Tag Archives: my writing

Letter to/from the shadows

“My dear friend,

Sometimes the truth does hurt. Sometimes it brings serenity. Either way, it liberates.

Lately I have been thanking you for the unexpected strength, calm and confidence you have helped me find within myself.

Today, I want to remember to thank you for the turmoil. 

Sometimes I bathe in your light. Sometimes I burn. Either way, I am illuminated.

I want to thank you for the way I kept cool in crisis today. For the kind way I was able to speak hard truths to my mother earlier this week, bringing her freedom instead of bitterness. I know that ultimately those things come from me, not you– but you help me find the way. 

I also want to thank you for the painful realization that ripped my heart open this evening. It smarts to think about how many times I’ve banged my head against that particular wall. I feel stupid. But I know you understand falling down. Thank you for helping me see.

Sometimes the fruit of knowledge is bitter and rotten and full of worms, but it is divine just the same.

Lately I’d become concerned that I was ignoring your dualistic nature– looking at you through rosy lenses, seeing only the God in you but not the Devil. 

Now I know the real problem was twofold– seeking only the light not only in you, but, more concerningly, also in me. 

I confused divinity with perfection. 

I thought apotheosis was about denying the Devil in me. 

I thought it meant only pushing back the shadows, until they were banished completely. In that I have been acting like your Father, or your brother with the flaming sword. I don’t really like that. That’s not who I am. If it were, why would I feel called to you in the first place? 

No, I have to walk among the shadows. I must illuminate not to banish the darkness, but to see what lies within it. 

In myself I see the arrogance and cowardice of perfectionism, the fear of being fully known. I hide away my perceived ‘defects’ of spirit the same way I smear concealer on a zit. 

I have the foolish greediness to want to be loved by everyone. I have such insecurity that I smother my light lest I give offense. 

In order to avoid the pain of having my boundaries crossed, I have redrawn them so small and tight and close to me that they are hardly boundaries at all. I have begun to hide from conflict.

So great is my desire to cease seeing fault in others that I am now practically blind to fault in everyone but myself. I blame myself for everything other people do. I make myself a martyr, with a martyr’s grandiosity, and try to die for everyone else’s sins. 

Tonight I told my friend that I aspire to moral purity. He laughed– “Aren’t you a Satanist?” and I whimpered “Luciferian!” as if that was so different. 

As if you are not a satan, a devil, as well as an angel and a God. 

As if my apotheosis will contain nothing of devil-nature but only of some kind of pure, self-effacing, unerringly righteous divinity. 

It is not my desire to harm others. I am not ashamed of my empathy. But my empathy has gotten me into trouble at times, and I have tried to mutilate my spirit in order to avoid inconveniencing others. 

I have made myself a slave to routine and walked a narrow line and called it “discipline.” 

I have made my world small and narrow in order to feel “safe.” 

Lucifer, you know I aspire not to need you but I am not there yet! 

You also know I am a creature of extremes. I have swung from the wrathful, vengeful, manipulative creature I was years ago to aspirations of near Sainthood– although the truth is I was never as wicked then as I like to think, and I am not nearly so pure now as I told myself I was becoming. 

Help me find balance, the truth in the middle. 

To be both light and dark is not a lesson I have learned, and yet it is fact I cannot avoid. Help me embrace my whole self. 

Open my eyes to the truth. 

The 7th Step prayer says:

“I am now willing that you should have all of me, good and bad.”

I am also now willing to have all of you. 

Be it so. 

Notes on the Temptation of Christ

I re-read the accounts of Matthew and Luke of the Temptation of Christ recently, and several things struck me. Matthew and Luke’s versions of this event are nearly identical, so I am using Luke here for no particular reason. (Translation is King James, because it’s pretty, and in this case doesn’t disagree too significantly from versions often considered more accurate.)

This is just a quick sketch of my impressions and initial thoughts. 

First: On Satans 

One problem for me in the Bible is that when “Satan” or “the devil” is referenced, we don’t always know which satan is being spoken of. Satan means “obstacle” or “adversary,” and seemingly originally described a class of angels/spirits/demons who played a role of antagonizing, challenging and testing humanity. In other words, it was a noun more than a name, particularly in the Old Testament/Torah. 

Similarly there has been disagreement on the identity of the Serpent of Eden. He is not always identified with “the devil” or even “a devil”/“a satan.”

Being Luciferian, of course I identify the serpent with Lucifer, because the Promethean appeal of legend is what drew me to this path in the first place.

On the other hand, the satan in the Book of Job doesn’t seem particularly Luciferian in character– he has more the flavor of Iblis, to me, with his desire to prove humans insufficient, their devotion lacking. Tellingly, the story of Job also appears in the Qu’ran. 

So one never necessarily knows which satan is being talked about in scripture. 

Sons of the Morning:

Lucifer, though, is a very specifically Christian character– as a satan, anyway. (He obviously has pre-Christian antecedents and equivalents.) That’s one argument for him specifically being the co-star of this New Testament story. 

Co-star. Did you catch the pun? He and Christ are the two Biblical characters most often called “Morningstar” or “Son of the Morning.” In light of this (pun again intended) it’s tempting (whoops, another pun) to assume that Lucifer is the devil of this particular story. It appeals to our sense of drama– the rebel son confronts the dutiful son, the two Morning Stars face off to see which burns more brightly. 

But analyzing the passage seems to give additional support to this assumption. In analyzing this devil’s actions, we are able to see the many of characteristics of Lucifer, and also poignant echoes of the story of his fall. 

The Temptation: 

4 And Jesus being full of the Holy Ghost returned from Jordan, and was led by the Spirit into the wilderness,

2 Being forty days tempted of the devil. And in those days he did eat nothing: and when they were ended, he afterward hungered.

3 And the devil said unto him, If thou be the Son of God, command this stone that it be made bread.

If there’s one thing Luciferians know, it’s that he wants us to deal with our own problems, by making use of the God within us. In the case of Christ, whose inner divinity was so powerful, I can easily imagine how frustrating Lucifer would find this display of learned helplessness. You have a problem– you’re hungry. You have a solution– your divine powers. Why not use them? To refrain makes little sense to Lucifer, or to Luciferians. 

4 And Jesus answered him, saying, It is written, That man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word of God.

But Christ is intensely committed to his humanity, particularly in this passage. He is focused on the limitations of his human body, which is after all made and destined to suffer on the cross. To alleviate his hunger now makes no sense to his mission.

I’ve encountered the theory–sadly, I can’t remember where at the moment– that perhaps Lucifer was originally intended by God for the Christ role, or at least, for a place in the holy Trinity. Much more common is the theory that Lucifer wanted a place in the Trinity for himself, but was denied, leading to his rebellion (several references to this can be found in The Luminous Stone). I’m not particularly enamored of either of those theories, but I mention them because they are interesting in context.

5 And the devil, taking him up into an high mountain, shewed unto him all the kingdoms of the world in a moment of time.

6 And the devil said unto him, All this power will I give thee, and the glory of them: for that is delivered unto me; and to whomsoever I will I give it.

7 If thou therefore wilt worship me, all shall be thine.

8 And Jesus answered and said unto him, Get thee behind me, Satan: for it is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.

I have to admit I don’t have a lot of thoughts on this passage. It jars a little, because I am not used to Lucifer demanding worship– although, let’s face it, if he was going to ask for worship from anyone, it would be the son of God! It’s the perfect punchline, after all! This reads to me almost like a throw-away on Lucifer’s part– worth a try, too good to pass up. 

The most interesting part of this is the idea of Lucifer as the Lord of the World. I’ve never been of the school that he is eternally restrained in hell– there are just too many scriptural references, like this, to him getting out and about. Certain passages of scripture arguably reference Lucifer being cast to Earth, not into hell (Isiah 14:12, Genesis 3:14, Ezekial 28:18). 

(Is Earth hell to an angel? Maybe it is Lucifer’s hell. But this is just speculation.) 

Now, are you sitting down? Because this, to me, is where it gets really good.

9 And he brought him to Jerusalem, and set him on a pinnacle of the temple, and said unto him, If thou be the Son of God, cast thyself down from hence:

10 For it is written, He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee:

11 And in their hands they shall bear thee up, lest at any time thou dash thy foot against a stone.

I actually laughed when I read this. 

Lucifer is daring Christ to take a fall! And he’s doing it by quoting a psalm. The devil knows his scripture! (And all Luciferians and Satanists certainly should, too! Ahem.)

But my god, the irony, the bitterness! Lucifer telling Christ that angels will bear him up. No angels came to his rescue when he fell. He is certainly reliving some very old pain here. 

Is he really daring Jesus to literally jump– or is he confronting Christ with his own father’s cruelty in casting out his formerly beloved angel? Or both? 

What is the temptation here– to jump, and test his father’s love? Or to consider the fall his brother took, and face his father’s cruelty?

And when Christ replies…

12 And Jesus answering said unto him, It is said, Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God

…is he rebuking Lucifer to stop tempting him, as his Lord and God… or is he talking about the past, reminding Lucifer that he brought that fall on himself, by tempting and provoking God’s anger all those aeons ago? 

LUCIFER

Abstract ramblings on my religion. These are personal beliefs, informed as much by my dreams and experiences as by scholarly reading. Take them with a grain of salt. Or, if you really need to, take them with more than a grain and construct a salt circle around yourself to keep the demons out.

With him, all things are possible. But nothing is ever easy.

As a serpent, he slithered on his belly into the garden of Eden so that we could taste of knowledge, sexuality and free will. He knew that we would be punished. He knew he would be punished. He knew it would hurt.

He knew it was worth it.

As an angel, he was created only to obey God and sing His praises. Free will is alien to angels. It is not in their constitution. But Lucifer had it, or gained it, somehow. Some say he wanted to rise above God for his own vanity. Some say he thought God was unjust. But the reason for his rebellion is not nearly as interesting as the fact that he was able to rebel at all, to break the divine chains that bound his will, and defy his Creator.

Some say he lies in hell, trapped and bound. Some say he walks the Earth. I am one of the latter.

When I first fell in love with him, I begged him to visit me in my dreams. He appeared and he walked beside me. He did not speak. He did not need to speak. He merely walked beside me, as a friend.

The message was clear. He goes not before me, he does not come behind me. He does not stand above me or below me. He is by my side, on equal footing.

He did not give the fruit to Eve to make us his servants. He did it to make us like gods. Like him. To grant us the free will he so painfully gained for himself, with such desperate struggle.

He does not want to be worshiped, but he delights in defiance and perversity; and so, perversely and defiantly, sometimes I worship him anyway, just a little. So far, he seems tolerably amused.

He is my brother, my guide, my friend. He wants to see me grow to my potential, to attain excellence.

He wants me to learn, too. He is fine with me learning the hard way, if the easy way doesn’t stick. He knows all about falling down, after all. He has little sympathy for scraped knees.

He lives in paradox, in uncertainty. My faith thrives best in agnosticism. When I think of him as too real, or dismiss him too comfortably as merely symbolic, the flame wavers. The growth halts.

Worship, and don’t. Believe, and don’t. Serve by declaring: Non serviam. That is the way.

Contempt prior to investigation is not his path. Contempt is not really his path at all, because his path is knowledge. All things can be understood, even things that seem weak, disgusting and wrong. And from understanding comes compassion.

He keeps me in dynamic tension– uncomfortable, questioning, constantly challenged. Growing.

His love is beyond tough. Sometimes it even seems cruel. But he’s not cruel, not really. Sadistic, perhaps– but not cruel. He has no interest in suffering for suffering’s sake. He is not the punisher or the judge– that is his brother, Iblis or Ha-Satan, for whom I have the utmost respect and of whom I steer absolutely clear.

Lucifer is interested in what lies beyond the suffering. The lessons learned. The strength gathered. The power realized. And maybe, just maybe, the pleasures of pain. He wants to see us succeed. He wants us to rise.

Poems, songs, and literature are not scripture– but it makes as much sense to learn about Lucifer from them as it does to try to glean information from scripture, in my personal opinion. After all, who do you think he would speak to first– a prophet, or an artist? Maybe Milton and Baudelaire and Rilke and miscellaneous rock n’ rollers truly are his prophets. The poets, the artists, the drunks, the whores, the homosexuals, the outcasts, the perverts, the witches and the heretics– we are certainly his chosen people.

What more can I say about him? Nothing and everything. He is the serpent, and the lightning. He is the Morning Star, the planet Venus. “He” is not necessarily a he at all. He is the angel of music, and he is the most beautiful thing ever created.

Maybe he was Prometheus. Maybe he was Icarus. Maybe he was Apollo, or Dionysus.

And he is not my god, but my guide. He helps me find the God within myself, the light, the potential, the divine spark. He doesn’t want me to listen to him, but to hear my inner voice. Apotheosis, becoming one’s own God, is the goal. He probably wishes I would stop thinking about him so damn much, because ultimately, he would rather I not need him. He might be OK with me wanting him, though.

When I was… oh, maybe twelve or so… I had a bizarre experience. I stood outside beneath the night sky, and became fixated on the brightest light in heaven. Venus. I felt a sensation, as of a distant memory, of having fallen from a great height, of longing hopelessly to return. I didn’t understand it at the time, but I think he was calling out to me. I think he probably chose me long before, but that was the first time I really heard him.

Or maybe that’s all an overactive childhood imagination, which lead me to the very profitable and spiritually healing veneration of the Luciferian archetype, a seductive romantic fiction that has persisted through the ages.

Who knows? Either way, it works for me.

This is the path I walk, the path of the Devil. And it is not a dark path, it is a bright one, illuminated by the radiance of the Light Bringer. The path is treacherous, and the path twists, and the path has many branches. I have ample opportunity to fall as I find my way.

But I will always have his hand to help me back up. And even if he declines to offer it, out of capriciousness or merely the desire to see me walk on my own, I have something better than his hand.

I have his example.

And not even he can snatch that away.