Tag Archives: demon

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Inside the Entrances to Hell

Last May, Alan Chapman and I visited four of Brighton & Hove’s seventy-two entrances into hell (as featured in previous articles on this site) to make a short film of our exploits.

At Daffivisionomy we performed for the first time our ritual for opening hellmouths and encountered a psychotic spirit. At Chesney Peck we employed tarot and the magic 8 ball to make contact with a thieving gnome. Vomitory we used as an opportunity for some practical sorcery. Finally, we used a ghost box to chat in real time with spirits inside Yizmeduck.

Entrances to Hell - view on YouTube.

Entrances to Hell - the movie. 11mins 44 secs. Click to view on YouTube.

Although I’ve logged their locations and characteristics, I’ve never set down in detail what I consider the nature and function of these entrances into hell. In my view, psychogeographical magick consists of a few basic techniques. Standing still is the simplest: you simply stand in a specific location, observe what happens, and interpret the experience as a message. Following is another: either you move from location to location following specific signs or cues from the environment, or else you choose locations or directions at random. (This is, in essence, the technique of ‘drift’ or ‘dérive‘, so commonly favoured by psychogeographers.) Finding is slightly different. You decide beforehand the outcome of the journey, and then look to experiences during the journey as the provision of that outcome. (My walks to discover the chakras of the city were an example of this.) The entrances to hell, however, represent a fourth category in the psychogeographical repertoire, which I describe as going behind. It differs fundamentally from the previous three by assuming a dimension of experience separate from the manifest environment.

With this type of magick, we’re not so much interpreting experience as a message or allegory, but the experience itself is perceived as originating directly from the allegorical realm. So whereas with the first three techniques we can observe, discover and track our quarry, by going behind what is manifestly real we interact with our object more directly, on its home ground.

Splitting the world into ‘the manifest’ and ‘the concealed’ is itself a fundamental magical technique, one so powerful that it’s not limited to magick. Realising that a ‘here’ originates from a ‘there’ releases the potential to change ‘here’ simply by interacting with or intervening in ‘there’. Science does this all the time, intervening in things we can’t perceive in order to change those we can. Similarly, but in a different sphere, therapists, politicians and teachers influence our unconscious processes, in order to modify conscious behaviour. The domain of magick, however, is neither physical nor social reality, but individual consciousness, which is why in magick this technique is worked entirely consciously instead, and limited within the minds of a specific person or group.

Entrances to hell are necessarily funny. This is because ‘funny’ arises from a split between what is actually said and what was meant, or between what really happens and what ought to have happened, and so on. All traffic with spirits is at least faintly ludicrous, because of the way that what’s ‘up there’ is necessarily forced to manifest through whatever happens to be available ‘down here’. For instance, when the angels made Dee and Kelley schlep around Europe for months on end, to reprimand its kings for their sins, and later instructed the pair to swap wives – this was at least as absurd and funny as it was dangerous and embarrassing. Similarly, when Crowley, possessed by Choronzon at Bou Sada, sneaked out from the protective triangle and leapt on Neuberg – that was bloody hilarious!

Bathos and magical manifestation tend to go together. If the results of magick aren’t faintly silly, it’s worth checking that they have been truly situated as coming from some place other, and aren’t merely the product of an over-valuation of what’s to hand. I remember looking at an altar, lovingly set up for a session of group magick, when a senior magician came in and remarked, ‘What a pile of tat!’ What magick infers or represents is important, not the forms through which it manifests. Mistake the forms for the meanings and you end up with the kind of superstitious fetishism that many mistake for magick.

Comedic techniques are frequently put to magical uses, something almost as frequently overlooked. A joke, for instance, has an enormous power to entirely transform our mood, or make someone look and feel ridiculous. And the use of laughter as a banishing ritual is endemic among chaos magicians. However, comedy comes in two flavours: ironic and humorous. The former turns the world dark; the latter floods it with light. Imagine that a condemned man is led to the chopping block. If he remarks to the executioner, ‘How lovely to meet you!’ then that would be irony. But if he paused to inspect the axe and ask, ‘Are you sure that thing’s safe?’ then that would be humour. In the former, the prisoner highlights how bad things are by pretending they’re good. In the latter, he draws attention to the manifestly bad (the axe), but pretends good might come of it. The ironic remark shames the executioner, whereas the humorous one releases and absolves him. Indeed, it releases and absolves everyone, including the prisoner.

In magick, irony manifests demons and humour draws down angels. Entrances to hell are portions of the city overlooked, ugly, decayed. By awarding them attention and deciding they are intentional, and that behind them lives an organising intelligence, this ironically exposes the chaos ‘here’, by supposing that ‘there’ the chaos is planned. The disadvantage of demons is that they mess things up; the advantage is that in places messed beyond repair, a demon has control. No doubt for this reason, we heard the entities of Yizmeduck describe themselves as ‘the rape of truth’ and admit that ‘we play violent’.

So to visit and open an entrance into hell is to negotiate with the messed-up city, with all that disgusts and alienates us from our environment. We may not like it, but these forces have power over what manifests – in certain locations, at least. The alternative view is that wastage occurs by accident, and there’s no intelligence behind decay, but surely it’s better to honour and negotiate with the city’s demons rather than to accept alienation as accidental and inevitable?

So much for demons and hellmouths. Where are the angels? The technique I’ve tried for finding these I call going beyond. It involves letting go of the manifest, or – at least – holding onto it so lightly that ‘there’ unavoidably bleeds through into ‘here’. There’s nothing new or original in this. By making the angels in his film Wings of Desire (1987) so concerned with mundane aspects of human experience, Wim Wenders similarly erased the split between the other world and this. So far (perhaps) I’ve found two angels in the city: one of air, and one of earth or fire. But this is a work in progress, because they seem far harder to locate…

P.S.

Oh, in case you’re wondering… Having opened one, to close an entrance to hell merely recite thrice backwards the traditional opening formula. So just say (three times): Sasaz atanatasan, sasaz, sasaz!

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The Entrances to Hell of Brighton & Hove

A website called entrances2hell is the original source, but its intention was mostly humorous, so I hope my work of the past six months, spent walking the streets of my home city, photographing, investigating and describing all 72 of its entrances into Hell, has added new dimensions to the genre.

The places I’ve uncovered and listed below are real. I’ve also made an interactive Google map so that anyone can go visit them, or – as is possible in many cases – check them out using Google streetview. But what these infernal portals signify, their magical uses, and the reasons for writing about them in the way I’ve chosen, will form the basis of future articles. For now, the most important thing is to share the fruit of my findings and simply list in alphabetical order by name these most unique and disturbing places.

Because they’re padded with bubble-wrap, the cells inside Admiral Betty are massively popular and always booked for months in advance. Many former inmates report they never suspected that banging your head against a wall could feel so satisfying.

Ladies in bikinis and gentlemen in speedos hibernate inside Aja McFahn through the winter months, but spill onto the beach once the sun’s rays heat the door. They evolved from offshore algae and feel a bit greasy, yet help keep the seafront shops in business.

Argh Feeyenna was, of course, the subject of a hit record by eletro-rock band Ultravox in 1981, but has since fallen on hard times. After the financial crisis of 2008, its elegant alabaster portico was sold to Superdrug and ground down to make Andrews Liver Salts.

Baffstand is the proverbial brick shit-house, the most difficult entrance to open, and recommended only for experts. On October 9th, 1980, the Shakespearian actor and explorer Brian Blessed stood outside and demanded admittance very loudly for almost six hours, but had no joy.

To celebrate the birthday of Clive Dunn, there is a display of astral yoga by goetic demons on the pavement outside Battachari Nambisca at midnight on the 9th of January every year. However, it was cancelled for the first time ever in 2010, due to the extremely icy conditions.

It is nice to see communities supporting their hellmouth, as is the case at Bouchamanga, whose grille is regularly fed by the locals with plenty of nourishing detritus and crap.

Seven devil’s minions live in Bura Bura. Their names are Flack, Cuthbert, Pugh, Dibble, McGrew and Grubb – plus Pugh’s twin brother, whose name is uncertain. There’s no need to take the sign on the door seriously. Not one of them has stepped outside since 1966.

The low-key appearance of Champers is due, probably, to its situation close to an affluent area. Wealthy people prefer to live as far as possible from infernal portals, despite being often quite involved in the sort of activities that give rise to them.

On Valentine’s Day at Charbovari its cover lifts and under a red light a whore in ripped lingerie pours champagne for a fat, ugly punter. Make sure you’re somewhere happier when this happens, else one of them will be you.

The devil’s answer to Disneyland, Chesney Peck is particularly attractive to children, but don’t be taken in by its fake ‘enchanted castle’ doorway made of cardboard. Cheap displays of hyperreality like these lure our kids into filthy post-modern habits. Remember: a pimped-up door isn’t ‘ironic’; it’s an entrance to hell.

Inspired by prophet David Icke‘s turquoise tracksuits, and manufactured from re-purposed 1970s San Francisco police cars, which were painted powder blue at the behest of hippie icon Alan Watts to reduce police brutality, the doors of Chiddle McBlindo radiate cosmic serenity and peace. But it’s a different bloody story once you’re in there.

Known also as ‘the temporal starfish’, if you’ve ever wondered where all the time went, it may have passed through Chranus. Time wasted locally by weed-smokers and computer gamers is absorbed into its clock-face, recycled, then excreted through the centre-hole into jobs, financial services, and giving back control to customers.

Using pork carcasses wrapped in plastic bags, the devil’s minions practise their forklift driving here at Clankfadge, preparing for the day when the shit will really hit the fan.

Daffivisionomy is where the devil’s minions regulate the city’s mental health. Reading aloud a celebrity biography through the grille is thought to lull them into a good mood and may reduce local paranoia levels by up to 7.5%.

In 1940 Dimpannish was bristling with gun turrets and encased in concrete, serving as the front-line against Hitler‘s planned invasion. Evidently, at the time, it worked.

In Effington von Topsy reside the departed souls of Ambient composers. Della Derbyshire was the first in 2001. Brian Eno blew his entire fee for directing the 2010 Brighton Festival on reserving a space inside. The interminable drone from within is the net upshot of all their works.

In the same way that Jaffa cakes were ruled in 1991 not to be biscuits (for tax purposes) so Ek Ek Eleen was ruled not a hellmouth but a natural feature caused by wind erosion. If you’re unsure, munch on a Waggon Wheel whilst you think it over.

Etchkin is a hub for gnomes. Stairs lead to an underground siding where they are issued travel warrants and dispatched across the nation. It was most busy in 1984, when gnomes were sent from here to Yorkshire, to replace the striking miners.

Fanni is a frequently and widely worshipped entrance. It’s no accident there is a drug and alcohol rehab unit upstairs, from which many of its acolytes are drawn. People are often attracted by the smell of freshly baked bread that wafts out especially when it rains.

Inside Flep Flep is a gym for zombies, which explains why they’ve become so fast and mean. But put your head around the door and watch them on the treadmills. Even though they’re quick, they’re as mindless and dead as ever.

According to current estimates, only 1 in 39,000,000 deliveries arrive at Freugh. To send something, a good diet and regular exercise, as well as the avoidance of tight-fitting underwear, may significantly improve your chances.

Possibly the only truly organic portal into Hell, Froodombermulch is a big favourite among the vegan entrance-worshipping community. Its roots (when stroked and licked) taste of parmesan cheese.

Situated ten feet above street level, in 1857 Goshwin Prambag was a residence to the physical medium Daniel Dunglas Home. Each night he levitated in for tea and crumpets, as crowds gathered below to debate how he did it.

Conveniently situated in the city’s main shopping district, Grouchmouth dispenses free and impartial advice on a range of financial products to anyone who rams their head inside.

In 1983 Hamble, the evil doll from the children’s show Playschool, was hacked into four pieces by The Right Honourable Baroness Floella Benjamin. A lower portion of the corpse is interred at Hamblelegg, inside a frame from the show’s ‘square window’, which has protective properties. Whilst the whereabouts of the other bits of Hamble remains a secret, then the world is safe.

The devil recently introduced flexible working practices at Handy Ferrule. His minions no longer show up on site but now log in from home. The arrangement has proved so successful there are plans to extend it to all the other entrances where no one was doing any work anyway.

The devil’s minions ran a sadomasochist club at Houch, until the vice squad raided in 1986. But the dress code was police uniforms in the club that night and in the confusion six officers arrested themselves, whilst three punters received commendations.

Consumption of giant squid in the seafood restaurant behind the grille at Intankersmoosh is alleged to have given H.P. Lovecraft intestinal cancer. No longer a catering outlet, the portal these days is a command centre for evil seagulls.

The devil negates the weight of our expectations with the inevitability of our disappointment – and beneath Jaz his minions have built a vast disappointment trough. These days, disappointment so far exceeds reasonable expectations that peculiar gravitational effects are experienced here, which explains the portal’s wonkiness in the photo.

Jeffnackers is a quality outlet for audible pies, which come in the usual flavours: moo, baa, oink and cluck with mushroom.

Jemima Bailey is named for the notorious serial-killer who was neither caught nor identified but escaped through here to Hell in 1976. Kiss this portal nine times and, it’s said, she’ll pop back up for a chat. It’s also said that we use only ten percent of our brain.

The ladder next to Kevbannister was donated by Leo Sayer in 1974. Since then, other local celebrities have left their mark. Chris Eubank commissioned Banksy to produce the wall art in 1993. The chocolate brown colour-scheme is a more recent innovation by Norman Cook and Zoe Ball.

Koo-Koo Nimba is a low-key entrance. It is regularly whitewashed by demons who park their fake cars outside. But it glows bright orange at night and this gives the game away entirely. (See picture.)

Koshtt was formed by steam from passing engines during the Industrial Revolution and used as a municipal Turkish bath. In 1958 it was sealed to become the devil’s pressure cooker. Modern Satanists believe that a huge spotted dick, rising slowly inside, will one day end world hunger.

Reverse-psychology is such a tired old trick that it has almost died out, but thankfully not here at Laamanaama, to which fly-tippers and trespassers flock in droves.

The worst disguised entrance, it looks like a female toilet but is part of an apartment block. I mean, would you live next to a disused public urinal? Who are they kidding? The real function of Ladies is the generation of the special desperation that arises when you think you’ve found a toilet, but then discover you haven’t.

Meagre is a tiny portal whose cover was knocked sideways in 1891 when the devil dragged mathematician Georg Cantor inside and showed him the theory of transfinite numbers. But since then it has been fairly quiet.

In 1974 Eric Morecambe and Ernie Wise failed to deliver their TV Special and ruined the nation’s Christmas. In fact, the show was made, but lost in the post at Mister Preview. Sad, because it’s rumoured to be the only one that’s still funny.

After his death in 1947, Aleister Crowley took up residence here in Mortislum. Through its hole (top left) he mocked the self-righteous, accepted donations of heroin, but looked rather perplexed by it all.

This entrance has a purely ceremonial function. On November 16th each year, elderly residents near Mosewald Osley dress in black and goose-step up and down its ramp to the strains of Wagner that issue from within.

Nanky was almost chosen as the location for serial-killer George Marlow’s lock-up in the 1991 TV drama Prime Suspect, but was eliminated from the final short-list because of its funny smell.

‘The lights are going out all over Europe,’ Sir Edward Grey declared in 1914. And it’s still pitch dark in Nittlepishwalden, because since then no one has found the light switch. A huge crowd is inside, groping about between the furniture. Local residents are woken at night by shins perpetually barking.

The devil has kept watch at Nyadh since 1558, looking for anyone stupid enough to come looking for him. If you’ve heard the ancient saying, ‘Look for the devil and he shall come looking for you,’ then – like me – you’re probably the type who can see the devil’s eye staring back from the aperture (bottom right). And you’re probably the type that likes inventing ancient sayings.

At 233 feet high the Leshan Giant Buddha is the world’s largest. The Buddha inside Obi Wan Tanker is only 5′ 9″, yet continues to fend off requests from the local tourist office to fatten up.

Every time someone calls an ambulance, the devil stuffs an empty can of Coca Cola into Omfaloo. That’s the conclusion drawn by health experts from the enduring incidence of hospital admissions with sales of fizzy drink.

Pizmire is notable for its miniature rainforest, situated just inside. There is also a cress farm, a bud gallery, and a warehouse full of tendrils that are often seen waving at passers-by.

No daffodils grow within a hundred metres of Plashy Brook. The devil banned them after William Wordsworth stayed here briefly on his return from France in 1793. Back then, it was a shepherd’s hut and worthier of the rustic bard than the sleazy crack den it resembles today.

A game of ullamaliztl was played at Pokatezlicatl between the Devil and international financiers in 2008. Players aim to whack a 9lb solid ball through tiny hoops using only their hips, so it’s no surprise who won.

Always check before accessing Psaddi that its door is cool to the touch. Its antechamber is used sometimes as an oven, wherein the devil’s minions bake their flapjacks and pork pies.

Which way do the doors of Hell open? For years Quackbocker was hailed as conclusive proof by Inwardists, such as Professor Stephen Hawking. But recently Outwardists such as Professor Richard Dawkins have argued this is only half the truth.

A naked green man is often seen inside Radishpantry who shouts disturbing slogans. These have recently included: ‘Car fumes make children poorly,’ and: ‘We invaded Iraq for petrol because we don’t like walking to the shops.’

When Rank Sewillys was visited by Most Haunted in 2004 Derek Acorah was possessed by ‘a racked hero’, and Yvette Fielding reported feeling trapped inside an ‘evil, fidgety net.’ Sceptic Ciaran O’Keeffe later denounced Acorah’s salary for appearing in the series as ‘a faker icon fee’.

The Royal Family deny rumours that they are extra-terrestrials, but its archaeology and alignment with the constellation Serpens Caput proves that Royal High Fankhole was built for the monarchy’s pleasure by their fanclub of shape-shifting lizards.

Even stripy hazard tape and regular sweeping with a brush cannot disguise overwhelming evil. Of this, Scamberflopf is a prime example.

This entrance is guarded by a powerful transsexual minion, Sheena, from whom its name derives. Ply her with an alcoholic beverage to gain admission. Best tackled only when you’re feeling chilled and funky.

The most deceptive of entrances, it is recorded that Silvestor materialised from thin air in 1922. Recent analysis has proved its interior is exactly the size its exterior suggests and that there is no irritating man inside wearing a long scarf. (Despite appearances to the contrary.)

Snaffuntackle is made entirely from reinforced steel because it’s full of gas. No naked flames or light-switches are allowed, but this rule is regularly bent because explosions are heard inside frequently. Depending on your point of view, this either makes it quite exciting, or a really shitty place to work.

Described by bestselling author Katie Price as ‘like a bucket’, Snax Minguh is the most accessible local entrance and very suitable for beginners. But in terms of style and function, it’s clearly poor.

Tardismentry is an experimental collaboration between the devil and the local council. Disguised as a pollution monitoring station, it actually absorbs pollution and feeds it to the devil’s larvae. The more pollution the better, because demon larvae bowel-movements alter atmospheric pressure, powering ecological wind farms that the council is rumoured to be planning.

If you knock, a head appears in Temophab and delivers the answer to all questions (in a soothing Halifax accent). This scares the shit out of most people, often causing violence, but when you see past all that it’s actually therapeutic and quite safe. Recommended.

Timblanca Ta’pow was constructed from melted-down biscuit tins in 1813 by George III, as a memorial to Prime Minister Spencer Perceval. However, George IV found it unbearably ugly and it was presented to the people of Hove by Mrs. Fitzherbert, on the occasion of his coronation in 1821. Today, in its present form, monkeys with bats’ wings use it as a toilet.

Moored in the underground river that flows beneath Tomblerploq is the devil’s fleet of submarines, moulded by demons from nutty floaters plucked specially out of the sewer for their flush-resistant qualities.

Trimoomoo is located in the eastern wall of Hove Town Hall. The devil allows the council to use the building on condition that offerings of blood, sweat and tears are dribbled through its respective orifices each year on the Mayor’s birthday.

In the 5th Century, Ubigenitals was a repository for biblical relics too stupid to be taken seriously. Reputedly among them: Enoch’s knackers; the schwang of Ham; and John and Thomas’ john thomases. Sadly, this rich heritage of knob jokes was devastated by a Viking raid in 864, and only a few dry puns and the odd innuendo now remain.

Vashamaxcaries is full of machine-guns. Cemeteries and battlefields make the finest arable land, so the devil’s minions have been waiting here since 1918 for people to become hungry and demand fertilizer production again.

Inserting objects into the orifice of Vomitory is futile, because it keeps on being sick. Its purgative flux is synchronised with the lunar cycle, so that whatever is put in at full moon will be expelled from reality when the next new moon comes. Wear protective gloves and use with caution.

The devil nailed the gentle hermit who lived at Wabblabble upside-down to the door. He just smiled and continued meditating, but moved out sharpish when the devil put the rent up and threatened to withhold his damage deposit.

Just because the devil loves puns, Werehouse is inhabited by creatures half-human and half-wolf that spend their days transporting goods on forklift trucks.

The ground-level situation of Wodge Nodge makes it an ideal dogs’ toilet, which was its purpose in 1982 when launched by Barbara Woodhouse. Disappointingly, a recent survey showed that dog-owners still prefer their pets to use verges, parks and pavements.

Is it dangerous? Or safe? Both dangerous and safe? Or neither safe nor dangerous? Visit Xocabox and you’ll either get enlightened or electrocuted.

A solitary nail. The rustic driftwood. And that Yale lock, whose patina has gently spread across its wooden surround. I mean, Yizmeduck is just beautiful. Isn’t it?

Prestigious awards are dispensed from Zabbernaffendry. Everybody can receive one, if they obey the devil’s instruction to devote themselves utterly to something more important than anything else. So, what are you waiting for?
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The Liberation of Ronove

If you can summon a demon and bind it to your will, why couldn’t you liberate it into everlasting luminosity and peace?

But if you did, would that demon be gone for good? Would other magicians still be able to work with it?

Suppose someone summoned each demon of the Goetia in turn and compelled them to yield to everlasting bliss. Would that maleficent system of sorcery then have been dismantled for good?

From past experience I’ve learned it’s never a good idea to invite Goetic demons into your home, so Alan and I decided on an outdoor venue: the ancient hill fort on Hollingbury Hill, near Brighton. But first – at home – we banished, then invoked the Holy Guardian Angel and asked it via the pendulum whether this venture was a good idea. The answer was affirmative, so next – using bibliomancy – we chose a specific demon to liberate. The lucky winner was number twenty-seven, Ronove, who takes the form of ‘a monster’. (Not ideal company at midnight on the summit of an isolated hilltop.)

Hollingbury Hill Fort

The sensible way to approach Hollingbury Hill Fort - by daylight.

Previously we’ve established that recitation with intent of Leo Marks’ poem ‘The Life That I Have’ will liberate spirits that were formerly human. But, as Alan put it, ‘There’s no way am I declaring to a Goetic demon: “The life that I have is yours!”‘.

It was a good point. Luckily, Alan had to hand the text of a Tibetan Buddhist ritual: Natural Liberation of Negativity and Obscuration Through Enactment of the Hundredfold Homage. This seventeen-page wonder, which is included in the full translation of The Tibetan Book of the Dead (Dorje, 2006), involves prostration to no less than a hundred ‘Peaceful and Wrathful Deities’ yet, with its promised result of guiding all beings to the pure buddha fields, it seemed that nothing less would do.

Equipped with rucksacks of Goetic paraphernalia, we set off for the site after dark. The hill fort is situated in a golf course on park land, so quite what that couple and the man with the dog had been doing, whom we encountered as we headed up, past the woods and into the dark, was entirely their business.

Raising Hell: The Ritual

No one else was in evidence when we arrived. It was Lammas (1st August), and I’d wondered if any pagans might be marking the festival, although midday seemed a far better time to be commemorating the fructifying powers of the sun. The lights of Brighton twinkled below us as we walked around the fort’s outer rampart, yet once we’d stepped down inside and begun our search for a suitable spot, the night was absolutely dark.

The demon wouldn’t choose to manifest as a feeling of being watched. I knew that much, because I was experiencing it already. The interior of the fort was covered in thick patches of gorse, which kept making sounds suggestive of someone hiding inside. Alan was putting on a brave face, but I could tell it was creeping him out too.

Circle and triangle.

A triangle of glo-sticks, and an uncircular circle of LED fake candles.

We found a raised, roughly circular area that we decided marked our spot. To form the triangle for the demon and our protective circle, we’d brought some string. Yes, somewhat flimsy, but I’d figured that it defines an unbroken area well enough, and is so light that it was actually quite unlikely to be blown away by the wind. We’d also brought a bag of plastic LED fake candles and a tube of glo-sticks. (It’s remarkable how much magical equipment is stocked by The Pound Shop.) We used the glo-sticks to delineate the triangle. The flickering LEDs we placed around the circumference of the circle, which – due to the uneven and scrubby ground – was in fact very far from being circular indeed. In recognition, once I’d performed the Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram, Alan took the trouble to cast a wand around our perimeter, to give it that extra protective boost.

Troubling both of us as we stood amongst our string and pretty lights was the thought of how we’d stand our ground if the demon manifested (for instance) as a police helicopter with its searchlight directed at us; or (far worse) as a psycho with a knife running at us from the bushes. Alan’s first evocation of the demon, which featured all the classic threats of ‘blasting rods’ and ‘torture in the fires of Hell’, produced no such results however. There was indeed a sensation of lurking, gloating evil, but – as I mentioned – that had been there already.

I took a turn at evoking. Then Alan again. Then me again. We’d just decided out loud to burn the demon’s sigil and be done with it (a bluff, because both of us had realised we’d forgotten to bring any source of fire) when Alan suddenly stopped and said, ‘He’s here.’

As soon as Alan said it, I could feel it too – what he later described as, ‘Just a nasty, creepy feeling.’ To me it seemed like a sort of ‘shimmer’ in reality; the fabric of space was wobbling in a queasy, decidedly not good way.

Asking the demon to confirm its presence, we listened out. Apart from the breeze there was no sound, so we resorted to the pendulum. In true demonic fashion, Ronove chose an anti-clockwise spin for ‘YES’, clockwise for ‘NO’, and side-to-side for ‘CANNOT ANSWER’.

He left us in no doubt that he knew what liberation was, but hated it. He said he was afraid – yet was this an attempt to gain our sympathy? He also insisted that even though we might dispel him, he’d somehow still be available to other magicians.

The Seal of Ronove.

Seal of the 27th demon of the Goetia, Ronove.

We were going to do it anyway, so we cut the chat and got down to business. Neither of us relished the thought of seventeen pages of prostrations, to be read by two tiny LED flashlights, which had to be kept lit by pressing down on a tiny button that after a few minutes reduced our hands to painful cramps. (The Pound Shop, again.) But we set about it, mustering as much gusto as we could.

We fell into a pattern: one of us reading; both of us bowing; the one not reading casting an eye into the darkness for any signs of mischief. My heart hammered when I saw distinctly over Alan’s shoulder a light not far away, as if someone were approaching with a torch. It quickly went out, and I never resolved whether that’s indeed what it had been, or whether it was just a headlight in the distance. And it wasn’t as if the Tibetan deities whose praises we sang were all sweetness and light either:

I bow down to Gauri of the eastern direction…
Wrathful, white and aloof on her throne of human corpses,
Brandishing a human corpse as a cudgel
To destroy the conceptual landscape of cyclic existence…

Not the sort of bodhisattvas you’d want to meet on a dark night. Except that was precisely what was happening in Alan’s case. He reported afterwards a vision during the prostrations of a host of bodhisattvas and buddhas.

The results were more subtle in my case. If Ronove had upset my perception of space, then The Peaceful and Wrathful Deities affected my sense of time. Hours and hours seemed to have been compressed into that period we’d been standing inside the circle. How long had it been really? I had no idea. Both of us were surprised when we reached the end of the prostrations. It felt too soon, even though (as you might imagine) we’d taken every care to miss out not a single one.

So which had it been: had time passed quickly or slow? Both, it seemed. Even more apparent was the effect on my mood: the fear and sense of being watched had gone. Granted, you’re unlikely to feel entirely relaxed whilst out in the countryside at midnight, but the oppressive fear that had been there at the beginning had lifted. And it was evident from the size of his grin that Alan felt it too. So we banished, packed up, and made our way off the hill.

The Devil in Me: The Results

Both of use had positive dreams that night, but the next morning, when we performed a tarot divination to cast more light on the outcome of the ritual, there were strong suggestions that something had been overlooked and was likely to result in emotional fallout. The phrase that came to my mind was, ‘We’ll end up feeling gutted.’

Three Card Spread

The forecast in short.

Detailed Card Spread

The forecast in detail.

Right on cue, the next morning I woke from an intensely personal and turbulent dream the like of which I’d not experienced in ages. Alan too reported a confrontation with psychological issues of an unusual intensity. For both of us these experiences were strong and disturbing, but left us feeling somehow resolved and cleansed.

I wish I could remember where he says it, but I’m sure in one of Steiner’s lectures he remarks that it’s not the business of humans to liberate spirits of any kind. Of course, you’d have to give it a try to fully understand why. And perhaps now I have.

It seems possible that liberating a demon leaves behind a vacuum that our own etheric bodies rush to fill. In the dream, I was confronted by feelings that presented as being unresolvable. Perhaps we resolve a demon only to have what is unresolvable in ourselves come to the fore. What came to the fore in me were feelings for the first girl I ever loved, which – I realised – I could never renounce or overcome.

It was as if I were being told, ‘Well, you might have liberated a demon, but look at the intensity of what remains unresolvable in you. From the perspective of a higher being, you look to them like a demon.’

As Alan put it, ‘There are certainly personal aspects to any invocation or evocation, and we essentially liberated a certain part of ourselves from “negativity and obscurations”. That’s certainly how it felt, anyway.’

What will the longer term outcome of this working be? Should we suppose that magicians around the world will begin to report they are no longer able to evoke or gain results from Ronove? It would be nice to think so. I suspect, however, that the true result is the exorcism of this particular demon only from my reality, plus the realisation that we cast out a demon by surrendering that which appears demonic within ourselves.

Video

The Liberation of Ronove

A short film containing footage from the working. Click to view on YouTube. (Duration: 7 mins.)

Reference

Gyurme Dorje, Trans. (2006). The Tibetan Book of the Dead: First Complete Translation. Introduction by The Dalai Lama. London: Penguin.

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More Demon-Hunting: Gremory and Malphas

Gremory

I was wandering in recreation grounds when I decided to continue the demon experiment. The grass was thin and the soil sandy, so I traced a triangle in the ground with my finger. Two men approached, one of them a colleague from work, and watched me from a respectful distance.

The first demon that came to mind was Gremory, who traditionally takes the form of a beautiful woman, so I supposed this might be interesting. Like last time, during the evocation it seemed the demon was coming from inside me rather than without. And again, it tried to delay its manifestation, but this time I managed to bring it fully into view.

Gremory

Gremory. 'He... appeareth in the Form of a Beautiful Woman, with a Duchess's Crown tied about her waist.'

As Gremory slowly appeared he took up the whole of the dream space. I thought at first I was losing lucidity, but actually what had happened was that Gremory had taken up so much space there was none left for me. He took the form of his name written in beautiful white letters, written over itself again and again so that the thick, rounded characters formed thousands of layers, all flowing over each other. This expanded visually out of the triangle (although I sensed he was still safely contained within it ‘spiritually’) until I was left facing only this two-dimensional, shifting surface.

I had to take a mental step backwards, but it was possible to maintain the state as long as I continued to cope with how there was no space left for a representation of me. It was all Gremory. He seemed under control, and I didn’t bargain or communicate with him at all. I just watched him silently.

The form and space that Gremory occupied was the same – I realised – as that bizarre dream state with no name that I describe in OEITH (p. 106). In this state the dreamer is conscious, but the ‘world’ consists of a flat or limited space or object.

I also wondered if this dream space isn’t created by the lack of an imagination in the lucid dream state. Consider: in a lucid dream, because we are asleep, there is no perception (i.e. no input to the physical senses) but only mental imagery, produced by the imagination. So if we then decided to imagine something in the lucid dream, where would be the ‘space’ for this to manifest? The appearance of Gremory in this example may be the answer to that question.

Malphas

I was in a hotel room where my cousin and his family were spending their holiday. It was tempting just to gaze at the view beyond the huge window: a town on the side of a hill sloping steeply toward a like. The streets and roofs were dusted with snow in the evening light.

Then I decided to go to work and moved off into a corner. I traced a triangle onto the patterned carpet and the first demon that came to mind was Malphas. As I evoked I heard someone walking towards the room from the corridor. A tall man came in with brown wrinkled skin and a shock of curly grey hair. I supposed he had come to watch, but to my surprise he stepped sideways into the triangle.

Malphas

Malphas. 'He appeareth at first like a Crow... and speaks with a hoarse Voice.'

‘Malphas?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he nodded.

Now that I had a demon in a form I could easily interrogate I decided to cut to the chase. ‘Okay. So tell me, does evoking you in the lucid dream state make any difference at all to your nature?’

‘None whatsoever,’ he answered calmly. ‘And listen: you’re doing all these evocations, but I might as well tell you, I’ve been evoked at least thirty times by people in the lucid state.’

The dream unwove after this point. It’s always risky to take a goetic demon at its word, but this seemed a clear enough answer. If I ever need to evoke these spirits in future (and I have no intentions at present) I may consider doing it in the lucid dream state because it’s far easier to obtain a solid manifestation than in the usual waking state.

Before this dream there had been an episode of a false out-of-body experience – i.e. a lucid dream in which I will myself out of body, and seem to attain it, yet it is just an image of the out-of-body state and not the real thing. It’s very rare that I attain the OOBE state – but the next time I do, I must remember to complete the experiment and see if there’s a difference when it comes to evoking demons.

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Demon-Hunting on the Astral Plane

Alan mentioned that he’d been doing some work on lucid dreaming. ‘Why is it,’ he said, ‘that spirits and demons in this realm are always trying to get inside your body?’

‘I’ve experienced those,’ I said, ‘but not inside a lucid dream; only during the out-of-body state.’

‘We could go hunting and find out more about them.’

‘I’ll give that a try,’ I said.

It being Good Friday, I didn’t have to get up early, so at 6.30am I made the resolution to have a lucid dream and find some demons. I instantly forgot and fell asleep, and this happened a few times, but on each occasion I reminded myself of the resolve and tried to concentrate on an image of myself falling backwards into space.

There was a non-lucid dream about a nasty old man who lived in a shack and was probably a paedophile. Then there was a dream about walking down a lane with an ornate wrought-iron fence. Words were fashioned into the metal. I was on the wrong side, so the words were backwards, but I could still read them: ‘Furdur… Malpas…’

‘These are the names of demons!’ I realised, and at that point – remembering my resolve – I became lucid.

I noticed a gate in the fence and walked through. Nearby was a building, but the space inside was full of decayed debris. ‘Not here,’ I thought. ‘Not enough room…’ So I passed through a polythene curtain into a dark, furnished lounge. I reasoned that I ought to protect myself, so I traced the outline of a triangle onto the carpet with my finger, which remained in fiery, bright orange. Next I announced my intent: ‘to evoke into the triangle one of those spirits or demons that tries to get inside the body, in order to ask it some questions.’

This is Furfur, not 'Furdur' - and it's Marbas or Malphas, not 'Malpas'.

The results were surprising. Something was coming into the triangle, but the facts about it were these: (1) it didn’t want to come and (2) it wasn’t external.

It didn’t want to come because it knew I had control over it, yet it couldn’t resist the evocation. However, it was capable of delaying, so what it tried to do was to put off materialising until the lucid state had begun to degrade. But this didn’t prevent me from realising what I hadn’t suspected about its nature: that it seemed to be coming from inside me.

Whatever I was evoking was coming from inside in order to appear as if it was outside. I could feel the evocation working, and this was precisely what was happening: something from inside was being projected out. Although the lucid state ended before the full materialisation had occurred, it was clear that if the demon had wanted to get inside me then this was in fact a return to where it had started from.

Thinking afterwards, I was reminded of some remarks by Rudolf Steiner concerning our experience after death. In the life before death we experience ourselves on the inside and our environment outside, but in the life after death, Steiner avers, our sense of self comes at us from outside and the environment is something we discover within. This leads me to wonder whether we have to contend not only with different types of spirits in these explorations – some of which come from ‘outside’, some from ‘within’ – but also different states, which can cause us to experience ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ differently from how they ordinarily appear.

As I mentioned to Alan during our conversation, I’ve only experienced invasive spirits so far in the out-of-body state. I need to conduct more experiments to discover whether invasive spirits can be found in the lucid state, or whether these can only exist in the out-of-body state, and – if so – is it the nature of the spirit or of the state that accounts for their invasiveness?

Reference

Rudolf Steiner, ‘Investigations into Life Between Death and Rebirth’, a lecture given on 27th October, 1912, in: Life Between Death and Rebirth (Anthroposophic Press, 1968), p. 30.