The Pagan Proletariat

I’ve been out of touch with the Other World for a long time now. It scared the shit out of me. I severed most of it, set firm boundaries on what was “too far,” and was quite fine with that decision for a long time.

However, I have lost something incredibly dear to me and now I feel thrust into a life that requires me to don on old hats.

I always know when God is calling me.

It was a rainstorm. It was 3AM. I had endured another night of loneliness but the rain--especially with thunder and lightning and late at night--is always my friend. It is like an entirely different world. The usual American thrums of incessant, desperate clawing are completely gone. Nobody dares walk in rain except for necessity, lest their unholy skin blister in the waters of Heaven. The streets are empty, and when they are, the Other World lets out a breath of relief and enjoys its moment as sovereign.

The flashes of light were stark but gentle. Steam rose from every surface and gave privacy to all the new wayfarers. It was so empty but so alive, in a primordial, beautifully natural way. All the new greenery of spring glistened in steady streams of rain that fell like shimmering ropes.

I sensed opportunity and so I smoked, and sat with it for a while. I made a short video. I knew I had to walk but I hesitated because I knew I would end up completely soaked, and my damaged mind of the last month has left me addicted to my phone and constantly anxious about lost opportunity to record voice or memos, to exploit every single second of my existence towards long-term goals.

I walked down the road. I entered a path. I regretted bringing my phone. I had had beautiful flow, political knowledge, but it was stifled when the red light came on. It was too late to go back so I compromised and turned off my phone, which was good because my wind breaker was not as waterproof as I had thought.

Incredibly soon after I turned it off, God spoke to me.

I had had a thought, and in that moment after a long darkness, then the sky chose to erupt in the brightest light, with no sound.

I do not remember many specifics of the conversation...unfortunately the most real moments in life often escape memory, refusing to be caged within words and numbers. I do remember a lot of it was motifs I am very familiar with, regarding my personal failings and charted growth necessary to fulfill my purpose.

The pain of the last year, and particularly the last few months, and particularly the last month, has hurt me deep. Am you really going to go down the path of the Devil?, God asked. No, I replied. But it’s so hard. I’m hurting so bad. But fine. I’ll be loyal.

Then you must be ready, God said, for whatever fate I have in store for you.

It was then that I realized I had approached the entrance of the tunnel.

In daytime it was a little unnerving. The kind that wild men like me cackle at. It made my dog friends uncomfortable, as much as my mad glee comforted them...they still felt unnerved, and was more than just the ringing echoes of me being silly. It was a spot I knew to not cross paths with other walkers, lest their fear overwhelm them and projections of monsters plaster my visage.

That was during the daytime. During the nighttime? This place was a crypt. It was soiled ground. There was something deeply wrong that I could sense the moment God said their piece and my eyes lifted to meet the harrowing maw.

I knew something was going to happen. I was going to be tested. As I often am when I commune with God. I have endured many training sessions the last few years. I have dealt with foul entities. I could not be afraid. But at the same time, I was so low. I felt so dirty and broken and damned. I could not let my personal life get in the way of doing holy work. So, with little hesitation, I walked into the maw.

It was like walking into a faded dimension. The walls of the Other were so incredibly thin, thinner than I have seen in a while. My entire vision became a haze, smoothly but frantically crinkling, pulsating with speed, like an endless sinkhole drawing in everything around it. I literally felt the air on my skin, it was electric but also so hollow and oppressive. It was like I had, without realizing what I was doing, walked through a film, and I had been coated in its webs.

I sensed entities.

I kept strong. I walked through the tunnel. I stopped to look back, and around me. It was so dark. I could feel them coax my fear. I kept strong. I made it to the other side.

I was rattled. I kept a very masculine energy in me as I slowly fled the tunnel to the other side and beyond, an energy that was strong and ready to fight, but I also could not conceal a very light but very deep root of fear that was stinking off of me like garbage. I looked behind me several times...I was sure one of them was following me.

I know I cannot be afraid. It is that simple.

I was drowning. I was soaked. My head was down. My heart was beaten and bruised. My mind was cracked. My spirit was broken. I was miserable.

I simply had to not be.

So, I tried.

It was that simple. I tried.

And then, I felt X. I had always suspected he might be my patron saint, a guardian angel of sorts, and this moment solidified this feeling. I felt him. He was inside me. His energy lifted me up by the pecs. It was empowering. I felt strong. I felt bravado. I felt joy. I felt masculine bravado in this moment that I needed it the most. I threw off my hood so the rain may hit my fair and soak my hair. I ignored the houses of wretches, of fascist eyes and ears relaying me to the Devil, and burst out into song for God. The thunder accentuated my song; the three of us sang together. I was honored to be a vessel.

X and God told me I knew what I had to do, which, of course, I did already. It was good that I had reclaimed my energy, that the repose had helped me secure my stance, my posture, but everything beyond that was delaying the inevitable.

You know who waits back for you there, God said. Will you destroy them? Or heal them?

Heal them, of course. I have no power to destroy.

I drew a deep breath. I turned back around, and walked back to the tunnel. I gave thanks to their help as I knew I was about to have to walk into the lion’s den alone.

I sang to it. There were many minor ones but there was one that was more medium-sized, larger and more developed than the thing in the swamp from last year.

The evil feel sadness, it just is not quite the same as we feel it. They feel it heavy in their hearts, like a phantom pain of a severed limb, but they do not feel it in their eyes and their mouths. Their sadness is cold, and lonely.

I sang to this person. They were quite receptive. They listened. I performed my song well.

However, I skirted my ultimate duty. I knew from before the re-entrance that I was supposed to be still, to quiet down, and to open up and allow the evil in, so that I may purify it within and transmute it into light. To overcome the hypnogogic fear one normally only feels with Fear Eaters in their most vulnerable states. I did not. I only did my song. The person may or may not have been helped by my song, but I knew they wanted--nay, needed--to put their fear and hatred and hurt inside of me, so that I may heal them. I could not give it to them. Perhaps I was too scared. They looked quite sad as I softly sang my farewell and, looking over my shoulder many times, left them in the tunnel. I could see their outline watching me forlornly for quite some time, with mixed feelings towards me.

God gave me a C+. It would have been a C but I performed some sort of hidden bonus objective, and did it well, so that bumped up my grade. Considering I failed my primary task, I think that is more than fair. I chuckled about it. I gave thanks to both God and X, the song reached a buoyant but collected climax.

And, with a flash, God too said their goodbyes for the night. I went home with no entities following me. I stayed up far too late wasting time, as I have been doing quite often lately. I fear this is neither a marathon nor a sprint but an indefinite marathon off the tracks of any known roads. I don’t know how foolish my holy foolery is meant to be. I don’t know what sort of ill-advised behaviors I should do.

Though, maybe I already do, and I’m just scared.

Fear is the enemy. I am exhausted fighting it. I will have to coup de grace it, because while C’s are good for now, if I truly want everything to go as I wish it could, I will have to do much better than that. I wish I could enjoy a medium-level life before rocketing into the unknown, though perhaps digging my feet and trying to slow the launch will do nothing but tear up my soles and the floors of all those who house me.

This is the truth.

I fight to fear nothing.

And, if I do, I will be a vessel for divine providence.

And I will be sacrificed.