Penthea:

This is the main symbol of my faith, a starfish known as the Penthea, sealed within a circle.

Familiars are Serious Business:

One of the first Occult groups I stumbled onto, during my early years on-line, and before I met my first serious group later on, was a bit on the fluffy side. (notice I go out of my way not to say “witch” if I can help it, I know most claim that title, but I do not, and prefer not to exclude myself when speaking about the Craft.)

During one of our chat sessions, someone came up with the brilliant idea to post pictures of our familiars. I declined because, as I tried to explain to them, familiars in my path are not animals, but animal spirits whose form I share during my OoB shifts.

They didn’t really understand, or else they didn’t want to, and insisted that I get myself a familiar, pronto.

Now, my feline companions at the time were very active in my crafting, to the point that they’d go nuts at my door anytime I was preparing for a ritual. Normally they couldn’t be bothered with me, but the second I’d so much as whip out my pendulum, they were all up in my business. Of course, they were family, so I wasn’t about to insult either them, nor my actual familiars, by slapping that particular label on them.

So instead I uploaded a picture of a pet rock and dubbed it my familiar. The group was not amused, despite the fact that I’d gone through the trouble of gluing googly eyes on the damned thing. They told me that if I wasn’t going to take them seriously then maybe this wasn’t the group for me. After my second upload of my pet hermit crab, I was booted from the forums.

Which is a shame, as I’m sure that Mr. Krabs would have made for a far superior familiar than the forum host’s chihuahua.

I still have that pet rock. I keep him in one of those little plastic cages they give you at the pet store when purchasing feeder mice. His name is Fred.

>picture forthcoming< 

Lilith Hype:

I've never understood the fascination with Lilith. I get that her modern reinventions could be seen as some icon for feminine independence and strength, despite the fact that when her entire "biblical" history was pulled out of some Hebrew scholars asses back in the dark ages, she was seen as a creature that murdered children and caused miscarriages, but a vampiric seductress? Some queen of Succubae? What idiot came to that conclusion?

It's bullshit.

If you're going to go digging around in the Bible for a Succubus mascot, then at least look to characters such as Salome, or Jael, or even Delilah for Frith's sake.

Hell, Delilah used her sexuality to literally drain the power out of Samson, one of the most powerful men alive at the time. If that doesn't scream Succubus, then I don't know what does.

I only omitted Jezebel because I see her more as a Priestess/Sorceress type, than an actual seductress.

Trouble with Inklings:

Last night I had several dreams within dreams.

In the first one, I was at The House....The House can show up anywhere and is a mixture of my aunt's house, my home in MD, and the first home we lived in when my parents moved me to this state. All three homes were haunted IRL and twist together to act as the backdrop for whatever story my Dreaming wishes to weave.

It's like, my own personal Rose Red.

My Incubus was there, but he was keeping his distance. He's been acting squirrely since I began feeding on the dreams of others, and I'm not sure why. Maybe either out of some professional courtesy or because he's unsure of me now, so instead of lavishing me with some awesome dream-fornication, he just skulks around in the shadows, acting out the part of my own, personal Cheshire Cat....who, on occasion, gives me mind-blowing orgasms while in the form of Paul Giamatti. Yes, even at his sweetest, my Incubus is a extremely sick bastard with a endlessly twisted sense of humor.

In the dream, I suddenly began bleeding from my eyes, mouth and lower orifices. My family took me to the hospital and that's when I realized that my Father was there, so I knew it was a dream and woke up. Except I woke up in the hospital with even more bleeding and a doctor telling me that I was dying and had a 1% chance at recovery. Since I already knew I was dreaming I just projected myself out of it.

Suddenly I'm in a tour bus, except it's more like an RV the size of a train with several connecting compartments. I was there on a tacky sofa with the Incubus sitting beside me and across from us was Sylvester Stallone, who was surrounded by a group of his guy friends and a gaggle of nymphets.

We were watching a porno on a small TV at the front of the "room". It was one of those nasty, low-budget flicks that makes you want to take a shower afterwards just because of how skeezy everything looks. Turns out that Sylvester Stallone was in it, and he starts explaining to me that since he started out in porn, and is now planning to retire, that he figured he would go out with the same bang.

He was saying something else when I realized that the tacky porno with it's copious amounts of bodily fluids being flung all about to such an extent that it would have put an army of Super Soakers to shame, had been shot in the very room I was now located in, with most of the extra oozey secretions being deposited on the couch I was sitting on. Revolted I jumped up and ran out of the cabin, only to enter another cabin which had been set up as a tattoo pallor. The old man doing the ink offered me one for free, if I would listen to his story, which I was forced to turn down after seeing how filthy his work station was.

There was more to the dream after that, but I don't really recall at the moment. I'm pretty sure that it was just more inane symbolism, and pesky spectral annoyances.

The only real interest for me throughout this whole thing was having the Incubus constantly following me. The last time I saw him in my Dreaming, he physically attacked me, which is something that has never happened before.

If he attempts to attack me again, then I'm putting him down. Nobody likes a feral Incubus.