the-book-of-azazel

E.A. KOETTING
opening pathways above and below to allow the fiends to filter
into the Temple.
Cody began a mantra that he would repeat throughout
the ritual, despite the onslaught of abyssal streams:
“Lamvamramyamhamramaummm,” each syllable activating
the energy centers in each person in the room, opening not only
the Temple as a gateway into the world of spirits, but using our
own bodies to facilitate Their coming. Behind him, one of the
musicians began a drone on a Tibetan singing bowl.
I turned to the east. Amaymon’s sigil laid on the
ground, within the Triangle of Manifestation. I gazed into it.
Within seconds, the inked lines flashed and faded, and
reappeared in three dimensions. Amaymon’s presence trickled
into the Temple.
“Amaymon, I call you and conjure you forth to stand in
this Temple and to take your place within the Triangle. I
summon you to manifest before me in beholdable form and to
speak with me in a discern able voice. Amaymon, I give you
license to appear, I give you power to manifest, I give you this
call to come. Amaymon, come!”
The congregation repeated, “Amaymon, come!
Amaymon, come! Amaymon, come!” A peculiar yet familiar
fugue came over me, as if my brain was receiving too much
oxygen, as if I would black out at any moment. I stayed with
the fugue, recognizing it as a sure signal of the success of the
evocation, knowing that I could ride its waves into the world
between the worlds, where the materialization actually begins.
Swooning and swaying, losing all connection with the physical
world, with the basement around me, with the congregation
unsure if they should prepare to catch me if I started going
down, the fugue shattered, and my eyes looked to the Triangle
with new clarity. I could feel Amaymon there, in astral space,
preparing to breach the veil and enter our realm.
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