Бесплатный фрагмент - Keys to the Witches’ Gate

Chapter 1 — Awakening of the Marked One

This story is not just about good and evil. It’s not merely about a girl. It is a story for those who doubt their path, for those who feel lost and

unseen. My story is for anyone who has ever felt different, alone in a world that refuses to understand.

From a young age, I sensed I was special. No one told me about the witches, exorcists, healers in my bloodline. When I spoke of a ghostly boy only I could see and hear, my family turned away or dismissed me. But the truth was burning inside me — a power, a force both protective and testing me since birth.

My childhood was marked by fear — a tyrant for a father, violent and cruel. I begged my mother to leave him, for my sake and hers. One near-drowning in the dark sea was my first trial, a test from the force within me that promised survival against all odds.

That power was always by my side — unseen but present like the universe itself. Like some know the stars exist, but few can see the cosmos through their soul. Every witch knows this: the power is alive from conception, waiting for its moment.

My grandmother healed with herbs during the war, helping strangers and family alike, bound by mission not fear.

Another grandmother was a witch. These truths I learned only slowly, and with each revelation, my path became clearer.

At eighteen, the visions sharpened. At twenty-three, when I bore my first son, I knew the power was real. It demanded action, and I had to listen — or be consumed.

Chapter 2 — Whispers Beyond the Veil

My husband was an illusion — broken by drink, controlled by darker forces. His mother, a witch devoted to black icons, held us captive in the shadows. She wove her dark magic around our lives, binding him like a puppet. I warned him — he could not see the chains, the hundreds of grim books lining her shelves, the curse pressing down.

I began to see demons behind human faces. To understand what possession means. The house was a battlefield, every moment thick with dread and silent war. I felt their power creeping, the unnatural bending reality around us.

Yet, within me, the first flickers of resistance grew. I was no longer just a victim — I was awakening. This darkness would not have me without a fight

My mother, just like I once did, begged me to leave my tyrant of a husband. She warned me over and over again that his family was pure evil. I was young, naïve, and deaf to her words back then. But oh God, how I wish I could scream to the world now — my mother was right.

His family had no limits. Nothing sacred. Nothing human.

An ordinary person might have said, “I’ve been through Hell.”

But as a Witch, an Exorcist, and a Healer, I know Hell does not exist in the way the world claims. Many religions forged this false image to keep people chained, obedient to their doctrines. I will tear down every curtain and tell the truth.

My mother-in-law would pour liquor into her son’s glass and whisper, “Drink.” I could not comprehend how a mother could cloud her own child’s mind, feeding the darkness inside him, encouraging him to become even more brutal toward me.

I saw hatred in his eyes. A hunger to kill me. To strangle me. And I didn’t understand why.

But in time, I learned to ask a different question — For what purpose?

It was another trial. My power was testing me again: Would I stand against the entity wearing my husband’s face? Or would I fall?

The Power screamed through my blood: You have no right to surrender. No right to be weak. Stand up. Fight back. Fear nothing and no one.

Remember the deep sea abyss where you were a fearless little girl. But there was one truth — he had broken me and buried me alive.

After the beatings, I would look at the bruises around my neck from his strangling hands, the purple marks blooming across my body… and I would sink to my knees. His family had put me there — on the ground, crushed. But I knew I had to rise again — not just for myself, but for my sons.

The real breaking point came when my younger boy, after witnessing the violence, simply stopped speaking. His voice was trapped. He stuttered and could not form a single word. I screamed into the abyss, Why?

Why?!

And then, the Power whispered: Remember who you are. Stand and fight. Move forward without fear. We will guide you.

I spoke aloud, I understand. I will rise. I will walk forward. Stay with me. And once again, the Power heard me — as it always hears its Witch.

The very next day, my son spoke again. Was it a miracle? No.

It was Power in action.

Not only did he speak — he sought justice. He called for his father’s arrest for the beatings and cruelty against his mother. But the world, as it often does, let the guilty walk free — because someone with a higher status had the power to protect them.

And so, the Power began teaching me how a Witch must truly defend herself. A Witch does not simply forget or forgive the strike — she strikes back.

In those moments, the Power trained me — through spells, through rituals, through magic, through astral journeys — shaping me into what I was born to become.

Chapter 3 — The House Where Shadows Breathe

The walls whispered secrets I could not escape. Every corner his eyes — watching, waiting. The air tasted of old grief and fresh malice. My husband’s vacant gaze was a veil; behind it, a war raged he could not win.

His mother, a priestess of darkness, moved like a shadow itself. Her rituals stained the air — black candles burned with unnatural flame, ancient words slithered from her lips. I saw the change in him: slow, crushing, as if his soul was drowning in her will.

At night, I heard the voices — not just hers, but something older, deeper. Demons that danced on the edge of sight, waiting for weakness. My children trembled under her gaze, their innocence a fragile shield against the abyss.

I felt the pressure crush me — body, mind, spirit. But the power inside me stirred. A quiet flame in the storm. I clung to it, my only hope in a house where shadows breathed.

I found within myself the kind of Power my ancestors once only whispered about.

A Power that would not let me be broken.

I rose — trembling with exhaustion and pain — and spoke aloud, to myself, to the world, to the sky:

And that single word cut through the silence like a blade. Enough — of suffering.

Enough — of fear.

Enough of allowing anyone to destroy me, my sons, or my Power.

In that moment, fear vanished.

I no longer trembled before my mother-in-law.

I no longer lowered my eyes before my ex-husband. I suddenly remembered: I am not alone.

The Power was with me. It had always been there.

And now, it stood beside me and whispered: “I will not abandon you.”

That was the beginning of my new story.

A story that would turn my life upside down and never again let me return to that former existence — the one lived in silence and shadow.

I felt it — I had changed. I had become someone else.

But what next? Where should I begin, so that I would not harm myself or my family?

I thrashed, like a fish beating against ice, desperate to break through to the air.

I searched for someone who could help me fling the doors of my world wide open. Someone who knew and understood more than I did then.

I believed there must be someone out there who could tell me — how to be a Witch, how to be myself.

But how naïve I was.

My thirty-third birthday was approaching — like a marker on the path. And still, I didn’t know what to do with this Power.

How to work with it. How to tame it. And yet, I kept moving forward.

Then, I met Him.

The Priest. The Exorcist.

The first time I looked into his eyes, I saw myself there.

He didn’t speak much, but his gaze carried more than words ever could. He looked straight into my soul.

He knew where my pain lay, and with what seemed like a single touch of his hand — he could heal it.

In him, I saw the reflection of what I could become.

I watched him, amazed — how he freed people from what lurked in their shadows.

How he cast out the demons that lived inside them and ruled their lives.

I saw him lay his hands on the sick — and barren women became mothers.

I saw him heal where doctors had already given up.

I stood there, and my heart pounded harder. I was not alone.

There were few like me — but they existed.

When all was said and done, the Priest looked at me and said:

— “You have a special mission. You are very strong. You will be able to withstand any force. People need you.”

Then he added, quieter, as if it was meant for me alone:

— “You have a unique gift. Protect yourself and your Gift. And believe in yourself.”

He didn’t teach me. He didn’t give me lessons. He only said:

— “Everything you need, you will soon understand yourself. People like you, with such immense power, must uncover themselves without another’s guidance.”

That was our only meeting. I thanked the Priest and left.

And as I made my way home, I cried.

Tears streamed down my face, and I spoke out loud:

“I want to be like him. I want to help people. I want to protect them from those like my mother-in-law.”

I spoke into the emptiness, but inside I felt the words harden into an oath:

“I will help hundreds. Thousands. I will clear their paths. I will be needed.”

When I finally came home, I told my mother:

— “I will help people. Everyone who needs me.” And then I fell asleep.

My mother sat beside her grown daughter, unable to believe the Power that lived inside this fragile woman.

A Power of more than one generation. The Power of our Bloodline.

She stroked my hair and whispered:

“May the Power always protect her. May it give her the strength to become who she truly is.”

Exorcist. Witch. Healer. Three mighty words.

And all of them — me.

All of it — in my blood, in my soul.

All of it — the Gift I was given at birth.

Chapter 4 — When the Darkness Tightens Its Grip

The darkness grew bolder, relentless. My husband, once a man I loved, was lost beneath layers of possession and despair. His mother’s magic thickened the air, wrapping around us like a suffocating cloak.

I felt the strikes — invisible, psychic wounds. Dreams twisted into nightmares, warnings etched into sleep. I saw visions of battles not yet fought, of sacrifices I had yet to make.

Still, doubt gnawed at me. Could I, a woman battered by life and shadow, stand against such ancient evil? The power inside me pulsed — stronger now, demanding trust and courage.

This was my crucible, my rebirth. To rise or fall. To embrace the witch I was born to be — or be consumed by the darkness tightening its grip.

I passed my trial. I was reborn.

And in that rebirth, I found my truest self — A self unlike any other woman.

A self that was fragile and unbreakable all at once.

A self that began to remember who she had been through lifetimes past. I found me.

I found my Power.

I walked my own path, knowing full well it would lead me through judgment, through rejection, through the cold stares of those who could never understand.

But I was not afraid. I was resolute.

I knew I was needed in this world — a world where my hands, my voice, my presence could heal.

I had no desire to destroy it.

I wanted to help, to see joy return to weary faces.

But I also knew one thing: I would never again allow deceit or malice to come close to me.

I learned to accept people as they were.

And that acceptance was both terrifying and beautiful.

I watched people transform under my gaze.

I saw the way children and adults alike would shudder in my presence, for I could draw out the entities, the shadows, the darkness that no ordinary witch could touch.

My Power is unique.

It weaves miracles that defy explanation.

And yet — despite the exhaustion — I was happy after each session. Because working with people meant letting them pass through me, letting them see in my eyes the reflection of their true selves.

It was like holding a mirror to their soul — showing them both the light and the lurking shadows.

I was happy because I watched destiny shift.

I saw people choose the clean, bright road of a life reborn.

My Power had shown me, for the very first time, exactly who I was. It is not something you can believe with logic—

It is something you can only accept.

And I know, as you read these words, many of you feel it. You sense it. It is as if magic itself is stirring within these pages, showing you images from inside your own soul.

This is not magic — it is your own Power speaking to you. I am speaking to you through it.

Do not reject it. Do not fear it.

Accept yourself.

Allow your Power to lead you on your path — the Path of Power.

In my world, I will help you.

I will burn away the fog so you can see yourself clearly, so you can feel your own Power.

I will guide you and reveal how you, too, can walk this path.

One day, a desperate client came to me:

“Mari, please… help my daughter. She cannot conceive.”

I shrugged.

“She must come to the realization herself. She must choose to help herself.”

Many people reject those like us — they dismiss our existence as fantasy… until fate forces them to see otherwise.

Some time later, the client brought her grown daughter to me.

From the moment she entered, the young woman was defiant — mocking, closed off, unwilling to work. But her mother’s eyes pleaded with me.

She knew the pain her daughter carried behind that mask of arrogance.

I wanted to send the girl away.

She did not believe in my Power — yet deep inside, she was desperate to be healed.

And my Power, which showed me her pain, would not allow me to turn her away.

It commanded me to help.

I drew the girl into conversation, using subtle psychological keys. At last, she smiled, remarking that I was “quite the psychologist.”

But my Power and I — we knew what we were truly doing.

I placed my hand over the deep block within her — the one that kept her from accepting motherhood. And I told her:

“In two months, you will send me a message of gratitude, telling me you are expecting a son.”

At that, something broke loose.

She burst into a wild, almost hysterical laugh, then began to cry and shout:

“That will never happen!”

She didn’t even hear her mother, who tried to calm her.

Instead, she pulled out a medical certificate, shoving it in my face: “It’s impossible! I am medically infertile!”

I looked into her eyes and said simply:

“In two months, I will hear from you.”

Exactly two months later, I received an overwhelming message of gratitude.

She was pregnant — with a son.

The same woman who had been told she was barren. Never doubt your words.

Never doubt your Power.

You are not wrong—

You are simply reading what the Power shows you.

Even if the paper says otherwise, even if the world tries to make you believe you are mistaken — you are more than this world allows you to be.

Trust your Power.

Do not bend to their “facts.” This, too, is a Witch’s trial—

Will she conform to what is placed before her…

Or will she stand her ground, unshaken in her truth?

CHAPTER 5 — THOSE WHO REMEMBER

What I tell you now is not just my story.

It is a whisper to the ancient memory that lives inside you.

You, the one reading these words — this is no accident. You did not stumble upon this book by mistake.

You were brought here because, deep within, your own fire has begun to awaken.

Let me speak to that fire now. You are not broken.

You are not weak.

You are not “too much,” “too sensitive,” or “crazy.” You are remembering.

There have been lives where you were silenced.

When your gaze, your hands, your voice — made others tremble. You burned in the fire.

You hid in the shadows.

You walked among the blind, pretending not to see.

But now, something ancient is stirring.

You are not like the others. You never were.

You are the mirror and the flame.

You are the storm and the silence that follows it.

And if my story resonates in your bones —

It is because your soul recognizes its own path.

Do not ask the world for permission to be who you already are. Do not wait for someone to come and save you.

You are the one who breaks the chains. You are the one your ancestors prayed for. You are the child of fire.

Stand tall in your power.

Speak your truth, even if your voice shakes. Dare to look within and say:

“I remember. I am ready.”

Let these words wrap around your soul like a cloak: You are not alone.

You are not lost.

You are exactly where you were always meant to be. This is not the end.

This is your beginning.

Chapter 6 — The Thorn Path of the Blood Witch

Power always leads the Blood Witch along a thorn-covered path. Before she may take upon herself the responsibility of healing others, she must first walk through fire, shadow, and silence — and survive.

A true Blood Witch does not need to summon demons, bargain away her soul to the Devil, or call upon the dead.

Her magic flows through her veins, passed down by the ancestors whose whispers she carries in her bone

Her only task is to endure the journey until she is ready — without fear, without hesitation — to see the world in its other reality.

Being a witch is not only about moments of joy and beauty. It is about pain.

It is about disappointment.

It is about the slow peeling away of every mask — until only the raw truth remains.

It is utter solitude.

It is watching your circle of acquaintances crumble, until only the few who belong to your frequency remain.

It is walking with a different scent, a different vibration — one that repels the rotting souls long before they can come close enough to harm you.

Blood power burns away all who approach with malice in their hearts.

I learned this early, for my first work with people was guided by the fire of my Exorcist gift.

With my eyes alone, I could strip away the shadows from within a person

— cleansing their soul of demons, curses, hexes, and all malicious bindings.

But I knew my power did not end there.

I felt there was more — deeper visions, deeper understanding — drawn from many magical lineages woven into my blood.

The test came sooner than I expected.

My stepfather, my mother’s beloved husband of twenty-three years, was diagnosed with a tumor in his lungs.

The doctors had no hope to offer.

My mother’s voice trembled as she clutched my hands.

“Daughter… I know you are strong. So strong. Please, help him. I can’t live without him.”

And I could not refuse her. That night I entered the Astral.

My guides came to me and showed me exactly what to do, what to say.

There, I performed my first true ritual in the Astral plane — and they awakened me fully as a Witch.

When the work was done, my stepfather was completely healed. The tumor simply vanished, as if it had never existed.

And that day, I began to understand: demons are not always the evil religion paints them to be.

They, too, can heal.

My mother’s joy was boundless. She wept from happiness and held me as though I were a miracle.

But Power never leaves a witch in one place for long. Soon, my visions shifted.

I was shown a new path, a higher level. And with it… came horror.

I woke screaming. My soul felt torn from within. I begged. I pleaded.

No. Not that. Not her. Don’t you dare take her from me.

But the Astral has no mercy.

It showed me the death of my mother.

I tried to bargain with fate. I would trade anything — even my own soul

— for her life. How foolish I was.

No one wants your soul. Not even the Devil.

I had saved many from the edge of death.

I had wrestled with Death itself — and won. But not this time.

They gave me two weeks. Two weeks to say goodbye.

Two weeks to carry the weight of knowing.

From that moment, my world split in two.

Everything was unbearably loud, and yet suffocatingly silent.

I memorized every detail — the way she laughed, the warmth of her hand, the smell of her cooking.

And each time I left her house, I would collapse outside her door and weep quietly into my hands.

Two days before the end, she took my hand and looked into my eyes. “Mari… you are strong. When I am gone, you must hold on. You are needed — by people, and by your sons.”

I clung to her hand as though it were the last rope above an abyss. “Mama, please don’t say that. You will live. Long and happily.”

But in her smile… I felt the truth.

A cold shadow slid down my spine.

—

Morning.

Dark — as though the sun had forgotten to rise.

I called her.

Long… slow… ringing tones. Then silence.

Not emptiness — but a hollow that devoured all sound.

“Mama… pick up…” My voice broke into a desperate, animal cry.

I ran. The streets blurred. The world faded. Only the pounding of my heart kept me moving.

Her home was empty.

But the air was heavy, metallic, soaked in farewell. I knew. She was leaving.

—

I tore through the veil between worlds and stepped into the Astral.

Before me stretched a corridor of stardust, vanishing into infinity. The walls whispered with voices not my own, their words chilling my skin.

At the far end was a tunnel of golden light, warm as a summer morning. And there she was.

My mother.

Walking toward it slowly, in her favorite soft blue dress.

“Mama! Come back!” My scream broke into a thousand echoes.

She turned to me. Her eyes shone with unbearable tenderness. “No, my daughter… My time has come. I love you.”

Then my grandfather appeared. Luminous, ageless, he took her hand. “It’s time, daughter.”

“No!” I tried to run, but black, living mist coiled around my legs.

My mother smiled through her tears.

“Mari… I’m not in pain anymore. I’m free. Let me go. You are my little witch… and I will always be with you.”

She stepped into the light.

The tunnel began to close. The golden sparks faded, one by one, like candles in the wind.

The last thing I saw was her silhouette dissolving into radiance.

And then… the world collapsed. I collapsed with it.

—

That day, I buried more than my mother. I buried myself.

And whatever part of me kept breathing… It lived only for others.

Chapter 7 — The Book Within You

People of Power…

Those who walk through fire, shadow, and abyss alone. Those who tear their own skin just to be reborn.

Those who, step by step, unlock the gates of ancient knowledge alongside their Power…

These are the strongest souls in the world.

Witches. Sorcerers. Exorcists. Healers. Do not fear your Path.

Do not fear the silence.

Do not fear the moment your own bloodline stops recognizing you.

You are not alone.

Listen to the whisper in the stillness. Listen to the dreams that burn in the night. Listen… to yourself.

If one day you see a shadow pass swiftly through you… Do not run.

Close your eyes. Breathe in. And ask:

“Who are you? What is your name?”

They will answer.

They are not here to scare you.

It is your ancestral Power, leading you — carefully, slowly — only to keep you safe.

Because when you begin to see everything, when the veil between worlds shatters,

— the world will never look the same again.

You will see what others cannot.

Entities gliding through humans as if this world belongs to them. You will hear cries for help, even from silent lips.

You will taste and smell the fear of the unseen.

It will be beautiful. And terrifying.

Because in that moment, you will stand alone. Knowing… they will not understand you.

Rarely, very rarely, is a Witch allowed a true Mentor. Most often, she becomes her own.

The world now drowns in illusion.

Every second person claims to have “power.”

Bloggers shout to the world that witches are made, not born.

They teach the craft to mortals. It’s laughable.

I know my true readers — those with Power pulsing through their veins

— understand this:

A Witch can only be born.

It is not a game. It is an ancient Gift.

It unfolds within you like a book that has always been there.

And in that book, there are no stolen words — only yours. You are the Book.

You are the book of ancient spells and forgotten incantations. You create rituals that work only in your hands.

You hear your Ancient Power calling you into your own realm — a realm where you discover exactly who you are.

Then you understand why a charm taken from another source fails. Your Power refuses the foreign.

It opens your own pages instead.

Millions of “rituals” have been written by empty hands — by those who know nothing of magic,

who cannot see beyond the veil,

who deny the very existence of spirits and demons, who are not worthy to call themselves Witches.

Witch — a word holding centuries upon centuries of secrets. Witch means “She Who Knows.”

You were born knowing.

You simply draw it from the depths of your memory, from your soul.

You know before you hear.

You see before your eyes open. You simply Know.

Because you are a Witch.

And you have always been.

Chapter 8 — The Awakening of the Serpent

My People of Power — those reading these lines right now.

Some of you are lost. Unsure. Afraid to walk the path of your destiny. You do not yet know how to access your knowledge… or how to step into the Way of Ancient Spells and Truths.

This message is for you.

Every Witch, every Sorcerer, in the beginning of their journey, reaches for everything in search of answers.

But as I have told you before — this only makes your path harder.

You try meditation because you’ve heard about it.

You join groups, hoping that in the noise of many you will hear the voice of your own soul.

But it doesn’t work like that.

A Witch carries a scent, invisible yet tangible to those ahead of her — a signature of Power.

And those who sense it may try to pull her strength into themselves, to grow more powerful at her expense.

This is why group meditations, especially practices like Kundalini in public circles, often do more harm than good.

In the best case, they will block your gift.

In the worst — they can chain your Power to entities you are not ready to face.

You are inexperienced, unguarded, and in those moments, you risk losing pieces of yourself without gaining anything in return.

Kundalini is not a group sport.

It is a sacred solitude — a journey into a private, inner temple.

It is the awakening of your Serpent, the one that belongs to no one but you.

This Serpent cleanses you, burns away blockages that keep you from moving forward, and walks beside you — responsible for you, bound to you.

The path is for you alone.

The Serpent does not share her dance with strangers.

—

The Science Behind the Mystery

(Because even magic wears a crown of truth)

Kundalini, in its essence, refers to a dormant life force coiled at the base of the spine — depicted as a serpent in many ancient cultures.

In yogic philosophy, this energy is said to rise through the chakras, activating higher states of consciousness and awakening latent abilities. Modern neuroscience observes similar phenomena: deep meditative states and intense breathwork can alter brainwave patterns, triggering releases of neurochemicals such as dopamine, serotonin, and endogenous DMT — creating visions, sensations, and expanded awareness.

But here is the truth most will not tell you: in someone with true Power, this process is far more intense.

It is not just chemical — it is spiritual initiation. Your Serpent is not a metaphor.

She is alive.

And she knows your name.

—

I could astral travel since my youth — though at the time, I did not understand how. No one had taught me.

From the age of thirty-three to forty, a Witch is tested relentlessly. By forty, the foundation of her Power is solid stone.

Her strength lives beneath her skin, unshakable.

One day, in the Astral, I was shown a new direction — a way to cleanse myself not only there, but in the waking world.

And for the first time, I heard the word: Kundalini.

I had never chased this practice.

Yet, one evening, I sat in lotus position, played a soft Kundalini track, and closed my eyes.

It was just me, the silence, and the faint hum of music in my world.

My body began to sway, as if under a spell from within. This was the awakening of my Serpent.

She rose slowly from my tailbone, winding up my spine.

I could see myself from the inside.

When she reached my head, she coiled around my neck, touched her tongue to my Third Eye, and whispered:

“Mari, are you ready to become One with me?

I will lead you into your true world — where you will see who you are, who you were, and I will unveil the hidden curtain of your Power.”

I did not fear her. I was in awe.

The Serpent can take you into the Astral — or teach you how, if you cannot.

She will cleanse the ancient blocks you have neglected, and lead you to your own Book of Knowledge.

Only your Serpent knows your true path.

She will take you to the place where the Ancient Gods initiate you into Power.

And once you step onto this path of Magic — there is no way back.

Your thinking will shift. Your vision will sharpen.

After Kundalini, you will never again be the same version of yourself.

You will see through people.

Your previous visions will seem like harmless fairy tales compared to the crystal clarity ahead.

Do not think you can “play” with the Serpent.

She chooses the pace, the lessons, the shadows to burn away.

If you enter into union with her — truly give her your consent — you will begin to become yourself.

The transformation may be painful: tears streaming, body shaking, visions overwhelming.

But she will bring you beauty, truth, and lead you to your Guides of Power — who will hand you your Book of Knowledge.

This is sacred. This is yours.

Every Witch, Exorcist, Healer — all have their own awakening, their own path, their own Serpent.

She teaches you to hear yourself, not the noise of the world.

Do not follow the crowd. Your path is yours alone.

Believe nothing until you have seen it with your own eyes.

You.

Your Power. Your Serpent.

One Being. One Truth. One Destiny.

Chapter 9. Remembering My Own

After the fire of Kundalini touched my spine and opened the doors of perception, I realized — this was only the beginning.

True awakening is not about feeling energy move through your body. It is about remembering who walks beside you as you travel this path.

Power does not come from the outside.

It awakens within you, then gently urges — look, see who walks with you. And one day, you stop searching the skies for a “savior” and begin to notice those who have always been here.

Not as images from someone else’s books. Not as characters from ancient myths.

But as living, powerful, ancient consciousnesses you can speak to.

They do not demand worship.

They do not hide behind the labels of “good” or “evil.”

They come when you already vibrate at their frequency — as an equal, not as a beggar.

At first, you believe someone stands above you. Then you realize power walks beside you.

And finally… you understand it has lived inside you all along.

This is not the “loss of God.” It is the entrance into Him.

It is the return home.

—

I learned to see them not as illusions, but as presences whose reality is unmistakable.

They do not need bodies. They do not shout through the mouths of others.

They touch your mind, and suddenly you know what no one has ever taught you.

But the world is full of counterfeits.

Under the names of the ancient gods, it is rarely they who come.

In 90% of cases, those who “possess” and receive worship are not power, but shadow — astral parasites, larvas, phantoms born of collective fear, fragments of distorted souls.

They are loud, dramatic, hungry for attention… and utterly hollow within.

True power does not cling to you. It does not feed on your energy. It ignites your own flame.

The parasite feeds until you are drained.

—

I have seen people seek “contact” with higher forces, yet all they receive are empty masks.

There are those who call themselves “servants of the gods,” yet their gods come not from the light of knowledge nor the deep darkness of wisdom.

They emerge from the swamps of the astral, their dominion built on fear.

I have seen whom the world’s so-called rulers turn to.

They fear the true ancient forces, because these forces cannot be controlled. They do not grant domination, nor can they be bought with blood or gold.

Instead, they call upon others — wardens of consciousness, born from the fear of millions, artificially grown egregores that live on the attention of the masses.

They are machines, puppeteers without a soul. Their power is real, yet illusory.

The true powers do not play such games. They do not hand you glory without inner work.

They bring awakening, cleansing, the death of the old and the birth of the new.

They come to liberate, not to bind.

—

I am a witch of the ancient path.

I do not summon forces to destroy — I hear, I see, I banish, I cleanse. I speak to them directly, without intermediaries and without fear.