We Hollow Few

While I no longer publicly identify as a chaos magickian there are a number of noticeable holdovers which have become an integral part of my everyday occult practice. Most important of these, aside perhaps from all the sigils and tulpas that I create, is the concept of the void. Accessed through the application of self induced gnosis, which in turn creates an oblique pathway towards this limitless ocean of everything and nothing, few chaotes can claim to have achieved viable results without diving into the tempestuous waters of Tiamat at least once.

Some, like myself, come to embody such a boiling cauldron of infinite emptiness on a psychological level too. While retaining a core personality of sorts, this particular group of complex individuals become a channel which ideas and concepts flow through without ever filling. Hollow, but ultimately content with the psychological space that emptiness creates, we are free to approach reality in whichever way is most appealing or useful at the time. Ours is the curse of void, as well as the blessing of all creation should we prove to be strong enough to catch the apple of knowledge and bend its energies towards our will.

Of course, there are those who would call such hollow men and women mad. In the eyes of the many our lack of hard and fast identifications may indeed seem so, but as Grant Morrison stated at Disinfo Con way back at the turn of the century multiple personality disorder may well be the next stage of human evolution, freeing us as it does to play the hermit without becoming bound up by a given idea. Going further the lack of a defining worldview in the classic sense grants those strong enough the ability to ride the lightning and understand the storm, a useful skill in light of the current political and social climate.

That said, while I am one such hollow my world view is not exactly as fractured as it may sound. I still have wants, needs and methods of approaching everyday life. However the actual schemas that I apply to incoming stimuli vary based on both situation and mood. Opinions on everything from politics to personal relationships are always in flux too, leading to many an avoidable misunderstanding as well as pointless and sweeping arguments with those few people who I have allowed to get close to me. This is truly the warrior’s way, for there is no safety net to catch us when we fall or masters to assist in picking up the pieces after impact.

I am the first to admit that this a lack of consistency does make me difficult to live with. There is no guarantee that my opinion on a particular topic will stay the same from one conversation to the next, nor do I claim to give hard and fast answers to even the most important questions. For years I also bemoaned my lack of ability to choose a definite magickal path, as no matter how hard I tried I found it impossible to sit within a particular tradition for any longer than it took to learn the technique needed at the time. That was until I embraced the fact that while I may only scratch the surface I scratch hard, fast and with definite purpose.

In practical terms this leads me to approach every magickal operation from any of a vast number of potential angles, or none at all should my ingrained scepticism be on the rise. Thus I identify as many things and nothing at all. Rebel, Technopagan, necromancer, demonolater; these are all masks I wear to embody that current as and when required. I am a conduit for these concepts but never their container. Also, unlike most chaos magickians I do not force myself to believe in these systems while working within them, as such acceptance does not seem a prerequisite to making the magick happen. I am well aware that they are but tools that I am using, mere psychological costumes in the play that is modern life.

Ultimately this all leaves me distinct and apart from everything I do, with the added benefit of assuring that I retain my autonomy in all things. My allegiance to Lilith is the only exception to this rule, however, it is impossible to deny her own agency in running bloody claws through the weave of my existence. Some have accused me of playing the trickster spirit, deliberately shaking the tree to laugh as those who sit in its branches fall to the ground, yet it goes much further than that. I am in fact a coin forever spinning on its edge, showing neither face to the world. Nothing is true, not even me, and that is not necessarily a bad thing.

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