THE WORK BEGINS WITH ZERO

A Note on Becoming an Occultist

If it is real, it can take the pressure

-Terrence McKenna

There’s no badge. No certification. No robe handed to you with solemn words of welcome.

To become an occultist is to reach a point of such unbearable psychic pressure that you are forced to either collapse—or initiate. There is no external authority that grants the title. The work confers it. And the work begins with the destruction of everything that is not real.

Let’s not confuse that with belief.

This has nothing to do with what you believe.

This has to do with contact.

Direct. Personal. Irrevocable.

To become an occultist is to pull apart the scaffold of your identity—consciously, ritualistically—and see what bleeds, what resists, what lies beneath. You are not here to decorate the ego. You are here to dissolve it, name by name, mask by mask, until you reach the zero point.

Zero is not nothing.

Zero is the threshold.

It is the place you reach when all other methods have failed. When therapy, philosophy, and productivity have eaten themselves alive. When you’re no longer interested in fixing yourself, optimizing yourself, or loving yourself—but instead, in knowing what the hell you are. Where your voice ends. Where the others begin.

You’ve heard them, haven’t you?

You call them thoughts. You call them intuition. You call them madness. You call them trauma. But let’s stop pretending.

You are a haunted house.

And the voices are real.

This is not metaphor. Not psychology dressed in arcane robes. This is the work: identifying which voices belong to you (if any), which are echoes, which are parasites, which are ancestors, which are spirits, which are masks worn by a will far deeper than yours.

Doing the work means learning to listen, not with ears but with the whole field of your being. And to discern.

To do that, you must pass through undoing.

Radical Undoing. The stripping of tension, of habit, of facade.

This is what most call the “preliminary work,” but it’s anything but preliminary. It is the rite itself. The removal of chronic contraction. The facial armor. The breath held since childhood. The posture shaped by shame. The micro-muscles of submission.

Every ritual you perform before this is theatre.

Every invocation, a game.

Until you undo the knots, the gods cannot speak.

And they will speak.

They always have.

But you’ve been too full of self to hear them.

Which brings us to the Abramelin operation.

The Operation is a metaphor. Its instructions—while arcane—carry a simple demand: withdraw, purge, clarify, contact. Not with the intent to gain power over others, but to attain knowledge and conversation with that which guides you—the Holy Guardian Angel, your daimon, your signal, the True Will.

But let’s be clear: you won’t get there intact.

Something will be burned. And something will answer.

This work is not about healing your past. It is about destroying your false present.

It is about contacting spirits not as fantasy, but as fact.

They are real.

You are already in conversation with them.

But you’ve forgotten how to identify what is what.

You’ve been listening to one voice thinking it was yours. Another voice thinking it was God. Another—trauma, perhaps. Another—lust. Another—your mother. Another—nothing at all.

Your work, then, as an occultist, is this:

To strip away all assumption.

To return to the raw signal.

To speak to the dark.

And let it speak back.

To become an occultist is not to decorate your life with mystery. It is to walk into the void and refuse to flinch.

It is not belief. It is practice.

Not aesthetics. But sacrifice.

Not performance. But piercing contact.

And the moment you begin?

You are no longer the person who started.

You are breaking down the self.

You are undoing the knots.

You are learning to listen.

You are starting again—

at Zero.

From here, the real work begins:

To Become Who You Are.

Not the one you thought you were.

But the one who speaks with spirits.

And knows the difference.