AUTHOR’S NOTE: Again, much of what goes on in the following won’t make perfect sense because references are being made to earlier events in the book’s text. That’s one reason why you might want to consider buying Crash Gordon and the Mysteries of Kingsburg, instead of just flitting around from excerpt to excerpt on this website. But for those of you who are merely curious—or too broke to spend money on books and too shy to demand that your local library buy it for you—here are a few more embryonic observations for your consideration….

• • • • • • • • •

From Pages 309-316: Yeah, I know… I’m quite the spunky little fucker at the age of three. It’s kind of obnoxious. But you should hear my singing voice—it’s not half-bad. And that Tijuana Lizardfishmonster get-up was goddamned prescient, as you’ll soon discover. I could tell that even Gordon’s daimon was impressed.

Anamnesis, in case you were wondering, is a Greek word that means, literally, “loss of forgetfulness.” It’s sort of the opposite of amnesia. Plato used the term when he talked about how all learning is really a form of remembering, a way of recalling the eternal spiritual truths we knew just before our souls took the plunge and incarnated in these lame, knuckle-headed human bodies again. You can especially see anamnesis in action with kids around preschool age, when they start picking up language and facts so fast that it seems like there’s no way they could be taking everything in for the first time—they must be remembering things they already knew somehow. And I’m not just talking about my own amazingly precocious, erudite, and quick-witted three-year-old self here. Just about any snot-nosed tyke my age does the same.

But anamnesis can go even further, if you’re lucky…. It can help you untangle illusion from reality and make you aware of your true divine nature. It can bestow grace, wisdom, and salvation. But only if you’re ready for it. Anamnesis arrives on a need-to-know basis.

Here’s another thing you should know about anamnesis: Some of the spiritual truths it reveals about life on this planet aren’t very pretty. Starting with the Big One: that we volunteered to descend into this prison world and lock ourselves into a linear-proceeding space-time matrix with hardly any memory at all of our spiritual identities—all just so human suffering could be inflicted on us.

Now why the hell would we do that? What are we, masochists?

Well, maybe yes, maybe no…. Like I’ve said before, there are lessons our souls need to learn from our time spent on Earth, lessons we can’t seem to learn anywhere else. So in a way, we’re being educated and enslaved all at once. But if our souls are making progress, we’ll also learn to break free from false, limiting realities. We’ll learn to say “fuck off” to tyranny. One particularly good spur toward doing that is suffering:

“What can one say in favor of the suffering of little creatures in this world?” Philip K. Dick wrote before the end of his wild, traumatized life (Five marriages! Drug addiction! Grinding sci-fi poverty!) “Nothing. Nothing, except that it will by its nature trigger off revolt or disobedience—which will in turn lead to an abolition of this world and a return to the Godhead.”

If you want my opinion, the abolition of this world won’t be happening anytime soon, so don’t get your hopes up. Philip K. Dick—let’s call him Phil, for short (Dick just sounds so fucking vulgar)—experienced his own personal abolition after a series of strokes and a heart attack in March of 1982. He never got to see the theatrical release of Blade Runner, the movie made from his novel, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, which came out later that same year. (Gordon and his buddies saw it and thought it was one of the best movies ever, even with the dopey voice-over narration.) Life was just about to get good for Phil, so he died. Typical.

He was only fifty-three. During his abbreviated life span, Phil wrote over fifty volumes of novels and stories. By doing all that writing (and a ton of reading), he modified the structure and contents of his own mind so that new perceptions of an increasingly complex mystical order could flow through it: Anamnesis of eternal truths, or Plato’s Forms. If you’re like me (a space- and time-transcendent soul fresh from the Other Side, lightly tethered to a fetus waiting to be born), this will start you thinking about memes—a word coined by Richard Dawkins to refer to bits of culture, or ideas, that reproduce and compete just like genes. Or maybe you’ll start thinking about William Burroughs’ language as a virus theory as it relates to the Logos doctrine regarding Christ—Logos being defined by Phil as “both that which thought, and the thing which it thought: thinker and thought together.” But it’s too easy to get lost there, obviously—so let’s just keep it simple by saying that on February 20th, 1974, Phil experienced what he described as a theophany, “an in-breaking of God, an in-breaking which amounts to an invasion of our world….”

“Lurking, the true God literally ambushes reality and us as well,” Phil wrote in his novel, VALIS (an acronym for Vast Active Living Intelligence System), which tried to make sense of the whole business. “God, in very truth, attacks and injures us, in his role as antidote. As Fat can testify to,” (Horselover Fat, Phil’s insane, split-off alter-ego in the book), “it is a scary experience to be bushwhacked by the Living God. Hence, we say the true God is in the habit of concealing himself…”—which sounds a lot like how a daimon operates, now doesn’t it?

Anyway, whether it resulted from a daimon or the True God or the inexplicable workings of the Logos, we’re talking gnosis with a capital G here. What happened was this: Phil was at home moping around after having two impacted wisdom teeth pulled. His dentist had shot him full of sodium pentathol (truth serum) and its effects were just wearing off when a girl from the local drugstore showed up at his door to deliver some prescription painkillers. Phil found himself entranced by the gleaming gold fish pendant on the delivery girl’s necklace. He asked her what it was and she said it was a sign worn by the early Christians (the vesica piscis). In an instant, Phil saw “fading into view the black prison-like contours of hateful Rome” circa 50 AD, where he and the girl were secret Christians.

“We lived in fear of detection by the Romans,” Phil wrote of the experience later. “We had to communicate with cryptic signs. She had just told me all this, and it was true. … But, of much more importance, I remembered Jesus, who had just recently been with us, and had gone temporarily away, and would very soon return. My emotion was one of joy. We were secretly preparing to welcome Him back. It would not be long. And the Romans did not know. They thought He was dead, forever dead. That was our great secret, our joyous knowledge. Despite all appearances, Christ was going to return, and our delight and anticipation was boundless.”

I guess you could write all this off as a weird drug hallucination. Or you might hypothesize that our buddy Phil was experiencing a psychotic breakdown. Whatever it was, the visions and revelations continued over the next several weeks—and if anything, they got even freakier. Phil started to believe he was living two overlapping lives: one as himself and the other as a guy named Thomas, a gnostic Christian who lived during the first-century under the shadow of the Roman Empire. Phil also discovered he could speak in Koiné Greek, an ancient language he’d never studied that was used to write the New Testament. And one day while he was lying around listening to KNX-FM on his little beside radio, Phil heard the lyrics of ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ change into the prophetic warning: “Your son has an undiagnosed right inguinal hernia. The hydrocele has burst, and it has descended into the scrotal sac. He requires immediate attention, or will soon die.”

(“Inguinal Hernia Forever….” Go ahead—just try to imagine John Lennon carrying a tune to that.)

Phil told his wife, Tessa, to make an immediate doctor’s appointment for their ten-month-old son, Christopher. The doctor confirmed that the warning was essentially true (Christopher had a life-threatening hernia and two swelling hydroceles—but neither of them had burst). Surgery was scheduled. The hernia was repaired and the hydroceles were excised. Theophany, drug-fueled hallucinations, or psychosis—whatever you ascribe it to, Christopher’s life was saved.

After the visions stopped, or at least slowed down, Phil spent the remaining years of his life trying to figure out just what, exactly, the hell had happened to him. He tried to assimilate the experience, and make sense of it, using the vocabulary and understanding he’d built up through all of his years of reading and writing. Phil wrote everything down in a journal that he called his Exegesis, which ran to something like 8,000 pages—over a million words. As Phil described the process in VALIS: “Fat must have come up with more theories than there are stars in the universe. Every day he developed a new one, more cunning, more exciting and more fucked.” One theme that Phil kept coming around to in the Exegesis was that there must be “a mysterious Holy Spirit which has an exact and intimate relation to Christ, which can indwell in human minds, guide and inform them, and even express itself through those humans, even without their awareness.”

Whether he realized it or not, Phil was writing about his own daimon.

The third-century Neoplatonist philosopher Plotinus spoke of daimons as being “both within us and yet transcendent”—meaning they can show up inside our heads (in our dreams and interior voices of inspiration), and outside our heads (as apparitions, etheric Indian shamans, and Phildickian visions). Dr. Carl Jung (who referred to his own daimon as Philemon) elaborated on those two paths for daimonic manifestation in his commentary on the Bardo Thödol—or as it’s known in the West, The Tibetan Book of the Dead:

“Not only the ‘wrathful’ but also the ‘peaceful’ deities are conceived as sangsâric projections of the human psyche, an idea that seems all too obvious to the enlightened European, because it reminds him of his own banal simplifications. But though the European can easily explain away these deities as projections, he would be quite incapable of positing them at the same time as real. The Bardo Thödol can do that…. The ever-present, unspoken assumption of the Bardo Thödol is the antinominal character of all metaphysical assertions, and also the idea of the qualitative difference of the various levels of consciousness and of the metaphysical realities conditioned by them. The background of this unusual book is not the niggardly European ‘either-or’ but a magnificently affirmative ‘both-and’.”

Try thinking of the Bardo as analogous to the light spectrum. We only see the visible light that makes up the colors of the rainbow, but that doesn’t mean the infrared and ultraviolet edges of the spectrum don’t exist. We just can’t see them. The Bardo is sort of like that. It’s all around us—we’re swimming in it—but most of us can’t see it (cats see more of it, which is why they jump at things when we think there’s nothing there). The Bardo includes the physical realm we know on Earth, but that’s just one level—like one station broadcasting at a specific frequency on the radio (“You’re tuned to 90.3, Earth Realm, on your Bardo dial…”). When we tune in to a new station the old one doesn’t disappear, right? It’s still broadcasting; we’re just not listening to it anymore. Occasionally, we’ll hear a fuzzy hint of another station, as static, if the station frequencies are set too close together. Maybe that’s what happened to Phil on February 20th, 1974. He experienced some metaphysical reality static. Bardo bleed-over.

Phil arrived at a similar conclusion when he wrote that ‘hallucinations, whether induced by psychosis, hypnosis, drugs, toxins, etc., may be merely quantitatively different from what we see, not qualitatively so.’ Maybe hallucinations are just other aspects of metaphysical reality that our brain’s neural filters are keeping out, so we can go on with our everyday consensus reality convictions on “the mundane plane,” as Mircea Eliade described it. The human brain’s hundred billion neurons must be sensitive to all kinds of things outside the normal range of our five senses. Maybe even the act of thinking can generate thought patterns in subtle energy fields that can be picked up by other brains and translated back into the same thoughts—again, like a radio signal. The renowned biologist Rupert Sheldrake called this theory Morphic Resonance.

Who knows? If that’s how it all works, as Phil found out, it’s almost impossible to prove. If seeing certain aspects of metaphysical reality is intrinsically linked to the level of a person’s consciousness, then that metaphysical reality can’t be fully comprehended by others until their own level of consciousness has changed.
Another recurring theme in Phil’s Exegesis was that the Roman Empire never really ended. Look at Entry 29, for example (published in the appendix of VALIS):

“We did not fall because of moral error; we fell because of an intellectual error: that of taking the phenomenal world as real. Therefore we are morally innocent. It is the Empire in its various disguised polyforms which tells us we have sinned. ‘The Empire never ended.’”

You want my take? What Phil is saying there is basically true, but it goes much deeper: The Empire is just one of the many faces of the Dark Brotherhood, and they’ve been around since the very beginnings of this planet. The Dark Brotherhood is made up of the archons—the demonic punishers and exploiters of mankind—and those who’ve joined their cause over the course of human history.

The archons never left us.

Think of the archons as spiritual challengers from the lower realms of the Bardo, demigods who work behind the scenes to advance the agenda of the Dark Brotherhood—a sort of world-encompassing metaphysical Mafia that shows nothing but contempt for human laws. The Dark Brotherhood can be recognized by its steadfast and stealthy opposition to the natural evolution of liberation and enlightenment for all of humanity. They’re like the greedy CEOs of corrupt, polluting global corporations. In fact, they are—among other things—the greedy CEOs of corrupt, polluting global corporations. They want all the power in the world, and they want it for their own selfish, antisocial ends. (“More tax cuts for the filthy rich, anyone?…”) They’re the exemplars of Lord Acton’s dictum, coined after the First Vatican Council’s declaration of papal infallibility: “Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

The typical human representative of the Dark Brotherhood is an incredibly vain, arrogant, psychopathic personality who has cultivated his lower soul, or False Self, over many lifetimes with no time in-between spent on the Other Side (for him it’s just one damned incarnation after the other…). In the process, he’s cut himself off from his higher soul—and its chances to merge with spirit—in exchange for the Dark Brotherhood’s promise of temporal wealth and power. This is what we mean when we say someone has sold their soul to the devil. They’ve really just clipped their soul’s wings by putting it in service to the archons.

Most of the human Dark Brothers are mere puppets, completely unaware of the archons pulling their strings. Their naked greed—their lying, cheating, hoarding, crassly manipulative ways—puts them in harmonic vibration with the Bardo’s lower levels; they become almost mechanical, easily susceptible to morphic resonance from the superior group-mind of the archons. Often, without even realizing it, these humans (who can be presidents and kings) act on thoughts and compulsions that aren’t their own.

Okay, so maybe on the surface all this sounds too weird and impossible to be true, but check with your intuition—you’ve known something like this has been happening all along. It explains the demonic nightmare-logic and anti-evolutionary tendencies in the flow of human history. If all the progressive and regressive currents in world events constitute the moves in a five-dimensional gnostic chess game, as Gordon intuited, then the True God must be on one side and the Dark Brotherhood on the other:

“Your reality move…” says the True God.

“We’ll blow Kennedy’s brains out in Dealey Plaza,” says the Dark Brotherhood.

“Fuck! That’s the same move you pulled on me with Lincoln!” says the True God. “I can’t believe I fell for that again!”

“All the signs were right there in front of you,” sneers the Dark Brotherhood. “You should’ve seen it coming when we went after Marilyn…. Putz.”

It’s in the inherent nature of the Dark Brotherhood to sow fear and hatred among the world’s people. They feed on it. (More about that later….) But there are at least some rules to this game that the True God and the Dark Brotherhood are playing. One of those rules is called the Law of Free Will. Basically, what that means is that the archons or the True God or your personal daimon are not allowed to do certain things that would upset your life and reality unless you give them permission first. They can’t just come right out and ask you, because even the act of revealing themselves would constitute a violation of your free will. So instead, they have to do a lot of beating around the bush.

The direct approach wouldn’t work too well for the archons, anyway (“Hey, um, would it be okay if we torch your house, rape your dog, and paralyze you from, let’s say, your nipples on down? Just wondering…. Oh, and by the way, we plan on dismantling the Social Security system and privatizing schools so they can be run by our highly trained, crack teams of pedophiles and book-burning sadists. You don’t mind, do you?”). With the direct approach out, what the archons do instead is provide you with a few synchronistic hints and nudges and plenty of meaning-laden symbols to show you how the deal will go down. That’s supposed to be fair—and it would be, if people knew about the Law of Free Will and could study archon symbolism in advance. But the sad fact is that most people have been media-hypnotized into complacency (the Dark Brotherhood pretty much owns Hollywood and all the major news providers), so instead of heeding the warnings, they just act like a bunch of cows and do nothing. Their free will is then considered relinquished and the archons are free to do their dirt.

You want examples? Sometimes something as simple as a name can give the game away. Consider the names of some of those who’ve drawn on the collective goodwill of Christians and Americans, and then used that collective energy toward regressive ends: Jerry Falwell (Fall Well), Jimmy Swaggart (Swagger + Braggart), Cardinal Ratzinger (Rat Zinger), Newt Gingrich (I mean, come on… who names their kid Newt?!). Need more examples? For beating around the bush, you can’t beat what goes on around the Bush family.

Oh, and don’t forget Arnold Schwarzenegger….

• • • • • • • • •

From Pages 504-509: You could be forgiven for assuming that Lloyd is getting off on some kind of sick mind-trip that involves scaring the piss out of gullible teenagers (to paraphrase Dorothy on her way through the spooky forest of Oz: “Vampires and archons and demons—oh my!”). That assumption, however, would be wrong. While Lloyd, on his fat surface, might seem like a walking, talking sausage casing filled up with nine different kinds of asshole, I can assure you that in the murky, polluted depths of his soul he genuinely wants to help. He just has a daimonic way of going about it.

You should actually give Lloyd major points for trying to pull back the curtain on consensus reality and show Gordon and those guys what the Dark Brotherhood wants to keep hidden. After all, the world won’t get any better unless darkness is exposed to the light. Most abuse happens when the abuser thinks no one is watching. Elitists exploit the masses while hiding behind their multimedia smokescreens. The CIA sends its assassins in the guise of ordinary slobs like Mark David Chapman…. But when everybody can see what’s going on, the bad stuff has to stop—or at least slow down some.

The trouble with conveying the truth about the realms of deep politics and high weirdness is that most people just can’t get past the cognitive dissonance (their brain’s childish way of shutting down and saying, in effect: “I don’t want to know about all this horrible stuff! It’s too much!”). But even once you’ve gotten past the cognitive barriers to entry, once you’ve begun to understand just how bad the situation really is, you still have to figure out how to do something about it. And that’s hard… but it gets easier as more people find out about it. So the First Rule of Fighting Evil (or confronting archons or integrating the shadow or whatever…) is simply this:

“Find out what they don’t want you to know and spread the word.”

Let me give you an example: You know all about the Love Song of J. Edgar Hoover, right? How he ruled the FBI as its Director for almost 50 years. How he lived with his mom for a good portion of that time and then spent his last four decades in an intimate relationship with a guy named Clyde Tolson. (But he wasn’t gay! J. Edgar Hoover persecuted the hell out of people who were gay!) How he obsessively built up dossiers full of incriminating evidence against friends and enemies alike—using wiretaps, buggings, burglaries… whatever was necessary. How he then used those dossiers for purposes of blackmail whenever the mood suited him. How he really went overboard in the mid-fifties, when he started violating the constitutional rights of U.S. citizens by spying on them with COINTELPRO, a counterintelligence program designed to “expose, disrupt, misdirect, discredit, and otherwise neutralize” the activities of so-called “subversive” groups and their individual members. Targets of COINTELPRO included the Socialist Workers Party, the Students for a Democratic Society, Martin Luther King’s Southern Christian Leadership Conference, and almost any anti-war protestor who could be considered a significant asset to the New Left—including Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin, and John Lennon. Techniques used by COINTELPRO agents and their paid informants included covert infiltration, psychological warfare, dirty tricks, false arrests, harassment through corrupt legal systems, unfairly targeted tax audits, “accidental” violence, brute force, and (of course…) assassinations.

And how do we even know that COINTELPRO existed? It was kept secret until 1971, when a group of left-wing radicals calling themselves “The Citizens’ Commission to Investigate the FBI” broke into an FBI field office and took off with several armloads of FBI files, which were then passed along to news agencies that published the juiciest extracts. Shortly thereafter, J. Edgar Hoover was forced to publicly declare the reign of COINTELPRO over. Then he died in 1972, most likely from aggravation.

Let us now spend a moment in silent praise of certain left-wing radicals….

Of course, the FBI didn’t stop spying on U.S. citizens after Hoover died. That would’ve been about as likely as every crooked politician suddenly deciding not to run for office after Nixon resigned. The FBI just got sneakier and the Republicans elected Reagan and Bush. And who knows what happened to those left-wing radicals? You can bet the FBI wasn’t planning to just leave them alone. Maybe some of them went into hiding, like Abbie. Maybe some of them made the transition from yippies to yuppies, like Jerry. Maybe some of them met violent ends, like John…. (Let’s hope not.)

Violence is pretty much an unsolvable riddle while you’re spending time on Earth. It’s like a fucked-up Zen koan. You can’t just be a coward and roll over when someone threatens you with violence, but you can’t meet violence with more violence, either. Martin Luther King eloquently explained why when he said:

“The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth.”

Of course, we all know what happened to Martin Luther King….

So what’s the best way to deal with violence? Mahatma Gandhi’s path of non-violent resistance looked like it had potential—and he accomplished great things with it, like the independence of India in 1947. But we all know what happened to Gandhi…. When a guy goes around saying there are lots of causes he’d die for, but none that he’d kill for, I guess some people think he’s just asking to be assassinated. But we should also remember that Gandhi said this:

“When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of love and truth has always won. There have been tyrants and murderers and for a time they seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall—think of it, ALWAYS.”

Anyway, fuck assassins and their bone-deep dumb methods of dealing with people who are superior to them in every important way. From the perspective of your immortal spirit, knowing that consciousness survives on the Other Side, do you really want to live in a world where some dark-minded dickhead gets to take you down whenever you try to do the right thing? No, I didn’t think so… which brings us to the Second Rule of Fighting Evil:

“Don’t play by the rules of their games.”

So speak up, do what needs to be done, but don’t make yourself an easy target for the shooting gallery. And don’t go to war, kids. Avoid all needle drugs (Abbie Hoffman said that first, then he added, “The only dope worth shooting is Nixon”). As a general rule, try to avoid becoming addicted to anything, if you can. Don’t become stockbrokers or gamblers or mindless consumers of products you don’t need. Corporatism will collapse if we don’t buy what they’re selling—their weapons and waste, their fear-spreading memes, their self-serving versions of history. Lloyd is absolutely right when he talks about the fascist tendencies of corporate egregores. But don’t just take my word for it. Benito Mussolini, the 20th-Century Poster Boy for Fascism, said it best:

“Fascism should more properly be called corporatism because it is the merger of state and corporate power.”

(Mussolini also said: “War is to man what maternity is to a woman. From a philosophical and doctrinal viewpoint, I do not believe in perpetual peace;” “Blood alone moves the wheels of history;” and “The truth is that men are tired of liberty.” Nice guy, huh?)

So on the one hand, you have Martin Luther King and Mahatma Gandhi, on the other, Benito Mussolini…. Care to choose a side? You might think the right choice would be obvious, but from the perspective of 1983 (and 2003, as well), it looks like the spirit of Mussolini owes Reagan and Bush—and the Republican Party, in general—a big old wet, sloppy kiss.

Lloyd is about to head off into territory that makes Mussolini’s Fascist Italy look a fairy garden tea party. He plans to elaborate on his pet theory about how ritual murders tend to occur around open interdimensional portals. A lot of it’s bullshit, if you ask me…. To get things rolling he’ll bring up the unsolved case of the Black Dahlia murder in Los Angeles, which happened in 1947, right around the same time that Jack Parsons and L. Ron Hubbard were getting their hard-ons for the Whore of Babylon. Everything is connected (believe me, I know…), but Lloyd seems kind of myopic in the way he draws the lines. Sometimes I think he’s too narrowly focused on the negative, enjoying the view through Aleister Crowley’s satanic-red-tinted glasses a bit too much. Anyway, there were other things—good things—happening around 1947, which Lloyd might have mentioned for the sake of balance.

One of those good things was the initial translation of the gnostic codices from the Nag Hammadi Library, which had been discovered in Upper Egypt about a year earlier, in December of 1945. Philip K. Dick made a big deal out of this in VALIS and his Exegesis. It had been revealed to him (or so he claimed) that a creature of pure information—a “plasmate”—had been sealed in an earthenware jar along with the codices and buried under the Egyptian sands sometime around 370 AD. After the rediscovered codices, written in Coptic, were finally translated and read again for the first time in 1947, the dormant plasmate was revived. How? Phil described it this way: “As living information the plasmate travels up the optic nerve of a human to the pineal body. It uses the human brain as a female host… in which to replicate itself into its active form.” That active form—“a human being to which the plasmate had crossbonded”—Phil called a Homoplasmate. He thought he might be one himself.

Phil considered this particular plasmate to be nothing less than the Logos, as embodied by Jesus Christ. The Logos, Christ, the Holy Spirit, and the True God were all identical in Phil’s cosmology. So it would follow that the translation of the Nag Hammadi Library had been a very good thing. New Homoplasmates were being created. All the original ones had been killed off by the Romans—or the Empire, in Phil’s terminology (or the Dark Brotherhood, in mine). In Phil’s interpretation of gnosticism—gleaned from translations of the Nag Hammadi texts—man belongs with the True God in a struggle against this screwed-up world and the angry, deluded demiurge that created it. The True God “has outwitted the powers of this world, ventured here to help us, and we know him as the Logos.”

(As for why the True God allowed the demiurge get us into such a shitstorm of trouble in the first place, Phil could never quite figure that one out….)

By now the thought might be dawning that you could be a Homoplasmate, too. Well, sure you could… why not? All you need is some plasmate traveling up your optic nerve. You can even get that here, if I’ve done my homework right. Most likely, though, you already carry the Logos inside you, along with your Divine Spark. The tricky part is learning to listen to it and do what it suggests without your ego getting in the way. In that respect, it’s kind of like working with a daimon. In fact, it’s almost exactly like working with a daimon. The only difference is that a daimon’s interactions will tend to be more personalized and idiosyncratic, because they’re tailored toward the evolution of your soul, whereas the wisdom of the Logos has more universal applications, because it’s a direct connection to the True God. Otherwise, everything that I’ve said about daimons applies.

Look, I know it sounds weird—almost schizophrenic—to suggest that you should get in touch with an alien source of language and images inside your own mind that has a God-like level of wisdom, but seventeen-hundred years ago the Logos was a commonly accepted phenomenon. Ancient philosophers like Heraclitus did everything they could to get in touch with the Logos for guidance and revelations. The authoritative over-reaching of scientific materialism has made that idea seem preposterous, but I can assure you, the Logos exists. In fact, it inspired the Third and Final Rule of Fighting Evil:

“Listen to your angels and everything will turn out fine.”

By angels I mean guardian angels, or your daimon, or the Logos—whatever you have access to. Try not to listen to demons, which are deranged angels in disguise. Don’t worry… there’s no reason to wuss out here because you’re afraid of dialing a wrong number. With experience you’ll find that demons are as easy to differentiate from angels as Dracula is from Santa Claus—and experience, in the long run, is what incarnating on Earth is all about.

So come on! What are you waiting for? Let’s go out there and kick some demon ass!