“No written work or transmitted teaching can give this unto you — it is an inheritance of the Soul and a gift of the Spirits.”
— The Azoëtia, Introduction to the Book of Magical Quintessence
Lately, I’ve grown increasingly disillusioned with certain so-called traditions, those which, under the guise of exaggerated secrecy and pompous elusiveness, operate as little more than cults of personality. These traditions often exalt a single figure as untouchable, discourage dissent, and elevate dogma over discovery. When questioning becomes taboo and fanaticism is mistaken for reverence, we must ask: where does the path of true gnosis end, and the theatre of ego begin?
Be wary of any system that declares itself the only path of truth. It is almost laughable and yet deeply tragic how many run from the chains of organized religion only to forge the same cages in darker metal:
“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”
— John 14:6 (ESV)
Some have forgotten the harm that such mindset has brought to our world. Look at the monothestic religions around us, and we will see people waging wars due to minor differences in faith; focusing on what divides us instead of what unites us. When will the pagan and occult communities finally learn this lesson? Magick is, by its very nature, the dance of manifold truths: wild, untamed, and sovereign. I do not need you to follow the same path as myself to see truth in your ways and respect your own spiritual journey and magickal practice.
And yet, the irony burns. Many of these “traditions of occult” will sometimes attempt to preach honor, humility, and truth, but observe the flock they gather and you’ll see cultish obedience, petty tyranny, and fear masquerading as devotion. What they defend with such fervor is often nothing more than spiritual theater, a vanity ritualized and mistaken for wisdom…
Who are you to judge who bears the fire of Dragons within their soul, when you can’t even see past your own reflection? Your judgment is warped, clouded by the vanity you thought yourself too enlightened to carry, and that, precisely, is your hubris. When your imaginary pedestal collapses, you’ll find no throne beneath it. Only the ground, and the truth you buried beneath your ego…
Suspicion is a healthy instinct when someone feels threatened by your practice yet cloaks their critique in unsolicited advice. It’s even more telling when such individuals resort to burner accounts, feigning secrecy behind masks. If your truth is so sacred, why not speak it plainly, in your own voice?
See through the charade. These gatekeepers cling to illusions of purity, eager to dismiss anything beyond their narrow circle as diluted or derivative, as if the Divine could not speak outside the walls of their own echo chamber.
We dwell within the body of Tiamat, and Her voice resounds through countless minds. She does not offer a single path but infinite ones, each uniquely lit, each sacred in its unfolding. Yet some have forgotten that the Gods move as They will, untamed and unclaimed, and that magick wears many faces, speaking to each soul in the tongue it understands.
If merely witnessing another group working with similar forces and symbolisms (despite them often having no knowledge of your tradition when they began their practice!) is enough to provoke a crusade of condescension, then hear this: the Gods and Spirits are not yours to own. The moment you feel the need to assert yourself as a holy gatekeeper, what you truly reveal is not authority but insecurity. You haven’t just missed the mark; you have surrendered to ego, and in doing so, you have blinded yourself to the very current you once claimed to follow!
The Divine does not confine itself to your blueprint. It speaks in a thousand tongues, ignites countless souls, and wears many masks. If you can’t recognize the ember of the Gods burning through traditions beyond your own, then you’ve failed to grasp the Grand Picture of the Art.
What you call the defense of truth just reveals deep insecurities—and that reveals everything I need to know about your heart to walk away from your teachings.
Such strange traditions and individuals exist all over the occult world, and recognizing their patterns is the first act of liberation.
Magick does not dwell in the proclamations or postures of the deluded, nor take root in the theatrics of a man ensnared by his own ego. It is a living current, winding through the marrow of dreaming worlds, too ancient to be possessed, too cunning to be caged. No coven, no order wrapped in counterfeit mystique, no puffed-up master parading in empty words of authority can lay claim to its totality. Those who attempt to do so are not guardians of the Mystery but blind performers. They move behind curtains as if to conjure reverence, but to those with true sight, the illusion crumbles. Their actions speak louder than their claims, revealing the smallness behind the mask, even when their façade glimmers with pretentious allure!
They are not Masters, for a true Master would never debase themselves by chasing supremacy over that which is cosmic, primordial, and forever beyond the grasp of human comprehension. To seek possession of the Unbound is not only futile but pathetic. A theatrical ego-trip masquerading as gnosis, a deluded fantasy dressed in ritual robes, stitched together with insecurity and the desperate need to feel exceptional. A baroque performance of self-importance wrapped in the language of power…
Beware of those who build thrones atop weak, fanatical minds: their kingdoms are cobbled together from a handful of wannabes, most too spineless to show their real faces online, preaching borrowed dogma behind fake names. And the few who do show their faces? Unhinged zealots mistaking their meltdowns for mysticism. Their ‘revelations’ are nothing but recycled noise, dressed up as holier-than-thou rhetoric and paraded like divine decree.
Reject the hollow preachers, the gatekeepers of illusion. Let them chant their mantras into the void. They cannot silence the ancestral song that stirs in your blood, nor extinguish the sparks that light your individual path. Bow to no one, but the divine presence of the Gods!
By Pythia Draco
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