Shemyaza, Saint or Sinner
by Pixi

Azazel, Devil and Fallen Angel. He has been described as Heaven's rebellious outlaw, the ultimate abomination fallen from grace. These are a few of the attributes bestowed upon a being whose true essence has long been concealed, hidden by the mists of time.

But what is the basis of such a blind unquestioning belief in the accuracy of the information with which we have been furnished? Our primary sources are the keepers of established doctrine, who feed us surface scum, and erect a smoke screen of godliness in order to prevent us from entering into the complex depths that conceal the central mystery.

They have informed us that we are disconnected from God; we are brainwashed into believing that we are outcasts from the Garden of Eden, and the majority accepts this tradition, which is further promoted through the channels of philosophy, literature and art. They have blessed and sanctioned the publication of vague, nebulous accounts that portray the Fallen Angels as the Fathers of Hybrids and the culmination of all the evils inherent in the world.

And yet, if we delve deeper, if we look behind the facts as they are presented to us, intuition receives an alarming jolt. For we find running through the drama of the Fallen Ones, a common theme, a recurrent melody is detected, one which lies at the heart of all doctrine: The union of above and below, the joining together of man and God.

Those of us suffering from the effects of mass hallucination will continue to see their emergence as a "fall from grace," but the fact remains that two forces, Earth nature and stellar nature, merged and were connected, one to the other.

In Storm Constantine's Grigori trilogy, Shemyaza is seen as an Archangelic force, a higher entity, moved by a need to express love in a manifestly visible fashion. He does this by blending his essence with that of a woman from a different order, a daughter of Earth. Surely this is indicative of the union of the Bride and Bridegroom we see in all theological and esoteric literature, the endeavor to unite what appears to be two irreconcilable elements into a state of unification.

One might ask oneself as to how it could be possible for a creature such as Azazel, depicted as the degradation of all things good and true, to contain within himself the sacred characteristic of love, love being the highest quality in both God and Man.

Discrepancies arise everywhere for those with eyes to see them. The powers seated behind the mechanisms of orthodox religion throw a great amount of light upon certain qualities they wish to convey, yet appear to be strangely removed, disconnected from those principles, so long ago voiced by a simple carpenter's son. They have amassed great fortune and power, provoked war in the name of peace and have constructed an effective barrier, thus preventing man from having a simple and direct communion with the source of all things.

Are we then to take as Gospel an account of ancient events, vividly coloured with the shades of world-controlling temperaments and presented to us as fact by characters of dubious motive. I think not. The true Temple lies in waste amidst over 2,000 years of architectural layerings, centuries of ill fitting stones, set one upon the other, cunningly disguising the original foundations.

From Genesis to Revelation, we are constantly reminded of the bestial traits pertaining to the human condition. We are forced to acknowledge Man's brutalities, one to the other, sister to sister, brother to brother. Yet always present are the mediating angels, seeking to inspire and provide a solution for our dilemma.

Man is a problem in duality. His outer form can be colourful, personalised and distinctive, but his inner world is shadowy, volcanic and concealed, straining at the seams with all it contains.

The Pandora's Box of legend, was, at least on the surface, a perfectly innocent looking artifact, and yet touch a raw nerve, open the box, and a nuclear explosion that defies all proportion is quite likely to explode in your face.

In most of us, the survival instinct, the primary instinct, asserts itself at the slightest provocation. Man is eminently warlike, the desire of dominion is as strong today as it was in ancient times, even though it is camouflaged by a veil of civilised conduct.

Fear, jealousy, power, all these are mundane qualities that indicate an earth-bound focus that has little or no faith in the existence of another mode of being. Even the most gentle, composed souls among us are capable of displays of extreme behaviour; overwhelming desires and passions upset the equilibrium and tip us head first into Hell's flames.

To escape the condition of infinite ignorance we should lay down the burden of guilt and embrace our imperfections, understand who we are by delving beneath the surface of things; we should meet our complexes and inhibitions head on and bring them up to the surface where they can be "seen." Perhaps, when this is accomplished, we will find ourselves no longer in need of a "scapegoat."

Sin is that which lies crouched and hidden, dwelling in the darkest of places, and is the prime inciter of uncontrolled thought patterns and the blatant injustices that hurt others.

The torturous cross, so prominently situated in our churches and cathedrals, to my mind, is an ornamentation that strikes fear in the sturdiest of hearts. It speaks loudly of horror and violence.

In ancient times the sun was worshipped as the source of all life; early man recognised its properties, his vision saw power in its rising. The moon was revered as mistress of magic, queen of the tides. Early Man discerned and acknowledged life's rhythms. But Sophisticated Man, said to be a more evolved model than his ancient brother, pays homage to humanity's lack of vision and to its cruelties, by idolizing a saviour nailed to a cross. His sacrificial death well remembered, but his mission eclipsed by an atmosphere of injustice and barbarity instigated by a towering ignorance.

In truth the cross is indicative of the cross of the elements, a symbol of manifested life. And Christ's form upon it represents Divinity incarnating in flesh, so that he could know man, not as an idealism, but by a sound sense of brotherhood and in the fellowship of his species.

I fail to see how the majority of Christians will enter into the Paradise of the scriptures. "The Kingdom of God is within you," it is written. What is not realised here, is that an Avatar's inner condition is vastly different from that of Humanity's. The essence of one such as Christ, exists is a far superior state that our own. A being composed of harmony and light could hardly fail to find his Eden; but for the masses the storm continues.

Man sees imperfection all around him -- in others, in himself and in his systems of belief. He can secure no lasting vision of beauty in a world where fortunes and misfortunes continually alternate. When one is faced with an immediate disaster, how can one not fail to lose sight of the perfect picture. And so one returns to the source with a soul that has known moments of glory and has become ladened with experienced tragedies and despairs. If one has never existed in a state of sheer harmony, how can one enter into its condition?

In her novel, Scenting Hallowed Blood, Storm hits on this subject in depth. In chapter 28 we find Shemyaza facing the ultimate test, that of coming face to face with the diversities inherent in his own nature. As the negative aspects of each sphere rise up before him, he momentarily becomes the vice of that sphere, yet failing to set and crystallize in his essential self, they pass quickly through him and out of him.

He finds himself in an abyss of nothingness holding on to a thin shred of will, and when the voice of Sofia whispers to him through the void, the words, "Ultimately, this is all there is, Azazel," had he not resisted the compulsion to agree with her, his consciousness would have been lost in the cosmic soup, his own true vision dissipated. However, retaining selfhood he replies, "No, this is an illusion of returning to the source, from within yourself. It is not the limitless light, but a reflection of its opposite. In the abyss, the source can be whatever you want it to be."

How perfectly she presents the problem of transferring consciousness into that of the subtle, eternal body, in order to ensure continuation of individuality.

We see ourselves through the mirror of other people's reactions. We respond to affection reflected in the glass and rebel when indifference or dislike is seen therein. By reacting to another's anger, we become sucked into their atmosphere. Only when we are no longer moved by another's sudden onslaught can our own inner light become nourisher and sole sustainer.

The use of forced serenity is as useless as an ashtray on a motorbike; it will not suffice. Only true calmness in the face of chaos will be effective. Imagine yourself attempting to still the crashing, turbulent waves upon the sea with your bare hands in order to subdue it into calmness. The task itself would introduce more tension, more pressure, as intense, physical action would be required. Violence set against violence in order to procure stillness? Serentiy is birthed slowly, acquired through the right use of the imaginative faculties and through silent contemplation.

My sole purpose for the writing of this article, is to encourage others to read and re-read Storm Constantine's books, for her writings are packed with esoteric wisdom. I myself have been stirred, lifted by them, and it is my sincere wish that a large number of others will be too.

The Grigori trilogy, based upon the Fallen Angels, are particularly enlightening. Although these works are regarded as fiction, those of you with acute perception will find within the pages one writer's quest for truth and perfection, through the Archetypal energies that stirred her most. And through the alchemy of interaction with these forces, she has succeeded in an expansion of soul.

To conclude then. Shemyaza/Azazel is a scapegoat, an external leper, distanced from ourselves, and onto whom we have cast all our internal imperfections; all things dark and distorted, which we are ashamed to call our own.

One can paint a picture of him as a saint, or one can seat him on the throne of Hell and Damnation; But the true source of his being will forever be a reflection of what one takes to him.