When We Fear Demons

The is the sharing of personal gnosis emerging from my recent dabbling with the Lesser Key, which I am also blogging about from a technical side. Though I have no beliefs in terms such as subjective—which is in our culture derogatory and dismissive of that which is perceived to be within the mind—and objective—which is in our culture idealized as capital-T truth—for the sake of being understood with deeper clarity, I will divide.


The following is that which has emerged from my journey with a spirit named Gaap.

Imagine for a moment that a demon picks you up from your body in the night, as you lay sleeping, and he takes you across the great roll of time, to a moment that took place 20,000 years ago in front of a cave mouth in Northern Europe.

From a top-down view you see what look to be a group of humanoid creatures crossing a plain of scenery that looks like it’s taken from planet Hoth in Star Wars. As you draw closer you see that they look exactly like the demon does. His face is human, almost. Gnomish. Covered with hair and beard.

Paranthropus, you hear with your mind’s ears. Ice Age.

A group of taller creatures, obviously more human, emerge onto the field and a bloody battle takes place. The humans are equipped with tools.

The demon turns to look at you with rage in his eyes.


You are fearful. Fear is the driving force of evolution, of life. Without fear Homo erectus would have never emerged from the icy world of the Pleistocene epoch. Paranthropas never made it out of the lower Palaeolithic. And yet they are still here, as are all the others. The world of spirit is the world of life. How does life reveal itself to the living? What is it, to begin to understand the place that we dwell in?

Fear is good. Fear keeps you alive. But what happens when the individual no longer must fear the snow lion, nor the hunger of winter, nor the struggle for survival? The threats that our ancestors faced were of immediate life-or-death consequence. What do we have to fear? What do you fear?

Our civilization of homo sapien sapiens is the shining star atop the glory of spirit and the glory of life, which are one and the same. And yet as we have awakened deeper into the nature of mind and consciousness, there have been aspects of ourselves that we have not yet been mature enough to deal with. These were repressed, denied, pressed downward and covered over with earth. These conscious parts of our selves, which are only a larger part of Nature in Her Wholeness, were chained within the abyss of the human unconscious.

Their forms take on the flesh of creatures that we have never seen. Egregores of collective subtle bodies give etheric flesh to chimeras and blasphemies. These demons and devils chase us in our nightmares, and in the day their warfare within our mind has influence upon what we call the objective. Within our minds our souls are cast into prisons of isolation. We divide. Withdraw. We fear. We build superbly complex structures out of the lies about ourselves to ourselves, and we live in irrational fears that are no longer beneficial to spirit and to life, but rather serve to shatter the connectedness of our race to each other and to the Animus Mundi.

The time has come for us to walk into our fears, and find there within that inexplicable darkness ourselves, which is so much more an elevated cosmic beingness than is this notion of the latest and greatest in the biological evolution of the primate and the mastery of matter that he has attained, called knowledge, called science, but which lacks understanding and wisdom of the divine primordials, of the Elohim.

To understand the daimon is to know him, and he becomes the strength of character which is beyond human. Daimonic initiation is transhumanism. Homo sapiens sapiens is not a static state of being, nor is any other. Division is for the chance of unity.

The Fear of Death

Death is nothing to fear. Death is a doorway that leads back to the darkness which is without form. There is one there who guards the way. And to those who have never owned up to the fears that did cause them to be fractured in life, they will then answer to him in death.

For these who chose the comfort of the lies that are within the blue pill, within the cup holding the waters of Lethe, the waters of oblivion, death is dissolution, which cannot be followed but by coagulation. Deep within the Abyss there is found forgetfulness and the soul may be reborn of its prison once again, and this is what Nietzche’s demon did reveal to him, and who called it the eternal return.

That Great Demon of Dissolution, that Strong He-Goat that will rise up at eschaton, his strength grows. Every 65 seconds in the United States a person will develop Alzhiemer’s dementia. By 2050 it is projected to be every 33 seconds.

Baphomet is in ye olde 777, Lord of Initiation and also demon of the disease of dementia. He his Choronzon. He is Satan, destroyer of mind. He is Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, who visited Simon, the "skinny, vivid little boy" with "black, coarse hair", from William Golding’s novel, Lord of the Flies. The Devil is Lord of the Gates of Matter, Child of the Forces of Time, and he is much more, but so well will these few epithets bring the understanding to you of the alchemical process of nigredo, and the role of the living nigromancer.

The shaman is he who shines with the radiant light of the diamond body before Jörmungandr’s releasing his tail. The shaman has in life pushed beyond fear, and death itself. The false Logos cannot restrain the shaman’s mind. He has attained the Hermetic Rebirth of Mind. The shaman’s role, having healed the self, is to heal the world, heal the fracture, this divide between spirit and life. The shaman’s work will span many incarnations, and within each one the circuit of the Hero’s Journey must be completed anew. The stone must be attained. Must be turned to powder, and distributed among the waters of life and wisdom and understanding.

Likewise was Mithras born under the tail of the Sea-Goat, and Horus, and Krishna - all mystic names of the mystic Child of Light.
— Aleister Crowley, The Temple of Solomon the King