting anything, or touching anything. I existed in a vacuum.

Horror crept over me. “… I am afraid.”

“So you are.” I recognized this helpful voice to be male, with a bestial intonation that only worsened my panic. “How does it feel?”

“I don’t know! I can’t feel anything!”

“Then why are you afraid? If you cannot feel, you cannot hurt.”

“Because I don’t understand!” I cried. “I wasn’t always like this!”

“Afraid?”

“Yes. I was a being.”

“No. You were alive.”

“… I’m dead?”

The helpful voice did not reply.

“No!” The horror reached its climax. “God, no!”

At the utterance of that Holiest of Names, the helpful voice took on a savage animalism as it laughed, boisterously, in the face of my suffering. “Cry the name of your pathetic God as loud as you can; He will not hear you. You exist now in the inescapable pit of Hell!”

It was starting to come back to me. I remembered a curious symbol comprised of two lines, one running vertical, one running perpendicular. The two lines met to form a symbol: a cross.

It looked like a capital T.

Theism. Atheism.

Christianity.

“This doesn’t make sense,” I moaned. “How could the Christians have been right?”

“About what?”

“About everything!” I screamed. “An entire lifetime of cynicism, wasted!”

“Your suffering delights and intrigues me,” the helpful voice responded, “but I will not abide such blasphemy against the One and True God Satan. And while I wish I could educate you against this blasphemy, to do so, you must possess the faculties necessary to learn: namely, a body. In Hell, to obtain one, you must steal one from someone else. Everything you possess in this realm comes at great expense – your’s, or someone else’s. It is not gifted, earned, or deserved; it is claimed. Stolen.”

“How will I do that without a body?”

“Pity, that. Well, I suppose you could convince someone to gift you one.”

“But you’re the only other person I know, and I don’t even know who you are!”

“Then it would seem your next move is obvious. Be warned, however, that your current state – suspended forever between the theft of your corporeal form, but exempt from visceral torture for precisely that reason – is as close to contentment as you’ll ever feel again.”

“Contentment? Alone, in this pit? I think not. You’re trying to trick me.”

“I can assure you that compared to the company in Hell, an eternity in solitude may well be preferable.”

“I don’t intend to stay here forever.”

“But you must! Your punishment is eternal.”

“I will not be punished forever for a sin I don’t even remember committing, against a God I didn’t – and still don’t – believe in. I will escape; mark my words. But to do it, I need a body.” Channeling my fear into determination, I roared as authoritatively as I could, “So give me your’s. Now.”

There was a long silence.

“We will see how long your conviction survives in the face of the Ultimate Evil,” came the reply at last.

My eyes opened.

Constant was the wailing of tortured souls, who fell from the blood red sky above in a flaming mass of scalded flesh like meteors. The landscape was hard and rocky; jagged rock formations protruded from every crevasse, upon which bodies had been impaled through the midsection or skewered through the anus like pigs on a roast.

I perceived a horrible pain in my lower body. When I reached my hands out to touch its source, I met chipped stone dripping with blood.

My first iteration to this strange new world that I existed was to scream in agony, like a babe making its first tentative gasps of oxygen after exiting the portal of its mothers’ womb. I was baptized in pain, indoctrinated by fear into the awful, sinking belief that there was, in fact, a Hell, and it was the new universe in which I resided – like it or not.

I reached my arms behind me. They were not long enough to reach the flat cliff out of which the rock impaling my ribcage found its origin point. My legs, however, were, and with the only remaining reservoir of strength I could summon, I pushed myself by the soles of my feet, inch by inch, off of the spike. When my soles didn’t reach, I pushed with my toes, all the way to the very point of my toenails.

I gritted my teeth and cried torrentially through the ordeal.

When at last the spike emerged from the other end of my body, I plummeted downward at free-fall speed, my entrails billowing in the wind above me. The pain did not cease; only diminished somewhat, like the receding of waves in preparation for a massive tsunami. The tsunami came when I struck the hard, unyielding ground, shattering every bone I had and reducing my new body to a bloody pulp. The ground, covered in a fine gray powder, cratered around me.

But I did not die, for death would be a mercy.

Rather, after lying prostrate in a sniveling heap on the flat bedrock, with only the chorus of moans of my fellow sinners to comfort me, I felt my new vessel shift of its own accord. Bones painfully snapped back into place, my entrails snaked back into my body, and my skin, like bacteria forming in a petri dish, spread to cover the exposed holes to my guts.

I groaned, sat up, and clutched my ribcage, where the mottled bruises remaining from my fall were gradually fading into the off-pink that was my naked skin tone. It was flecked with dark body hair along my forearms, chest and groin, which tapered off into a flaccid, uncircumcised penis. I understood this to mean I was a man.

I drew a long, haggard breath into my lungs. It reeked of sulfur and burned my throat going down. When I exhaled, particles of acrid dust drifted lazily in the air inches from my face. I coughed into my arm; flecks of gray phlegm greeted me.

A mighty roar attracted my attention. I turned my gaze up.

The cliffs hosting the impaled bodies extended skyward for what seemed like forever, and the souls captured upon their craggy faces likewise numbered. A massive, reptilian beast with a wingspan miles wide flew overhead, its shadow blotting out the singular point of light streaming in from on high.

It opened its behemoth maw and belched flame upon the cliff face. The sinners caught in range of the blaze were vaporized, instantly silencing their throes and delivering them to a merciful state of incorporeal terror. Others, caught just outside of the blast radius, were reduced to ash. The flecks of ash rained upon the landscape like snow.

I blanched as the epiphany dawned on me that this was the same ashen substance I had hacked up onto my arm.

I scrambled to my feet as the beast overhead released an earth-shattering roar. The force of its throaty call was enough to generate an earthquake, which ruptured the cracked earth beneath me with terrible ease. The pitch of the earth below me threw me off my feet. I hurried again to an upright position and darted in the first direction I stably faced, with no expectation of where I was going, or what I was going to do. Only one impulse flooded through my veins: to flee.

As I darted across the ashen landscape, dodging and leaping over faults as they opened, I noticed a cavernous mouth in the cliff face a mile ahead. A sense of dread filled me; this was Hell, and I knew already that any reprieve from the constant suffering was costly. Still I ran, the ash caking the walls of my lungs as I hyperventilated during the panicked sprint to safety.

“Ugh!” I stumbled into the cave, exhausted, and immediately collapsed to my knees in a fit of uncontrollable coughing. First I was starved for oxygen from the thick, soupy phlegm I vomited on the floor; then I was starved from the depression of my diaphragm, which, after the onslaught of spasms, was too tired to enable regular breathing. I asphyxiated on the floor for several minutes as I waited to develop enough strength to will it to expand.

When that moment came, a merciful rush of oxygen void of ash filled my chest.

Finally permitted a moment to survey my surroundings, I examined the walls of the cave. They were drenched in dried blood so thick, it flaked off like old paint. Some of the blood was used as a writing medium – ‘GOD IS DEAD’ and ‘FUCK CHRIST’ were hastily scrawled over a lighter layer beneath it. There were torches on the wall in wrought iron holders whose flames afforded a narrow range of visibility. I could see that the cavern descended for some distance.

The roar of the beast with flaming breath echoed from outside of the cave. It was the motivation I needed to get back up on my feet and continue deeper into the chasm.

What struck me most as I trekked tersely ahead, guided by a torch I grabbed off the wall, was the silence. After an hour of walking, the screams behind me faded away into a muted stillness that was only occasionally interrupted by my own lonely footfalls.

There were no landmarks to guide me, save the blasphemies written in blood on the wall. After a time, I started to see them repeated – not just in phrase, but in the particulars of their line strokes. I feared I was walking in circles.

Then, I heard an abrupt sound to my left – a woman weeping.

Her weeping was not soft, timid, cathartic. It was the desperate sob of a being at the end of its life.

I thought not to pursue it. I suspected, at first, demonic trickery. But as I motioned to proceed onward regardless, the sobs became more pronounced. My empathy – what little of it resounded above my own screeching sense of self-preservation – vetoed the action. I turned on my heel toward the noise, suspecting each step carried me closer to my doom.

The louder the sound became, the deeper my apprehension grew. Sweat beaded on my dirty forehead. I licked my suddenly dry lips and tensed my Achilles’ heel in preparation for a preemptive charge.

Then the light revealed its source. It was indeed a woman – a sinner, like myself, if her emaciated and battered appearance was any indication. She was on her hands and knees, grasping for something to indicate where, in the pitch dark, she was.

When she noticed the light, her first instinct was to shriek and recoil.

“It’s alright,” I reassured her, softening my voice. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Stay back!” She hissed. “Don’t touch me!”

I froze in place, my free palm exposed in surrender.

“Go away,” she moaned, curling her legs against her stomach and laying down sideways on the cavern floor. “I don’t want to be seen like this.”

“You wouldn’t be seeing at all if it weren’t for my torch,” I snapped, short on patience after my ordeal. “So stop feeling sorry for yourself, and be grateful I’m helping you.”

She sniffled and wiped her eyes against the back of her hand.

“You’re the first friendly face I’ve met so far,” I admitted. I realized in that moment, regarding her pathetic state, that her anger wasn’t meant for me. “Please – let it be a happy one.”

“You’re new here, huh?” She raked her fingers through her shoulder-length hair. It was hopelessly matted and caked with soot. “This is the closest to happy anyone gets in Hell.”

“Says who?”

She gave me an incredulous look. “Are you blind, or just stupid?”

“I woke up less than an hour ago impaled on a spike. Give me a fucking break.”

She scoffed.

“My point is, if this ‘Satan’ says we have to be miserable, then I say he can go fuck himself. He’s no god of mine.”

“You’re brave,” she replied, “speaking such blasphemies within earshot of his minions.”

“What are you talking about? We’re alone here.”

“You’re never alone in Hell.” She blanched. “They’re always watching. Always waiting for you to drop your guard …”

“Is that how you ended up here?” I knelt to her level.

“Yes.”

“I hope you lost them.”

“Hope? Hah! You abandoned that when you came here.”

“There is hope. I’m going to escape.”

At that, she started laughing. It was a short, belabored noise that ended in a raucous cough. I wanted to feel sorry for her, but the slight rubbed me the wrong way.

“What’s so ridiculous about that? I have an eternity to try.”

“And an eternity to fail! You think you’re the first?” She gave me a once-over with a flick of her eyelashes and wrinkled her nose. “You think you’re the best?”

Now she was really pushing my boundaries. “I moved the fucking universe to get this body. What did you do?”

“The same.” She held her ground with an icy gaze to meet my own. “We all did. No one is better than anyone else here. But you can be worse. Much, much worse. And these sentiments you believe in so strongly, like ‘hope’ and ‘happiness?’ You have yet to discover it, but in time, you will realize these are farces designed to placate the masses; carrots-on-sticks for the petty, weak-minded fools who would incur the wrath of Lord Satan. He did you a favor by letting you wake up here, in the upper rungs. When your little plan fails, you can anticipate spending every miserable second of your eternity in the Pit. He’ll probably immerse you in frozen excrement with his massive, unwashed testicles perched on your face, you stupid idiot.” She spat at my feet. “How’s that for being ungrateful?”

“I don’t have to take this shit,” I snapped, rising to my feet. “You can rot in this cave if you want, but I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

“Fine! Go suffer in the Pit, asshole.” She sniffled and turned away. “See if I care.”

As I marched off, I noticed something I hadn’t on the walls of the cavern – fresh blood. It was oozing from the various crevasses in the stone. As I hesitated to observe it, I heard her call out from behind me, “What are you waiting for? Get lost!”

“Shut up!” I snapped. “We might be in danger.”

She quieted instantly and followed my gaze to the blood pooling on the floor.

She started to tremble.

“What is it?” I asked, feeling fear squeeze my insides.

“We have to get out of here.” She shot up to her feet with such speed, I was surprised she didn’t suffer whiplash. She darted past me into the darkness.

“Wait –!” I ran after her.

“RUN!” She screamed.

The slow trickle from every pore in the walls thickened into a steady stream, then into a raging pour.

As the pool extended into the center of the cavern, kissing my toes as I sprinted, I felt it sear my flesh like acid.

She began shrieking ahead of me.

The fluid filled the chamber to ankle-length. I felt the flesh of my feet sear down to the bone. Despite the agony, I ran as hard as my legs could carry me. The woman must’ve been running even harder, for even under this duress I did not match her. Her wails were the beacon I followed to what I hoped was a reprieve.

The liquid rose to waist-height. I felt it seep into my intestines and gnaw them from the inside out. I was no longer running; I was floating, flailing what remained of my melting arms and upper body in the general direction of forward. In the process, I dropped the torch, plunging the cave into darkness.

Her screams subsided. Mine alone echoed through the narrow divide between the surface of the scalding liquid and the roof of the cavern.

Drawing a frenzied gasp for breath through my screams, the liquid covered – and subsequently devoured – my face. I was a skeleton, incapable of speech or momentum. I experienced no pain anymore; I lacked the nerve endings necessary to process it. I only knew terror at being swept helplessly into what tortures lurked beyond.

 

Hail Satan!

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A Preview of Epoch: A Retelling of the First Six Chapters of Genesis

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Readers,

Today I self-published my first eBook, Epoch: A Retelling of the first Six Chapters of Genesis. It’s available for download as an eBook for 3.99 on Lulu.com. At just under 30 pages in length, it’s a quick, fun romp through the various ancient folklore related to the Fall of Man and the war between Satan and God.

For you, my lovely readers, I’m providing a sneak peak: the first chapter of the story.

Enjoy!

 

In a great gust of wind was the first man formed. His body was, at first, a lifeless husk, scarcely distinguishable from the dusty environment upon which it settled when at last the gusting ceased.
Just then, a second breeze ensued, filling the dust-caked nostrils of the fleshy vessel. It cleared the earthen film that settled in his lungs, and with a thunderous cough, the vessel, propelled by an internal force, sat upright and coughed. Naked and hairless, the fully-formed man, dubbed Adam by his Creator, awoke to a splendor when the winds again subsided.
The land before him, cradled between two massive, crystalline rivers, was rich with vegetation and animal life Goats grazed openly upon the plentiful grass, sheep bleated noisily as they pockmarked the verdant plane, and birds converged upon the treetops and sang a rich chorus.
As Adam drew his first solitary breath, the smell of aromatic resin shocked his senses. His retinas adjusted to the blinding light only after much initial, eye-watering distress.
“Welcome to the world,” came a booming voice.
Adam was afraid. He rose quickly to his feet and glanced about.
“Do not fear; I am your Benevolent Creator, and I have formed you from the dirt to reign sovereign over this land.”
Adam fell to his knees and ducked his head reverently before the Voice of God. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard footsteps approaching. He rose and turned to face a magnificent sight – woman, as fully-formed and hairless as he. The two were scarcely distinguishable, save for their gendered anatomy.
“This is Lilith. She was formed of the dirt, like you. As every other beast has a mate, so too shall you.”
The two observed each other in silence.
“You both shall tend to the plants and animals of this land,” continued God. “And in exchange, you are permitted to eat the fruit of every plant bearing seed, and the meat and milk of every creature you shepherd. There is only one exception.”
A lone cloud obscured the sun, localizing a ray of sunlight upon a lone-standing tree, which kept vigil over the highest hill between the rivers. Its leaves were weighted down with upside-down flowers in a conic shape, some of whose four petals had parted to reveal small, green fruits covered in spines.
“This is the Tree of Knowledge,” God explained. “You are not to eat the fruit of this tree, or else you will die.”
“Die?” Adam asked, perplexed.
“Yes. Death is an end to all things.”
Though Adam did not fully understand, he chose not to question.
Lilith had considerably less restraint. “Lord, what lies beyond the rivers?”
“This land is called Eden, and it is My Paradise on Earth. Its borders are these rivers – they are called the Tigris and Euphrates. There is nothing for you beyond them, my child; only Death resides there.
“Now go, my children,” added God, “and do as I have commanded.”

 

Although man and woman’s first steps into their new Paradise were clumsy and awkward, they were bravely taken, for all of the world was new to these two fresh creatures. Adam endeavored to shepherd the animals of the land, with limited success at first, and Lilith busied herself harvesting the fruit of every plant in Eden – except the Tree of Knowledge, which both diligently avoided … The way they avoided one another.
The two hadn’t uttered a word to one another yet, as they were both perfectly content to perform God’s task without assistance or company.
Adam observed his herded goats congregating into family units. Some had already busied themselves multiplying, generating children who, as Adam had not long before, entered the world in confusion, but were consoled by their parents, the gods of their own creation. He noted how the beasts whose genital anatomy most closely resembled his were often tasked with the defense of the entire tribe, and he felt this illuminated somewhat his function as a man. It saddened Adam to consider disrupting these families with his own incessant need for sustenance – Death, after all, sounded dreadful – so in his hunger (and in no small measure, his loneliness) he sought out his companion in the wilds.
Lilith, on the other hand, observed the way the plants of Eden were all interconnected by an elaborate system of roots that, when she dug just beneath the surface, extended many arms’ length in every direction. She noted the way these green-faced creatures interconnected with the soil beneath them and contemplated her own connection to these beasts, having herself sprung from the earth like a sapling. As she ruminated over this, she came upon a herd of goats plucking berries off of the branches of a bush between their teeth; when she followed suit and popped one of the flavorful fruits into her mouth, she found it delicious and decided to gather more of them in her palm.
By the time Adam found her, some time had transpired. Hair had sprouted all over his body – his chest, his arms, his legs, his face and his head. Upon her, it had only grown at length upon the crown of her skull. The presentation only rendered her appearance all the more arresting, for when she turned to regard him as he called out her name, her long mane billowed in the wind, a flag of God’s presence.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, presenting her palmful of berries.
Adam licked his lips. “Yes.”
Lilith plucked a berry from the pile with her free hand and held it between two fingers. “Open your mouth.”
Adam stood still with his mouth agape. Lilith, closing the distance between them, dropped the berry between his lips.
“What did you learn in your travels?” She asked.
“I have learned from the ram that as man and sovereign, my duty to this land is that of protector,” he explained. “As the ram brandishes horns in defense of his lineage, so too shall I guard you.”
Lilith chuckled. This response perplexed him.
“Sweet Adam, I need no guardian!” She announced. “What is there to defend me from here in Paradise?”
He frowned. “… I hadn’t thought of that.”
Lilith offered him another berry. He accepted it. “Consider instead the plants; how they co-mingle in a vast, all-encompassing blanket of self-sustaining life. There is no sovereign among plants; they root wherever they are able. As we are of the dirt, like the plants, I propose our purpose here is likewise.”
Adam shook his head. “No, no — that’s absurd. We’re nothing like the plants!” He insisted. “The plants are static; they just allow anything to stroll by and nourish itself of their fruit. What kind of existence is that?”
Lilith raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with giving back to the environment from which you sprang?”
“The Lord God declared us sovereign,” Adam explained, folding his arms. “Keepers of this land. We are not a part of it; we are above it.”
This disturbed Lilith somewhat, but she allowed it to pass. “I suppose we’ll have to agree to disagree.”
This disturbed Adam even more.

 

The days in Eden were long, and though the Lord God had not yet created rain, the waters of the Tigris and Euphrates kept the soil arable. Lilith shared her observations of the plants with Adam, who derived from that knowledge a practical understanding of farming. With his manual labor and Lilith’s cunning, the first plot of land was tilled and sprinkled with seeds. In little time at all, it sprang into a lush pocket of foliage from which a king’s bounty of fruit was harvested.
In exchange, Adam shared his observations of the animals with Lilith, who left fruits and berries in large pockets so as to attract goats and sheep. From these early herds, Adam learned to milk his livestock for sustenance.
The Lord observed His creations’ hard work, and He was pleased.
But there was trouble brewing in Paradise. One day, in Lilith’s absence, Adam went down on both knees, clasped his hands together, and requested the counsel of God.
“Yes, my son,” He replied, “What troubles you?”
“Lord, both Lilith and I have toiled to carry out Your will. And in doing so, I have seen the animals couple and mate, and in doing so bear offspring. I have seen the offspring suckle at the teat of their mother, and be protected from harm by their father. The animals submit to this order without instruction. However, the woman You have created for me does not heed this beckon call as I do. She desires only solitude, and to appease her curiosity. But I desire her.”
“Then you must claim her,” God instructed. “And your rightful place as sovereign of the land. If she does not obey, she will be cursed. This you may tell her.”
Adam frowned. “I don’t want to curse her, God. I want her to like me.”
“Your function is not to be liked,” God replied, “But to follow My word as I have spoken it – and it has been spoken. Do you understand?”
He did not. “Yes, Lord.”

 

Adam tracked Lilith down some time later as she attended her duties in her new garden. “I come with a gift,” he announced, which attracted her attention from her work.
“A gift?” She replied, perplexed.
Adam presented a flower he’d plucked during his shepherding. It was a multitude of brilliant colors, although its petals were already beginning to dry out having been rended from its roots and consigned to eventually wilt. This Lilith recognized, and it made her cry in despair.
“What have you done?!” Rising abruptly to her feet, she snatched the flower from his hands, fell to her knees, and wept.
Adam, wrought with guilt, could only watch. “I-I don’t understand — what’s wrong?”
“You killed it,” she moaned. “It was beautiful, and you killed it! You brought Death into Eden!”
“It still is beautiful,” he protested, kneeling by her in a last-ditch reconciliatory effort. “It reminded me of you. I thought you’d like it.”
“Get away from me!” She snapped, clutching the flower to her chest. “You’re a monster!”
With that, she fled into the wilderness, leaving Adam alone to stew in rejection.

 

Lilith knelt before the bank of the Tigris. From beyond it, she observed an arid, sandy wasteland extending well beyond the horizon.
She placed the wilted flower into the water and watched it lazily drift off. As it sank beneath the surface, she pondered the question of Death. The flower, plucked from its roots, had died in her hands, so she felt the only appropriate place to put it was in the barrier between Paradise and the Death that resided beyond. She found its drifting in the river to be peaceful. Was that what Death was like – a gentle tug into the Unknown?
Adam approached from beyond, maintaining a respectful distance. “Lilith –”
She peered venomously over her shoulder. “I told you to go away.”
The added rejection only stang worse. He allowed his hurt to manifest as anger. “I spoke to the Lord,” he began. “If you do not make yourself more agreeable to me, He will curse you.”
She rose to her feet and placed her hands on her hips in defiance. “Then let Him curse me! I would rather be cursed in His eyes than perfect in your’s!”
When Adam felt he couldn’t feel more unwanted, Lilith upped the ante. He recoiled, aghast. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” she hissed. “Besides, we were both made of the earth; why do you not make yourself more agreeable to me?”
“I am man,” he declared, taking steps closer. “Sovereign and ruler of this land. You are my woman, and you will obey me. The Lord has commanded it!” He gripped her arm and pulled her closer. Lilith struggled against his grip.
“Never!” She wrenched herself free, raised her hand in the air, and invoked His Holy Name. From her back sprang a massive pair of feathered wings. With a thunderous flap, they elevated her off of the ground.
“I curse you, Adam!” She roared. “I curse you for the rest of your miserable existence! And to You, Lord, who has cursed me for this so-called ‘defiance’ – I spit upon Your name!”
“Lilith, no!”
With a mighty shriek, Lilith flew beyond the Tigris into the certain Death beyond.

 

As Lilith trekked deeper into the desert, the heat of the sun searing her skin, she sought refuge in a cave hollowed out of the side of a jagged rock formation. Alone in the dark, Lilith wept into her hands.
“Sweet creature, why are you crying?” A dulcet voice pierced the silence.
Lilith lifted her face from her palms. As the cave was pitch black, this was an exercise in futility. “Who goes there?” “I’ve been following you for some time,” it continued, coming closer. “You look exhausted.”
Lilith furrowed her eyebrows. “What does this mean, ‘exhausted?'”
“It means you need to rest.” The voice took on a whisper. “Close your eyes and let your senses dull.”
“I don’t trust you,” she sniffled. “I don’t trust anyone anymore.”
“I understand, sweet creature. I saw what Adam did to you … And what Yahweh has made of you.”
At this, Lilith’s interest was piqued. “You know the name of the Lord?”
“And He knows Mine. Perhaps you’ve heard of Me.”
Lilith’s face blanched. “No … No!” Terrified, she backed against the wall.
“Yes – it is I, Death. I have come to deliver you from your suffering.”
“Stay back!” She shrieked.
“Why do you fear me?” The voice sounded wounded. “I’m here to help you.”
“I know of Your vile trade,” she replied. “You are an end to all things.”
“You are young for this world. You have not learned yet that endings are merely periods of transition. There is a world beyond the one you’ve left; you have only to discover it. Which is why I’m here.”
Standing before her suddenly was a beautiful man, His body and face hairless and smooth like her’s, but strong and masculine in proportion like Adam’s. Upon His back fanned a pair of webbed, clawed wings, and upon His forehead protruded the horns of a ram. He carried a piece of wood in his hand, upon which a mighty flame nursed, bringing light to the pitch black.
“Do you fear Me still, now that you have seen?”
Lilith gradually stood and approached the handsome stranger. “Not anymore.”
He remained still as she extended a hand to touch his chest, as hard and glossy as a stone smoothed by the river. He extended His free hand to guide her other hand to join in explorative caresses. When both her hands were occupied, He draped His arm around her waist and brought her against Him. She did not resist His advances; rather, gently seduced by His voice, she initiated further intimacy.
In short time, assisted by the light of His torch, Lilith discovered earthy pleasure with the assistance of her mysterious new Patron – a pleasure that engaged all five of her senses, seeding a Paradise within her.

 

Adam sought solace in his work and the company of his flock, but nothing could distract him from the ache in his heart. The loneliness alone was not so poisonous as the knowledge that she was repulsed by him. But he did not seek the Lord. To do so would be to admit his failure as sovereign of the kingdom of Paradise, for one of his subjects had fled.
However, Adam could not conceal his failure for long. Indeed, it had never been a secret; the Lord saw all that transpired in His garden. Seeing that His child would not seek Him out willingly, the Lord appeared to him as he was tending his flock. “Where has your woman gone?”
Adam hung his head in shame. “Lord, she has spurned my advances and fled the Garden. I have failed you.”
The Lord was furious – but not with him. “My child, you are without blame, for you have followed My instruction. It is the woman, the harpy Lilith, who has disobeyed Me!”
“It wasn’t her fault,” Adam protested. “I tried to appease her, but only offended her.”
“It is not her place to be offended,” declared God. “It is her place to obey her Lord. Upon My instruction, she was to submit to you, and she refused. But worry not, My child, for she will be returned to you. If she refuses again, her children shall all be consigned to Death!”
“Lord, please — let her be. I do not wish to cause her more harm!”
“I have spoken!”
Adam feared for his well-being, and so did not resist the Lord any further.

 

Lilith was, by now, swollen with child. She went on to survey the surrounding landscape, although quite burdened.
Though it was cracked, dry earth in long stretches beyond, her trek through the barren wastes would not go unrewarded, for beyond was an expanse of marshland from which she could harvest the bounty of the ocean. It was a magnificent sight, the likes of which she’d never seen before: a body of water so massive it dwarfed the Tigris and Euphrates to which she had grown accustomed. The plants which grew here were far removed from those in Eden, and Lilith spent her days happily studying them. She was never lonely, for Death was her constant companion, lovingly imploring her to rest when her intrepid chartering of the land exhausted her.
Then the Lord’s angels appeared, three in number. They came first as balls of light like the stars of the heavens, then drew closer, which alarmed Lilith of the coming danger. In the defense of her unborn child, she retreated to her new home among the reeds.
“Lilith, Wife of Adam!” They proclaimed from beyond her roost. “The Lord has demanded your return to Eden. If you resist, your children shall be cursed with Death!”
“Ha!” At this, Lilith emerged from her roost. Her extended company with Death morphed her into one of His kindred; her wings, formerly feathered and lovely like the angels’, were now webbed and reptilian. The skin on her hands and feed had hardened into sharp, scaled talons. Death had equipped her with the tools she needed to defend her progeny. “I do not fear Death. I am Death!”
The angels, horrified by her transformation, recoiled at the sight of her.
“Death is my lover, and I shall spread His word among the children of Adam until he sees at last the error of his ways!”
At this, one of the angels stepped forward, taking the form of a man. Like Death, he was beautiful; however, he boasted the white, feathered wings emblematic of the Lord. His head was crowned with flaxen hair, whose golden sheen matched the color of the saber he held in his right hand. Knowing her weakness, he spoke to her in the language to which she’d grown accustomed. “Step forward, Lilith, that we may speak as equals.”
“I am not your equal yet, angel, for I know not your name.”
“I am Raphael, the Divine Healer.”
“Then tell me, Raphael,” Lilith began, sauntering out of the cave, “how do you plan to change my mind?”
“Is that possible?” He retorted, folding his arms.
Lilith smirked. “I suppose not.”
“Then the solution seems obvious, does it not? Let us compromise.”
“There is nothing to compromise,” she hissed. “Adam will pay.”
“Your grievance is with Adam, yes? Then must his children suffer for the sin of their father?” Raphael countered. “Does your child deserve to suffer for your sins? On that subject you have made your opinion very clear. So why are Adam’s progeny any different?”
Lilith frowned pensively.
Raphael drew a sigil in the dirt with the tip of his saber. “This is my holy emblem,” he explained. “If any child bears this mark, you must stay your hand. In return, I will tell the Lord we came too late to save you.”
Lilith canted her head skeptically. “The Lord sees all. How can you deceive Him?”
“Before you were created, the Lord discovered Earth and recognized its potential as a possible domain. But Earth already hosted a myriad of ills whose sovereignty went unquestioned, chief among them Death. So the Lord struck an accord with Death, and in doing so, created Paradise on Earth as it is in Heaven through Eden. Within this pocket of Bliss, the Lord reigns supreme. Only when mankind extends the borders of Paradise under the Lord’s instruction will His Sovereignty spread. And spread it will, my lady,” he added gravely. “I have foreseen it.”
“You would have me return to Eden and become a pawn in the Lord’s petty ploy for power?” She replied, stunned.
Raphael visibly bristled. “This is no mere gambit for land holdings. The fate of the entire universe depends upon this plan coming to fruition!”
“I’ve heard enough,” she growled. “I shall abide your terms, angel, so long as you cease talking! Begone from my sight, or Death shall pursue you back to Eden from whence you came!”
Raphael’s image began to fade. “As you wish,” he replied.

 

Though Adam knew no exhaustion – no such suffering occurred within Paradise – a supernatural languish muddled his thoughts, his movements, his mind, until its only appeasement was curling beneath a tree and drifting into slumber. The Lord sedated him and removed one of his ribs, and from this rib he crafted a new wife, whose origins would ensure her future subservience. He made her even lovelier than Lilith, with fulsome breasts, wide hips, and gentle features.
When Adam awoke, there stood his new woman, calmly milking a ewe in preparation for her husband’s awakening.
“Who are you?” He asked, alarmed but intrigued. She bowed her head submissively. “I am whatever you call me, sovereign. The Lord has created me to deliver you from loneliness, and so I shall.” She raised a bowl formed of clay, in which the warm milk was served. “Just as you drink from this earthenware bowl, so may you one day drink of the milk of my vessel, and from it may you bear many healthy children.”
Adam, thoroughly disturbed, remained apart from her. “This isn’t right.”
The woman lifted her head. “Is something wrong, master?”
“Please — don’t call me that. The Lord is my Master. I am just a man.”
“You are not merely a man,” she replied, setting the bowl aside. “You are my husband and sovereign, and I exist to love and serve you.”
“Stop it!” he protested.
The woman obeyed. The wounded look on her face reminded him of Lilith, and his heart bled.
“I’m sorry,” he replied softly. “Please don’t cry.”
She rubbed the corners of her eyes.
An awful realization dawned upon him. This woman was the Lord’s replacement for Lilith. That meant she was lost forever to the wilds beyond Eden. Grief overtook him, but he did not reveal it, so as not to upset his lovely new bride. “This is all … A surprise to me.”
“And to me, my love,” she replied, smiling weakly. “But the Lord has spoken, and we must obey.”
“Yes …” He averted his eyes. “So we must.”

 

“Something troubles you, my love.”
Lilith’s time in the wastes had hardened her disposition, but Death saw through all her armor. “Yes.”
He appeared behind her, His hands on her shoulders, and breathed into her neck. “Talk to me.”
“You are kind to me, and soon the fruits of our love will blossom,” she explained, resting her hand on her full belly. “But still I miss Adam.”
“After what he did to you? Why?”
“He was all I knew before this place. I suppose I just yearn for a simpler time.”
“Simple is an illusion.”
Lilith turned to face him. “What do you mean?”
“Things are in motion beyond your understanding. I have seen them. And for them to progress, Adam cannot be alone.”
“But he is. I left him.”
Death shook his head.
Lilith narrowed her eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“I can show you, but I fear it will only upset you.”
Her gaze hardened with resolve. “All the more reason for me to know.”
“Then know you shall. Come.”

 

This much could be said for Lilith: she was a self-motivated woman. Driven by her own desire to learn, Lilith wandered on her own into the wilderness, and her meaningful contributions to both of their understanding of nature assisted in the fulfillment of their God-given purpose. Adam’s new bride, however, followed him like a newborn kid follows a ewe. He found her constant attention smothering. It took him a long time to receive her advances, and when he did, he found them flattering. Possessed of a childlike fascination with everything he did, his new wife made him feel like the sovereign the Lord told him he was.
After a long day of shepherding, Adam took refuge under a tree, where he ate a handful of berries. His wife emerged from behind the tree, having plucked and woven flowers in her hair. Among them was a familiar variety – the multi-colored flower he’d gifted to Lilith, only to be spurned.
“Why have you plucked those flowers?” He asked.
She raked her fingers through her hair, preening herself. “I thought you’d find me more appealing if I made myself beautiful. So I decorated myself with beautiful things.” She shrank slightly. “Does that displease you?”
“No,” he replied, forcing a smile. “You do look beautiful – with or without the flowers.”
Her cheeks flushed. “May I sit?”
“Please.”
She took a seat beside him in the grass, her waist-length hair flowing over her shoulder. She fiddled with it.
Adam plucked a single berry from his palm. “Are you hungry?”
“A little, yes,” she admitted.
“Open your mouth.”
She obeyed.
He popped the fruit into her mouth. As she chewed, a bead of juice pooled from the corner of her lips and dripped down her chin. When this failed to clear the last of it, he cupped her cheek in his palm and ran his tongue along the path it left, sampling the flavor both of the fruit and her smooth skin. Having allowed his beard to grow out, his facial hair tickled her neck. She giggled demurely into her palm.
Adam coaxed her onto her back, where she helpfully splayed her legs open and guided him between them.

 

Lilith followed Death into the marshland. He guided her waist-deep into an acrid pool of muck. Once there, she was instructed to recite His secret Unholy name, the way she had invoked the name of the Lord,
to perform a scrying ritual.
With this first act of sorcery, Lilith was granted the ability to see far distances. From her roost far east of Eden, the waters before her swirled, revealing an image that caused her stomach to turn: Adam consummating his marriage to his new wife.
Lilith clasped her talon over her mouth and suppressed a moan. As quickly as she had been expelled and hunted down by the Lord, she had been forgotten about.
The Dark Mistress, Bane of Children, knelt into the muck and wept into her hands.
“Do you see now?” Death asked, consoling her with an embrace from behind.
“I don’t understand,” she sobbed. “Was my existence so meaningless to him? Am I so easily replaced?”
“The Lord cares not for the suffering of the individual,” Death explained, His sweet voice soothing her heartache. “He cares only for the continuation of His Grand Design. It is as I said: for His Design to progress, Adam cannot be without a wife. You were an error in His plan He saw fit to correct.”
In that moment, Lilith understood at last the magnitude of her sin against the Lord. “I have been a fool,” she replied, breathless. “For Adam is not my enemy. It is the Lord who has conspired against me!”
“Then your revelation is complete.” Death dispersed the scrying well.
Lilith, enraged, rose to her full height and flexed her talons with want of something to shred. “This affront cannot go unpunished!”
“I promise you it will not.”
Lilith’s rage subsided momentarily. “You have a plan?”
“Yes, my love. And you are a key component.” Death laid His hand upon her stomach and gave her a knowing smile. “Through our unholy offspring, you shall have your revenge. And it shall be just as brutal and savage as you desire.”
Lilith embraced her lover. “Make it so, and my love for you shall know no equal!”
“As my Dark Mistress commands.”

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Regards,

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Was Tiny Tim Satanic?

tinytim

Readers,

At least twice a day someone inputs ‘was/is tiny tim satanic’ into my blog’s search bar. I was perplexed as to why they would draw this assumption in the first place, but after giving it some thought, it occurs to me that they’re being routed to my entry in The Devil’s Music – Stay Down Here Where You Belong, which was performed by Tiny Tim.

Let me set the record straight: No. No, he was not.

Tiny Tim was the son of a Polish Jew and a Lebanese Catholic. He lived his entire life as an adherent of the Judeo-Christian God. He was, however, an eccentric public figure; you can read about some of his stranger exploits here.

Regards,

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