For many, the promise of secret knowledge, mystical experiences, and personal power can be tempting, especially for those who feel lost or uncertain in their lives. But for some, the search for truth and meaning can lead them down a different path. In this article, we will explore the journey of one person who left the occult behind and embraced the teachings of orthodoxy. We will examine the challenges he faced, the lessons he learned, and the transformation that occurred as a result of their conversion. Through this story, we hope to shed light on the power of faith and the importance of seeking truth in all aspects of life. From this point, in his own words he will tell it:
Throughout history and within every culture are tales of the paranormal, the supernatural, and the mystical. From mortal spirits and sentiences within nature, to malevolent demons and divine beings, the human experience is rife with their influence. It was, of course, of no surprise to me that I grew up perceiving these things. It seemed to me that it was something most everyone would either have experienced or at least intellectually understood. I was quite surprised as a child to find out how few adults believed me, and who themselves had either never had any dealings with such, or simply chose to not think about it.
A common thought amongst people and even the few researchers that study these phenomena in human perception is that children often see, hear and experience these things, or at least perceive that they do, but that they grow out of it by puberty. I was one of the ones who did not. When I think back to my earliest memories, the most prevalent and striking ones I remember involve these things. Everything from hearing voices, especially my name being called by a female voice, to seeing ethereal entities come and go, passing through walls and floors, often in shadowy or grotesque form, and often the cause of many sleepless nights from the nightmares they caused. I was tormented and harassed with little mercy, and only my mother believed my stories.
She is a God-loving, and God-fearing woman, who also grew up seeing and hearing more than her siblings, and often knowing things before she could have – a sort of unwitting clairvoyance, just knowing. Her experiences, while not as frequent or prevalent as my own, were enough to cause her to listen and believe me, and offer to me what instruction she knew; pray.
Prayer of this sort, however, would not suffice for me. The more I combated these shadowy, demonic apparitions, the more fervently they attacked me and made their presence known. Even causing physical objects, like car keys, to move off of countertops in the presence of others. My Mother’s faith was simple, though strong, but I was being called to something more. Simple faith would not suffice – I needed knowledge of the Spiritual, good and bad, and I would have it.
The Light of Knowledge
I was 13 years old when I first came across the word “alchemy”, and upon some cursory research, I found that it may have been the answer I was looking for. Having grown dissatisfied with what I saw as the careless ignorance of the protestant churches, I had turned my attention to the arcane and occult. It was not the typical teenage rebellion of seeking something edgy or to replace what I already knew of God with a pagan variant, but rather to expand that understanding and see His handiwork in all its incomprehensible glory. If I could do so – If I could grasp the Mind of God, understand the magnitude of reality and comprehend it all, put it all in its right place, then I could also put the shadows in their place as well: under my feet.
Looking back, the arrogance of my youth is astounding, and it would be funny if it weren’t so sad. That particular folly is the same for all practitioners of the Royal Art: Pride. It is often a solitary practice because the Artist believes themselves to be smarter than everyone before them. I was no different, and while I networked with other practitioners, I knew that I understood better than they did. On my 14th birthday, I spent all my money on alchemy texts, from beginner books to charts and reference guides. I diligently read and memorized symbols, multitiered meanings, correspondences, materials, chemical reactions, hermetic principles, celestial times and seasons; I studied the magical science of Alchemy and began putting it into practice in the lab.
Alchemy is a complex field of study consisting of science (and is the origins of our modern science), philosophy, metaphysics, magick, astrology (and astronomy), and even art. It was prevalent in some form or fashion in nearly all cultures around the world, though not always called such by name. Nowadays, with the advent of the New Age movements and various pseudo-spiritual-intellectualism, it is common to reduce the actual science and practice to some sort of guided meditation, or even a controlled thought process. But that is a massive disservice to the actual Art, and to those who have died in real lab work pursuing the mysteries.
I believed those mysteries held the key I was after; to draw closer to God through apotheosis and to understand why I could perceive what others often did not. I felt that if I could reach that height, the demons would flee, and I would be free. I was correct, but not in the way I imagined I would be. I explored texts, worked with materials according to their correspondences, dreamed visions, meditated, prayed on occasion, and strengthened my mind and spirit to speak words with empowerment. I saw and performed many things, witnessed by my closest friends, and documented and shared with like-minded brethren. Yet the demons persisted, and I simply got used to their being there.
I knew several of them by name, forced from their gritted, gnashing, ethereal teeth through the knowledge I wielded as a weapon and wore like armor. I felt I was making progress, but there was never enough to learn or to know. The hunger for knowledge was unending. Common knowledge, however, was not the driving force of that craving, but deeper and deeper esoteric knowledge. I continued to seek apotheosis and the Philosopher’s Stone that would enable it.
I have found in my years that there are two types of people that get into the Occult; those that sincerely want to know, and will, and those that dabble out of curiosity. More times than not, the dabblers, if they are lucky, get no results, give up and resume a “normal” life. Those unfortunate enough to get results, often experience terrible ones or get just enough to get themselves “hooked,” which leads to a disastrous end down the road. The sincere, typically just go straight to the latter. From my perspective, I was born into this, so there was no question as to results, only the problem of directing them to the desired outcome. Desired outcomes though are often like genie wishes; woe to the one that gets them.
Of Fools and Prophets
Success! Years of striving paid off, and after risking life, limb, and soul, I held that mythical red rock in my hand and did what any sensible person would do with such. I ate it. The wave of nausea wasn’t as bad as I expected, but the strong tug toward sleep was surprising. I gave in and beheld a vision unlike any before it, where I spoke directly with God, the incomprehensible One, within and outside of All. He gave me a riddle, deeply tied to a part of my personality that He wanted to rid me of, but I was resistant to. I awoke and spent the next few months running in circles trying to answer it.
Clarity came unexpectedly when I was given a second vision, simply instructing me how to make the Stone into a more suitable oil, and while awake, rend the veil. After months of preparation, the red oil was had, and with caution to the wind, and full faith in God and my knowledge, I tore the veil and beheld what I had no business beholding. Like a moth to a flame, I foolishly achieved apotheosis.
Stripped of personhood and form, the knowledge I cultivated was pulled out of my essence as if like a scroll, examined, and with a smirk discarded into nothingness. The answer to my earlier riddle was explicitly given to me, and incomprehensibly, that no human being is intended to experience, I became one with that which was mind-shattering, and all I could perceive, was loneliness. A single consciousness, whatever that means, in an infinite void, which was also the consciousness, and none of those concepts had any real relation to each other. There is no wording or eloquent speech I can utter to express this experience. In small fractal ways, it can be likened to a black fire, but also cold and liquid, heavy, and suffocating, like mercury metal, but penetrating to the core with such profound sorrow that you cannot begin to fathom. The veil closed and I was a human again, my mind and soul more broken for the mileage, but I couldn’t even process the experience. That is when the prelest set in.
Spiritual delusion, that is what prelest translates to. It can be as simple as the whispering of pride and arrogance into a troubled and driven teenager, or it can be as grandiose as to suggest that the absolute hell I just described is a good thing. Immediately, the rationale of what I just witnessed was intellectually spun into being a good thing, and even the goal of what I was after, which sounds insane, and quite frankly is, but since so much of the experience was overwhelming and beyond normal comprehension, it left a lot of interpretive room. Since nearly all esoteric teachings lay the foundation for this type of experience, it is child’s play to twist and spin it into a positive by the most cunning and subtle shadows. It took weeks to begin processing it and realizing that I had developed real anxiety from it – that an absolute fear of what can only be described as unending soul-death, terrified me to my core. At that moment, I realized my error and humbled myself. I prayed fervently and knew I had to face it again, but this time, in fear and reverence.
“Fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and the knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.” – Proverbs 9:10 What Solomon wrote was an understatement. With fear and trembling, and begging for mercy, I opened the veil again, but this time did not barge in as I had before. No, this time I prostrated before the Holy One and begged for Him to take this terror and anxiety from me. I knew and acknowledged the error of my ways, that I tread on holy ground and was not fit for it, as none but the Son are. With this, I was not met with wrath or punishment. Instead, I was shown and filled with the utmost love and mercy beyond words. For every ounce that the prior was incomprehensible horror, this was incomprehensible love, and that love came with a commandment. He said to me, “If you love me, as you claim you do, then keep my commandments. Love my Son, and trust those whom my Spirit dwells in that I bring into your life. Trust the Word which I had written and preserved. Believe in me, in my Son. Be a priest. You seek a purpose and I’m giving you one. Here is your calling to ministry. It’s the only meaningful thing that truly matters, and you will be miserable until you pursue it.”
I have never laughed so hard in my life. “Surely you’re kidding, right? Me? A priest?” Thankfully, He laughed with me but was adamant. The veil closed, and I sat there speechless. For so many years, I had distanced myself from the idea of “church” – how could I possibly return to it now? Where could I even begin? That answer was easier to find than most I’ve sought; simply start with the history. Backtracking all the denominations I was familiar with, led me to something I had never heard of, and that is not widely known in the Western world as a whole; Eastern Orthodoxy. The original Church, the one true Catholic and Apostolic Church established by Christ and his Apostles, with 2,000+ years of unbroken apostolic succession, Holy Tradition, and living Saints who triumphed over death through Jesus Christ, our Lord, and Saviour – that was and is the answer.
Within my Orthodox studies, I found the answers I did not even know I needed. Firstly, to the sin and heresy of apotheosis. It is often translated as “union with God” but this generalizing of language is a corruption tactic used by the very demons I sought relief from. Such corruption is how prelest, that is, spiritual delusion, comes into our lives. So when we break down the word “apotheosis” we find that “apo” in Greek means “off, away from, without” and “theosis” is the “likened to or union with God.” Thus, apotheosis is rightly defined as the tearing away from union with God. It is the antithesis of the actual union with God, which is theosis.
Orthodoxy teaches that theosis is the purpose of humanity, to be in union with God. That is what Jesus came to do; heal the wound that prevents us from that. They consider sin itself to be a wound to our souls that needs to be healed, and they often pray “Lord have mercy” which in Greek is “kyrie eleison.”
While we in the West think of “mercy” as simply “don’t hit me,” in Greek it has the same root as olive oil, which is “eleos” which was used to soothe wounds and light injuries. Also of note is the Hebrew word for oil is “hesed,” meaning “steadfast love.” So the main and repeated prayer of the faithful is threefold in meaning and entirely focused on the rectification of the person to God: of the creation to the Creator.
It is also worth noting that “Christ” in Greek is “Christos” which means “anointed one,” and that the act of anointing was the pouring of oil onto one’s head. Jesus walked on the water as a sign of His anointing, as oil floats on top of the water. Oil is also symbolically used to represent peace, and He is the King of Peace, a peace that surpasses all understanding – which I can wholeheartedly attest to.
Divine Illumination
By now you must think me either absolutely mad or possibly divinely touched. What I can assure you, is that I’m just a man that bit off more than any human can chew, and by grace alone am I here now. I like to illustrate it like this:
There is a palace, more splendorous beyond compare, and with mansions within it. The King of that palace, in His wisdom, built a wall around it with one entrance that is heavily guarded. But the wall is such, that people can go entire lifetimes and never arrive at the front gate. What complicates this situation, is that other people, driven by their passions, and influenced by the Enemy of the King, build smaller mansions against the wall and claim to be the front gate. Day and night they strive to draw people to them and use them to set up their comfortable station, all the while knowing they are not the front gate. If the people being fleeced realize this, over time they lose heart even looking for the gate.
Rather than being disheartened, I sought a way to scale the wall. The King, in His infinite wisdom, saw this, allowed it, and even left the window open for me to sneak in. Once inside, He revealed to me both the horrors of what we bring on ourselves and also the joy of what He desires for us all. He then led me to the front gate and commanded me to come back in the right way. That is the work set before me; set before us all. It’s a long road ahead, full of study, but also cleansing previous knowledge from demonic contamination, and resisting sins that many are unfamiliar with entirely. Some are common to all people; lust, greed, gluttony, sloth, wrath, envy… pride. I’m no exception, some worse than others, but to add to it, the rebellion of will, speaking empowered words, mentally walking through rituals, that is, to do them with my “nous” or mind – knowledge itself has become a potential sin for me. Jesus said if you commit the common ones in your heart then you have committed them – how much more so for that which can be meditatively performed in the mind, lab work, and physical items acting as anchoring for the noetic energies?
Such is my cross, and I will bear it. I fully believe that the Lord allowed such from me because, in our Western world, this type of sin is becoming more common. With the West’s broken theology leaving the spiritual soil ripe for the weeds of paganism and the continued heresy of apotheosis, more people than ever before are gravitating to esoteric and occult knowledge. The internet is expediting the sharing of this information, yet Eastern Orthodoxy, even among the heterodox (that is, the protestants), is practically unheard of. This is spiritual warfare at its finest. The Church will need to arm itself with experienced people that can adequately address these issues. For dabblers who experienced nothing, it’s easy to turn away from the Arts and write them off. But for those that experienced the fruit of those labors, and who know that there is truth within those practices, even if twisted by the Enemy – not adequately addressing these things can and will become a point of contention for the otherwise faithful.
Thankfully we have Saints who wrote on these matters in their times, and who can pray for us at the Throne of God as we fight this good fight. As more of us with these experiences come into the Church, we can do our part to help illuminate this alleyway of darkness and act as assets to the Church for disarming this most dreadful of spiritual traps. With pastoral guidance from our priests and bishops, and by the direction of the Holy Spirit, let us all go forth boldly in the faith of the ever merciful and life-giving God, partake of His glorious and dread mysteries, and submit ourselves unto Jesus Christ, our King, and our God.
Lord have mercy.
.......... You can keep up to date with the author Jessie's journey into Orthodoxy and his work here at his site: