Black Magick, Morality, Causality, and Sustainability

The typical notion of black magick involves committing a selfish deed or spell that results in harming another. A paradoxical villain however may attempt to keep morale by justifying any of his actions by questioning what harm is to begin with. In utilitarian thought, the prime importance resides in overall goodness, so that if one individual has to be harmed in order to save the many, then the one individual must go. The question of sacrifice for a greater good then comes up, which can appear as a slippery slope. Thinking imaginatively enough, any seemingly bad action can follow some action viewed as better or stronger than what the initial action was.

A great example of these actions may be the rapid advancements in medicine from the Nazi medical experiments. Does the end justify the means? One may see that any tragedy has the potential of delivering a great lesson for the world. This approach to change, however, has a patriarchal “tough love” feel to it. To me, this feels like blowing up a coffer of ancient artifacts to get to them the quickest. Sure, we will be able to get the treasure, but it will be tattered and mixed in with all sorts of debris.

But do we see the debris? The seeming fundamental flaw in what I will call moral black magick is that it appears to eat at the very core of the practitioner without the practitioner even knowing it. At the extreme of this, if we throw some man under the bus to keep an entire bus from driving off a cliff, we have made an on-the-spot judgment call nearly placing us upon the throne of fate. If we manage to save a bus load of people at the cost of one person, we will have saved many people and killed one. This may manifest into a seesaw relationship where vitriol eats us up on one side and warm milk patches us up on the other. We got the treasure, but a degraded form (like a plucked rose). Any action at all here would be as black magick. But at least the black magick wound up saving many? And what of non-action?

If one were completely passive in such a situation, would that also entitle black magick on one’s part? The non-action may be selfish, but has the situation directly come from one? To view non-action as black magick, we may need to extend the definition of “cause” to accommodate our own non-action. If we are to adopt this, then we could easily say that by non-action in this case, we are committing an act of black magick. The act appears as black magick based off of a particular vantage point we see pinpointing us as the cause. It appears to be about causality more than anything else.

From a particular vantage point, we were the cause of the baby falling from a well (as will be mentioned further on). Cause, here, may bear a correspondence to spacial relation. The more closely spacially relational one is to another, the easier it is for one to develop a vantage point that the correlation is a causality. In my current belief system, I am close to either dumping the whole notion of cause and effect on the grander scheme or at the very least being very weary of it. Nowadays, I like to view the world more as correlations of floating information and not as cause and effect. A does not result in B but A just so happened to be swimming in the pool where B swims, influencing both A and B simultaneously.

Thinking of the world like this creates a bigger image of Self. Taken to the  extreme, one can turn into a Christ archetype, feeling as if the entire humanity is upon one’s shoulder (for me, people like Mother Theresa or the Dalai Lama come to mind). Yet, we do not have to take it to that extreme, though practically speaking, it may, just may be practical for an individual to challenge one’s self and extend past one’s own immediate body space. The bus scenario presented an individual with a decision dealing with something beyond one’s limited body. Even though the decision to either act or not act with the bus scenario is a tricky one, there are other scenarios where there is little or no price to pay for acting. Borrowing one of the Confusion scholar Mencius’s images, if someone found a baby crawling along the edge of a well, that individual may be immediately inclined to act to save this baby. Any non-action on his or her part would possibly have detrimental effects.

One, being so close in spacial and mental relation would gravitate a person closer to viewing that the correlation between the baby and one’s self can be like a cause and effect. A thick string may connect the baby and some other correlation or cause and effect (e.g. a correcauselation effect of a fed-up mother abandoning her baby perhaps). Once, though, one comes into the picture, a string immediately attaches itself to other strings, and like an atom, the force gets stronger toward the source.

Going against the current for selfish reasons (like if perhaps the baby is one of the enemy troops) and directly or indirectly causing harm, for me, constitutes as an act of black magick, and not a utilitarian one like in the bus scenario. I mentioned the bus scenario earlier in order to demonstrate that even black magick appears to have its place in the world, but like Aleister Crowley warned, it’s like trying to find a leak in a gas tank in the dark with a lighter. It’s tricky business. Anybody put into that bus situation is inadvertently given that lighter. The gods or hyperdimensional machine elves must really get a kick out of observing such situations of the mere mortals.

But going back to the effects of black magick, it’s like a fast-track path, a reckless, often uneducated, spontaneous decision. Sometimes we are forced with limited time like the bus scenario but not always. If one is familiar with the Confusion idea of reciprocity, or similairly, Immanuel Kant’s categorical imperative, black magick is like the polar opposite of these ideas. Whereas the Confusion idea of reciprocity is a close version of the golden rule (do not do to others what you do not want done to you) and Kant’s categorical imperative is as well (treat others as an ends and not as a means to an end), the similarity that these two ideals share is that both are grounded in the idea of sustainability. Both do not burn bridges to get to their goal.

This very idea of the individualist getting ahead regardless of how many people you have to step on to get there appears to be like the western cancer. Cancers are not intelligent at all because they destroy their host (hence themselves) in their zeal to take over. This zeal for the now can be viewed in modern society with the environment for instance. As Terence Mckenna has stated: “The current operating system is flawed. It actually has bugs in it that generate contradictions, contradictions such as we’re cutting the Earth beneath our own feet. We’re poisoning the atmosphere that we breathe. This is not intelligent behavior. This is a culture with a bug in its operating system that’s making it produce erratic, dysfunctional, malfunctional behavior.”

Black magick, hence, is like a little devil’s contract. Think twice before rubbing that genie lamp, for any of those wishes, as often depicted in literature and cartoons, can so easily backfire. Such is the nature of immediate result, for it seems to rarely take into account sustainability. For every action you do with yourself, question whether or not it is depleting your precious resources or not (to the Chinese system, it is called Jing 精). For every interaction with others, question whether or not it is depleting their resources (which often comes back to also burn your resources). What we want is reciprocity.

Beware of the solitary:

person A → person B

Turn it into:

person A → person B

person A ← person B

Person A and Person B can even be two sides of you. Everything you do, think self-sustaining. Self-sustaining is intelligence, and I’ll even say peace. To Confucius, reciprocity would be a trait of the junzi (the gentleman–and I’ll add gentlelady too) who distinguishes the mature from the immature.

Zero Ways To Skin a Cat

Zero Ways to Skin a Cat

I

The color-blasphemous couch was a three-person throne, but not when somebody was sprawled upon it like a flabby pancake. This flabulous somebody was Sabrina. Sabrina had adopted the moto of slack is the right track. Feliz, the cat, looked as if she, too, followed this philosophy, but at the head of the couch. Today, there were three motivating factors for even moving—popcorn crunch, lukewarm beer, and channel swaps. But all three took effort, and today Sabrina was a slack extremist. She rode slack to the exponential level, where slack nearly merged with a peculiar form of meditation she specifically called emptiful. In this emptiful state, however, her deep-rooted elf-personality questioned her every action, or rather, non-action. The elf said to her, “Oh, look at you, Hevainly Oneness Turtle, believing you can slack your way into the wholy mountainted peak, pulling a quick one. Oh yeah, oh yeah, slack is but a dysphemism for Mahayana emptiness that says emptiness is good, very good. Here, try this dunce hat on for size: your non-action is but the gum stuck under that horrendous couch of yours, for you’re still giving a nine to five work slave amount of effort in attempting to give no effort. You will only remain a second-rate non-action ragdoll.” 

Sabrina could not even comprehend half of what that trickster was even babbling on about, so she flipped the channel, only to remain stuck in position. In spirit, she grabbed the remote control, but then a thick rubber band retrieved her spirit hand back to her physical hand. Even more frustrating, every time her spirit hand returned, the elf man reappeared to taunt her very actions. On one occasion, the elf held a box piled with remotes, and he dramatically dumped them on the floor and kicked them. On another, he simply integrated the motif of grabbing the remote into a pas de deux where both himself and a split image of himself with a leotard danced together like eternal lovers.

After about fifty attempts to grab at the remote, her body jolted awake in conjunction with her spirit. Before her was a garbage man in green overalls tapping at her shoulder. “Mam, mam, are these your remotes?” Before him was the same box of remotes the elf had dumped all over the floor. Had the garbage man picked them all up?

“Never seen ‘em in my life,” replied Sabrina looking over her shoulder at the duck eating the bread crumbs off the kitchen table. Patrick knew very well not to get on the kitchen table, but he did so anyway.

“Very well then, but if we find anything again, we’re going to have to report you to the authorities.”

“For what?”

“Littering. Thursdays are trash day. All other days are littering.” After that, the man left, leaving the door wide open. Wait, what door? The lack of a front door was part of the discounted rental agreement. In came the pale Minnie, who earned her money being a research subject. On the side, she donated herself. In the past, she had donated her plasma, hair, and eggs.

“How was the toga party?” asked Sabrina.

“I donated my virginity for a brewski.”

“Nice. I can’t say the same about my night, but I can say that I found myself face to face with him again.”

“Oh, lord, what is it this time?”

She waved Minnie over to the couch and said silently to her ear, “Patrick ate all the popcorn then had the nerve to climb me, and wake me just so that he could give me a most spiteful stare.”

“Oh dear.” Minnie’s facial expressions did not match the rest of her body. Despite being a thespian throughout high school, her Asperger’s always got the best of her. She tilted her head and swept Sabrina’s forehead with the back of her fingers, then repeated the action on herself. After the lure of that vanished, Minnie gave no further attention to Sabrina. Minnie walked over to her bedroom, counting every step until she entered a room with a tattered mattress and no bed sheets. The rest of the room had nothing. Having known Sabrina for a month, Minnie had adopted her emptiful philosophy, but had her own spin on it. Whereas Sabrina approached it with slack, Minnie approached it with donation. Minnie’s motto was donation is the sensation. Like a cup with a hole in it though, so was Minnie’s emptiful ideal, fleeting at best. Her spurts of donations were but a quick fix. Everything in her room was donated, including her clothes. In fact, Minnie was naked, naked and bald.

II

Next to Minnie’s room resided Beatrice, who was an envelope stuffer. Beatrice did not practice the emptiful philosophy, and thought it to be an outright scandal. From an early age, a crow at her window taught her to accept the cards she was dealt. Recently, she was dealt envelopes. The emptiful way spit in the very crow’s face. Living in a house with two emptiful practitioners, she felt alienated. The only resemblance to the emptiful was the uncertainty between empty and a stuffed while she stuffed at record-breaking speeds. Along with acceptance of circumstances, the crow also taught her a powerful form of sigil creation—magical symbol making that served the left hand practitioner in manifesting the will. Needless to say, Beatrice carved up various sigils with her power dagger on the wall so that her envelope stuffing efficiency would increase.

It always did. There was a familiar tap at the window, and when Beatrice put her speedy hands on autopilot, she turned her head and saw the crow looking back at her. It had been nearly ten years. Suddenly, Feliz’s teeth captured the bird. Unbeknownst to Beatrice, Feliz was a renowned warlock bounty hunter. Upon the extermination of the crow, Beatrice awoke as if from a trance, convinced she had been led astray by dark forces. She took one of her black lit candles from her altar and lit the envelopes one by one. Within five minutes, the alarm sounded, and Beatrice vacated the premises through the window, even though she could have just as easily exited from the door.

Since Sabrina could not get up from the couch, Minnie stormed in, out, then back in with a bucket of water, which put out the fire all at once. “Sabrina! Those were my pet fish you just spilled out in Beatrice’s room!”

“It’s all the same to me. An inner calling demanded I put out the fire in the room adjacent to mine with water, and that’s what I did. Besides, it was an offering on your part. I did my job, now get off my balls.”

“You don’t even have balls!”

“You don’t know that.”

“Minnie, you’re naked.”

Meanwhile, Feliz the cat entered the room and ate the fish, likely because they were warlocks. By the time Beatrice returned, Beatrice had already joined the Jehovah’s Witnesses and balanced a tall stack of Watchtower magazines.

“I am announcing that I am no longer an envelope stuffer. I am now property of our lord and savior Jehovah.” She took two magazines from the top of the pile and threw them at the heathens, Sabrina and Minnie, before returning to her room and slamming the door behind her.

Flipping through the Watchtower, Sabrina discovered an image of a colorful garden with a tiger and a waterfall. She imagined herself riding the tiger, but the tiger was in the shape of her couch. The waterfall was the sound of the kitchen’s running water. Patrick the duck was drinking a little from it. All was pleasant until the elf emerged from the waterfall with a fishing rod and a sinister giggle. “A paradise? More like a pair o’ dice cursed with your fishies’ fortune. Look around, Sabri-nah, nah, nah, the vermin, the pestilance aweighting heavy. Oh, look, here’s Beatrice.”

“For God so loved the world, he gave everything to his son.” Beatrice stood between Sabrina and the television as if the channel had been tuned to the religious one with Beatrice taking on the role of a twinkle-eyed prophetess. “Be as God and find your Son to give all to.”

Overhearing, Minnie at that very moment stopped counting, labeling, and rearranging the spice bottles. She ventured into an ethereal space of sweet epiphany. “Beatrice, do you mean God forfeited his entire kingdom to his son?”

“Yes. God gave his kingdom and himself to Jehovah, his son. God climbed up on the cross and endured pain for Jehovah.” Minnie nodded trancelike in a state of unhindered absorption.

III

A week crept by just like the calendar predicted. As a new hobby, Sabrina spit watermelon seeds at the hanging frying pan in the kitchen from her couch. The louder the ding, the better. Beatrice, on the other hand, was being spat upon, for she doted offensive signs around both acupuncture clinics and retirement homes. Minnie transformed her room into what she now called Shangri-Lair. Outside of the massage table, there was nothing in the room, if one does not count the masked man in a clerical collar, covered from head to toe in leather, grasping tightly a zapping baton. On craigslist, he was listed under the title Current S&M for Jehovah. The nightly ritual involved Minnie upon what she called the offearing table. There, she would emptiful herself in pain for the one true son.

The following morning, Beatrice pounded on Minnie’s door. “Wake up! We’re going for a joy ride!” Beatrice had borrowed her church’s F-150 pickup the night before.

Minnie opened the door on her hands and knees while wearing a collar and a leash that lead back to her new man. “Can Jolt come too?”

“Sure, but tell him to put his rod away.”

Shortly after, Minnie and Jolt emerged. “Jolt, get the other end there. We’re gonna get this on the truck so that Sabrina doesn’t feel left out.” Fortunately, there was no door to begin with, and there was a wide space to move the couch out with ease. Upon the couch, Sabrina acted like a backseat driver. Feliz puked something purple on her lap.

On the road, Jolt sat stiff between Beatrice and Minnie with Jolt’s side strap buckles feeling icy upon Minnie’s naked thigh. After about ten minutes of tableaux, they arrived at the destination.“Here we are,” said Beatrice. The house was little. Not surrealist little but poverty little. If this house were a person, it would have a bum arm and a few patches of hair left to comb. Upon it readKingdom Hall of Jehovahs’ Witnesses with an apostrophe incorrectly placed. The door crept open implying a granted entry. Jolt and Beatrice got the couch in with a sleeping Sabrina. The truck’s motion had rocked her and Feliz to sleep. Because of limited space, the couch was stacked over two pews. Beatrice excused herself for thirty seconds and returned in a different dress. “Welcome to Jehovah’s pad. My name’s Gretchen,” said the woman formerly known as Beatrice. 

As Gretchen stood behind the podium reading to herself, Sabrina dreamt of the elf. He stood upon a barrel behind the podium. “Good day to you, my bothers and sistars. Do have a seat. Before delving into the grey matter at hand, listen up, down, and to the side! Open your rears! The unfolding to be expressed here will take plays before your very eyes. This maninfestation of equal, lesser, or greater impotence will occur within a timely fashion along two possible futures: near or faraway. Bare with me here, if you so please. The expression in question, assuming there is a question, will show itself adequately at the boundaries of the highest quality communication available. So in consequence and without further adoodoo, I am delighted in presenting to you the moment you all have been waiting for.” It was then that Feliz dug her claws into Sabrina’s chest, waking her up. An hour had gone by, and the silent and senseless sermon ended.

By the time the group had returned home, the house had already been demolished. This was in the rental agreement. “Rest in peace, Patrick. You were an asshole,” stated Sabrina, relieved.

Gretchen drove Minnie to go live with Jolt in his silver camper, which came with a front yard that was able to accommodate Sabrina’s couch in a flimsy canopy. The following day, a purple and yellow diamond-patterned loading van screeched to a stop. A little man with a smirk opened the door and skipped over to Sabrina. “How much for the couch, young lady?”

“Not for sale.” There was something vaguely familiar about this little man. A quick glance at the clouds put things into perspective. This was none other than the elf who had taunted her in dreamland. “You! What do you want from me?”

“I don’t know what you’re on about lady, but I’ve come here for the couch to put in my store.” It was then that Cupid must have been hiding behind the bushes, for the little man’s eyes reflected them both lounging about one of several couches to choose from in his store. They were together in an altered state of slack, which pushed the boundaries of what it meant to be emptiful. Her stare so pierced his fragile soul, that he he slid back into the van and put it all behind him.

Inside the camper, Jolt lead Minnie into the highest initiatory rite of philanthropic emptiful nature. Jolt gave the blindfolded Minnie a chalice of Jehovah’s blood composed of Hemlock. Gretchen died too. She fell victim to Feliz’s infamous jugular bite of death after he uncovered her secret dealings with the Hungarian warlocks. Sabrina, though, remained there on the couch, till she said the hell with the emptiful way and went out to the local bar to get laid.

Tzaddi (צ)

Reignbough and errows showhirl

dawn from the scythe; and a red

lipstickling, encorange, yellovating,

greenkled, bluetiful, violight wombn

swellows a curiocity of a thouscent

cloversions beyawnd the greyv.

 

A goaled and sliver tumbleweEden

twiggles nirvanilla enjoymint like

synchroincidental floss and gayne

of weapainless serendeputties

and epifunnies.