This essay is fifth in a series based on the suggested writing assignments and exercises in Antero Alli’s The Eight-Circuit Brain. Each essay delves into a specific circuit. This one falls under Circuit Seven, which is tied to Saturn, Binah, the supernal mother and the unconscious mind.
My definitions of the eight circuits change as I continue my on-going experiments. Currently, I label them as (C1) survival of the fittest, (C2) emo power, (C3) logos, (C4) community, (C5) pleasure dome, (C6) psychic intuition, (C7) synchronicity and (C8) Morpheus.
The circuits run in pairs: C1/C5, C2/C6, C3/C7, C4/C8. Some of my essays handle them individually, others combine them. This one digs into the C7 unconscious projection of The Dream Lover onto our partners: The Anima/Animus urge to control.
I’ve never had much luck with the concept of a twin flame or soulmate beyond my teen years, save for maybe once, and that didn’t go very far. My stance of such idealization typically results in an eyeroll. However, I’ve always been curious about Carl Jung’s concept of the idealized partner: The Anima for men and Animus for women. Sorry, folks, but I didn’t create Jung’s binary system. You’re free to modify the terminology so it better suits your sexuality trip.
I never ventured too deep into Jung’s Anima/Animus urge. I just sort of mashed it with alchemy and didn’t revisit the subject. In my youth, I often felt a deep melancholy for a magical partner that could double as a lover, but it never happened, not even when I dated alleged magicians / occultists, so I gave up on the notion.
The closest I ever came to any literal sex magic that wasn’t purely symbolic and non-sexual turned out to be a total disaster. I slept with one of my initiators only to realize he was a sexual predator abusing power differentials and manipulating young women like myself across the country. Even though I learned something, I would’ve been better off without the trauma.
To experiment with the seventh-circuit realm of synchronicity, spirits, and the unconscious mind, The Eight-Circuit Brain book suggests performing an Animus ritual, in my case, since I prefer a male partner at this juncture. As I read the outline for Alli’s ritual, I learned that I had erroneously assumed the Anima/Animus dichotomy was the same dualistic archetypes as female/male within myself. Alli states the Anima and Animus “express completely autonomous forces not subject to our own propriety; we do not own them.” I wanted to see how true that was, so I geared up for the ceremony.
I covered a table with a red cloth. I set a collage—framed in red paint—of black-and-white images of Lucifer, Orpheus and Eros. Red equals sex. Black equals death. White equals come. Welcome to Jaime’s Morbid Tantric Alchemy 101.
The ritual called for a melange of items that represent unconscious desires projected onto a mate. I adorned the altar with a small sequencer, because I love music and the creation of it. The Knight of Wands tarot card, because I prefer emotionally mature men. Dried calendula marigold flowers in a white bowl, for solar power. A figurine of Shiva. A phallic quartz. A sanded twig. A copper disk I engraved with sigils that represent spirit descending to earth, which a magical partnership should focus on. A banana, for its shape and so I can eat the energy later, which I did. A piece of amethyst for its connection to Saint Valentine. And the Taschen book Alchemy and Mysticism. I also offered dragon’s blood incense and lit a candle in the cardinal points when I called the Animus.
I consecrated myself in a salt bath infused with calendula, rue, and wormwood. I meditated in savasana or the death posture. I felt and heard an astral wind roar and envelop me as I sank deeper into an altered state. I lay in the death posture and repressed memories bubbled. I relived moments with K.R., an artist who was much older than me, maybe 10 years or more, when I was only 15. We had an affair that didn’t end well. I remembered how I originally hung out with him because I wanted to learn how to combine metal and bone in sculpture. I didn’t intend to sleep with him, but it happened. Tears soaked my cheeks as I traveled back in time. I saw C.O., who was 21 when I was 13, and swirled through the good and bad memories there. Then I fast-forwarded to an ex I didn’t treat well, who was two years younger than me and deserved more than what I offered. I scrolled through the past relationships at hyperspeed. Not all of them were unsavory, especially not the last one. I saw his handsome face and got stuck in a loop of him turning away from me and his spirit falling back into me. Which is kind of weird because that’s what happened later with the Animus.
I did the C1 body-work portion of the ritual, meant for grounding in the beginning of the C2 Emotional Polarity Ritual, which is inserted in The Animus Ritual. I did a round of yoga and Pilates, to stretch my spine and raise heat and sweat. Sweat is proof of energy to any chaos magician. Then I projected opposing emotion before me and behind me. I stood in what Alli calls no-form, a kind of quasi-Qigong or Zen Buddhist stance whereby you silence your mind and dissociate from your body. I threw resentment behind me and cast love in front of me. I should mention I’ve done this emotional polarity ritual numerous times, and it’s always visual and psychedelic for me. I stepped back into resentment and my feet anchored in puddles of tar. I entered bat country. Bats flapped and flew everywhere out of control. A wicked vine curled and descended across my scope of sight, reaching down beyond my lens. I thought of various resentments from relationships, like words not followed through with action, or someone being emotionally unavailable at a time of need, or someone just doing something shitty like not taking you seriously when you’re physically injured. I centered back to no-form. I bounced into love. A soft flame that didn’t burn, flickered. A woven matrix connected two tilted eyes that linked at the pupils and formed a single eye at the bottom of a heart. Two seahorses kissed, pulled back, then coiled their tails and floated in union as a heart. I tasted seaweed and sea foam lapped at my ankles. I returned to no-form.
I turned my back to the altar. I called on the Animus and invited him inside of me. I felt a tingling sensation roll from the top of my head, down my spine, to my tailbone. A DNA double helix spiraled in my mind’s eye. Heat moved through my torso. I felt a presence turn around inside of me and fall back into me. I let him ruminate before I extracted myself from him. I turned around and faced the altar and invited the Animus to enjoy its shrine.
This is where it gets really weird and uncomfortable for me. I executed the Q&A portion, which felt ridiculous, but I was in a trance state, so I went with it, staring at Lucifer’s image the whole time.
Q: Why am I obsessed with eras of the past?
A: Because you’re not happy with the present.
Q: How do I find fulfillment in my intimate relationships?
A: You have to know yourself better than you do.
Q: How do I know this is you saying this and not me?
A: Because I’m going to tell you the truth.
Q: And what is the truth?
A: Your magical practice leaves you unfulfilled in this world because it is lonely by Nature. You are alone.
I’ve other hyper-personal questions about heart matters that I don’t want to share here. I’ll just say the response I got made sense and made me think more about where I’m at emotionally.
I said my goodbyes and sent the Animus on his way back to the ether. Centered in no-form. Banished the space. Blew out the candle. Ate the banana and tried to come down from the bizarre natural trip.
This ritual forced me to face my own weaknesses and expectations. It brought me to terms with a past I’ve denied. Whether the conversation occurred between conscious and unconscious parts of myself didn’t matter. I entered an altered state sans drugs and brought back psychological homework to contemplate.