She Rides the Beast. Naked, crowned, and unashamed.
But not unbroken—because she has surrendered everything that isn’t real.
Babalon is not merely a woman. Not merely an archetype.
She is the threshold—the ecstatic edge where dissolution meets becoming.
To invoke Babalon is to walk willingly into the fire of your own unmaking.
She is the adversary of all that binds you: piety, restraint, false humility, borrowed shame.
She is not your comfort. She is not your mother.
She is the death of the lie you’ve been performing.
I.
The Whore of Revelation, the Grail of Desire
Named the Great Whore by those who fear the body and loathe the earth, Babalon is not the shameful one—she is the revealer of shame.
To the blind, she is blasphemy.
To the awake, she is the cup—the vessel of sovereignty, of sexuality, of sacrifice.
She does not hold wine, but blood—royal, carnal, divine.
In Thelema, she is Chaos’s consort, the Mother of Abominations.
But in the current of Radical Undoing, she is more:
She is the sacred wound through which the ego dies and the real Self is born.
To enter her is to be stripped of every story.
To become hers is to become no one—naked, bleeding, remade.
Not because she takes you. But because you pour yourself out in surrender.
II.
The Erotic is Magical. The Erotic is Surrender.
Babalon does not confuse desire with sin.
She does not flinch from the flesh.
She says: your hunger is holy. Your ache is divine. But only if you own it.
If you cannot surrender to your desire, you will never know your will.
This is not indulgence.
This is a reclamation of power that begins with the undoing of false divisions:
between spirit and body, power and pleasure, love and rage, sex and silence.
She strips the mystic of their robes and the rebel of their pose.
She says: Don’t show me your mask. Show me your need. Show me your flame.
And then she asks: Are you willing to surrender to it? Not control it. Not repress it. But surrender to the current that is yours?
To serve Babalon is not to kneel.
It is to offer yourself—open, whole, unhidden.
III.
Spill the Cup
Her cup overflows—not with pity, but with the blood of the self-offered.
Saints not of doctrine, but of devotion—those who surrender their fixed identity to become living flame.
This is the spilling.
This is the act.
Most live in tight loops—emotional rationing, spiritual thrift.
But Babalon does not ration.
She floods.
To be hers is to break the dam.
To spill what you’ve hoarded: your truth, your ache, your grief, your radiance.
To stop saving yourself for later.
You are not here to be preserved.
You are here to spend yourself, beautifully and dangerously, in alignment with your will.
IV.
Surrendering the Illusion of the Other
To undo the self is to undo the other.
Under Babalon’s gaze, no one is yours. No one is fixable.
Each soul is its own sovereign fire.
And love?
Love is what happens when two fires choose not to consume, but to burn beside one another.
She teaches you:
There is no salvation in control.
There is no safety in performance.
Only raw, conscious consequence.
If you seek redemption, she will ruin you.
If you seek purity, she will bleed you.
But if you seek truth—and are willing to offer all that is false—she will take your hand and lead you into the flame.
Babalon is not a goddess.
She is a state of surrender.
The blaze that ignites when you stop performing, stop pretending, and open—utterly and without apology.
To stand with her is to say:
I surrender my false self.
I offer my blood, my fire, my will.
I am no longer waiting.
I am no longer hiding.
I am no longer yours.
I am mine.
I am flame.
I am flesh.
I am free.
And I will never kneel again.