Hastur

I stand with my back to something, quite relaxed and hands held loosely behind me. With these hands I feel a wall, some stone as if a foundation with verticals aligned toward the sky. He's back whispers Hastur. He's back. I feel for the first time his feminine breath airing my neck as he hangs nearby. My counsellor, my god when I was bound by illusion and I thought my god was a god, male and virile. A fantasy creation of a wonder less realm. In this I wandered for for many years, alone but for him and my ego.

This god, Hastur is powerful yet gentle. I am afraid of his fierce energies, the current that draws the very life from within me yet I am reassured that this is a very real god that walks with me through the darkness of my own internment. I am lost without him and I love him like no other bound by an eternal bond it is to him and his stars I will return, one day.

He, he promised me, he told me to wait and I with no patience stamped my foot and refused to pay any heed to him so he danced before me and spun around until even he became a simple vortex, an essence of what he was and what I would become if I did not wait. So I waited and he came.

One does not find the personal deity in books or dreams, in a tattoo parlour or famous tome. He is found within the abyssian experience, he comes from within and he is created by the energies which propel the magickian into the abyss. That is why he is so intrinsically linked to the whole experience, he shows the path to follow. Mine was Cthonic and that surprised me because I had spent so many years in the Hebrew, Latin and even Greek schools I felt a little annoyed I had no choice but the selection came from deeper within my unconscious self, that dormancy of gnosis which never fails to resurrect at the crucial moment.

When I began to prepare for the abyss, at that same moment in time an artist was creating this image of Hastur.

Image: The Haunter of the Dark: Hastur 1999 JOHN COULTHART