Tributes to Nikki Wyrd

Tribute by Sator Wry

At this time of year, we reflect on those we have lost, the impact they had and continue to have in our own lives. In August we lost Sator Syzygy, known to the outside world as Nikki Wyrd. Since then, I have tried many times to put that loss into words. To express the twin feelings of deep gratitude for the honour of knowing her and deep grief in knowing I will never again share our circle with her living presence. 

As I grasped for words that would not come, I remembered Nikki would always advise you to start small. I cast around for one word to begin to encapsulate her legacy and the word that came was – Incisive.

Nikki was incisiveness incarnate. The word encapsulates a powerful intellect that can look at the full complexities of the universe and our place within it, and distill it into a to-do list with numbered steps and a spreadsheet to track progress. Whether she was planning a ritual, mentoring a Novice, editing a text, leading the psychedelic revolution or working out what to feed her kids, she brought her whole self into the task with a sharp and sometimes unnerving focus. 

When I met Nikki Wyrd, it was difficult not to immediately become a fan-girl worshipping this powerfully present practitioner. The main reason I didn’t fall at her feet in admiration is because she would have instantly banished me from her presence because she had no time at all for that kind of nonsense. For all her awesomeness she remained firmly human at all times. A leader of equals who was acutely aware of the natural power dynamics that exist within groups and was careful to make them explicit so they were not abused.

Later, I was privileged to be Mentored by Nikki. She was my second mentor and she took me on because I was struggling with the Novice program. More than that, I was struggling with life. Now I have language around neurodivergence that I can use to express many of those struggles, but at the time I did not, and the Novitiate was looking like just one more thing I would fail at, one more reason to hate myself, one more way I would never be good enough and in our first conversation it all poured out of me in a long, self-indulgent rant which could be summed up with the words ‘woe is me’. 

Nikki listened carefully and had exactly zero sympathy. I snapped back that I wasn’t looking for sympathy. Yes, I was frustrated and upset, but I didn’t expect her to fix that. She could already do what I was trying to do. Was it really so unreasonable to want to understand how she did that? 

She went silent for what felt like an aeon. I was convinced that my Novitiate was over. When she spoke again there was no exasperation in her voice. The advice she gave me stays with me to this day. Stop making everything a judgement on your humanity. Your success or failure does not reflect whether you deserve to exist. This is just a thing you are doing, not who you are. 

Then she broke down the program in a way I could not. One simple step to take, do it for a month, take another step. Over the next months, I’d come back with my next steps. At first they were too big, too complicated. She would help me simplify them until I found the balance for myself. I started to succeed not just at my Novitiate but at life. Even today, when I struggle, I still hear her saying, ‘make it simpler, make it smaller’. 

She was the best kind of teacher. Advice like she gave me that day, was given sparingly, always sharp and insightful. She worked tirelessly to create an environment rich with the possibilities for learning. Her rituals were thought-provoking, frequently life-changing, and extremely pragmatic. Her conversations were as diverse and intelligent as they were delightful. She knew how to set boundaries and encouraged you to do the same. 

She gave a huge amount of time and commitment to the Pact. She was generous in her recognition of what others brought into the space. She held the space as our Section Head & Section Sponsor with a clear-headed logic tempered with seemingly boundless compassion. She helped shape it into the organisation it is today. She never made it all about her or lost sight of the fact that she would need to pass it on. In 2019 she became an Elder.

Watching Nikki settle into the degree of Elder was bittersweet. She had given so much of herself for so long that she could not have deserved it more. She had so many things she wanted to do and a limited number of hours to do them. I knew it had been a hard decision to prioritise other things. I knew she was incredibly grateful to Sr Brigantia who took on the responsibilities of Section Head so capably. I knew she was still available in a ‘break glass in case of emergency’ kind of way but I also knew I missed her presence.

Nearly a decade went by, Sr Brigantia passed the Section to Frater Kite, and he passed it to me. Between the three of them, they had given me a great gift – time to not be in charge. It’s a trait that we all share – put us in a room and we will almost compulsively begin to get things organised. It’s a trait I see in those who will come after me. 

Nikki taught me that I didn’t always need to be in charge. That it was okay to take time for myself. To believe in the competence of others. I was always somewhat doubtful that she had ever taken her own advice. I was delighted when the tides of her life allowed her to start regularly attending her local temple again. As it turned out, I should never have doubted her. Nikki was every bit as excellent as a participant as she was at being in charge.

This February she spoke at the Chaostreams event in London alongside Dave Lee and Ian Read to share some of the insights they had gained in their time with the Pact from its foundation to its current form. Seeing over a hundred years of combined practice on one stage gave us a sense of a current that they had each helped to cultivate and nurture. They spoke of the good old days when magical meetings were arranged by post, of finding each other through adverts placed in zine’s, of extraordinary lives and being living legends. 

Nikki and I arranged to talk more about the future of chaos magic and of the Pact. We talked about the importance of creating spaces where people can share magical experiences, how the Novice program was a place for people to expand and how it taught you how to learn. One final time, she drew out anxieties I didn’t even realise I was holding. One final time she banished them with laughter. We shared our love of Pratchett. I told her she reminded me of Granny Weatherwax; she told me she’d always aimed to live like Nanny Ogg, and at her funeral, surrounded by her friends, family, colleagues and Magical siblings, I knew she had.

The ripples of your life will continue to resonate for many, many years to come. 

Tribute by Coral Carte

I first met Nikki when she was Vice Chancellor of Arcanorium College. She was friendly, erudite and witty, and her presence made the Peter Carroll’s magic school a place worth going to. I loved Nikki. She was such a wonderful advertisement for the IOT that, after three years on the Arcanorium, I decided to apply. My first attempt didn’t end particularly well. As magic sometimes does, life rather imploded around me, and it took me nearly ten years to find my way back to the path. Nikki was still there, with a new magical name, wiser, maturer and managing important public roles, when I applied again. She was there, too, at my first open day after the long pause, quietly solid, grounded and welcoming, as I brought my diary to my mentor. Her presence was always somewhere in the background, and somehow that made me feel safe and at home. Finally, I had found a group of people who were just as weird as I was. And there was Nikki, knowledgeable and kind with that sparkle in her eye. By then, she had become an Elder, wise beyond her years, with an extraordinary depth of experience in magic and in working with people and groups. Listening to her speak as an Elder at her last public appearance at an open event in February of 2026, knowing that she was preparing to leave this world, was a profoundly moving experience. I find myself returning to that moment. There was such depth, courage and dignity in her words and in the way she met what lay ahead. She remained, to the very end, a role model for me. What an extraordinary human being. I feel very fortunate to have crossed paths with her.

Tribute by Dave Lee

I first met Nikki Wyrd / Sor Syzygy in 1992 or 93. She became one of my favourite human beings.  

I have many memories of her, which illustrate her originality, her magic and her caring, but there’s one in particular which forefronts her dry sense of humour. It was one of the first Camp Chaos’s, in a field with a tipi in it. The weather was cold and wet. It was one of those weekends where you try and avoid taking any clothes off, even in your sleeping bag. We were all sitting round in the tipi after our evening’s workings were over, trying to stay warm. Nobody had said anything for a while then Nikki said, ‘What you have to bear in mind about a tipi is that it’s basically just a windbreak. In a field.’  

She had a heroic commitment to doing what she could. At Breaking Convention 2025 she was already very ill, but she continued to work on organizing the event, and even appeared on stage a number of times. Then, even more recently, at the public IOT event in London in February this year she appeared on stage with us, full of life and graciousness.

I choose to live my life until I die, as Nikki did. And I hope I’m as gracious as she was when my time comes.

Tribute by Frater Novegicus 144, 0º.

I remember decades ago travelling to Norwich with my late wife Soror Bene Vivat to confer the Neophyte degree on Soror Syzygy as I did for so many people. However, she turned out to be the finest of them all in so many ways. She was simply lovely and awesome. Setting aside my inbred English reserve for a moment: I loved her.

We met not so long ago at a London IOT open event and she told me how she was facing up to her terminal condition; just like a hero of old. How humbling and challenging that was.

Wyrd bið ful aræd

Tribute by Soror Gwithabenyn

I am struck immediately by a giggle and a smile. One of knowing. Sator Syzygy’s ability to cut to the chase, remove the bullshit and let something just be, came from a place of great wisdom. She really did have an exceptional ability to hold space and to observe, in detail, before choosing an action or an opinion – which she would then deliver with great skill. She was a wordsmith, knowing when to add words, when to weave them and when not to use them. 

I recall my first moot with the pact, at the beginning of the Covid lockdown, on account of which the moot was conducted online. By the morning of the last day, I was flagging, having attended many rituals – it was then that Nikki discretely explained to me that I didn’t have to attend every single ritual, and that I should take a break and recharge. This kindness to reach out and support others in their magical journey is something she offered to many, and she was one of our elders in many senses of the word. We continue to be honoured as she takes her place as a beloved ancestor to us. 

One of the things I admired about Nikki was that, unlike many, she was exceptionally good at being herself. She just embodied herself and I found that inspiring. And it has to be said, and I know many others will say this, but she really was an exceptional magician. 

I was blessed to become friends with Nikki, and truly, I miss her.

Homage to the Chancellor

By Coral Carte

I was settling down to write a small offering of gratitude to Peter J. Carroll, when word broke that Gordon White had also departed this earthly plane. I was unprepared for the wave of grief that swept across the internet — mine included — and I found my project abandoned as I tried to process this fresh loss for someone whose voice, teachings, and community had also accompanied me through so many years of my life.

In the many tributes to Gordon, countless people have said they would not be where they are today without him. For me, this is true of both Gordon and Pete. One after the other, they taught me many of the things I have since incorporated and embodied in my own life and magical practice.

I met Pete first. I was never a particularly gifted student at school, but when I moved to Milan, I found myself on my Mercury line and my hunger for knowledge expanded exponentially. Once the internet arrived, I no longer had to wander bookshops dowsing for the texts I needed and magically, mysteriously, it brought me everything I needed.

I found Lyn Buchanan’s website and flew to America to study Remote Viewing. At the time this was a huge undertaking, only made possible by my then job in advertising. Later, online schools began appearing, and I found Maybelogic Academy, where I learnt astrology with Antero Alli. There I discovered Peter J. Carroll, “Stokastikos”.

After his experience teaching at MaybeLogic he founded his own magical school, the Arcanorium, and I signed up. I spent nearly three years there, the equivalent, for me, of an undergraduate degree. Unlike my difficult years at university, where failed exams made obtaining a degree excruciating, I applied myself wholeheartedly to every course offered. The teachers were extraordinary. Pete, who had visualised a magical order at only twenty-five, had by then gathered around him some of the finest magical minds of the era.

That time left traces in me both outwardly and inwardly. Some of those traces still exist physically: the wand I made for the course and still carry today, the sigil art, the staff from the six weeks of Chaos Monasticism during the Jihad of Chaos, the Ouranos figurine I sculpted, and all the things I managed to materialise through those years of practice.

Pete taught us everything. He led us on the KKK, pushing us to accomplish in 6 weeks what would normally take a year, enchanting, evoking and invoking, divination and illumination. We crafted our own lamps for illumination work, and somewhere in the middle of those studies I began to understand my life’s mission and the direction of my deeper interests. He recorded himself doing the Vortex Ritual, and we all did it and wrote up our results. He taught us about using magic in business, he taught us about the elements, about the Noosphere. I created a servitor tasked with bringing me “the others” — a phrase I would later hear when Gordon found him for one of his first “Find the Others” Podcasts.

That servitor still works to this day.

Pete was razor sharp, brilliant, demanding, and endlessly creative. We read all of his books, and studied his essays from Chaos International. At the time he was writing The Apophenion, so he entrusted us with proof copies to read through. I still have my signed copy, hand-delivered by the maestro himself, and a signed certificate of completion of the Jihad he later sent out to all of us by post.

We documented all of our work and magical experiments on the boards, Pete would comment on it in the class notes. 

Then, at International public Colours of Chaos Day in 2008, I discovered another side of Pete: in person, he was also kind. After the lectures came rituals. The then-head of the IOT was magnificently robed in a striking cloak with tiny buttons all the way down the front. Before he delivered his ritual, Temple Draig conducted a group ritual, and we were called in to participate. We were divided into smaller groups, I found myself – to my terror – placed in a group with Pete himself. My first non-solo public ritual suddenly mattered very much, but he stood beside me with warmth and generosity.

That meeting eventually led me to apply to the IOT, but as magic so often does, it also shattered open the life I thought I knew and forced me into an uncompromising confrontation with myself. My life imploded and exploded in equal measure. I had already lost my job, my mother, and later my adopted father, but after the Arcanorium, and during my novitiate, I also ended a deeply conflictual marriage and stepped into the abyss with my young son beside me.

By then, however, I had magical tools. I had skills. I had sigils everywhere — painted, mosaiced, consigned to fire and earth — and I had that servitor entrusted with bringing me connection, community, and “the others.” And survive I did.

I never finished the novitiate that time. It took another ten years before I was ready to return to that path. But Pete’s school and his direct, hands-on teaching were unconditionally seminal for me. They left marks on my psyche and practice that endure to this day. Much like The Apophenion itself — philosophical, speculative, expansive, the work of a magician in maturity — Pete’s influence carried me into a lifetime of consciousness hacking and exploration.

And then there was Gordon.

From the very first podcast all those years ago, Gordon became another kind of guide entirely. Through him came names, ideas, teachers, systems, histories, and possibilities. He had an unerring eye for brilliance and an extraordinary generosity in sharing it. Gordon created bridges: between worlds, between traditions, between people. Through his writing, and teachings, he carried Chaos Magic out into the wider world, expanding it, illuminating it, and making its possibilities visible to countless others.

I can’t write any better words for Gordon than have already been spoken by some of the best writers of our time. It is enough to say this: magically, spiritually, and personally, I would not be where I am without these two great magicians.

Pete took me into the world of magic and taught me about Chaos magic but Gordon also created a bridge that profoundly changed my own path: the bridge between Remote Viewing and magic. With his unerring eye for greatness, he too found Lyn Buchanan, my teacher and mentor and interviewed him. He realized the real magic in it and had Lyn give training directly to a group of magicians in Rune Soup.

Until then, I had remained largely incognito as a magician, preferring invisibility to vulnerability – unlike Gordon, who spoke his truth openly, unerringly, and without flinching. But the bridge Gordon built gave me permission to step forward publicly as both a magician and a remote viewer, and to recognise that Remote Viewing, despite its scientific terminology, also leaves space for magical thinking and direct experience of mystery.

The Rune Soup viewers became firm friends and excellent viewers in their own right, and to this day we still collaborate. Through Gordon, worlds that had seemed separate suddenly recognised one another. And many of us found ourselves reflected back through that meeting.

Travel safely onwards, dear magicians, and thank you for lighting the way for so many of us.

Pete Carroll, 1953-2026

By Dave Lee

Peter J. Carroll left us on Wednesday 22nd April as the result of a sudden illness.

He was a remarkable individual who created the concept of Chaos Magic, founded the Illuminates of Thanateros and wrote Liber Null & Psychonaut, Liber Kaos and other books. 

His greatest insight, which gave a new, simple centre to effective magical practice, was that magic is dependent on two things: an extraordinary state of consciousness or ‘gnosis’, and a shift in the way the practitioner sees the world, usually coded as ‘belief’. First we assemble the symbolic vehicles – sigils, rituals, songs and so forth. Then we get into an extraordinary state, maybe with something as simple as gazing or gentle breathwork, or something as intense as drugs or sex. Then we are able to leave behind the inertia of our mundane worlds, shift our beliefs about what the world is, and launch ourselves into a different world where our magic succeeds. The idea of belief itself as a magical technique is the core of Chaos Magic’s technical innovation, and is one of the most important conceptions of magic of the last century.

This model was presented in 1978, in the first edition of Liber Null. Before that publication Carroll had already conceived the idea of a magical order that would reflect these ideas – the Illuminates of Thanateros. At first, this was a loose network of no more than a dozen people, but in 1980 it spawned a group in West Yorkshire, in the village Ray Sherwin was living in and in which Carroll stayed. I was one of the founder members of that group. Those were exciting times; I remember thinking that we were responding to what Robert Anton Wilson had portrayed with his cartoon which depicted two characters, a scientist in a lab coat and a stoned hippie-type, with the caption, ‘Hey Man, Are You Only Using Half Your Brain?’. I’d finally found a magical current that worked for people like myself who didn’t do religious faith and weren’t interested in doing so, acidhead science kids who wanted to live weird lives.

The group ran for two years, closed down and then another group was formed, the group that became known as the ‘Circle of Chaos’, because it was an experiment in ostensibly non-hierarchical group structure. As a result of those group experiences, Carroll went on to write Psychonaut, a manual of experimental collective magics.

In 1986-87 Carroll revised the structure of the IOT into something like the hierarchy originally promised in the first edition of Liber Null, but never previously practiced. This gave rise to better-organized collective events and thereby opened up the IOT, now the ‘Pact of the IOT’, to more participants. The tiny network was expanding into a fully-fledged international order. In 1991 he wrote Liber Kaos, which contained the idea of the ‘Eight Colours of Chaos’, a simplification of traditional Planetary magic which was very helpful for creative group work. Magic was emerging from the straitjacket of over-complexity that the Victorian Order of the Golden Dawn had clothed it in.

Peter Carroll had founded the world’s foremost experimental magical organization, the IOT, but it only really came into its own when he stepped back from his leadership role. When he resigned as 0* in 1991 for personal reasons the IOT started to become what it is today. From the start, our magic was diverging a lot from his own style. We emphasised a third principle for chaos magic: If it works, use it. Carroll on the other hand had strong personal opinions about what was good magic and what wasn’t, whether it worked or not. For instance, he rejected all exploration of ecstatic states, was distrustful of energy magic, because it didn’t fit into his theoretical framework, and would not hear of anyone using astrology. His was a classic case of Founder Syndrome, creating a great organization of which he could not be a part because of his deep distrust of everyone else’s magical styles. Even now, people still make the mistake of thinking Chaos Magic = Pete Carroll’s magic, and we are still disentangling his more limiting influences from what chaos magic has become.

Another big post-Carroll shift was the development of collective creativity. He once commented to me that his Temple in Bristol was a burden because he had to constantly create new rituals for them. I asked why he didn’t design rituals collectively with them, and he seemed to think that was a really novel and rather odd idea. 

Chaos magic is still developing as a cultural influence. Its philosophy is sometimes dismissed as postmodern relativism, but a closer examination shows us that it is much more than that. It’s true that one of its philosophical origins in Robert Anton Wilson’s ‘Multi-Model Agnosticism’ emphasises the idea that there are many different models, or ‘reality tunnels’ that enable us to to apprehend and make sense of any situation we find ourselves in. But this is taken not as a nihilistic flatland relativism but an active response to a world grown much more complex in its layers. Chaos magic implies a value scheme in which our mind’s capacities for higher consciousness, for gnosis, enable us to go way beyond the merely verbal levels of consciousness and tweak our worlds from those higher perspectives. This in turn points to collective experimentation in altered states and magical goals. That’s what chaos magic is becoming in the 21st Century.

Peter J Carroll and the Illuminates of Thanateros

By Soror Brigantia

I was 8 years old in 1977, yet I remember it well. It was the Year of the Queen’s Silver Jubilee, and in the weeks leading up to the celebration, the entire valley was filled with decorations. The valley was a riot of red, white and blue with Welsh dragons adorning the streets. Neighbours collaborated to hang colourful bunting from house to house. Every neighbourhood held its own street party. I was particularly impressed by the pretty homemade fairy cakes with colourful balls on them. This was the last time I truly saw strong community spirit in the Welsh valleys. As we moved through the 1980s, the old community spirit was systemically broken, and something new took its place.  

While I have painted an idealized picture of community life here, there was also a degree of unhappiness, despair and anger. While the Jubilee celebrations reached their peak, The Sex Pistols released “God Save the Queen” in the spirit of raw rebellion against the many economic and social injustices existing in Britain at that time. Some people reacted to this band with a sense of outraged horror; others applauded them, and people took sides. By 1978 the discontent was reaching a crescendo with the Winter of Discontent, the winter where we always kept a number of torches and candles in the house due to the electricity strikes. The Sex Pistols had broken up by early 1978, but many punk bands continued and the spirit of “if you want something done, then do it yourself” central to the punk philosophy prevailed. The punk attitude led to a period of intense creativity among the young people. If you wanted good music, good fashion and good magick, it was time to pick up an instrument yourself and get it done. This instrument may have been a guitar, a sewing machine or your own handmade wand. There was an attitude of not needing to wait for perfection before making a start; if you only learned a few chords, then that was enough to get the ball rolling. The establishment could not be relied upon to look after the people; the people had to look after themselves.

In this atmosphere of creativity and rebellion, a number of magicians, tired of the established way of doing things, mirroring the punk rock attitude of “do it yourself”, planted a seed. One of these magicians was Peter J Carroll, and as he planted the seed of chaos magick the face of occultism changed forever. It was no longer necessary to follow a teacher or a Priest or Priestess to learn and practice magick. Like punk rock, chaos magicians were doing it for themselves. Giving things a go and seeing what worked and what didn’t in the spirit of anarchic rebellion against established norms.  The new magical order, the Illuminates of Thanateros, was announced. Pete stepped back from the IOT in the 1990s, and the IOT continued down its own pathways.

This seed of chaos magick developed in a myriad of ways. It became a strong tree with many branches, and then it began to develop fruit. From these fruits seeds came, and many new trees took root. Suddenly, the one seed planted by Carroll and others turned into a forest. A forest of chaos magicians that grew in unpredictable chaotic ways, all inspired by Carroll’s book “Liber Null” and Sherwin’s “Book of Results”, both published in 1978. These new chaos magicians, embracing the “do it yourself” attitude of bold experimentation and paradigm shifting laid down by its founders, took chaos magick in different directions. 

Fiercely independent, the average chaos magician does not sit around in apathetic slumber waiting for someone else to show them the way. Inspired by the founders of chaos magick, they embrace life and their magick with strength, determination and joy, forging their own magical paths.  As Sid Vicious sang “My Way”, the new generation of chaos magicians took the principles laid down by the founders and,  like the chaos star, expanded those principles  in every direction. This happened with the setting up of other chaos magick groups, with solo practitioners, and within the IOT itself. With Pete stepping back from the IOT, the young organization began experimenting with forms of magick quite different from those that Carroll had initially envisaged. 

The IOT is in constant evolution, and it eventually became something very different from its original form , with each individual magician being encouraged to find their own magical style.  I think I can say with some confidence that my chaos magick bears little resemblance to Peter J Carroll’s chaos magick, yet the paradigm shifting spirit of experimentation he inspired still prevails.

I rocked up to the chaos magick scene in 2005, some ten years after Peter J Carroll’s departure, but I was fortunate enough to have met him on several occasions. He did not wish his photo to circulate in the public domain, so when I first met him, I did not know who he was.  I assumed he must be a new novice. In fact, it was on the tip of my tongue to ask him how his MMM was going until I was introduced to him as “Pete”, accompanied by a strong, meaningful expression from the then Section Head – and the penny dropped. I was pleased to have been saved from making that particular faux pas. I also fondly recall a time when I had just gotten out of bed and was making my breakfast, and I suddenly saw Peter J Carroll sitting at the table, reading his own book. I did a double-take and rubbed my eyes.  I had been doing some heavy magick all day the day before, and I wondered if I was hallucinating, but no, here was Peter J Carroll at the breakfast table, reading his own book. It turned out he was going over one of his rituals in preparation for delivering it later that day, and I was honoured to be asked to invoke the Goddess Apophenia for the ritual that he was running.

Having left the IOT, Pete continued his work of inspiring others by founding the successful Arcanorium College, continuing to write and create and establishing his Specularium website. He became one of the most influential magicians of our time to whom all chaos magicians owe a debt.  As Pete was going in his own direction, the IOT went in another: travelling from one incarnation into another, never standing still, always looking for creative expression, always evolving. Yet, owing its very existence to the group of young occultists along with Peter J Carroll, who planted that first seed of chaos magick in the late 1970’s and inspired generations of chaos magicians to do it their way. 

May he rest in chaotic power.

Metamorphosis and Belief by Coral Carte

I came to magic in my late teens through a deep and wordless affinity with the spirit of the land. I felt the presence of place in a way that seemed both natural and mysterious, as if I was able to hear the subtle voice of the earth itself. At the same time, I was living in what I would describe as a world of dreaming. I was a precognitive dreamer. The night’s dreams would reveal their meaning in the days that followed, as events quietly aligned with what I had already seen while sleeping.

At that age I did not have a framework for understanding these two experiences. On the one hand there was the tangible world of forests, stones, and water that seemed alive with spirit. On the other hand there was the inner landscape of dreams that anticipated the future. They felt like two separate realms. Later I discovered that Shamanism held space for both. It recognised the dreamer and the land as parts of the same continuum of awareness.

Books about Shamanism began to appear in my life almost by chance, and through them I was able to understand the Path of the Dreamer, about individuals who learned through visions and journeys into altered states. Around the same time a mentor appeared with a Tarot deck and a guidebook. Rather than simply teaching me the cards, I was given the unusual task of redrawing every single card by hand and copying out the explanations in my own writing into my own personal notebook.

This slow process changed the way I learned. Drawing the images forced me to study every symbol, every gesture and colour. Writing the meanings by hand embedded them in my memory in a way that reading never could. The Tarot became less like a book of instructions and more like a living language. Combined with the messages that came through dreams, it gradually reshaped my worldview. I began to understand that reality was layered, that intuition and symbolism offered another way of navigating life.

Many years later, during a period when I was searching for a new truth, I encountered the Chaos Magic paradigm. Chaos Magic brought me a radical idea: belief itself could be treated as a tool. One of the fundamental practices for a magician is metamorphosis.

Learning to change ourselves is central to magical practice. The exercise is deceptively simple: choose an aspect of your behaviour and change it deliberately. Observe the process and document it. In doing so you demonstrate to yourself—and to the universe—that transformation is possible. Then you can begin to change your beliefs. 

What appears to be a small shift can open the door to profound change. In my own case the process began with something almost trivial. I changed my habit of drinking tea and began drinking coffee instead. It sounds insignificant, but the act carried symbolic weight. It reminded me that patterns are not fixed. From there the experiment expanded.

As I allowed myself to question one habit, I began questioning many others. I started conversations with new gods, explored unfamiliar rituals, and examined the structures of my life with fresh eyes. The most difficult realisation was that I was living within a relationship that no longer gave me the space to grow. The new aspects of myself—the tender shoots of an emerging identity—had nowhere to take root.

Restructuring my life was not easy. Some of the challenges required enormous amounts of energy and courage. Yet the practice of metamorphosis had already taught me a crucial lesson: do not cling too tightly to any belief system. When beliefs are flexible, possibilities multiply. Different outcomes can be imagined, different paths explored.

In Chaos Magic this ‘unfixedness’ also means that assistance can come from many directions. Different entities, archetypes, and magical techniques become available as allies. Instead of defending a single worldview, the magician learns to navigate between perspectives.

This practice has had another unexpected consequence. It allows me to perceive the many layers of reality. I am no longer confined to believing only what the media tells me or what politicians argue about. I recognise that what we call reality may be only one level among many. Once you have learned the art of metamorphosis, you begin to understand that both the self and the world are far more fluid than we are taught to believe.

Beyond the Book

Beyond the Book and Me by Soror Respira

There are moments in magical work when something quietly, steadily, and irrevocably takes on a life of its own. Chaos Streams 2.0 has been one of those moments for me.

From the very beginning, this book was not simply written — it was grown. It emerged through offerings: images, words, fragments of experience, and acts of trust shared within a committed group. I started by contributing writing, but then I chose some images to share. Images have always been central to my magical practice, as they bypass the conscious mind; they slip past the guards and speak directly to the deeper strata where magic actually operates. I have long wanted to share some of this work more openly, and this project gave me a safe, strong container to do so.

Writing within a group has been a profoundly encouraging experience. The collective process sustained the creative spirit while offering structure, stimulation, and challenge. For the first time, I felt able to speak publicly — and responsibly — about deeds as well as ideas, about lived magical practice rather than abstract theory.

After the initial phase of creation, something equally rare happened: we became collective editors. Months were spent reading, rereading, refining, negotiating meaning, and strengthening each other’s work. This was slow magic — the kind that asks for patience, humility, and care. Eventually, our words were handed over to be shaped into form, and one day PDFs arrived. Suddenly, all those hours of invisible labour became a book, glowing on our screens like a conjuration made visible.

Now comes the final threshold. We will all be travelling to London to meet up and to present Chaos Streams 2.0 in physical form, to place this magical child — grown, accountable, and alive — into the hands of the wider community. This event is not just a book launch. It is a rite of release, a celebration of magic, music, embodiment, and shared lineage.

Streams of Love and Might By Frater Ryda

 People often say that you know that you love somebody when their success gives you pleasure and when their try gives you courage. Combine that with the act of rebellious Magic and you have all the strength you need. After all, in these days where the only thing that counts is money and power, love seems fit to be considered a rebellion. I have seen the madness of those people who try to accomplish something that they believe in. It is the same madness that takes over those mad scientists trying to change the world, and I know that those magicians, who gave up all the free time they had in order to create this project share that very same vision, to change the world to a better place through their ideas and actions. Small pathways of knowledge and experience, all combined together to create a new ground for exploration and awareness.

When I first heard the name ‘’CHAOS STREAMS’’ I somehow had that exact image in my mind, not of currents of ideas leading into one big core but a bunch of equally expanding dynamics that alter reality around them, like the roots of a really big tree creating a stable ground for the surrounding nature to evolve safely, or a big lake that throughout its streams fertilizes the land around it. Of course it didn’t take me long before I understood that the roots work both ways so in other worlds, a tree is offering according to what it has been offered as much as a lake nourishes a land based on how clean the water is. But I also know from the work of those people, whether the Chaos Streams are a big stable tree or a crystal clean lake that it was created with love, rebellion against steel and concrete, or against the devouring paradigm of our age through an eight pointed pathway of understanding and change.

Beyond the book by  Diana Holmstrom

For me, this event is a major and deeply personal milestone. For a long time, my practice existed primarily in the Russian language even if I live in Finland. However, my magical family speaks to me in English, and I have been waiting for the right moment to share my work in this language. Of course, my siblings know who I am and what I hold within the Pact but to speak at an open event while still being held by the circle of those who have supported me over the past years is invaluable. This feels like the right point of entry into my public magical work in English — a step beyond the Pact, while still standing firmly within the support of my magical family.

The ritual I will be leading is also deeply symbolic for me. I have been working with Northern magic for many years, but it was my meeting with Frater Runkorp that allowed me to enter this current on a much deeper level. We are doing this work together: he helps me uncover its meanings and creates art that allows immersion into these energies. Building on this shared work, I feel that my pathworking now reaches layers that were previously inaccessible to me.

If everything mentioned above is the context of my path, then ALU is the action itself. In this pathworking, we will enter the sacred space of ALU, continuing the themes of the threshold, initiation, and liminality. For me personally, this marks the beginning of a much larger journey. ALU speaks of divine ecstasy, inner illumination, and the possibility of going further than one ever thought possible.

Working with ALU has already carried me further along my magical path, guided by the mead of poetry — the force that inspires and transforms. Frater Runkorp describes this work best:

“The bindrune holds three currents. Ansuz is the breath that doesn’t quite belong to you, the voice that speaks through rather than from. In myth this is the mead of poetry, stolen, spilled, misused. It’s inspiration that ignores your plans. Laguz is the seething water beneath the ice, the seið-field where identities soften and roles dissolve. And Uruz is the animal fact alive at all: muscle, pulse, the aurochs that charges.”

Dreamworking 

By Coral Carte

Recording and understanding one’s dreams is one of the foundational practices for a chaos magician, and is part of the novitiate curriculum for the Illuminates of Thanateros. I have been keeping a dream diary since I was 18, after encountering the writings of Carlos Castaneda, whose explorations of dreaming as a shamanic art opened a doorway for me into a deeper dimension of magic. Over the years, I’ve come to recognize that there are many kinds of dreams. Some offer clarity on everyday life, elaborating on the subtle emotional layers of mundane events. Others are unmistakably magical — revelations from the deep psyche that offer guidance, warnings, or invitations to refine one’s practice. And then there are those dreams that cross into the underworld, where it becomes possible to commune with the dead and other beings.

Dreaming is central to my path as both a chaos magician and a human being. Some dreams have left an indelible mark upon my soul. Once, not long after my mother’s death, I dreamt that I was with her in the land of the dead when I encountered a close friend who had appeared unexpectedly. He seemed shocked and confused, so I stopped him, calmed him, and stood by as he continued his journey. Only later did I learn that he had been shot and I most probably had been on the other side to meet him as he crossed over. Encounters like this remind me how fluid the boundaries of consciousness can be, and how the dreamspace allows us to serve as witnesses and companions in the mysteries of death and rebirth.

I keep both a magical diary and a dream diary. The act of recording dreams is a dialogue with the subconscious — and the subconscious, once it knows it’s being heard, begins to speak more clearly. I found that preparation is important: setting an intention before sleep, leaving a glass of water nearby, and keeping a notebook ready for immediate recording upon waking.

Once the dream recall is working and your dreams are clear enough to be recorded, then it’s time to work on the significance between the deeper layers. Give each dream a title, note the date, and list the symbols. Some, like water or stairs, are universal; others are deeply personal — square white tiles personally bring a recollection of my grandmother’s kitchen and therefore represent my safe space. Over time, as you weave these meanings together, the dreams begin to reveal the architecture of your own magical practice.

Learning the art of dream working not only deepens one’s magic, but also refines the subtle senses, opening channels of perception through the aethers. With patience and devotion, the dreamer becomes a bridge between worlds — able to receive guidance, commune with unseen intelligences, and move with greater awareness through the vast tapestry of consciousness itself.

Ariadne’s Thread

By Frater Ryda 

Undoubtedly one of the most common parts of Greek mythology is that of Theseus, a young hero sent to kill the Mynotaur in the labyrinth set inside the kingdom of Minos, and Ariadne, King Minos daughter that secretly handed Theseus a ball of thread that would eventually help him find his way out of the labyrinth after killing the beast. A story of love and tragedy as always. But what troubled me are two things. What does the labyrinth symbolise and also what does the thread mean? Can we use the labyrinth as a symbol of the unconscious mind? And if so, is the thread a tool for finding our way into it? And lastly how do you find that tools?
        A few years ago in an RPG game that I was playing, I read that it had a spell called Ariadne’s thread and it was used for guidance into the spirit realm. At that time I already had started my quest in magic and the occult and since I was already curious on creating my own paradigm and belief against all the “must and should” most of the nowadays magical orders provide, I decided to take this “spell” and make it real.

I was not really sure on how to, but it had to be done somehow. In the beginning I started meditating as I was walking trying to think of the place I needed to go but that didn’t work. I needed to connect the place with me, like I had already been there to tie a knot with my thread. So I figured this was the way. I had to feel like I was already there, and by the time I acted as such I felt that small pull. A small force leading you to walk on a street that you weren’t planning to go to. But that wasn’t enough. I had to find the thread. I sat down and thought for a while and remembered the Chakras for some reason. Which one would I use if I had to combine them? I thought about Anahata, and then remembered an expression we use: that the sailors may have the wind in their favor for safe traveling. Theseus went to the island of Crete by ship and came back to Athens the same way. The wind played a big role in his journey. And so, I stood up and did the craziest thing: I started following the wind. The wind was already where I wanted to go and this would be my connection. I changed my path plenty of times until I saw the place I was looking for. I sat  down for a moment realizing how real the thing that happened was and then I went on with my plans. 

Apoptosis – A time to die – by Sator Wry

As the glorious summer days fade and the harvest is in, the wheel of the year turns bringing autumn days. Mornings become chilly and the nights draw in, blankets come out of storage ready to be snuggled under and my thoughts turn, as they always do at this time of year, to death.

Outside the leaves on the trees turn from greens to golden browns and deep russet reds before they fall. Falling away is the etymology of the word Apoptosis – “apo” (from) and “toisis” (falling). The word pops into my head, sparking a new ritual idea for me to take to CYN. One in my ongoing series of rites rooted in the stories science tells us.

Apoptosis is the planned normal and controlled death of cells which occur as part of every organism’s growth and development. It is controlled by the Caspaces.

During this process Caspace-9 is initiated by intrinsic factors such as DNA damage, oxidative stress or other stressors. Alternatively Caspace-8 is released in response to external stimuli such as TNF (tumour necrosis factor) binding to the outside of the cell. Both trigger a proteolytic cascade that cause morphological changes like cell shrinkage, chromatin condensation (pyknosis), and membrane blebbing which in turn lead to the formation of membrane-bound apoptotic bodies which can be easily engulfed by phagocytes, ensuring the orderly removal of cellular debris without causing inflammation or damage to the organism.

As below, so above. So it is to the spirit of the Caspaces that I will call during my ritual. The idea is to allow people to let go of those things that no longer serve them. A bit of magical pruning to allow space for new growth. To ensure that no damage occurs the participants will represent the phagocytes that clear away the debris. Phagocytosis “phagein” (to eat) and “kytos” (cell), plus the suffix “-osis” The mantra is obviously “Om nom nom”

In preparation I collect, wash and dry some autumn leaves. Participants sigilise the things they wish to release and draw the sigils onto the leaves.

We repeat the statement of intent: A gentle death for all that does not serve me.

I evoke the Caspaces while the other participants repeat the mantra “Om nom nom”

Evocation:

Now in the silence before the fall,

In the stillness of the cell’s last breath,

We call, Caspase, Harbinger of the Final Threshold, Death

You who stand at the signals gate, opener of the sacred path,

Sentinel who decides in balance without wrath

What may abide and what must pass.

Awaken now from zymogen slumber,

Sharpen blades wrought from cysteine’s edge,

Caspase-9, flame-keeper of the cell’s core shrine

Come Caspase 8, called Death’s receptor,

Send forth the signals, summon up your kin,

Let the dance that we call death now begin.

Come executioners Caspase-3 and 6 and 7

Unbind the ties that hold the cell together

Bonds break and DNA unwinds

The cell collapses in upon itself

With endless care old fragments are swept away

Into the Apoptosome, the wheel that turns the end.

Deliberate death, methodical and clean

Free from the fires of inflammation and from strife

In peace into the Phagocyte’s embrace

A sacred passage making way for life

Thus ends the song the cell must sing alone,

That others may arise, and life go on

Closing:

Thank the spirits for their help and end with an IAO banishing.

The leaves are taken outside and released on the wind.

Shamanism, Dark Magic and Samhain

by Coral Carte

Samhain marks the entry into winter, with its darkening days and rich autumn colours; its gift is rendering the threshold between worlds accessible. This is the time when the liminal space widens, and the living and the dead can sense one another more easily. In the old ways of Western magic, this was never a time of fear, but one of reverence. The darkness is not evil; it is fertile, gestational, full of potential. The ancestors dwell there, whispering their stories through the soil and through our blood.

In shamanic practice, the descent into darkness is part of the initiatory cycle. To enter the underworld — whether in trance, dream, or through the long nights of autumn — is to meet what has been forgotten or denied. Darkness is the womb of renewal, not its opposite. True “dark magic” is not malice or harm, but the wisdom of transformation: composting what is dead or stagnant into a cradle for planting the seeds that can sustain life.

Now I am preparing to turn toward my beloved dead. I will light candles for them for 21 days. At Samhain, I place their photographs on the altar and leave offerings. This year, there will be two new ones. The first is my beloved mother-in-law, who was part of my life for 30 years. She filled both the space of grandmother and mother in my life. My own grandmother was lost to me when I was very young, and my mother died in another country when my son, now 24, was 2. 

The second death is her son, the father of my son, who died mercifully and tragically. Death has that paradox where it is a painful loss, but sometimes a gentle release. 

I am grateful for the lives they lived, for the choices and chances that led to mine. They are not distant; sometimes they manage to talk to me through dreams. My grandmother, despite her early has always been present in my life. The dead are companions in the unseen, shaping the currents that run through my life. In honouring my ancestors, I remember my place in a lineage — standing in the river of human time with gratitude.

This year, my Samhain work deepens through study. I will be taking training in Trans Generational Counselling, exploring the relationship between family history and personal destiny, tracing the patterns that repeat through generations. We will use the genogram, systemic constellations, and dramatisation to uncover the hidden stories that live in our bloodlines. It is a way of giving form and voice to what our ancestors could not say.

Ancestor work can help transform what has been heavy into something that can support us — to meet the shadow of our ancestry not with judgment, but with understanding. In many shamanic traditions, healing the ancestral field is essential to restoring harmony in the present. The dead are not only mourned; they are healed, acknowledged, and sometimes released. Through this, their blessings can flow freely once more.

For me, this work bridges worlds — psychological and magical, personal and collective. It brings the abstract idea of “the ancestors” into lived experience. When we look with clear eyes at our family line — the migrations, losses, silences, and survivals — we begin to see how the patterns of the past shape our choices today. To know this is to reclaim power.

At Samhain, the darkness invites us inward, back to the roots. From there, we can turn again toward the future, carrying the strength of those who came before. As the old Irish blessing says, may the road rise up to meet you — and may your ancestors walk beside you in the long, luminous night.