That's how it used to feel anyway.
Before I say anything else, I'm going to find a starter point:
This is a journal on the nature of the occult, and the nature of the occult in my life and in those around me. I tend to deviate from "traditional" views in the occult, and if your mind is not open to another viewpoint, stop reading right here.
Okay?
Okay.
Now, where was I?
Ah, yes. This journal is going to cover a lot of strange experiences. I know they're strange. But I do know they're not as unusual as people think they are. I'm not going to say I'm the reincarnated Cleopatra. I'm not going to say I'm here to save the world. But I'm going to say some things that are typically frowned upon within the traditional occult community. Example: I work heavily in the field of demonology, primarily with but not restricted to goetics.
So let us get to know each other, shall we?
I began practicing around the age of 18, although my interest extends far beyond that. A series of strange events encircle me and the people I know. Let us begin, literally, at the beginning.
I was a scientifically impossible birth; my mother had severe endometriosis, one ovary, was labeled infertile and beyond that was on male hormones; my father had an erectile dysfunction, was marked as sterile, and had one testicle (quite a match, eh?). My mother was completely unaware she was even pregnant for some time. The doctor even refused to believe it until she had an ultrasound, "Not only are you pregnant, but you're well on your way."
At that time, the effects of male hormones during pregnancy were debatable. The doctor was worried over some sort of defect and insisted on an abortion adamantly. My mother refused, and was actually harassed by phone about it. My birth was botched: I should have been a C-section but I was forced out the 'natural' way. In this, I was deprived of air and my skull was crushed in, leaving an awkward and disfigured child. Delivered as a freakish blue-purple, that was only the beginning of my trouble. I was quickly diagnosed with
Cerebral Palsy. I was unable to perform any of the basic functions a child my age could have: things as minor as sitting up, rolling over, or basic limb function.
Continuing from that--Within my first year, the following happened:
- When taken in for an MRI, an infant is prone to movement, and so my mom was given sedatives to give to me. She looked at the vial, and had a thought: it seemed a little much for a baby. When inquiring to the pharmecist, she looked horrified. "Lady, if your baby took that, she would never wake up again. That's enough to knock out a 200 lb man!"
- A heavy food allergy resulted in a fever of over 107 and an emergency trip to the hospital. This was one of many severe cases, but the only one in which I was packed in ice. I repeatedly became plagued and violently ill in my early life.
- My mother and I were in a car crash. She lost all her teeth, suffered a concussion and abrassions, and a variety of other severe but non-fatal wounds. Me, in the backseat, all crunched over from CP--I was completely unaffected, as happy a baby as ever. "My baby, my baby!" "It's not your baby we're worried about, it's you. Your baby is fine."
And the most influential of that time, following those?
- My mother was a devout Christian and frequently held prayer groups and bible studies at her house. Being a good mother, she kept me close during these sessions. One day a woman told my mother that I was to be healed. This of course made no sense--Cerebral Palsy is uncurable as we know it. My mother spoke that, that entire day I was staring happily at an empty chair despite usually being an attentive child; despite suffering from motor disability, I wasn't mentally handicapped, in the least. Within a few days of that, not only had my skull rounded out normally on its own, but I was already beginning to sit up et cetera on my own--things I had thus far been incapable of. When I was taken in for my checkup, the doctors asked, "Is this the same child?" utterly confounded by the idea of the condition then compared to a few weeks prior. They had no medical explanation for it. My mother was steadfast in saying "god healed her", but as scientists, they could not take this for an answer. To this day there is no explanation of it, but it also remains in my early records.
Not long after this, there was another unusual event:
- My father and mother's relationship had been getting rockier; my father was a verbally and physically abusive man. While my father pulled over at a payphone, my mother and I remained in the car, I still an infant. My mother said a handsome man with blonde hair approached my father first, "You're going to lose your family." he said, without provocation; my father had been acting normally at that point, in the least. Naturally my father became irate, but the other only responded, "if you keep this up, you will lose your family." The strangest part of this is that my mother said that, in approaching the car, he fell prostrate to the ground praying; my mother inquired where this strange fellow went to church. He pointed towards the top of the nearby mountain, saying his home resided there. My mother persisted, well aware that settlement barely ascended the mountain much less near the top, but the fellow was adamant. With that, he left, leaving a confused mother.
It was that day that the final straw broke the camel's back and we left California forever.
Given, these clips of the past may have some minor inaccuracies. Due to my age, I can only go by what my mother told me and what my medical records portray in relation. But I know for a variety of reasons she can not be lying.
My entire life as far as I can recall, I've been surrounded by the unknown. As young as five years old I was telling my mother, "someone is watching me." Five is, actually, as far back as I remember save for a few instances: a different sky through the eyes of an infant, the frozen clock as time stood still to a toddler.
As an adolescent, I constantly was fearful when in anything vaguely church related--which was sad, because it's what most of my life was composed of; Christian private school, church on sunday and wednesday, church retreats. There was something that disagreed with me there. It's not necessarily that I disagreed with the doctrine, but that I felt the very church did not want to tolerate my presence. It was so bad that on retreats I avoided the spiral staircases because I had vivid visuals of being tossed over them, and the elevators because I felt that it would go in a plummet. I didn't suffer this elsewhere. I ended up pent up in a room until the retreat was over.
As I got older, my awareness improved, but not necessarily for the better. Due to being doused in heavy prostant christianity, I interpreted all things spiritual as bad. The house made sounds--I was scared. I saw images--I was scared. It got to such a point that I couldn't be left home alone, and in the rare instances I was, mom would find me in a worsening state--once so far as to be curled in a corner holding mace and rocking.
I wanted to get past my fear. I began investigating the occult, but had little if anywhere to start. I developed an unnatural fixation on a certain fantasy TV show by the name of Slayers. I don't know how to describe it, but a certain character not only snared my interest but just about nailed it to the floor. His name was Xelloss. An impish, mysterious and ambiguous priest with a mildly flamboiyant flare. I became obsessed-- I had hundreds of pictures of him on my computer and the collection continued to grow. I'd never really had such a fixation on anyone before, real or fantasy.
I ended up looking into the magical references in the show, and found the goetia and scattered hermetic references through it, amongst other things. At that time, I didn't really have the know-how to tie it all together.
It was through Xelloss that I found my niche. Late at night I was surfing fan comics for slayers and found one that particularly suited my fancy with Xelloss as a main character--less villainized, more ambiguous. I ended up contacting the artist. That artist has become my best friend. My girlfriend. A lot more.
Fancy that, she had a goetic pantheon around the same individuals. She ended up teaching me a lot in the ways of the arcane. Initially, it was just parallel interest: we translated the charts, deciphered meanings and found the correlations. But I ended up "officially" getting into the occult through her. It was an instance of some accident, some subconscious need: I ended up foolishly summoning the goetic "Ipos" before I was ready for anything of the ilk, and this began my path.
I won't go into details about Ipos. Not in this entry, at least. But she ended up pointing me towards another influential figure that I had felt tugging on me for some time. His name is Asmodeus. Asmodel. Asmoday. And he is my father.
It mightn't make sense; I didn't pick up on it initially either. And there are still so many "why"s and "how"s. What I do know will be expanded on in this journal. What I don't may eventually come up and be recorded.
Asmoday made himself known almost exactly nine months before my birthdate--which happens to be in the month of Asmodel. This didn't register for some time, I actually realized it when considering what my zodiac sign would be when working from conception and not birthdate. I nearly smashed my head off the table in realization. Other things link in, too: Film of a similar figure in my early life actually caught on tape, and more.
These may eventually be discussed, but I am here to say:
I am Minerva. I am daughter of Asmoday and proud of it. I know I am not alone. While I am nothing of world-bending proportion, I am here for a reason; a reason I am yet to discover, but a reason no less. I know there are those like me out there, I have met one already. She is my sister, my girlfriend, and my lover.
Half of me writes this journal just to get things off my chest. The other half searches to see who else has a similar history.