I Report My Terrifying Results From A 9-Day Evocation Of The Dark Goddess I Performed Years Ago – And Share The Priceless Lesson I Learned From My Personal Mentor
While I was studying the Mysteries of tribal sorcery, I experienced something that nearly drove me INSANE… within minutes.
It wasn’t the sight of some demon, as I’ve been in communion and contact with the most inhuman entities imaginable.
What I experienced at the conclusion of this ritual was a complete and instantaneous erosion of the barrier between the world of spirits and the world of men.
The ritual wasn’t complicated. For the most part, these primal rituals are much simpler than most Western Magick, as far as the preparation and execution of the ceremony goes.
Most of the spellcasting rituals are actually some of the easiest to perform, and at the same time were always violently powerful.
For instance, this particular ritual required only 5 or 10 minutes of my time, once a day, for 9 days.
The ritual was conducted upon my altar, which was dedicated first to the Loa of Vodoun, and then later was consecrated to the Petro – the “fiery” and malevolent Voodoo Spirits. That same altar was also possessed by spirits of the Congo, and finally, it was home to spirits beyond any description, older than memory itself.
The instructions that my mentor gave me were simple: I covered the altar with chili peppers, tobacco, and other noxious or spicy foods associated with the particular Dark Goddess that I was trying to invoke. Her symbols were placed on the center of the altar, drawn on sheepskin parchment, drawn in my own blood.
Three red candles formed a triangle across the altar.
On top of the symbols, surrounded by candles and spirit offerings, I set a glass of ordinary tap water, and then covered the glass with a white cloth.
For nine days, exactly at 10 o’clock each night, I would light the candles and would focus on the power radiating from the altar and all of the items on it.
The first few nights, there wasn’t much energy to be felt at all. As the evenings rolled forward, though, the dark presence was inarguably there.
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By The Ninth Night, The Dark Goddess Herself Was Present…
By the ninth night, the Dark Goddess Herself was present. She was shadow and fire at the same time, the felt-presence of her being filling the entire room. The altar and all of its devices and offerings exuded pure power.
My mentor hadn’t given me any final instructions for the ritual, but instead told me that if I had performed it correctly, and if I was indeed chosen by the Dark Goddess, thenthere is only one thing that I could do to conclude the nine-day rite.
Kneeling in front of my altar, the once withered and impotent peppers releasing their resurrected moisture into the air, stinging my eyes, that one thing that I was to do to conclude my working revealed itself to me.
I uncovered the glass of water, an inch or so of which had evaporated through the cloth, and I held it above my head.
“Dark Goddess,” I whispered, knowing that she was around me and within me already, not needing to be shouted at as if she resided on the furthest reaches of the astral plane. “Violent Goddess. Bloody Mistress, I take this sacrament, and I drink of your blood.”
I raised the glass to my lips. It smelled as pungent as the peppers on the altar, but also carried another odor, entirely unique but impossible for me to place. The second smell didn’t mix with the first, as most odors do, but stood apart, like separate serpents rising from the water, one hot and exciting, the other cold, dark, and unnamable.
Despite the shocking intensity of the smell of the water, it had absolutely no taste. Even the metallic and chemically-treated tap water tasted like something. This water tasted like nothing. Like wet, cold nothing.
I downed the glass of water, swallowing the last drop in the same moment that the first swallow hit my stomach.
My stomach convulsed, threatening to vomit up the water. I knew that this would be an absolute failure of the ritual, and so I pushed back the compulsion to let the water rise back into my throat. From having been sick on at least a few occasions, I knew that the best way to calm a raging stomach was to breathe deeply and slowly. As I did so, hoping only to hold down the unholy water, something unexpected happened.
The Walls Around Me MELTED… My Breathing STOPPED Entirely…
The walls around me melted. They started from the tops of the walls, against the ceilings, the paint and drywall and lumber mutating into black oil that curdled in on itself and ran down the walls, infecting the entire room with its dark disease.
My breathing stopped entirely.
I have experimented with LSD, psilocybin, DMT, and a range of other hallucinogens, so hallucinations were not alien to me.
But, this was no hallucination. It had always been easy for me to tell the difference between the real world and the world of projected imagination. What was occurring in front of me was undeniably real. Further, it had been years – nearly a decade – since my last hallucinogenic experience, and I’d never once suffered from a flashback. Also, during that nine-day period, I remained in my house, and I can assert that not a single person entered into or even saw my altar of devotion, let alone having had an opportunity to spike the water with any psychedelic substance.
No, what I was seeing, I was actually seeing! The walls melted until all of them were black, no longer solid, but instead had turned to an ebony liquid, like black seas that separated me from the rest of the world.
I had heard stories of gateways that, once opened, would allow the chaos of the acausal worlds to overtake this world. I feared that I had done this… that all of the world had been swallowed up into the belly of damnation, and that I was left alone in the center of the void to witness the final apocalypse.
Faces appeared in the black oceanic walls, pushing through the invisible membrane… and looking straight at me. Three or four faces turned to hundreds, and then thousands of faces, all of their eyes glaring at me, all of their mouths speaking to me at once, different voices whispering different words, all of them drowned out by the others so that I couldn’t make out any meanings in their messages.
A GATEWAY Formed In The Back Of My Head…
A gateway formed not in front of me, but in the back of my head, at the base of my skull. As soon as I became aware of it, I felt those thousands of tormented faces flooding through that gateway, and flooding into ME, their faces vanishing from the melted wall.
They didn’t possess me, in the classical sense, but were absorbed into my being, as if they had been there all along and I only then had become aware of them.
The walls then, being absent of the faces, became living mirrors, not showing me my own image, but showing me what I could become. Symbolic visions of a flight into the sun, burning me alive and casting my ashes down to the earth, reborn once moistened with the tears of the gods. Another vision showed me dying alone, penniless, unloved, unlovable, a pariah to all.
Every possibility imaginable – and some that I never could have imagined – were displayed on the black, watery walls.
Once those visions had ceased, every demon, every angel, every spirit and soul that I had summoned returned to me, haunting me through the melted walls. They were not tormenting me, though, not punishing me for my evil deeds, not returning my selfishness to me. Instead, they stood silent, awaiting my next command.
Yet, I had nothing to give them to do. The faces of those spirits far outnumbered those of the anguished people moments earlier.
I sat on my floor for hours, watching the walls move, watching the faces grinning, listening to the waves of chaos spilling into this world, not from the altar, nor from some gateway before me, but instead the abyss flowed into this world through me. I had become the gateway.
I have to say that I wasn’t sure during those hours whether the ritual had been successful, the insanity being the purpose of it, or if I had failed the ritual and that I was reaping the rewards of my failure.
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In what I was sure would be my final act on this plane, I found my cell phone on the floor next to me, and I dialed my mentor’s number. He rarely answers his phone, as his time is split between several countries and continents. It seemed fateful at that moment, though, when he answered.
I told him about my experiences leading up to the ritual, the previous 8 days of growing spiritual manifestation.
“Did you drink the water?” he asked, not willing to wait or me to get to that part of the story, likely growing impatient with my stammering and incoherency.
“Yes!” I shouted over the phone, and then launched into the illustration of the events as I related them above.
“What do I do now?” I begged him, hoping he’d give me a reversal ritual of some sort. In that vortex of black ooze, I was a God ruling over nothingness, a Deity dominating emptiness. I didn’t want to leave, as the insanity was comforting and familiar. I saw myself more clearly than ever before, and the world made a lot more sense, reduced to nothing but black ooze capable of taking a million shapes.
“Make a sandwich,” my mentor said. After only a second or two of silence, he burst into rolling laughter. Had he been pulled into the entropy, his voice now being controlled by those Gods of Chaos whose faces pressed through the melted walls?
Through his attempts to silence, or at the very least to muffle his laughter, he clarified: “That’s what you tell people in your books, right? To make a sandwich?” I had no idea what he was talking about, and my silence verified my confusion through the phone.
“You need to ground yourself,” he said, all laughter gone from his tone. “You had the experience that you needed to have, and now you need to come back from it. Go make a sandwich. Go to a pub with your friends. Go for a walk. Just… ground yourself!”
I was terrified as I cracked my bedroom door open and peeked outside. What would I do if the whole world had melted, leaving nothing but inhuman faces and garbled voices?
The world was still there. My walls were still beige. My carpet was still tan. Sunlight poured through the windows and the sounds of neighborhood children playing outside welcomed me back to the world of flesh and substance.
I looked back at my room, and it was still melted. The faces had converged, becoming one enormous, menacing figure, warning me through its stare to return to my place in the abyss.
Leaving the bedroom door wide open, I turned around, went into the kitchen, and made a sandwich, which I carried along with two cold beers over to a friend and neighbor’s house. I split my sandwich with him, gave him my second beer, and spent a good hour or more talking about basketball.
By the time I returned home, I was clear. I was clear of the danger that I thought I was in. I was clear of my thoughts, which have always been the most aggressive danger in my life. I was clear to move forward, having seen ten thousand faces of the Dark Goddess, had been pulled into her lair, and had lived to walk into the sunlight and to determine which of the paths laid before me I would walk on.
Had I not grounded myself, had I not returned my consciousness to THIS reality, the reality that every sane human being can agree upon, I would likely still be lost in that abyss, consumed by a terror that I was supposed to confront and conquer.
These rituals – ALL rituals – produce results that are guaranteed to change everything in your existence. Without grounding yourself in reality, though, they will be worse than useless to you. If you don’t bring yourself back to earth, if you don’t ground yourself, the risk is that you will be tortured by your visions, and you will be haunted and hunted by the spirits that you have called.
Save your insanity, so that in ritual you can jump from the ledge of madness into a sea of revelation. And then return, become sane again, and notice how all of creation conspires for your benefit!