Today I realized that a sketchy part of town is better for the Black Magician because the landlord don’t care that you’re ruining their cheap ass Ikea dishes in some unholy ritual, or burning things in their backyard full of junk.
The worst card I have drawn was an upscale neighborhood where all the reputable good people live. I dress very nicely and put on my model smile, but sometimes that is not enough to pass, sometimes the darkness gives me away.
Things still haven’t changed – there is more freedom in the Underworld than among the privileged class that everyone strives to become a part of. I was once among them too, and I now prefer the freedom that comes with blending in with the riff-raff.
There is a part of it that would be too much for most women, such as sharing a bathroom with four of five strange men, but here comes the surprising part –
a realization that a lot of fears I’ve held throughout my life were nothing more than cultural conditioning and class prejudices held by my Catholic mother. The world is not as dangerous as I was taught, I can take on much more than I thought, and danger comes in different forms than I thought.
As silly as it sounds, I grew up believing that the face of Danger was all the black, foreign, and working-class men ready to rape you, when in fact it’s always the Nice People who are trying to make it and latch onto this perceived glory of my wannabe Hollywood glamour, who stab me or go to great lengths to bind me with Black Magic.
The Black Magician cannot truly be of any class. We exist at a Crossroads, as that is ultimately what we become…
‘By the end of this journey, you will not seek Oneness with something. Rather, you will become the Crossroads where Deities, Demons, and Spirits gather.’
~ Lucifer
Hail the Dark Pilgrimage!
