Category: Dread Mother

The Aosoth Rites

Theo Hiraeth

The concept of insight roles, as once utilised by the Order of Nine Angles, provided practitioners of their Septenary System with a means for attaining insight through pathei-mathos. The types of adversity customarily propagated with concerns to insight roles are political extremism and criminality. Becoming a monk, Taoist or Muslim is also discussed but less so than the aforesaid.


While enveloping ourselves in political, criminal and religious ways and traditions will no doubt yield insight, do we ever stop to ask ourselves what we are gaining insight for? It cannot simply be to progress from Neophyte to Master/Mistress of Earth – and Immortal upon causal death – in hopes that we ascertain Lapis Philosophicus upon reaching the alchemical stage of Exultation; and if that is what we believe, surely we must have missed something? When honest thought is given and we look beyond aesthetics, the truth of what is missing becomes apparent: self-possession, which Christos Beest identifies as:


knowledge that allows one to consciously improve/evolve and use natural abilities (or ‘gifts’) – such as sexual charisma – to the advantage of personal Destiny and Wyrd, and to confront and resolve those qualities within character which are detrimental.


Adhering to this description reveals insight roles to be much more varied than originally envisioned. One such variation, which is anything but outwardly profound, would be taking on the role of a farmhand. To someone who is experienced in manual labour this role would be unsuitable; however, to someone who is an intellectual, it would be most suitable. This is because the unveiled purpose of an insight role is to achieve equilibrium within the individual by throwing them into a way of life that is unorthodox, uncomfortable and offensive to their default sensibilities in order to confront and reconcile.


It is this unorthodoxy, this uncomfortableness, this offensiveness, that ensures the individual will experience an adversity which is unique to them, producing a learning from that adversity which is also unique to them. This results in the principium individuationis of the agent undertaking the insight role upon completion of it.


Returning to the farmhand example: the intellectual would have their detrimental qualities harshly ‘confronted’ by way of blistered and bloodied hands. If they struggled through the discomfort and pain they would experience a separation of the former and becoming self, assuming something of a superposition between the two. If, at that moment, they decided to cease the insight role, the former self would collapse back into reality. Conversely, if they pressed on for a while longer, their skin would harden, callouses would develop, eventually collapsing both the former and newly dis-covered self into reality to produce insight.


This is one of various examples that can be given if the concept and application of the insight role is allowed to grow beyond its parameters of politics, criminality and religiosity that we ourselves have maintained. Thus, it can be stated that as iconoclasts, it is time we tore down this particular wall and introduced the Aosoth Rites to smash to pieces the limitations of the former.


The road to Hel is paved with good intentions.

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Beyond Diametrics

Theo Hiraeth

Extremism, of act and thought – contextually defined as harshness, is something that has come to singularly define the Dark Tradition, somewhat dishonestly. We would be remiss if we were to outright state that the Tradition is not harsh, because it is – demonstrably so for those associates who have Aeonic perspective and act in accord with it – but such a masculous expression does not define our exeatic mystic tradition. The Extremism was an iteration, a stage, in an arduous and treacherous path to stand before the Swan that now swims along our third river.


When the Abyss is crossed it is only done so because the muliebral has been given equivocal representation within. Man cannot make it over the line, nor can woman; they must cross the threshold together, or be devoured by Νάρκισσος.


This kollective call thus goes out to all who have the Red Light currently in their window: embrace dianetics, and bloody-well do it properly! Allow your opposites to coalesce by letting the right ones into your shadow to discover the Gaia aspect of your φύσις.


You may think that because of your role and the moves you have played thus far, that we are beyond the means to exculpate.


You may ask the question: “what if they do not understand and react in a hostile manner?” But you know us better than that, and you know the answer to that kollective kwestion – our Aeonic struggle is legion.


Remember, lightning can strike twice, and live on as fulgurite for Aeons should the conditions be perfect and proper care be taken to preserve.


The candle remains alight, -0-. Return to where you belong.


– Theo Hiraeth
42nd Summer

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The Forge of Doubt

Beast Xeno

The current trend in Western culture is one that raises up individuality and uniqueness. It seems like everyone is chasing attractiveness and status. There are millions and millions of would-be social influencers. As stand alone statements or even when considering them together as a whole concept, these are things that should be applauded and encouraged. Yet, I can’t help but make note of the lack of consistency and the obvious facades.

A close friend of mine, regularly points to this phenomenon and scowls at it. He’s right to do so. The only flaw that I can find in his analysis, isn’t really an argument against his disgust. You see, I agree with him that the internet is where people go to pretend to be anyone they want. The flaw is that he has limited the scope of his judgement too narrowly. Turns out people are fraudulent by-in-large.

This is not to say, that there aren’t genuine people. I think some genuine people can at times, find themselves being disingenuous. This isn’t really any shocking new observation. However, this is a form of corruption. A corruption that seems to seep deeper and deeper into the collective consciousness. It is not anything new or novel that this “fakeness” is prevalent in the masses. We’ve simply added a few new layers on top of it.

When I consider this in contrast, I’m not surprised to find this rampantly existing, even in self-professed satanists. The internet removes a layer of accountability. Accountability is an idea that has long been eroding and rotting. Anton LaVey was writing about it in the 60’s. Accountability is often framed to be “an owning of your wrong doing”, but that doesn’t really seem to encompass its proper apprehension. What is really being put forth is, an honesty to self. A personal sincerity, void of delusions without intention.

When I was young, I often pondered the stark consistency of LaVey’s philosophy and his character. Old Howie’s detractors often point to all of LaVey’s lavish deceptions. From plagiarism to the embellished and sometimes completely fictitious stories of his past. Certainly there’s no accountability, right? I have to disagree. I find it completely consistent.

A man with a fake name. Telling embellished or possibly false stories. Pushing a meant-to-be sensational “religion” of the secular and rebellious. Charging a membership fee for a “church” against all churches. All while grifting the grifters. Watching those old videos of ritual and ceremony and even the many television interviews, there can be seen a twinkle in the corner of his eye. After all, the devil is a gentlemen, in the words of Shakespeare.

You can see it, simply by observing. There’s a consistency in him. A playful deviance, if you will. A harmony between word and deed. Should he be a liar, then let his lies be bold and outlandish. We then find an inner-resonance of self honesty to balance against it. With the mind of Lucifer, a carefully crafted deception was made to inspire doubt.

LaVey was a proponent of doubt as being paramount to truth. Doubt, the emancipator of minds, bearing the sword of unbridled wisdom. If this is a war for the eternal souls of men, then doubt is the great equalizer. A great many will ask themselves, “Is this a hill worth dying on”.

We are left in contemplation. Are we pretending or is this truly who we are. Is there a consistency between our words and deeds? We realize that, no matter how fortified the castle is; if it’s built on a mountain of sand, it takes but a wave to wash it from the shore.

Live Deliberately!

-Dread Beast Xeno

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Off Topic and On Balance

Beast Xeno

I call for you, yet you cannot be named. I study you, though I can never truly know all of you. You’re abrasive and uncompromising, that’s simply a part of your gentle nature. Just as everything has gone completely wrong, I find myself thinking I have finally got it right.

Looking around we are a collective of individuals. Celebrating our distinction with the latest trending accessories. There is a mundane comfort found in the conflict of polar extremes. One can simply xerox whatever originality we think makes us unique.

I struggle to understand the purpose of the denial of this life; bartering it to embrace an unseen next. Is this manifestation of delusion caused by the inevitable strife endured by unsuspecting victims or an over-indulgence of fetish by the listless predator? What I find is a lack of spirit within the self-professed spiritual. An article of faith being propagated by the unfaithful. The deeply self-absorbed evangelizing a message of goodwill and selflessness.

So delicate is the harsh measurement taken of equilibrium. It is by design that chaos becomes the unanticipated order. Is it expected that those who preach the overman are often underachievers? Why do so many empty words seem to hold such tremendous weight? When does a hollow idol fill the cathedral with such nurture for the soul?

The fulcrum seems so exceedingly undecided, yet I know; tis affixed in it’s place. With no gold standard to follow, what value is offered seems to quickly fade. Without the integrity of character, words like “on my honor” are only spoken in lip-service. Thus a teacher without a curriculum to instruct.

In Her Beauty,

T.C. Downey

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Lost in the Storm

Beast Xeno

Just past the horizon, the pressure is building up. It moves from a state of calm into a symphony of rage and transformation. It seems like, this always happens when it approaches the point of being overwhelmed. As things get heavier and heavier, they also grow darker and more volatile. The motion sets in, and it begins its path towards relief. Soon its inner parts will begin crashing about. As it begs for easement, it’s motion gains velocity.

This however only serves to continue the buildup. Approaching the boiling point, the violence increases exponentially. Finding itself not in agreement with its own state, it begins targeting the grounds which have previously served to stabilize it. The polarization leads to a spectacle of dazzling fury and wrath. Burning and breaking everything between.

All of this energy is tremendous, yet impossible to maintain. Having reached its saturation point, the drops begin to fall. They fall with the same intensity of the buildup that led to this point. Down to that which has always grounded them. That of which, just moments ago was the focus of ferocity.

Most of the time, these stable grounds can simply absorb and remain unchanged through this. In a way, it has been cleansed also. What is between them now smelling and feeling freshly revived. There are these instances in which nothing remains the same. It is forever changed. Scarred.

There will always be a bond between them though. It is the nature of Her Will. Those scars serve to build character and in time help them both take a new shape. What was once lost in the Storm, now has found itself with a new fingerprint. A powerful and moving transformation.

At Her Will,
T.C. Downey

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Theatre of Awe

Beast Xeno

When I was a child, I would wake up just before the sunrise. I would pour myself a bowl of my favorite cereal. I would go sit at the picnic table in our backyard, and watch the stars and moon melt into the new dawning day. Those were some of the most magickal moments in my life. I’m not sure if it is normal at 6 or 7 years old to ponder the vastness of our universe, but that’s what I did. As I lost myself into thought, I would experience a moment of a connected feeling.

It is the moments of this connected feeling which have been with me throughout my days. At times it has been the anchor holding me from going adrift. Then times, where it has been the guiding light through the terrain of trials and tribulations. There are times it cloaks me in its darkness, so I might retreat and be concealed from life’s blinding gaze. Somehow always aware that, no matter the outcome, I am an extension of Her Will.

The Dread Mother’s supple breasts bring not only nourishment, but the possibility of suffocation. For as wrathful and uncompromising as she is; there is nurture and warmth in her embrace. If one should have an ear for it, the lessons of how to elicit these effects, can be plainly heard. Leaving her mysteries, barren and exposed. Her soft neck and shoulders are both inviting and tantalizing. Yearning to be explored. I often wonder, how has she gained such a hold on me.

I wonder what she was like when she was just anew. How she grew; what had changed and what remained. The scenery had to be breathtaking on this journey to now. I suspect she was born a star. The kind that exhume brilliant and vibrant radiance of galactic awe. Pressed against the vast emptiness of the void. Pulsating with the desire to burst and literally come into life.

It’s no question of why, she can sometimes be so scornful. The strength it took to get here, would cause one to have little pity for the weak. Yet we can find her at points, embracing the meek to shield them. Whispering softly in the ear, that everything will be alright. We might live or die. We might wither or thrive. Yet life will still go on. For She is Eternal.

At Her Service,
T.C. Downey

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