The Octarine People: A Poem Turned Prophecy. - Written by B. Pilgrim

The Octarine People: A Poem Turned Prophecy.

We accept you, One of Us!

Gooble, Gobble!

-Freaks (1932)

Come little children

I'll take thee away

Into a land of enchantment.

- Kate Covington, Come Little Children.

In 2019, during the celebration of the Chelseanatch in the DKMU group, I was

somewhat disappointed in myself. While the other members contributed

photographs of surprising rituals, psychedelic sigils and incredible anecdotes with

the divine forms of the 156/663 current; the banality of the world and the body

fatigue due to overwork, took away my courage or time to contribute my grain of

sand in the assault on reality. But the part of me that belongs to magic, was

restless, it wanted me to do something, in a way to show myself that a magical

activity does not have to be grandiloquent or theatrical to cause great changes in

reality.

So in a spare time from my mundane work, I began to visualize the linking sigil,

and since I belong to the current that works with the gods of the crossroads, I

devote myself to them, abandoning myself to their will. The gods of the crossroads

(Hecate, Hermes, Tezcatlipoca, Cihuacoatl, Papa Legba, Maman, Briggite, etc) are

also gods of magic; so basically, my "meditation" was a desperate cry in search of

an extraordinary oasis in the middle of the merciless desert of the ordinary. My call

was answered since my mental image (a link sigil in the middle of a crossroads)

began to evolve into something that was not part of me, but was projected from

some unknown region of the ether.

The sigil glowed in a color scheme ranging from reddish violet to blue-green

streaked with silver and gold: octarine light. This colorful and brilliant beam

embraced the symbol until it became an ovoid and iridescent sun, revealing that

the crossroads that I had imagined expanded until it became an intersection of

eight paths converging in a circular clearing: a chaosphere. And these paths were

not empty, there were people walking on them, following like moths enchanted by

the magical glow that guided their steps.

Some were young and some were old, there were men and women of all races.

Dressed from ceremonial robes to flannel shirts, dirty jeans and tennis shoes; there

were even those who wore nothing but their own bare skin. They walked with a

beatific and serene expression until they were facing the magnificent and beautiful

octarine glow in the center of the chaosphere. Before that beautiful and spectral

light, all faces lit up and seemed to understand some great arcane shared by

different occult doctrines and paths.

And then, as in a choir where all languages ​​are integrated into the universal

language of pure and naked magic, all those mouths sang the same harmonious

and sweet cry, from them I heard this poetry that made my soul vibrate at its

deepest level and intimate, like the promised caress of a long-absent lover who

returns in a surprising way, in the middle of the night while one sleeps peacefully:

Following the path made of the eight color silk thread, we all came,

At the crossroad where the eight ways met, we have all gathered.

To awaken the Sleeper, to call the Awakened and to open what was closed.

To rip the veil, to open the gate and to make free what was hiden.

With serpent’s breath we shall shout, here be dragons.

With silk from the crimson spider, we shall unite all the worlds.

From the tree of life, we shall harvest the ten spheres on the three realms.

From the four points to the five corners, our voices shall be listened.

Here it is the coming of the invisible to everyone sight,

Shining in the dark, dimming the very day light.

The Quintessence, at the reach of all the hands,

The Great Work its the tree that its fruit to us provide.

The way is free, the door is open, we turn the wheel.

We weave at the loom of the weaver,

Making new and strong silk.

We have the color of magic,

On the new flesh we are dress.

We are the octarine people,

Our will unites all the worlds.

As soon as I heard the last stanza, a powerful chill ran through my being and I

regained my senses, abruptly and feverishly. I checked my watch and barely a

couple of minutes had passed. The first thing I did was write that strange poetry on

a grubby piece of cardboard and pass it on to a file on the computer at the office

and before finishing my shift, I posted it along with an image that I had downloaded

from Liber LS on the DKMU group under the title of “The Octarine People”, without

giving further explanations and as a personal contribution to the Chelseanacht. I

definitely felt better about myself after that.

That was two years ago and two years later, that strange poetry seems to me more

and more a prophecy that has been fulfilled so gradually that one realizes it until

one pays attention to the details: meeting my companions from the magical world

fervently dedicated to the assault on reality, the emergence of the Hexorian group,

the growth of the Ellisian network in Latin America and the emergence of new

deities (perhaps it is only their resurgence, awakened by magic); they make the

verses of the poem take on more and more meaning and context.

On one occasion someone told me (I can't quite remember who it was) that the

success of a magical operation lay in having an expected result without being sure

that you really had done something to achieve it. I'm not sure if that poetry was a

casually cast spell, a self-fulfilling prophecy, or just an echo of a deep desire in my

heart to see a world where magic is shared by everyone and in everywhere. But it

is materializing, and that is the only thing that matters to me.

.