Separation (Isolation) Rite, its Results, and a Moment of Xeper

This is a working I wrote by myself. I performed it on February 8th, 2015 prior to leaving for my facial feminization surgery in Spain. I do apologize for the commentary that follows it for being so long. I feel it is necessary to discuss at length my results.

I prepared for this working for over a month. I did a lot of Tai Chi during the month of January to get me grounded into a system of concentration that allowed me to focus on an intent of this rite.

The people who helped to inspire the content of the rite should be credited, those people are as follows: the Beetle Tracks blog (http://setemheb.tumblr.com/), my spiritual grandpa Dr. Michael Aquino, Don Webb and his book “The Seven Faces of Darkness.” and Dr. Stephen Flowers and Hermetic Magic.

Many of the names of the people I mention in this have been changed for their personal protection.

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Separation (Isolation) Rite by Nikoletta

(Frame rite)

Draw a picture of HarWer.

(face South opposite from altar)

“ZAZAS!!!!” (trace Averse Pentagram South towards ERBÊTH)

“I am he with two faces—HarWer!
We are union.”

“I am URAEUS the moon and the sun
“The Left eye” (motion left arm in upwards half circle (moon)) “and the Right” (throw right arm to the right(sun)).

“ZAZAS!!!!” (trace averse Pentagram East towards IÔ)

“I am LILITH
Separate from Adam!
Separate from Eden!
I and Myself!
BABALON!
Knowledge and Evil!”

“NATSATANADA!!!” (trace averse Pentagram West towards ABLANATHANALBA)

(face North/altar)

“I am SET.
Slayer of OSIRIS! Stasis crumbles! (stab upwards)
XEPERA!”

“I am SET.
Slayer of Illusion. APOPHIS withers! (stab downwards)
XEPER!”

“I am SET.
Neter against Neteru.
I am non-union!
I am the presence of self!
I am awareness!
XEPERU!”

(trace averse Pentagram North towards PAKERBÊTH)

“I am NEHEH—the eternal future!
I am darkness!”

“ZAZAS!!!” (Tear Horus and Set picture in half separating Set from Horus)

(crumple the Horus side and throw him from your right hand, to the right of your altar with force)

(Place Set Half unfolded in your Magical Diary. Close It.)

(Frame rite)
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My intent for performing and writing this rite was a simple one. I wanted to rewire myself to embrace my feminine aspect of myself isolating it away from my masculine side. I wanted to fully kill my male identity in my subjective universe. By doing this, it would also effect the way I carried myself in the objective universe–making me unashamed to be who I am. This rite would tip these goals into my favor. Despite living as a full time woman for ten years time–I’ve been forced, due to the nature of my previous work as an actress to play roles better suited for young hot-headed men. I refuse to do that any more. Aspects of my five years of acting began to clog up my medial self and program me to fall into some of my more male aspects at times that did not benefit me. I wanted to bring my subjective feminine self into the objective universe.

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While I won’t disclose the full contents of my magical diary here with regards to my recording of the result, I will paraphrase the moment I knew I was successful.

This rite was meant to put me into a liminal space before my major surgery to allow this to happen by manifesting confidence in myself. It was successful and I’ll share the exact moment that I realized I achieved an extremely rare moment of Xeper in spite of it.

From the moment I began to travel to Spain on February 9th, everything was chaos. There was nothing calm about my travel to Spain. My first flight was cancelled, although I was able to make it by getting United to fly me to two separate cities I wasn’t meant to go to. I made the Newark flight with two minutes to go, running on the tarmac to make it. During the security checkpoint this woman ran into the security checkpoint chasing a man. She promptly started to beat the crap out of this guy punching him, yelling at him, tearing at his flesh. I didn’t have time to watch. This was the first of many little incidents to happen following the rite. It was WAY too weird that it was a woman beating up a man during all the chaos of me trying to make the Newark flight. A woman beating a man! Who would’ve thought? I definitely made a connection with this with regards to my rite.

Madrid was chaos. I nearly missed my flight by twelve minutes as the airport was a labyrinth of confusion and when I landed I had half an hour to get to my next flight. Getting to Marbella was oddly calm. Ultimately, when I got there I felt very comfortable, without trepidation for my surgery the day after the next one. Very calm vibes going on there. The really weird stuff started happening the night following my 9-hour procedure to feminize my facial structure.

On February 10th 2015, as the nurses transferred my small body from bed to bed. I finally made it to the surgical slab, While the anesthesiologist standing over me in his Pink Panther hat I calmly repeated over and over again a little mantra I got from Don Webb’s “Uncle Setnakt’s Essential Guide to the Left Hand Path.”

“It is my destiny to become a Lady of the Left Hand Path. Doors will open!”

My body was becoming cold all around. I was dying. Again and again I said this to myself until I passed out from the anesthesia.

Before I woke up I remember floating upwards, naked, in an ocean of black. Little bubbles all around me. Then I came into the world crying. Reborn. I threw three stomachs of blood up and could barely open my eyes. I’ll never forget when they put this mask on me that I had to wear for three days in the hospital. This was the last mask I was going to have to wear. I was completely overcome by nausea, dry mouth, the works. As a person who has never did any controlled substances, including alcohol, coffee, smoking, drugs of any kind, this nausea hit me HARD. That night of was the hardest night of my life. On top of all of this I couldn’t get the song “All That Jazz” from Chicago, especially the opening theme out of my head. I felt like the doctors must have listened to it while they were cutting into my flesh. Which is interesting because that show is a revenge tale involving women who killed their husbands. Another connection to the rite.

While I laid in bed for two days, unable to open my swollen eyes I had my fiancé Victor read me Judith Page’s “Song of Set.” Her poem made me slightly emotional as the way she wrote the poem really struck a chord with what I was going through. He also insisted on reading Lovecraft, so he also did “Beyond the Wall of Sleep” for me as well. His choice was oddly interesting, seeing that I was manifesting myself through this surgery from the “sleeping world” from my subjective “light body” to the realm beyond it, into the objective universe. After the nurse pulled my catheter out I was ready to get up. I was done lying around like a mini-Osiris in stasis. I had to get up. I had to get up now.

From those first active moments of me walking around the hospital even though my body resisted, I felt in control. When I was released from the hospital I was greeted with two nights that were rather sleepless. When I did sleep, I had psychedelic nightmares as the meds slowly got out of my system. Thanks Set! I recorded these nightmares in detail in my diary.

Again, I will paraphrase these from my diary. The first of these nightmares I saw myself as who the world thought I was. And then I experienced a rebirth. There was a hippopotamus beyond a beige brick, Mayan looking wall killing these huge crows or ravens by chomping down on them making them wet with their own internal fluids. He then threw these crows over this wall with his mouth and the birds landed in a pile. There were SO MANY black birds. Wet, bloody, gory stuff. And I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe because I was in the middle of that pile of dead birds. I forced myself to climb out of the pile. As I reached the top of the pile, there was this film around my body trying to hold me back from escaping. I punctured my hand through to the other side. I woke up and immediately recorded this.

The next night I got stuck in a loop of nightmares for two hours. I tried to wake up but I couldn’t. These dreams were the most vivid I’ve ever had in my life.

I found myself in a crater of fire surrounded by black. I was naked, and there was a crimson hue floating above my head. I heard this voice talking about “the nature of darkness.” This was a very long drawn out diatribe and I was forced to listen to it. After hearing this I heard something skitter next to my head, but I couldn’t move to see it. I was paralyzed. Then I realized that the skittering was below me, and on all sides. This being was insect like. I could hear it breathing through it’s skin. Whatever had been talking to me I was lying on top of. Blacks and reds. Blacks and reds.

LaplandLongspur-UNA395464The dreams that followed were about fathers. A very male thing. I had an older Italian dad come outside to my car and explain to me how he liked having salt placed in a very specific way conveniently right outside his vehicle. His son, John, a friend of mine, came outside to stop him from bothering me. Later when I was awake I recounted this part of the dream to John’s wife Claire over the phone. As I described the old man’s mannerisms and look, she said that had strangely sounded like John’s father to a T. The thing about it was, however, is that I never met the man, and neither had Claire because he was dead for about six years now. John later confirmed with me how eerily all of these details were to his actual father.

The following dream was a terrible loop concerning my own father. In this dream he owned a slave ring of people who he trafficked to kill each other for profit, much like dog fighting. He owned the town which was right winged and filled to the brim with bigots and Nazis. I tried many times to escape by car, motorcycle, and walking. For some reason, I kept getting put into my dad’s mansion which every time made me feel like he was ready to kill me with more and more malice each and every time I tried to escape.

On a hot summer afternoon I sang an anthem in a parking lot to a group of white supremacists. I ended up back at my dad’s house right after that without warning. Eventually when I did escape, I was greeted with a row of poorly dressed Neo-Nazis parading a brutally beaten black guy around who was passing out plastic American flags out. As I passed them I ended up putting a knife meant for my father into the poor man’s body so I could help to stop his suffering. These guys were pissed I killed the poor guy. They kept saying “Get your own nigger” etc. etc. They kept walking though. I eventually found myself in a Neo-Nazi compound. Inside was basically section 8 housing for Neo-Nazis. There were thugs beating each other over and over again.

There was this demon lady was running around biting their heads off sideways. As I tried to reach an exit, the lady started to chase me. As I finally reached the door, I found myself outside on a roof. I viewed a gorgeous vast suburban residential area by night. This Nazi in a blue shirt and red suspenders followed me because he was also running from the demon. She bit his head off sideways. The blood got all over me. She then focused on me. I fought her though.

I stabbed her body everywhere, but she wouldn’t die. I finally shoulder tackled her and wrapped both of my hands firmly around the knife. I brought it down in between her forehead. I remember seeing her curly brown hair wrap itself around my hands as her eyes started to pop out of her skull. I brought the blade down again. And again. I smashed her face in. But she still wasn’t dead, until I brought it down once more. She stopped moving. I fell to the ground. When I fell to the ground I noticed that my physical appearance had completely changed from my old, androgynous self, to a fully female body. I was so tired, drenched with sweat. I tried to roll off the roof to the residential area by the dead demon lady contorted into an impossible position. Her bones were crackling as this happened and then he entire body opened up. I saw an infinitude of circular lamprey like teeth and then she leaped towards me. I woke up immediately.

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Mediterranean, Marbella, Spain February 2015

I ended up going to the ocean that day to see the Mediterranean. I felt completely at peace there. Collected some sea shells, like I did in my childhood. I even found a fully formed conch, unbroken, ready for me to send home. I had a small cry. The ocean was beautiful and still. It was Marbella’s off-season so there was nobody there. This was out of character for me, as I often suppressed my emotions. I stopped after about three minutes.

The next few days I moved around more and more. I even was able to wash my own hair despite having a modified coronal incision (an ear-to-ear cut to get at my skull).

On February 18th, 2015 I had a moment of Xeper. I went to High Care Hospital with Dana, a future patient of the surgical team there, and Jenny the surgical aftercare nurse I was staying with downtown for the duration of my trip. Dressed in black head to toe, I wore a chic Zara dress I had saved just for this moment, dubbing it my “Victory Dress.” Tamara, the coordinator for Facial Team, took me up the left path of the external offices for the hospital. She said it was nice that I was looking so good. I replied “Yes, I’m starting to feel human again, so I figured I would dress as a human.” We entered into Dr. Simon and Dr. Capitán’s glass gilded offices and I took a seat. A nurse in the internal office beckoned over to me to come lie down so she could remove my stitches. The stitches in the scalp weren’t so bad. Upper lip easy. Neck, not too bad. The nose stitches were TERRIBLE to get out. So painful. Dr. Capitán came in to have a look at me. He said he was in a hurry to meet with his young daughter who was feeling ill but he and I made contact long enough that I just broke down into tears. For some reason he started to well up too. I saw him fighting tears. I had been talking to this man for the last year trying to coordinate this surgery. He left shortly after that. I was still in tears. I was sad to see him go. After all the stitches were removed, I still continued to cry but I couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t from my bruised face in the mirror. Or the pain from the stitches.

Dr. Simon and Dr. Belinga came in to go over with me the results of the surgery. They went over my CT scans, and what I should be expecting to see over the course of the year in terms of changes to my face. My face would be healing more and more everyday. After about twenty minutes, we said our goodbyes and I was left with Tamara.

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Marbella, February 2015

Tamara who was initially cold to me during the pre-operative interviews, started to talk to me for the next hour. We were completely alone, isolated from the rest of the world in this small glass office, in the richest part of Spain. I left there in complete adoration of her because of what happened in there next.

As I sat crying she asked me a line of questions that lined everything up for me. She asked my religious beliefs etc.

“Do you believe in God? In a higher power?” she asked.

“Not in the traditional sense, no.” I replied.

I didn’t feel like this was the time or the place to explain LHP philosophy to a lady who might not understand or might not want to understand. She then surprised me by saying she didn’t hold beliefs in the traditional sense either, she wasn’t christian, jewish, or muslim she explained. She was self-styled. Much like myself. It was here how I noticed her incredible likeness to my first viola teacher Michelle Vari who I adored. Michelle, became the basic archetype for what it meant to embrace my femininity on the subconscious level. And here Tamara was, sitting in front of me, half way across the world looking and carrying herself exactly like Michelle. It was like a door to the past was left creaked open.

I told her how hard it was for me to get here. No one had ever given me anything. I came from near poverty, and fought for ten years from when I first started my transition at 19 to now, at 29. I saved every penny. I forced myself to meet the right people. I made connections to make things easier. I lived in less than desirable situations with prostitutes, child molesters, and rapists. I took jobs I hated, and did things I didn’t want to, just to get by. Everything I did was to keep fighting for my facial feminization surgery. I never lost sight of it. I told her how I knew my fiancé before he was a lawyer. Before he was anything. Victor had helped me get here as we both saved a lot over the next two years. We paid the cost of the surgery outright in full. For two 29 year olds, that pretty impressive. He had helped me get here, and I loved him.

Tamara moved closer from behind her desk and pulled a chair in front of me. I was still crying. I didn’t know why. It was just happening. She took both of my hands into hers and then told me what I regard as a moment of Xeper, validating my claim to womanhood. She told me things I was struggling to reach for from my subconscious.

“There’s no one else in this world who can give you anything you want except yourself. Not your fiancé, not some god, or anything else that might assume some measure of control over you. No one can give you anything except for yourself. Nicole, this happened now, because it was the right time. It had to happen. But only because now was the right time. You are responsible for yourself. You made this happen.”

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Marbella, February 2015

As she spoke these words I realized I had experienced Xeper in that moment. I felt like she conferred some secret code of womanhood to me in that moment. I felt genuine emotional energy. And I was finally able to justify why I had started to cry without knowing. After ten years of enduring sacrifice, and Hell, and un-seeable future of darkness, fear that I might not live long enough to see the day of my remanifestation, I got here. This was a journey’s end. And I felt it. In that moment Tamara was Set. I was Tamara’s reflection. I was Set. She had validated me. I had validated myself. I stood at the door of my next journey. These are all the reasons I ended up crying without knowing. I had experienced Xeper. This is why I was crying. I had become a Goddess in that moment, changing myself physically. Bringing my subjective universe into the objective one.

As we walked back up the path to the main hospital, I took a seat next to Dana and Jenny. I showed Jenny all my CT scans. We were all astounded by the profound differences the surgical team was able to achieve.

That night the three of us when to a steakhouse in Marbella Estascion. It was a nice time. I had some tea and some cold salmon tapas that I ended up not liking. Jenny left the table to go smoke a cigarette outside. As Dana and I sat there amidst all the craziness of the restaurant, she and I started talking.

“You know—when you and Tamara were walking back up to the hospital today from your post-op you were different. You walked away as somebody else and came back as a completely different person. That was interesting.”

“In a good way I hope?” I asked.

“Yes, I feel like I’m talking to the real you now.”

It was here I realized my rite had worked.

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Separation (Isolation) Rite, its Results, and a Moment of Xeper

The Core Dynamism of Medea–A LHP Witche’s Critiscism of Emotional Servitude and Transformation

In our quitter’s society its painfully simple to begin a project and never follow through towards the end goal. Being capable of sifting through the emotional baggage that comes with a “stay or go” mentality is a good take-off point towards arriving to acquiring the sheer belly fire and tenacity it takes to come full circle and complete the things we start.

Focus is a state of mind that remains the most tenuous and delicate balances in the process of bringing something into being. Many of us get up and put our valuable non-refundable time in at the office on a day-to-day basis. Going to work is an act we start and finish. By finishing our work, we effectively bring that thing into being. Work is real and tangible because we decided to get up in the morning and make it to the end of the day.

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We are motivated to work for two reasons: because we have to, or because we want to. Work that is easy or lacks meaning to who we believe ourselves to be is the kind of work that we gravitate away from most. For the highly conscious, easy work doesn’t challenge our limits. Work that we view as below our station, such as collecting garbage for the city, or being a waitress at a hole-in-the-wall truckstop diner, lacks meaning because it reminds of of who we really are. Merely conscious individuals may be perfectly content holding jobs that are easy or less than desirable. That is okay, not everyone wants to be free from their sleeping, stimuli-addicted lives. Understanding that one is seeking something more from life, however, is the first step towards realizing that our genuine motivations are better spent elsewhere. That is–doing and becoming the things we want to be.

Think about all of the things you’ve ever wanted to do. There’s a lot of clutter in that big ‘ole mind of yours. Maybe you want to write a novel. Or master surfing, or learn to paint photo realistic landscapes. In a world with the miraculous curse that is Google at our fingertips, we can find extraordinary individuals who do any one of these things on a skill level far beyond our own ability. The first thing you need to realize is that the world at large is meant to distract us from what we should be doing to accomplish those things that we wish to complete during our finite lives. Refreshing our focus to complete something we’ve started will prevent us from exerting unnecessary and valuable energies on distractions.

Allowing distraction to leak into your meaningful work is caused by emotional servitude. Ipsissimus Don Webb of the Temple of Set refers to emotional servitude as working “only when ‘the mood is right,” however, “the Left Hand Path Initiate knows that he or she doesn’t follow his or her emotions, but that his emotions follow him.” (Webb 17) In other words, emotions are like dogs, and our wills, a leash. If something is easy, everyone does it. There is little emotional shock to our systems by seeking playful interaction with the accessible lazy existence. Difficulty, however, challenges our sensibilities, a pilgrim of the Left Hand Path seeks out “doing things that are difficult for the sheer power it gives.” (17) Therefore, only when we focus our wills to control our emotions will we be able to progress.

Jason_and_Medea_-_John_William_WaterhouseMedea, from Apollonius’s myth of the Golden Fleece represents an early mythological example of a Left Hand path initiate both afflicted by emotional servitude, and later by one who overcomes it. Hera’s scheme of having Eros shoot an arrow into Medea afflicting her with an unknown and naïve love for Jason is an example of her being lead around by her emotions. “Let us go to find Kypris! Let us confront her and urge her to speak to her son, in the hope that he can be persuaded to fire his arrows at the daughter of Aietes, the mistress of drugs, and so bewitch her with love for Jason.” (Apollonius 66) Arguably, Hera’s desire to help Jason by Medea’s infatuation is an allegory for Medea’s own daemonic self working against her, leading Medea to “persons that are desirable,” even though she doesn’t “recognize [Jason’s] qualities due to [his] surface manifestations.” (Webb 11)

Because Medea was overcome by emotion she couldn’t easily ascertain the nature of who Jason was on the surface level and he eventually betrays her after the in the events following the Argonautica. However, the young Medea possesses a strange duality, and attempts to resist Kypris’s bewitchment/programming at the medial level of her existence. “From her eyes flowed tears of pity, and within her the pain wore her away, smouldering through her flesh[…]where the ache and hurt drive deepest, where the tireless Loves shoot their pains into the heart. At one moment she thought that she would give [Jason] the drugs as charms against the bulls; then she would not, but would herself face death; then she would not die and would not give the drugs but with the calmness would endure her misery just as she was.” (Apollonius 84) Lashing out against her false predispositions of love for Jason she tries to talk herself into suicide, “much better would it be to end my life here in my room on this very night, in a death without explanation, and thus to escape all the bitter accusations before doing these awful, unimaginable things.” (84-5) This is her failed attempt to rebel, through suicide, against those things caused by Kypris’s unwanted programming. That is, those programs which are unrecognizable to her unchangeable self at the core level.

Medea alone spiritually finances Jason’s ill-fated quest for the golden fleece through magic. What is important to understand is that despite Medea’s clouded emotional state she is able to act decisively keeping in mind Jason’s promise to marry her. Medea’s magic is strong because she remains motivated and free from distraction having “no doubts how to act.” (85) The best example of this occurs in Crete where she places the evil eye upon the boulder throwing Talos, “Three times did she beseech and call upon [the Keres, devourers of spirit] with incantations, and three times with prayers. Her mind set upon evil, she cast a spell upon bronze Talos’s eyes with her malevolent glances; against him her teeth ground out bitter fury, and she sent out dark phantoms in the vehemence of her wrath.” (138)

Medea on DragonsWhile I would like to propose that Medea may have ended up being much more powerful had her heart not been overcome by Kypris’s magic, I believe that the experience of her emotions leading her around by the tongue equipped her with the ability to be much more decisive in the events following the Argonautica. Euripedes presents her as a woman no longer overcome by fear of pulling the so-called proverbial “trigger.” This incarnation of Medea is rebellious and vengeful, but she is also one awakened and completely in control of her emotions. In fact, she is so much in control that she is finally capable of bypassing Kypris’s programming at the medial level. Ipsissimus Webb proposes that “magical happiness is the state of knowing who you are” (Webb 9) on the medial level of the self. Breaking free from this programming, Medea begins to examine her motivations because she has finally discovered how to “know [her] character” and arrive at magical happiness. (9) “Things have gone badly every way. No doubt of that[…]Do you think I would ever have fawned on that man unless I had some end to gain or profit in it? I would not even spoken or touched him with my hands.” (Euripides 12-3) This is Medea’s core level dynamism appearing–blossoming for the very first time.

Apollonius’s allegory of Medea’s prospective self-murder represents her lack of motivation to complete something she started. It is important to note, however, that Medea was only considering suicide because her core self was compromised with Eros’s unwanted programming. Being in love with Jason, at her core level, was something she did not desire. In Euripides’s incarnation of Medea she chooses a path of self-transformation in which she will “make dead bodies” (Euripides 13) of her enemies which includes killing off the civilized programmed version of herself with a corrosive poison “of-all devouring fire.” (38) Jason’s new bride, Glauce, mirrors the sort of woman Medea could’ve become had she not sorted through the emotional clutter of the medial self and chose a path of self-transformation. Glauce “took the gorgeous robe and dressed herself in it, and put the golden crown around her curly locks, and arranged the set of the hair in the shining mirror, and smiled at the lifeless image of herself in it.” (37-8) The corrosive poison transforms Glauce during the course of this scene and is described as “hard to be recognized[…]from the top of her head there oozed out blood and fire mixed together. Like the drops of pine-bark, so the flesh from her bones dropped away, torn by the hidden fang of poison.” (39)

The deaths of Medea’s children and Glauce represent the emotional clutter of her medial self. By removing them from the equation she is capable of regaining her true self at the core level by becoming wholly autonomous, “a traitress to [her] father and [her] native land”  (43) and to Greek society. No longer bound by the dregs of her programming, Medea emerges as an individual against the whole of humanity–highly conscious and highly antinomian.

Conclusion

The highly conscious individual is constantly at arms with forces that interfere with progress, especially those forces that exist within our medial selves. The first step on the road towards self-transformation is shedding emotional servitude. We can accomplish this through the not-so-simple act of “completing the circle.” That is, committing ourselves to finish what we start even if unwanted programming that exists within the medial level of the self tells us otherwise. The Left Hand Path is a boundless sea cloaked by darkness. As a witch, staying motivated to accomplish a task is remaining afloat in this sea. Losing motivation, however, whether it be from lack of interest or lack of drive is to drown there.

Yours truly,

The Satanic Puritan

Xeper.

References

Apollonius of Rhodes. “Jason and the Golden Fleece.” Trans. Richard Hunter. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998. Print.

Euripides. “Medea.” Trans. Rex Warner. New York: Dover Publications, 1993. Print.

Webb, Don. “Uncle Setnakt’s Essential Guide to the Left Hand Path.” Smithville: Rûna-Raven Press, 1999. Print.

The Core Dynamism of Medea–A LHP Witche’s Critiscism of Emotional Servitude and Transformation