EYE OF THE ABYSS

Last night, I called upon Arachne, the Spider Queen, and asked her to teach me how to traverse the labyrinth of the human subconscious. My intention was not comfort—I sought pain and suffering. I wanted to witness the crucibles in which people are forged. I longed to understand the very moment—the fracture point—where anguish transforms into raw, unstoppable power. Where a soul breaks, and instead of crumbling, becomes an unyielding force.

To many, this might seem like a morbid path, but for me, it felt necessary. I’ve never met a truly powerful individual who hasn’t been marked by deep suffering. There’s something about pain—it refines, sharpens, and awakens a hidden reservoir of strength. The most formidable people I’ve ever known have not emerged unscathed; they have emerged transformed. Not just survivors, but beings of pure will.

So I prepared the space: red and black candles were lit, Egyptian musk smoke coiled through the room, and her sigil was drawn with reverence. I offered red wine mingled with my own blood. I sat in stillness, machete in hand, and entered meditation. My consciousness began to dissolve. I was no longer myself. I became her—a monstrous hybrid, part woman, part spider. With countless arachnid eyes, I saw into countless realms at once. Each eye fixed upon a different Qliphothic tunnel, like watching infinite possibilities unfold. I was ready to travel. But before stepping forward, I thought of friends—those whose pain was still fresh, still devouring them from within. Their suffering had left them disoriented, trapped in their own chaos. Yet something about that darkness pulled me in. I asked Arachne, “Guide me into their minds. Let me witness everything, from birth to now.”

As I stood on the web of my reality, I raised my machete and tore a rift before me. A portal opened. With a single focused thought of the person, I was hurled into a spiraling tunnel that took me to their childhood. I saw everything—felt everything. It wasn’t like I was there physically; it was more like a projection on a screen. I didn’t want to influence or disturb anything, just observe. The story unfolded: childhood, adolescence, adulthood—all leading to the present. What I saw shook me. Their story was heavy, full of sorrow and resilience, and it stirred a deep desire in me to help guide them, not from a place of pity, but from recognition.

The next day, something had shifted. The person was warmer, more open, more alive. They leaned into connection, into joy—into lightness. I had taken care not to be seen, but perhaps the essence of the Spider Queen had left a trace. Something deep within them had stirred. Something old. Something healing.

In closing, I share this not merely to recount my experience, but to remind you of the infinite potential that lies dormant within each of us. When we choose to dive deep into the endless corridors of our unconscious, we begin to uncover the true architecture of our soul. And when we summon these divine masks—these sacred intelligences—with purpose and unwavering intent, the impossible begins to bend in our hands.

Arachne’s web of fate is not passive—it is alive, responsive, and ever-weaving. It can rewire entire realities in the blink of an eye. The power the gods place within our reach is not just symbolic; it is transformative. When we do not simply call upon their names, but invite them to dwell within us—when their wisdom becomes a part of our essence—it becomes inevitable: we begin to move as they do. We become as they are.