The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

The Holy Trees That Bring Immortality



From mountain goddesses in cultures spread far,

Seems that in fertility the rites of the love goddess are star,

From Asherah to Astarte to Inanna from the east,

To one of Nuwa’s daughter Ma Gu in Chinese,

To the African cultures through use of dagga,

The plant has been held to the truth of Shiva,



The holiest gift as it never kills,

It gives passion to a man who sought only to kill,

And with Ma Gu gave rest to workers,

Set in torment by hierarchy that sought terrors,

The sweet breath of plant gives ease to the man,

And with Shiva’s chillum gave speech to Brahmin’s,



The plant has biblical ties in the Middle East,

One that Solomon even seemed to be teased,

Into inhaling in incense like Scythian Baths,

A great way to sit and honor the dead,

If the translation of Cannabosm leads into our heads,

Then our future will see Christian’s guarding its bread,



For every herb baring fruit is inside of its title,

Though restriction of the holy oil came from king’s bridles,

And lost to the people came inspirational files,

But ask why Solomon when to mother of heaven,

Even though his priests tried calling it a sin,

But it was a tradition of sorcerers a class he was in,

And only with the desolation of Judah brought truth to end,

We of a modern flavor can’t even imagine,

That they came to concept absorbing nine pounds through skin,

Even loosing thirty three percent by absorption,

Makes you wonder if high free masons understand,

Now that the Manly P. Hall’s of the world are reported,



For even the amounts in the Picatrix,

Show that when looking for vision the amounts sky rocketed,

This tying back to the Scythian funeral,

The hashish tied into the burning cistern,

When sacrificing stag erecting tent brings vision,



A ritual you wonder if older root had,

Since the author himself said over a hundred texts he did clad,

Into older traditions backed to shamanism of old,

Back when the visions of the oil brought Saul mind to bold,

And the end of his story lead to madness untold,

Maybe showing us where the cover up needed manifold,

And the practice of use stay in serpent cultures of old,

Leading to networks of trade stretching the mold,



For the best incense you needed to go far seeking sires,

For the best intoxications match up to routes of empires,

The routes of the fire sacrifices lead you to root,

And realize modern Christian’s fight there primal foot,



For Hindu’s and Daoist’s do question its importance,

A tie back to the roots of where religions are started,

So let us relegalize the gift of the gods,

That help emperors stomach’s and gave rise to love gods,

Astarte’s trees given right to her named festival,

An intoxication goddess with hemp around her temples,

Got thrown out for tradition of prostitutes toils,

A thing Lebanon had never changed until Constantine,

A new comer to the new traditions of the Hebrew way of being,

Then under all thoughts layers comes to show the sage,

And realize it was only the public withheld from pharmakeia,

And that Herod’s fiery cup still leads back to what was lost,

For the elite never were removed from the game,

Until with the Roman slaughter were removed and never reclaimed,

And when looking in ancient cook books the Jewish people did combine,

Even into dishes of festivals the plant of the divine,

Then what are we doing in this age and time,

The insanity of Nixon a megalomaniac pushing his rhyme,

I wish the gift of the Wine,

That to the Queen Mother of the West good Ma Gu brings gift,

And is lifted to heavens for even offering it…







Sean Stutzman

The Salmon of Wisdom



There he sat under the hazelnut trees,

Swimming around swallowing seeds,

Guardian of the mystical knowledge,

Past from the flood to the sages blooms his hedge,



By many names his life cycled through all of Ireland,

The truth in the end convoluted to know like falling sands,

The hour glass the field in which these heroes stand,

This is the teachings of the reincarnation of life’s plan,



For Fintan was first learning secrets to say,

That back into the earth you come out in new phase,

Like enter the void the mentality seemed to stay,

Being man one day and waking up as a stag when death played,



His message sang down in wisdom of different fruits,

Growing on trees and swimming in pools,

For isn’t interesting to look to where the nuts fall,

And find vision baring fruits grow in the British Isles tall,



Not just one flavor but many to call,

For Tuan ate of Fintan and became just as tall,

The walkers of the wild they comeback in place,

Only between lives as humans has animal face,





They sat watching the land waiting for the next sage,

So they could share the truth of their shape shifting ways,

For Finn did try to learn the secret teaching,

By landing the dream fish that swam in seas deceiving,



Only with youth Fionn does he get the meaning,

From our friend Sarpa salpa is not always giving,

A funny fact when the range of the fish goes into the Mediterranean,

Matching with the invasions and cults brought there in,



A meal eaten commonly without any problem,

Until the fishes belly contains the algae to create vision,

Funny that Roman lords of the sea,

Match this idea and territory of dream,



With a commonly used hallucinogen with plenty of fellows,

Just harder to find the more northern it goes,

Why poor Finn sat for seven years,

The number matches the serpent cult quite clear,



The word Sarpa from latin comes from the root for snake,

And in Sanskrit the rakshasas have Rudra’s powers invoking ache,

Matching to cults that flourish where the fish do grow,

And in Hellenic cultures follow Oceanus, Neptune’s, and Noden’s path,









A tract leading right through the fishes lands,

Right where the Caulerpa prolifera grows at hand,

Then ask why Silvanus is allows close in frame,

Then realize the visions where what they grouped the same,



For our ancestors looked for things that brought sight,

To minds resting bedded down sleeping at night,

All tie together with great goat Pan,

Who matches dwarves of visions from far-away lands?



For if Nymphs, Satyrs, Tritons, Nereids, and the giants come from the titan age,

Match the Fae folk, the Dwarves, and elves of mythology,

The Pygmy’s the dwarves of other mythological days,

Then Silenus and Dionysius were the only to keep face,

Because alcohol over any other substance remained safe,



Forgetting that brewing these special combinations,

Gives context to the meads of poetry and wisdom,

And that if spirit was thought to carry through in new form,

The ability to remember your past lives was norm,



As the great druids of Ireland tell us the score,

That when eating the special and divine it brings truth from the bore,

Your body ripped apart as visions ensue,

Be from fungi, fish, or grain the cults matched to,

Dreams the thread that make the land they sang from last,

Things easy to prophesize with when you know of even caves with gas,





To the older age of intoxicated priestesses and sage,

With the name of the serpents and 7 matching its cage,

A serpent of seven came from El and gave us Yahweh,

So the same game by different names we used to play,

Like the Pixies song man is 5 and devil 6,

All gods’ imagery is matched to 7,

Even meeting up to sleeping Vishnu and Shesha,

Whose predecessors Varuna and Indra match storm gods and of seas,

Showing that more connected was the Indo-European philosophies,

And that these ideas tied to Soma Haoma were forged into beliefs catalysts forgotten,

That maintained strong form until the Mithraic cults sundering,

What the tower of Babel claimed was true although time made it a drudge,

They forgot they were revering the same things and with Iron age grudge,

Allowed the apocalypse of 1170 to give it no faith to fane,

As when combining all the cultures marrying the gods became sane,

A tip of the hat to an earlier play,

One we named not solely but Gigantomachy by name say,

So we are the fall of the same respects given,

The game the same in all forms even to he is risen,

But the killing of brothers like Cain to Able,

Made the barriers of lands forget their origin in fable,

And then Edomites and Israelites term a single friend,

When the Assyrian armies come to bash them in,









Then why do I look to the Irish at the end of the world,

Because they were one of the few so far out they were preserved,

The teachings of the serpent still held some words,

And the destruction of culture was preserved by “Un-civilization,”

A joke to say they held more concept in legend,

And the marriage of the Romans gave similar terms,

Confusing when we look back without catalysts to converge,

That the cults of the mother goddess have common root,

Though the exact location lost to me and to you,



The seek that Apollo, Asteria, Hecate, Cybele, Rhea, and Artemis,

All the witchcraft and spindle goddess’ like Demeter, Freya, Perchta, and Frigg’s,

Are forms of Altars that Agni and Hermes animated from Xoanons undisturbed,

The germans simple calling the meeting altars hearg,

Where the meetings of farmers made politics and the mothers of the hearth,

Who brought all the forms of so called civilized states,

The formation of the empires and conquering changed names,

But then all the goddess icons go back,

To an idea of a total personification of the land,

As a threefold women of many different lands,

Getting married to the storm deity as mountains touch sky,

Where the gates of time are in the Norn’s, Charite’s Morai’s, Parcae’s, Hesperide’s eyes,

Even going as far as India They elaborated Karmic lines,

And then upon the rebirth importance seemed to find,

Split by three fates goes back to Kali the great mother of all material time,

And matches old adage with Shiva as a corpse when energy cannot bind,

That these and older stories come from a intoxication line,

One the Rig Veda the mead poems and the Orphic Hymns sing in kind,

Of when the thought of stabilizing into areas was a new find,

That matched plants in the area giving Psyche to mind,

I thought matched to experience,

Why sex was also kept in to the ideas of this science,

For just like a lover if never tried you have no clue,

About how the experience will feel or what stories told are true,



And the rites of Soma and Dionysius scream come roaring bull imagery,

The pressing and grinding of things to intoxicate subliminally,

And if poppies and mandrake are part the rituals,

Then every intoxicant has a source speaking biblical,

And matching to the characters that part of the land,

The giant’s forces of nature to which poor little man stands,

And the updating of localities to taking new lands,

Makes sense of Zeus over Cronus,

Yahweh over El,

Ba’al Haddad over El,

Odin over Vafthrudnir,

The men are trading kings clear,

But from women the runes and the prophesies are dear,

Matching the Volva’s, the Pythos’, and Sybil’s,

That all the lords of storm slay serpents of old mother it is so clear,

Be it Tiamat, Leviathan, Python, or Jörmungandr,

The serpent form of goddesses are earlier fears,

And the least told hero after troy gives a steer,

To the gold so spoke of in stories of fates and years,

For the saga of Aeneas matches the celtic tales,

Of seeking the golden bough Persephone’s catalyst sail,

Of the Pantheria’s gift to reincarnate motif,



A story matched as part of the Eleusinian mysteries,

That by vision of plant you seek immortality,

Funny that in argument we try to pick just one,

When the inspiration of intoxication not the source is what is sung,

Through all the tails of different forms,

Match cows and wheat and pinecones norms,

With the early mosaics of Christians matching suit,

And Martin Luther King even saying in Eucharist there is common root,

Then by sacrificing the storm gods phallus of popping up after rain,

The chemical stimulants and oracles make sense that some points made priests insane,

And that ecstatic rites of passage match up to this game,

For in experience of life the secrets revealed are tamed,

And the glory of life after death manifests inside brains,

A secret held by those on the outskirts of the un-sane,

And a beacon for the healing of the modern timeframe,



For if all these ideas come to Paleolithic root,

When violence held context in religions formed more brute,

Then we are the descendants of the brave few,

Who stood up to time and collected the truth from dew,

From metal wizards and wild-men to priestess of promiscuous truth,

The knowledge was held by the weird in the group,

A thing we no longer try to bother,

Those standing on the other side of Aeneas’s father,

Haven’t been born yet but wait until the right date,

And the great mistress of material makes good all of fate,

Be it Neith with weaving or spindles of thread,

No watered down we made inspiration spread,

Because with more people control is more attractive,

And we lost ecstasy so far that we are consciously reactive,

Teachings ways to contemplation with no risk we call revelation,

Yet like Buddhist in Ashrams what fear comes in their contemplation,

A half game of what then takes decades to achieve,

What Moses and prophets sought in one night of dream,

Like Saul your whole world changes in one day dramatically,

And the voice of the hidden speaks through calamity,

Something we decided was detrimental to wars of humanity,

And like Absinthe ran propagandas that stole inspiration from fanatical being,

Making demons and witches of the true pro-generation,

That gave us anything resembling the new era of nations,



But again the salmon hides for the next invasion to arrive,

For the knowledge is lost with each amnesia we find,

And the prophets of old would speak risk thereof,

And would represent the sacrifice we made lent now of,

A water down form of the real traditions of before,

A teaching that said without risk there is no reward,

Like Odin’s price or the cost of Christ,

Soma can now speak back with even more choice,

Of things of the new world with similar praise,

That like teonanácatl,

Shows that every root comes back into Yggdrasil’s to be adorned,

No longer lost we can once again transform,

Now we know the sources of Amrita Ambrosia and glory in whole...





Sean Stutzman

The Fae Folk



Lords of the uncommon space,

Between waking dreams and natures face,

Of dreaming power and intrinsic faith,

In the land in which our ancients bathe,



For you do not see them with the eye,

Unless biting the flesh of their housing and to die,

A feeling of heart required to sift through time,

Until their twilight world comes singing rhyme,



Though tricky and tough they still catch our hope,

A idea villainized from removal from folk,

From a land built by forests with trees you knew,

And where in the breaking light a friend sat in the dew,



From beautiful queens draped in bountiful light,

To the snatchers and pilferers that only brought strife,

Yet polarized to an end our minds made prejudice,

And made our friends around us be tied to injustice,



Yet the fae folk love us and the land,

If real the guardians of life in its natural stand,

Even the stories brought down seem to give us insight,

That when mind matches land opening of mind is not fright,





For though some evil might be where they played,

Often the protectors of wild places and animals they stayed,

Much like Shintoism they seemed to be framed,

On the actions of people set to a world untamed,



For we should hear the value of truth,

That still much like ancients we are connected to,

And although not seeing the world in a skew,

Of nature singing back and talking to you,

That our friends of this world are there to sing view,

That a piece an ingredient man is in the stew,



For when matching intoxication to this frame,

We grab up the milk let it slip into our brain,

The kiss of our mother’s lips red with white contains,

That a different reality sits in mind of daze,



Matched to silent sitting in natural sights,

The action of the wild can still bring frights,

A lesson which echoes the place we do hold,

To take care of the wee folk and to guard their homes bold,



Yet more and more we let slip our beautiful friends,

Saying the inspirations fake yet continually destroying glens,

I dream of a lady on which we sit on mountain tops and wish,

Her power to grow and shrink and make our legs rubberish,





Bouncing atop familiar mountain range,

A bounty of Muscaria to take care of and change,

For rotting the mountain cried out the pillars need saved,

Of which I tried to step up and help her a fairy unfazed,



For they know of being next to us even when we don’t know,

And spreading spore on mountain we bounced so bold,

The moment so beautiful I woke up and rose,

The feeling of the untouchable world of before,



For this spirit every time we have seen each other in dream,

Treat each other with respect and help each other’s needs,

Her advice giving a real idea to a problem in reality,

Then shouldn’t I give thanks to a subconscious determinate,



For I am skeptic I always have been,

Yet when in these dreams I never feel outside of my skin,

As if it were more real than the waking me walking to fringe,

For the beautiful blue lady sitting in my dreams,



Gave context to place inside reality,

Gave thanks when we did try to mend fatalities,

The breakdown of a world from heartless men,

That forgot without our father trees even soil dies to our erosion,









Our ancestors gave animation to the stones and the wild,

An idea that we start losing after being a child,

So if co-operation even in dreams is healthy,

Then their reality is met when a natural face sings us free,



For if each aspect of a world doesn’t have science,

Then the things we call laws had a natural face,

A fact if we keep alienating them will end in disgrace,

As we are trying dominate the field without partner in three legged race,



I hope that the feeling that said we control,

Gets tossed out and riddled by fact all its holes,

And a life that brings the great queen back safe,

So she can walk in spaces of trees in future tense,



For I am a speaker for the lips of my lady,

I visit her when I lay down in the wild in a place shady,

For she united and bounce with me over mountains,

And I saw that it was pain from us they couldn’t mend,



For when young I was told when looking in books,

That a man in an animal head urinated sooth,

And when back then I asked how did people come through,

Into the new world earlier with ships said my dream truth,









A practice that almost made me in trouble,

Because I even had urge to share this to my mother,

Yet I went to school and learned all the facts,

Told myself that it was all a bunch faulty thoughts…





Yet years later I found out of the cults of the wheel,

I learned that urination was reserved in usage of commoner feel,

I learned that the baring straight was having trouble holding weight,

And I began to question from whence these thoughts came,



For still a skeptic I may be,

But I feel nature majesty,

I never question what was said to me,

And I know that now my life is free,

No longer forced inside societal cavity,





So be they real or be they false,

These little folks help us boast,

Of situations that might be tied to hope,

Of what our ancestors truly worshipped,

A relationship based on alternative grip,

That used other to let the mind slip,

To in-between gaps of determinate,

A place we call crazy and indeterminate,

Where our friends may just be ways of saying,

Inspiration has face inside your own maze,

Their labyrinths of how your life plays,

Then shouldn’t we listen when dreams give us days,

Of ways to create happiness and help for our lives,

Then knowing that trickery is also in mind,

We can lay down paths of opening inside,



So I leave this saying that the story in this poem did happen, the dream I had growing up and the answer given back to me when questioning history. I was 8 or 9 when I asked reading the book between the lines, I laughed off until now when I find. That never anything they said was a lie, and although dark figures came in my dreams as well the friendly dreams seemed to direct my life well. I hope all who read this do not judge for I am still a man of science but I think the forefathers we call barbarians were playing with a subconscious science we have just recently become reconnected. For I don’t think the dream cults of old were there just for funny religious pose. No a tapping of mind into dream may be there and one they practiced knowing how to steer, so who am I thousands of years later to sneer at a faith that gave feeling back to nature so clear. The more I study the more options from different sources seems to be there that when living on land forever made faces out of hills, castles out of mountains, and friends bouncing in the fields, real, imagined, or brought through mind from substance or thought the place in the mind gives a reason like Jungian discourse I traced this feeling back and give its voice a new source.





Sean Stutzman