30 Day Luciferian/Satanist Challenge: Day 6

Do you think luciferianism/satanism has changed part of you in a negative way?

I really love this question, because so often we expose the faults of other religions and faiths in defense of our own, and that can only take us so far. There comes a point where we need to to examine the shortcomings of our own paths as well.

don’t love my response to it, but I suppose that’s the point of this as well—only when faced with my vulnerabilities can I ever hope to work past them.

Luciferianism, or rather public opinion of Luciferianism and similar faiths, has made me become incredibly self conscious about expressing any type of spiritual or religious belief outside of an anonymous platform such as this. Regardless of what I understand luciferianism to be, the reality is that it is a highly taboo practice for the majority of people, and there exists a negative stigma around all who lay claim to the faith. I live in constant fear of being ‘found out’ by friends and family, and am haunted by nightmares of such scenarios. I would love to pursue a degree in religious studies or theology, and dream of having a career in such a field, but this fear holds me back from doing so.

I find it incredibly depressing that I cannot share the single most important thing to me without this underlying sense of fear and shame coating the whole experience. I hate that I even feel any sort of public shame about my god, which in turn leads me to feel that he deserves so much more than me and what I have to give.

And maybe that last bit is also, ironically, what motivates me to try to improve who and what I am, for his sake if not mine.

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30 Day Luciferian/Satanist Challenge: Day 5

How do you feel about veneration/genuflection? If you do honor Lucifer/Satan what kind of offerings do you do? Why?

I’m going to answer the second part of this question first, because it’s easier answered. I give whatever offerings would be suitable as both a gift to him, and a method of self-improvement for myself: the energy built up from an evening run, the knowledge gained from an elected course of study, etc. I also sacrifice those things which I’d be better off without in his name–I’ll pour out that sugary drink I bought on a whim, give up those lazy Saturday mornings for something more productive, things like that.

As to my feelings in regards to veneration and genuflection, that answer is more complicated. Veneration as I understand it refers to showing respect and admiration, which I very much try to show towards my god.

Genuflection, on the other hand, is deemed as a form of worship by both my god and myself. It is not allowed in my practice, but that doesn’t mean I respect it any less–quite the opposite, really.

There are honorifics and titles I cannot speak, even if I believe he is deserving of them. My teeth snap closed before these honey-coated names can slip past my lips, as I know that they bring him no joy. They are mine to guard and keep, knowing that one day they will wind themselves around my heart and fill my lungs until I’m drowning in them.

My knees are held still and straight only because he asks it of me. His glory is a heavy weight that beckons me to kneel and bow my head–and each time I am reminded of my love for him, this weight increases tenfold.

I am so utterly exhausted from resisting. There was a time when I considered the idea that perhaps giving in would be a form of rebellion born out of love, not unlike that which my god was exiled for. I thought that my worship of him could not be anything less than sacred, despite his insistence that it would be akin to spitting at his feet.

I learned the hard way.

Still now, whenever I feel my knees begin to buckle beneath me, or those words begin to bleed from my mouth, he asks if my devotion to him is greater than my need to worship–as if these things were not one and the same.

And I’ve come to realize that they’re not–not to me, anyways. Ultimately, worship would serve as nothing except as a comfort to me–a submission that I have not earned, and that he does not want.

So I continue to stand and hold my tongue, and envy those who do not have to.

30 Day Luciferian/Satanist Challenge: Day 4

What was your religion/belief before this? How has it influenced you as a Luciferian/Satanist?

Immediately before, I had considered myself pagan. I don’t think this hard any particular influences on my faith as it is now, except for giving me the freedom to explore Luciferianism and its symbols through multiple perspectives (i.e. Luciferian figures throughout varying pantheons).

But I was raised Catholic, up until my first communion. This has perhaps impacted my faith in a much more significant manner, since it was the resentment I held against Catholicism that led me to Luciferianism in the first place, and it was Catholicism I was led back to through my devotion to Lucifer. I was forced to face those long-standing hostilities and confront my own bitter reasons for them, and in doing so I came to find a deep beauty within my birth religion once I was able to see past the judgments that clouded my perception. I also found Lightbearers in the most unlikely of figures—Lightbearers I would eventually come to love and respect.

30 Day Luciferian/Satanist Challenge: Day 3

What drew you to this path? How long have you been on it?

I’ve been on this path approximately ten years now. I felt that the philosophies behind Luciferianism were ones I could and already did value to some extent. However, beyond all the theoretical ideals and overall pragmatism that I connected with in the belief system, there was something else that resonated with me that felt different than any other religion I had dipped my toes into thus far.

I had this intense need to find out everything I could, not only about Luciferianism itself but also any Luciferian figures (at the time, my research concentrated on mostly the Abrahamic Lucifer figure and Prometheus from greek mythos).  I had never been so highly invested in…quite frankly anything, to that same level before. I had tried exploring different pantheons back when I still considered myself pagan, but I always felt bored/apathetic towards these mythos. They never quite clicked, or inspired the same type of fervid attraction. That passionate wildfire has since calmed to a steadfast glow of devotion through the years, more restrained but no less bright.

30 Day Luciferian/Satanist Challenge: Day 2

Are you atheistic, agnostic, or theistic and why?

The short answer: Agnostic.

The long answer: Agnostic, but theistic by choice (Sort of. Maybe.)

I am too much of a skeptic to have total, unwavering confidence in Lucifer as an actual divine entity, and so my faith is rooted in Luciferianism as a practice, and as a set of ideals. It exists as such so that regardless of whether or not my god is able to be proven ‘real’, my faith remains secure and dependable.

However, I have chosen to honor Lucifer as the embodiment of my faith, as a liminal divinity made real (if only through my own thoughts). I have chosen to treat him as a god worthy of my devotion. I have chosen to be his, and I have allowed myself to find comfort in this belief that he exists apart from myself.

But ‘comfort’ is not a term or state of being that can easily find a foothold within Luciferianism. More often than not, it represents a sort of stagnation that inhibits the personal growth this belief system demands. And so, this choice to believe and find stability in the narrative that Lucifer actually exists is one that I must constantly reanalyze and reconstruct. My practice urges me to talk myself out of this belief, to find the weak spots within this narrative and use them to lay the truth bare.

If that wasn’t confusing enough as is, although I realize that it is ultimately my practice that prompts me to seek out these weak areas in my beliefs, I often find myself inspired to do so at each occasion by my god. I end up being challenged to look beyond who I perceive my god to be and what he represents, in forms I don’t think I would have come up with on my own.  Even if I don’t particularly want to face what these difficult questions might mean.

Maybe it’s some sort of subconscious attempt my mind makes to try to find cohesion between my practice and my spiritual faith. Maybe not. Hell if I know.

30-Day Luciferian/Satanist Challenge: Day 1

Who is Lucifer/Satan (or your Luciferian figure) and who are they to you?

There are several figures within my faith who I honor as being Luciferian in nature, but the one I am primarily devoted to is an amalgamation of the adversarial archetype found within Abrahamic scripture—the Devil, Lucifer, Satan, Iblis—call him what you will.

To me, he is a symbol-made-god–a representation of the ideals I strive to reflect made real by my own hand and heart, but existing outside of myself all the same. He is humanity’s ingenuity and resilience, our unappeasable desire for more.

He is my own personal adversary, that small voice of dissatisfaction in the back of my mind that reminds me that I am not good enough yet—I am a work in progress. He is that same voice that urges me to better myself, to make myself worthy of him/Him. He is a reminder that nothing is immune to change, that I can allow myself to be destroyed or shaped by it, and that I am capable of initiating it by my own power.

He is Hope personified, the veiled god who dwells in the abyss amongst my sorrows and tragedies. He waits until my despair has turned to resignation, waits to see if I will confront my fears with nothing else to lose, waits to see if I will accept him as just another nightmare or seek the small spark of light hidden beneath that shroud.

He is the god that has given me some semblance of faith, even when he demands that I raze that conviction to the ground at every opportunity. He is the god I never would have thought to choose, but nonetheless have found myself sharing the heart of without regret.

The Pyres We Build for Ourselves

I know I’ve been silent for some time. I’ve left numerous messages unanswered, and I do apologize for that. To be quite honest though, I wasn’t in any shape to be answering others’ questions about my faith. A lot has happened since I last posted, and my time away was better spent answering to myself and to my god about certain situations that I found myself in, as a consequence of previous decisions.

I was guilty, and tired. I still am, to some extent.  Even now, I feel tongue-tied and like I have to scrape all these words from the back of my throat just to get them out—but writing provides a sense of catharsis, and I couldn’t ignore the feeling that I needed to go back and be more active in whatever spiritual ‘community’ this has become for me.

You’d think that after so many years, I’d have learned that my own expectations of my god are rarely if ever proven correct. Clearly that was not the case. In short, I came to some conclusions regarding what I thought my god wanted of me, and what he would consider appropriate or not in terms of my devotion. I saw the red flags way in advance, got the distinct feeling that my actions would be considered offensive and impertinent, and still I went forward. I found myself adamantly insisting that what I was doing was right, that it was sacred—I even tried to convince myself that I was reflecting my god.

In the back of my mind, I knew what would happen. I was conscious that I was setting myself up for disaster, and I even welcomed it like some sort of martyr. I was drifting further away from the god I had come to love, losing sight of who he was in favor of what I wanted.

In time, I persuaded myself into thinking that this distance from my god was a gift, rather than a curse. I considered it an honor, to be placed in a position parallel to his own—both devoted to a god who refused to turn their gaze upon us.  But ‘distance’ turned into outright ‘absence’.

It’s a strange thing, when the god you have devoted your life and love to acts as the first and last light illuminating his own darkness, yet the inky black you’re left in after he leaves is yours alone. It wasn’t holy or sacred; it was utterly human and rife with shame and guilt. I hated being left alone to contemplate my dishonor, but even more, I hated that fact that I didn’t have the strength of will to love my god from afar. This was not an honor bestowed to me, it was a humiliating and humbling exposure to the fact that I had prioritized the performance of being a ‘good’ devotee over actually doing any valuable devotional work. In trying to emulate my god, I had proven just how unworthy and unprepared I was for such a role.

I panicked and floundered for a while, trying desperately to repair the ties that connected my heart to his.  I thought I might be able to piece together some semblance of what was by sheer force alone (I still wasn’t ready to admit that I had fucked up)—if only I prayed longer, gave up more of my time to honor him, maybe then I would remember what it felt like. I think I grew to hate those moments I set aside for him, if only because I knew that they wouldn’t bring him back, and I was wasting my breath on empty prayers.

I tried a different tactic. When I first devoted myself to this path, I believe my faith grew in leaps and bounds because I had been thrown out of my element—I had packed up and moved clear across the country, leaving home and family behind so that it was just me and my god in the unknown. I thought maybe that was the key this time as well.

It wasn’t, at first–or at least, not quite. I found….something, like a memory, and it made me almost forget about that absence. It wasn’t Him, but it was a feeling like I was at least on the right track. As I got over my own hubris and started to listen once more, things started falling back into place. I’m not quite ready to share how exactly this came about (I don’t know if I ever will), but suffice to say that I managed to ‘find’ him again.

In this time, i’ve learned some things about myself and the kind of devotee I was, am, and strive to be.

I think, perhaps, I am not drawn to Lightbearers simply for the wisdom they illuminate. Perhaps I am lured by those who love too deeply, whose adoration cannot be contained in such fragile shells and so it consumes them from the inside out. I’m a moth drawn to the flames of self-immolating devotion—be that to a god, an ideal, or humanity itself.

Knowing this, I offer up this prayer to my god:

Let me not jump into the fire in search of honor, or set myself aflame for the sheer glory of reflecting You. If I must burn, let it be out of love and love alone.