The Shadows Zenith – The Flight of Nights Wings
The last month has been one of many adventures, ones that, at a deep level, have rested my mind and reinvigorated the soul. I have been quite tight-lipped about where I have been, simply to avoid drawing any evil eyes and to keep the time blissfully free of interruptions, allowing for a sacred retreat into Self and Other. I was also going to see someone very special to me, so I wanted to speak little publicly about my trip, which involved travelling around the world to the land down under.
I knew that going so far under such circumstances would ensure that, for a time, I would enter into a completely different world—not just geographically and interpersonally, but also, in some strange way, temporally. It was also not a risk-free endeavour, and as such, I promised myself to keep my mouth firmly shut until I was back on home soil. The time period I’d be away would be a solid month—just long enough for a place to begin to feel, strangely, like home.
To cut to the heart of it: even outside of personal developments, I feel extremely changed by the experience at a fundamental level. It turns out Australia is a very strange, very primal place for those of us who have never really left the “Old World.” Such a term seems so facetiously quaint after experiencing the residual power of the land there. It felt distinctly sepheranzian, the land being still one of untamed providence as opposed to places where the gods and the spirits of the place feel long displaced.
The area I travelled to was not the most remote place, to say the least—Sydney is not famous for being a small town, after all. However, my trip did also encompass an adventure up to the Blue Mountains, to the area around Katoomba and Echo Point. It is probably best to start in that order, to really give a sense of the energetic makeup of the place and give background and context to the meat of the article.
I arrived in Sydney on Sunday, the 19th, to a very warm and beautiful welcome I won’t forget. Over the next few days and weeks, we spent a lot of time exploring the city, including many of the city parks. I was quite taken aback by how vibrant the wildlife was, even in the city area. Birds of all kinds were always everywhere, and the air was always a cacophony of birdsong the likes of which I’ve never heard before.
Of particular note were the Australian magpies, scientific name Gymnorhina tibicen. Described entertainingly as a “fairly robust bird” by good old Wikipedia, these guys captivated my tourist’s heart a little bit. Not actually a type of corvid, but rather a type of butcher bird, their calls were both beautiful and distinctive, and they were a complete joy to watch. In their eyes, you could see a certain Luciferian fire that is always present in these kinds of animals in particular—a keen, somewhat cold awareness and power that seems barely contained within.
Australian Magpie, photographed by JJ Harrison
I spent many days with my other half at a particular café where we were often visited by these spirited and beautiful creatures. On days she worked, I often went down alone, and the birds soon became aware that this strange English fellow was rather easy to convince to feed them. I, in turn, was quite happy to convene the crow council and oblige them, as long as I got a good choral song in payment for my attention (and some fried chicken).
These were not the only creatures that frequented the urban parks and streets and caught my attention. It turns out that the city is home to numerous species of megabat, otherwise known as flying foxes. These would ascend over the skies every warm autumn evening, with their distinctive calls being easy to pick out over the other sounds of city life. Seeing them was always a delight, bringing with it the feel of a very primitive freedom that was starkly contrasted with the urban surroundings of the city itself. In contrast to the energy that could be felt in the birds, the bats exuded a strong energy that seemed to resonate with that of Belial. As they flew, I could feel the same energies within my own body, almost as if they were putting out a call, a welcome, to engage in communion with the gods.
Around this time, we planned to do a small ritual together on the beach – in many ways, to get back into the swing of things since the first one we worked on together back in 2018. This, however, turned into a pact of a rather different sort, blessed as we were by the ring around the moon. As such, the actual work was to come a little later despite the invitation of the land being felt.
Katoomba, Photographer Unknown
The experience in Katoomba was similar but amplified to eleven. The Blue Mountains are named for their colour, caused by the refraction of sunlight through the oils produced by the eucalyptus trees that dominate the environment. However, looking out over the surrounding area from Echo Point, this simple explanation did not really do the place justice. As we stood at Echo Point, looking out at the vista below us, she was the first to be seized by the land; it felt like a powerful, magnetic pull drawing us deeper and deeper into the canyons, as if to become one with them. This feeling was not malefic, but certainly not a light one either.
I confirmed with her that I felt it too—the land felt like it was calling. To her, it seemed the spirits contained within it were trying to impart a message to those with the senses to hear and truly listen. However, it came out as a mumble to her, as if the language spoken was not understood. At first, I wondered if the language was Aboriginal in nature, but a little while after her description, I realised something. It was the same snake speech that the spirits of the land use all over, the language of the chthonic gods, that I have encountered when working with Belial. We spent another two days enjoying the feel of the place before we had to head back home.
On our way back to Sydney, we stopped at the Blue Mountains Botanic Gardens to explore further and make the most of our time there. The Gardens boast a large balcony, from which one can see the stunning vistas surrounding Mount Tomah. It was here that she asked me to help decipher what they were saying to her, as she reiterated that she could not understand the meaning, despite it being loud, insistent, and important.
The Royal Botanic Gardens & Domain Trust, photographed by Jaime Plaza
I went out onto the balcony, and she soon joined me. Reaching out, I instantly felt drawn to the horizon. A peak dominated the far sky, and as I focused my eyes upon it, I felt drawn out of my body. Soon I was floating in front of the peak, and above, a large, multicoloured serpent hovered. Possessing pearlescent scales, it was similar but somehow different to the great dragon I encountered in the Lake District—more serpentine in nature. Power exuded from it like flowing waves of brilliant light, as a haze of blue caressed and swirled around it. Despite its brilliance, I could not hold this vision, no matter what I tried. It felt almost dreamlike, and despite its immediacy, as if there was still some final barrier in place I could not penetrate in my current state. Almost as soon as I was there, the imagery began to slide away. Unable to grasp the threads to remain in that space, I returned. Trying again, hoping this was an invitation to push on and not a warning, I closed my eyes. Just blackness, but there I could still feel it, and the hissing words came forth, generating the answers in the powerful feelings that they stirred within.
They wanted something from her indeed. The spirits of the land were offering a pact, if it would be wholeheartedly approached and accepted in blood. The exact nature of this pact was not transmitted—only that the door lay open, if she desired to explore it. It was given in a strange tone, as if they felt that was something rather very in doubt, as if they were used to being ignored, or worse, disappointed by those who have come forth up to this point.
As it was delivered, I conveyed it. She seemed nervous, relating to me how the spirits of this land seemed angry, almost hungry. I reassured her that even so, they were not out to claim her in the way that she was envisioning; another purpose or reason lay behind this, albeit one I could not put my own finger on.
We left the mountain top that day, descending the steep slopes in the old, knackered Toyota Corolla back towards Sydney. On the way back, we promised ourselves we would carry out the ritual as requested before leaving Australian soil.
Mimi and Rainbow Serpent, by Peter Marralwanga, c1980.
The good old winter weather would conspire against us, as is rather typical, ensuring that the optimal window to conduct the rite was on the very day I was to fly home. This was already going to be a complicated day – both logistically and emotionally, considering the importance of what had transpired on that other, beautiful night I will not forget.
But promises were promises – and we would have to make the best of the situation with the hours we had left. Very close to where we lived in Sydney was a nice, large, and relatively quiet suburban park. This was dominated by large, old, and gnarled banyan trees, specifically Ficus macrophylla or Australian Banyan. These trees are extremely physically impressive, with many thick aerial roots. Their physical characteristics give a hint as to their character; the tree is known as a “strangler fig” because seed germination usually takes place in the canopy of a host tree. Here, the seedling lives as an epiphyte until its roots establish contact with the ground, at which point it enlarges and strangles its host, thus replacing it. The tree is also incredibly dependent on a mutual relationship with insects. Figs are pollinated solely by fig wasps, and fig wasps can reproduce only in fig flowers. The close relationship of the Fig also gives us occult insight, this time into the mysteries surrounding that of sacred sacrifice.
Folklorically, the banyan tree has a lot of lore surrounding it – Diverse cultures around the world say these trees shelter angels and fairies, gods and ancestral spirits, ghosts, and other creatures.
More beneficially, the banyan tree is revered in Hinduism, and is the national tree of India. Because of its ever-expanding branches, it depicts eternal life. The banyan tree is also known as kalpavriksha, which literally means “wish-fulfilling holy tree”. In Buddhism, it is said Siddhartha Gautama attained enlightenment or buddhahood circa 500 BCE sitting under such a tree. In Greek mythology, the branches of one fig tree saved Odysseus from being sucked into the deadly whirlpool created by the maw of a hungry sea monster Charybdis.
The benefic comes with the malefic, however with many such great tree spirits, and in many places, it is believed that if a person sleeps under a fig tree he or she will wake up to be mute or worse still, never wake up. In Indian folklore, a person was turned into a monkey just because of trying to climb a sacred fig tree. Aboriginal Australian stories also warn of an altogether more fearsome spirit that lives within the strangler fig. This creature, the yara-ma-yha-who, is a manlike monster that possesses bulging eyes and a gaping, toothless maw. When hungry, it will leap out of its fig tree onto an unsuspecting traveller. Its fingers and toes end in flattened discs, through which it sucks the blood of its victims.
Ficus Macrophylla, Giardino Garibaldi, Palermo, photographed by Gmihail
As such, this is a tree that commands much respect when working with it from a witchcraft perspective. Several large specimens of these trees dominated one of the local parks, harbouring much of the impressive wildlife previously described. On this night, that place seemed to beckon us to work there – an awareness of semi-wilderness amidst the urban sprawl.
We left the apartment with very little – just ourselves, and something sharp with which to draw the blood necessary to make the connection. I was adamant that I would not lead the interaction – my role would be merely facilitative. This was important to ensure the path was walked and accepted. It was not me they had chosen, but her alone.
I remember it being strangely quieter than usual as we headed towards the area. Towards the lake, where the banyan trees drank deeply, and the day slowly spiralled into dusk. Unfortunately, many of the figs were still rather publicly within view. One tree, however, stood apart from the others. Fenced off, darker, in deeper shadow, and with its own strangely radiant pull. I could tell this tree was the one – and so could she. Yet, she hesitated in making the choice. Her outward hesitance belied a deeper, inner resolve to walk the path – to find the tree and honour what was asked of her. This filled me with great pride – it was something I knew she needed and was capable of achieving if only she took the leap of faith.
With that and a bit of encouragement to break a few rules and trust in herself, we were soon over the little separating fence; beneath the aerial roots of the great tree, the ritual would be conducted simply – and directly – without much, if any, supporting paraphernalia.
The process was as follows. Firstly, the receiving hand would be placed upon the bark and the call sent after personal circles were constructed. This would be followed by negotiation of the pact, with the result sealed in blood upon the bark.
As she bravely initiated the call, I stood guard at a respectable distance mainly to balance energy and ensure we were not disturbed. Everything went still, and I could feel the energy rising. It rose quickly and evenly, feeling very earthy and watery. It was much like a deep, still pool rising from the earth. I sensed that the energy, with its sepheranzian feel of the earth, was being joined by another energy – that of Belial and the Abyss. Looking up into the branches, the snake speech came, low and barely audible from my throat. It was subtle but discernible. With this, I purified and anchored the space, ensuring all that entered the space was conducive to the work.
She hesitated once more, before reaching out with heart instead of head. With this, the spirits of the land delivered their request directly at the level of the soul. At first, it felt like they were trying to draw her in – something she communicated afterwards and was concerned about. Yet, it must be remembered that these types of spirits always test – few come to them, and of those that do, few are actually suitable to receive anything. In this, she passed with flying colours. What was communicated is between her and them, but suffice to say, it was successfully bargained for and attained.
She relayed to me that these spirits left her feeling cold after her interaction – without any warmth. This is true – for that is simply their nature. These spirits of the earth, that come from the deep places, through these trees that are sent by Belial, are distinctly other but no less Hecate’s children with a purpose to the path. However, they are not the type to coddle.
With that done, her blood was given upon the bark and everything sealed. This was done with a huge amount of relief, given the intimidating nature of the operation and the time constraints we were under. Almost immediately, I heard the first rustling in the trees as we left, to sit and recover next to the little lake. Something truly incredible was about to happen.
Spurred by the energies raised in the rite, all the megabats in the area took flight. A huge flock swooped over us, and we both looked up in delight as their calls filled the sky. Internally, it made me want to laugh ecstatically, in great released joy. Gratitude arose inside for the blessings bestowed upon us in this land. At that point, I truly knew, at the crossroads in time where the spirits danced, that things had fallen into place. The myriad reasons why I was drawn here – her ritual, her presence, and this land had changed something important within me in symbiosis.
Megabats at Royal Botanic Gardens, Sydney Australia 2009 by Haverjake
With the ritual finished, I headed back to the flat to collect my things and leave the country that had truly felt like it had become a second home. Returning home, I have felt like a part of me remained there in that strange country brimming with possibility and new life. It has been a very strange, dislocating experience to have to return to normality (TM) – but I take comfort in knowing that what changed came back with me in flesh, blood, bone, and soul.
I now look forward to this summer, approaching the gatework with Belial knowing full well I am ready to dive deep into it at a soul level, as well as exploring hopefully more gateworkings and where they will take us.
I end this article with a wonderful Aboriginal tale about the warrior Buthera, who defeated Mudichera and thus gained his blessing and protection.
The Tale of Buthera and Mudichera
‘Buthera, a strong, proud warrior who possessed magical powers, was travelling up the coast of Queensland. He had not gone far on his way, and was resting early in the day, when a man walked into the glade where he was sitting.
‘Who are you?’ asked Buthera.
‘My name is Mudichera. I am the leader of Bats. What are you doing in my land?’
Buthera sprang to his feet, his brows drawn down in a frown. ‘This is still my territory. I allow no man to intrude on it.
‘The stranger took his waddy from his belt.
‘Good!’ Buthera said. ‘I am glad to see you are a man and not something blown here by the west wind.
‘They circled round each other warily. Buthera did not deign to use his waddy or war spear, but held a flint knife in his hand. Mudichera swung his waddy lustily, but Buthera avoided it, jumping from side to side, and throwing himself flat on the ground as it whistled over him. Mudichera began to grow tired. His blows lost their force and he had difficulty in raising his weapon over his head. Buthera gathered himself together and swung his knife so viciously that Mudichera was cut in two pieces, the upper part of his body falling in one place and his legs in another.
There was a flapping of leathery wings, the two parts of his body rose in the air, and two bats escaped from under Buthera’s hand. The chief grinned, picked up his weapon and resumed his journey. He covered many miles that day, but the sun grew hotter and the sweat trickled down his back. He felt sick, and when he came to a fertile valley with many water holes, where a large tribe was camped, he stopped.
‘Here comes Buthera’, the people cried.
‘How do you know my name’?
‘Oh, we know all about you. We know how you fought with Mudichera, how you cut him in two, and how he changed into a bat.’
‘Two bats. But how do you know all this?’
‘Willy wagtail told us.’
Buthera was angry to think that they knew so much about him. He took his magic spear and pointed it in front of him. A long tongue of flame shot from the point and set fire to the scrub. He swung it round him until he was in the centre of the fire, which spread rapidly outwards, driving the screaming people in front of it. The only places where they could escape the flames were in the water holes. Buthera looked across the smouldering bushes and saw them peering apprehensively at him, with their bodies submerged in the water. He grinned again, pointed another spear at them, and had the satisfaction of seeing them all transformed into shags.
Shortly afterwards he met another warrior, but this time he met his match. Larna was young and vigorous, and before long Buthera lay dead at his feet. He picked Buthera up, lifted him above his head, and was on the point of throwing him into a lake, when the Bats who had once been Mudichera flew down and beat their wings round Larna’s head, until he was forced to lower the body. Some of the power that had belonged to Mudichera when he was a warrior lingered in the Bats, and they turned Larna into a stone which they left by the side of the lake as a memorial to Buthera the warrior.’
A.W. Reed, Aboriginal Fables & Legendary Tales
Sydney Airport Mudichera by Guy Boyd
⛧
In Honour of the Spirits of the Reddened Land,
Those who Whisper
To Those who Wish to Hear
From Dust and Soil,
From Bone, and Root,
From Stone and Tree,
We call to thee,
O Belial!
Stir the Souls!
Arise, O Neglected Ones,
Awaken to Partake of the Grand Sabbat!
O Belial!
Forever set us Free!
Here at the Crossroads,
Where All Dance,
United In Eternal Reverie!
O Belial!
Accept Now our Devotion
Carry our Ecstatic Voices
Forth to Her Emerald Throne
On Your Wings of Purest Night!
~S~
The Luciferian Revolution 
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