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- Apr 2, 2025
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After more than a decade as a customer of Jason Miller's work, I'm posting this to make a record. The site already has a record on Miller — the structural critique is well-covered, including the observation that the god-names in his material are largely interchangeable. This is the customer-side record from someone who was inside the apparatus for a long time. There's a specific moment in the middle of what follows where his behavior stops being interpretable as anything but deliberate. I want it on the file.
I took all three of Jason Miller's Sorcery of Hecate courses, first cycle for each. Beyond Hecate: multiple other courses, most of his books, a service here, a few talismans there, a phone consult, a few audio recordings — thousands of dollars in total. The Hecate work in particular was foundational for me. I built a serious devotional practice on top of it and kept building long after the courses concluded.
My relationship to the material didn't begin when the course went on sale. I remember the period before that, when discussion around Jake Stratton-Kent's The True Grimoire was unfolding through the old Yahoo group built around the book — Goetia, spirit contact, Hekate, the recovery of older magical structures beneath the medieval overlays. Hekate's role came up often. Miller was there. I remember him saying, long before the course was released, that he might eventually offer a Hecate course of his own. I was excited about it before it was a product.
After Course 1, a clerical mix-up put me on the carryover list into the next cycle and I started receiving Course 2 Dropbox materials before I'd paid for them. I could have kept quiet and nobody probably would have noticed. Instead I contacted him and paid the full amount anyway — a little over $600 at the time — because I respected the work and didn't want materials I hadn't earned hanging over the practice. I'm flagging this up front because it becomes relevant later.
A few years after completing all three courses, I lost access to the Course 2 and Course 3 Dropbox materials during a rough period of my life. I was inside an actively harmful relationship with someone whose worldview I had absorbed at the expense of my own judgment. I had no mental health support of any kind. During that period I did damage to my own practice — destroyed implements, lost materials, severed connections to working I'd spent years building.
I eventually got out of the relationship — a working with Lilith ended it — and started trying to rebuild. Recovering the Hecate course materials was the first thing on the list. I got back on Facebook, after years away, specifically to reach out to Jason about restoring access and re-entering the returning-student cycle from Course 1. The messages were polite. I wasn't coming in hot.
He didn't respond. Months passed. As it later turned out, Facebook's filtered inbox had been hiding the messages and he genuinely hadn't seen them — but from my side, I was contacting someone whose work I'd invested years into and hearing nothing back. I missed the course cycle that opened around Halloween. During that gap of silence, I wrote a follow-up message under the assumption no one would ever read it.
The message had three main points. The first was that his distribution system was a structural disaster seemingly engineered to fuck over exactly the kind of long-term student I was. The second was that his inner circle were "kiss-ass sycophants." The third was that I did not give a single shit about being his friend.
When the messages finally surfaced for him in mid-November, that's what he found.
He responded, in a tone that read as defensive rather than curious. He wanted to know what I thought yelling at him in his inbox with messages he hadn't even seen until now was going to accomplish.
I apologized. I explained the period I'd been in. I gave him enough context to understand what had happened and why I was coming back. He said he understood. He said he'd help. He re-added me to the Hecate Hut. He re-friended me on Facebook. He confirmed my email address directly — "is this you?" — and I said yes.
For about ten minutes, I thought I had a teacher in front of me who could actually hear what I was telling him.
I was wrong.
Whatever moved him to agree was, somewhere between that night and the next morning, replaced by something else. I don't know what happened in the gap. I only know that the agreement evaporated, and what came out the other side was the apparatus this post is about.
Nothing. Days, then a week, then two. The read receipts were punctual. The replies were not. Every few days the read receipt would update — still there, still seeing everything, still not responding. Not absence exactly. Recurring acknowledgement without resolution.
When I finally asked him directly whether the silence was his way of telling me I needed to pay for the courses again, he said no. He still intended to send the materials. In the same exchange, he clarified that I had been very rude.
I want to give him this. I had been very rude. I called his community "kiss-ass sycophants." I said I did not give a single shit about being his friend. I have apologized for this multiple times, in writing. I want to be clear that the rudeness occurred in one message. The non-delivery of paid-for materials occurred over a much longer period. I'm not saying these two facts are unrelated. I'm just saying they don't seem, on inspection, to be the same size.
I apologized again. I sought reassurance that he still intended to keep his word. What I did not yet understand was that no amount of apology was going to balance the particular ledger I had accidentally disturbed. The problem was never really the profanity. The problem was that somewhere inside the profanity I'd declined the underlying economy itself, and thereby created a spiritual bookkeeping error no amount of subsequent groveling could fully reconcile.
There exists, apparently, a level of wounded occult court etiquette at which several thousand dollars of paid student material become metaphysically subordinate to the fact that someone once called your inner circle "kiss-ass sycophants" in a message they assumed nobody would ever read.
His next move was the Barnes & Noble comparison, delivered with the unmistakable confidence of a metaphor he was extremely pleased with.
In this formulation, my situation resembled walking into a Barnes & Noble after throwing all your books away and asking someone there to go collect them for you.
I want to take the metaphor seriously for a moment, because I think he was reaching for something. You can picture the exhausted bookstore employee under fluorescent lighting while some disheveled lunatic explains he used to own books and now, through a shocking sequence of personal decisions, no longer does. There's a folksy common-sense wisdom to it. If I had thrown the books away, the responsibility for retrieving them would, on the standard reading, fall on me. The shop is not in the business of recovering customer property from the dump. I sat with the metaphor. I wanted to give it a fair hearing.
The comparison runs into some difficulty once you factor in that Barnes & Noble had already been paid several thousand dollars for the books, was still storing them in a private warehouse it controlled, had personally confirmed my account details by name, repeatedly assured me it intended to send them over, and was, at this point in the analogy, beginning to post daily tarot spreads while not doing so.
I want to make sure I have this right. He had read the apology several times in real time without responding. He maintained that I had been rude. He also maintained that he intended to help. Both of these positions, in his telling, were active.
Then the next course cycle opened.
A woman in the Hut asked publicly about returning students being re-added to the post-Course-1 cycle. Jason answered her almost immediately and said emails would be going out. He had, at this point, already confirmed my email address directly.
For about a week I resisted the temptation to bother Jason about the several thousand dollars' worth of course material he'd already confirmed I was supposed to receive. The man was busy. The tarot spreads were appearing daily. New cycles were being announced. Other students were being responded to. The work, by any reasonable measure, was considerable. Daily tarot is, after all, daily. It seemed unfair to interrupt it.
Adding someone to a Dropbox folder is not generally considered an ordeal of initiation. I want to flag this because it becomes relevant. At any point during this period he could have told me he had changed his mind. He could have told me I needed to pay again. He could have told me he wasn't going to send the materials. Any of those would have ended it. Instead he kept saying he was going to send them. I kept believing him, because he was the one telling me. That was the arrangement we were in for the next several months. The read receipts continued. The public activity continued. The tarot spreads continued. The course cycles continued. Other students continued receiving responses. Meanwhile every attempt I made to resolve the situation — publicly, privately, politely, and eventually angrily — disappeared into the same unresolved silence.
By February, I had stopped asking.
I unfriended him. Left the Hecate Hut. Eventually blocked him myself to constrain any volatile overreaction that would only make things worse.
On the Taurus new moon of April 2025, I did a reading asking whether there was any value left in continuing to use his material, or whether I should walk away from it entirely. The answer was clear: the structure itself was real. Worth keeping. The cost of using it cleanly was separating the work from the man who delivered it.
Over the following months I sent two emails — May and October respectively — into what I increasingly suspected was a dead channel. I wasn't trying to negotiate. The emails were not, strictly speaking, addressed to him. He was just the available outlet. He had almost certainly blocked my email by then. Neither was probably ever read.
That's a shame, because I meant every word.
Eventually, once I'd worked out that the emails weren't reaching him, I decided to make one final direct attempt. I unblocked him on Facebook for a single message.
In it, I told him something I had never previously mentioned: that years earlier, after the clerical mistake that accidentally granted me access to Course 2 materials before payment, I had voluntarily contacted him and paid the full amount anyway — over $600 — because I respected him enough not to keep something I hadn't earned.
I asked him for two things: restoration of the materials I'd paid for, and a direct apology for how the situation had been handled. I told him plainly that if it was ignored, I would go public.
Then I ended the message with: "Your move, boss."
He read it. He blocked me.
I also threatened to leak his work in that final message. I want to be honest about this, because the alternative is pretending I didn't, and pretending I didn't would be worse than the threat itself. I threatened to leak his work. I meant it when I wrote it. By then every ordinary avenue had failed and I wanted him to understand that his conduct would have consequences. That isn't what I'm doing here. Here, I'm making the record public and telling the truth about what happened when I asked the seller first. But if we're going to be honest about his conduct, we have to be honest about mine, and mine, on that particular day, included a leak threat. I'm not going to pretend it didn't.
I've spent the intervening year separating the work from the man, as the reading said to.
I want to walk through the active phase of this slowly, because I keep thinking I must be missing something.
A customer asks for materials he has already paid for. The seller, after months of unrelated silence caused by a filtered inbox, sees the messages and agrees to send them. The seller then recalls that the customer was, at some earlier point, rude in one of those messages. The seller is, apparently, spiritually unable to drag the PDFs into an email.
For roughly three months, from mid-November into February, the seller maintains the position that he intends to send them. He reads the customer's apologies in real time. He does not respond to them. Beginning in December, he posts a tarot spread. The next day he posts another tarot spread. He answers a different student publicly about the next course cycle. He posts a tarot spread. This continues, daily, for the rest of the window in which the materials are not being sent.
I would like, in good faith, to find another explanation for this sequence. I have not been able to.
By February, I had stopped asking.
What was actually happening, looking back, was a social economy with very specific rules: admiration in, access out. Flattery in, attention out. Emotional tribute paid upward in exchange for his attention. The irony of a narcissistic validation economy forming around a man whose magical name means "one with no name" is something to behold.
The screed I'd sent had, almost by accident, named the arrangement directly and made it clear I was no longer willing to participate in it. That's what couldn't be forgiven. People in his position can survive mockery. They can survive haters, detractors, gossip, piracy, schizoposting, and open hostility. Their entire defensive apparatus is built for frontal assault. What it isn't built to survive is a paying customer, no longer interested in approval, accidentally finding the exact arrangement of words that names what's actually happening. The mask came off because the words struck a load-bearing wall.
I had no strategic intent in any of it. I was just a customer asking for the PDFs I'd paid for, while saying what I'd come to think of the distribution system between me and the work.
I've watched the course emerge, circulate, and become one of the recognized modern access-points for Hekatean practice. I've also watched the landscape around it widen. Hekate isn't held inside the small rooms and privileged access-points that once seemed to dominate the conversation. The forums have multiplied. People who've gone through the courses now speak openly about their experiences.
What I figured out, eventually, is that you don't actually need him.
The chapter titles for both courses are publicly available; he uses them as advertising copy. The map is visible. Anyone with that map, a working relationship with Her, and enough discipline can begin rebuilding the territory. The system was never the locked vault he positioned it as.
I'll give him exactly this much: the arrangement is real, and the arrangement is his. It doesn't need to stay his. Eventually you take the training wheels off the bike, grind the asshole's initials off the frame, and ride it as your own. What's left after that is between you and Her.
The format itself, along with the distribution apparatus around it, is a disgrace to the deity whose name is being profited from. I want to back off from that slightly — it's a strong claim. He's running a small business on Her name. The business sells the same goddess in three pieces because three pieces sell better than one. I've used the phrase "turning Her names into toilet paper sales" to describe one of the worst offenders in what I call the Hekate Industrial Complex. I stand by both phrases. They might be slightly hot. That's where I land on it.
He did his job getting the work into circulation. Whatever relationship people build with it after that is between them and Her.
She is bigger than one curriculum. Bigger than one man's distribution system.
You can sit down, trace the sources the chapter titles point toward, follow the magical logic underneath them, and put together your own practice from Her directly. You do not need the Gatekeeper. You never did. What you may need is discipline, discernment, and a real relationship with Her.
I want to be careful with the word "guru" here, because I don't think he'd accept it. He's something else. A carnival operator, maybe. He has a stage. He has a microphone. He has, going for him, charisma, a blog, and a PayPal link.
If you meet Hekate's self-appointed prophet on the road, take his name to the crossroads and put a pendulum on it.
I once asked Her through divination why people like him are tolerated around this work at all. The answer was: "I use their big mouths to spread my name." I had been hoping for vindication. I got perspective instead. I am still adjusting.
One last thing before I close.
I'm not saying his work doesn't work. I'm not calling him a fraud. His magic works. The system he sells is real. It delivers results for students who use it. None of this post should be read as disputing any of that. That's part of why the harm is what it is.
If he were running a scam, this would be a consumer complaint about expecting magic and receiving nothing. He isn't running a scam. He's running a real apparatus, on Her name, in which the magic does in fact work — and in which access to the magic is governed by his temper, his ego, his selective attention to students, his willingness to ghost people who have spent thousands of dollars and a decade of loyalty over a single message he found inconvenient, and his readiness to indefinitely withhold paid-for materials over any disturbance to his self-image.
What I'm calling him is someone exploiting Her name for profit while behaving with contempt toward his own students. I've also taken his Lucifer course and his Tibetan sorcery work, and the arrangement is the same in both. The contempt is selective. It activates when the student stops paying tribute. I have watched this activate, in my own case, in real time. I'm describing what I saw.
One more thing worth flagging. His business and his personal Facebook are fused. Paying for his courses includes ongoing exposure to his feed, which is its own experience.
The magic is real. The mediation is corrupt.
I'm laying this down so it might spare other people from emptying their pockets, over time, into the bank account of someone whose work isn't as deep as he claims it is. The goddess doesn't need gatekeepers. What he runs, in the end, is a small carnival. The carnival has a barker. The barker has a microphone. The applause, in this arrangement, is the product. Every round of clapping goes in his paycheck.
No future student should have to endure the financial predation, the emotional damage, or the slow corrosive disregard that I and others have endured at his hands.
That this post is shipping on the next Taurus new moon, thirteen months after the reading that told me to separate the work from the man, is not lost on me.
I didn't plan it. I would have shipped it months ago if I could have.
I couldn't. Here we are.
— Spookster, signing off here as Mist Starkana from this point forward.
I took all three of Jason Miller's Sorcery of Hecate courses, first cycle for each. Beyond Hecate: multiple other courses, most of his books, a service here, a few talismans there, a phone consult, a few audio recordings — thousands of dollars in total. The Hecate work in particular was foundational for me. I built a serious devotional practice on top of it and kept building long after the courses concluded.
My relationship to the material didn't begin when the course went on sale. I remember the period before that, when discussion around Jake Stratton-Kent's The True Grimoire was unfolding through the old Yahoo group built around the book — Goetia, spirit contact, Hekate, the recovery of older magical structures beneath the medieval overlays. Hekate's role came up often. Miller was there. I remember him saying, long before the course was released, that he might eventually offer a Hecate course of his own. I was excited about it before it was a product.
After Course 1, a clerical mix-up put me on the carryover list into the next cycle and I started receiving Course 2 Dropbox materials before I'd paid for them. I could have kept quiet and nobody probably would have noticed. Instead I contacted him and paid the full amount anyway — a little over $600 at the time — because I respected the work and didn't want materials I hadn't earned hanging over the practice. I'm flagging this up front because it becomes relevant later.
A few years after completing all three courses, I lost access to the Course 2 and Course 3 Dropbox materials during a rough period of my life. I was inside an actively harmful relationship with someone whose worldview I had absorbed at the expense of my own judgment. I had no mental health support of any kind. During that period I did damage to my own practice — destroyed implements, lost materials, severed connections to working I'd spent years building.
I eventually got out of the relationship — a working with Lilith ended it — and started trying to rebuild. Recovering the Hecate course materials was the first thing on the list. I got back on Facebook, after years away, specifically to reach out to Jason about restoring access and re-entering the returning-student cycle from Course 1. The messages were polite. I wasn't coming in hot.
He didn't respond. Months passed. As it later turned out, Facebook's filtered inbox had been hiding the messages and he genuinely hadn't seen them — but from my side, I was contacting someone whose work I'd invested years into and hearing nothing back. I missed the course cycle that opened around Halloween. During that gap of silence, I wrote a follow-up message under the assumption no one would ever read it.
The message had three main points. The first was that his distribution system was a structural disaster seemingly engineered to fuck over exactly the kind of long-term student I was. The second was that his inner circle were "kiss-ass sycophants." The third was that I did not give a single shit about being his friend.
When the messages finally surfaced for him in mid-November, that's what he found.
He responded, in a tone that read as defensive rather than curious. He wanted to know what I thought yelling at him in his inbox with messages he hadn't even seen until now was going to accomplish.
I apologized. I explained the period I'd been in. I gave him enough context to understand what had happened and why I was coming back. He said he understood. He said he'd help. He re-added me to the Hecate Hut. He re-friended me on Facebook. He confirmed my email address directly — "is this you?" — and I said yes.
For about ten minutes, I thought I had a teacher in front of me who could actually hear what I was telling him.
I was wrong.
Whatever moved him to agree was, somewhere between that night and the next morning, replaced by something else. I don't know what happened in the gap. I only know that the agreement evaporated, and what came out the other side was the apparatus this post is about.
Nothing. Days, then a week, then two. The read receipts were punctual. The replies were not. Every few days the read receipt would update — still there, still seeing everything, still not responding. Not absence exactly. Recurring acknowledgement without resolution.
When I finally asked him directly whether the silence was his way of telling me I needed to pay for the courses again, he said no. He still intended to send the materials. In the same exchange, he clarified that I had been very rude.
I want to give him this. I had been very rude. I called his community "kiss-ass sycophants." I said I did not give a single shit about being his friend. I have apologized for this multiple times, in writing. I want to be clear that the rudeness occurred in one message. The non-delivery of paid-for materials occurred over a much longer period. I'm not saying these two facts are unrelated. I'm just saying they don't seem, on inspection, to be the same size.
I apologized again. I sought reassurance that he still intended to keep his word. What I did not yet understand was that no amount of apology was going to balance the particular ledger I had accidentally disturbed. The problem was never really the profanity. The problem was that somewhere inside the profanity I'd declined the underlying economy itself, and thereby created a spiritual bookkeeping error no amount of subsequent groveling could fully reconcile.
There exists, apparently, a level of wounded occult court etiquette at which several thousand dollars of paid student material become metaphysically subordinate to the fact that someone once called your inner circle "kiss-ass sycophants" in a message they assumed nobody would ever read.
His next move was the Barnes & Noble comparison, delivered with the unmistakable confidence of a metaphor he was extremely pleased with.
In this formulation, my situation resembled walking into a Barnes & Noble after throwing all your books away and asking someone there to go collect them for you.
I want to take the metaphor seriously for a moment, because I think he was reaching for something. You can picture the exhausted bookstore employee under fluorescent lighting while some disheveled lunatic explains he used to own books and now, through a shocking sequence of personal decisions, no longer does. There's a folksy common-sense wisdom to it. If I had thrown the books away, the responsibility for retrieving them would, on the standard reading, fall on me. The shop is not in the business of recovering customer property from the dump. I sat with the metaphor. I wanted to give it a fair hearing.
The comparison runs into some difficulty once you factor in that Barnes & Noble had already been paid several thousand dollars for the books, was still storing them in a private warehouse it controlled, had personally confirmed my account details by name, repeatedly assured me it intended to send them over, and was, at this point in the analogy, beginning to post daily tarot spreads while not doing so.
I want to make sure I have this right. He had read the apology several times in real time without responding. He maintained that I had been rude. He also maintained that he intended to help. Both of these positions, in his telling, were active.
Then the next course cycle opened.
A woman in the Hut asked publicly about returning students being re-added to the post-Course-1 cycle. Jason answered her almost immediately and said emails would be going out. He had, at this point, already confirmed my email address directly.
For about a week I resisted the temptation to bother Jason about the several thousand dollars' worth of course material he'd already confirmed I was supposed to receive. The man was busy. The tarot spreads were appearing daily. New cycles were being announced. Other students were being responded to. The work, by any reasonable measure, was considerable. Daily tarot is, after all, daily. It seemed unfair to interrupt it.
Adding someone to a Dropbox folder is not generally considered an ordeal of initiation. I want to flag this because it becomes relevant. At any point during this period he could have told me he had changed his mind. He could have told me I needed to pay again. He could have told me he wasn't going to send the materials. Any of those would have ended it. Instead he kept saying he was going to send them. I kept believing him, because he was the one telling me. That was the arrangement we were in for the next several months. The read receipts continued. The public activity continued. The tarot spreads continued. The course cycles continued. Other students continued receiving responses. Meanwhile every attempt I made to resolve the situation — publicly, privately, politely, and eventually angrily — disappeared into the same unresolved silence.
By February, I had stopped asking.
I unfriended him. Left the Hecate Hut. Eventually blocked him myself to constrain any volatile overreaction that would only make things worse.
On the Taurus new moon of April 2025, I did a reading asking whether there was any value left in continuing to use his material, or whether I should walk away from it entirely. The answer was clear: the structure itself was real. Worth keeping. The cost of using it cleanly was separating the work from the man who delivered it.
Over the following months I sent two emails — May and October respectively — into what I increasingly suspected was a dead channel. I wasn't trying to negotiate. The emails were not, strictly speaking, addressed to him. He was just the available outlet. He had almost certainly blocked my email by then. Neither was probably ever read.
That's a shame, because I meant every word.
Eventually, once I'd worked out that the emails weren't reaching him, I decided to make one final direct attempt. I unblocked him on Facebook for a single message.
In it, I told him something I had never previously mentioned: that years earlier, after the clerical mistake that accidentally granted me access to Course 2 materials before payment, I had voluntarily contacted him and paid the full amount anyway — over $600 — because I respected him enough not to keep something I hadn't earned.
I asked him for two things: restoration of the materials I'd paid for, and a direct apology for how the situation had been handled. I told him plainly that if it was ignored, I would go public.
Then I ended the message with: "Your move, boss."
He read it. He blocked me.
I also threatened to leak his work in that final message. I want to be honest about this, because the alternative is pretending I didn't, and pretending I didn't would be worse than the threat itself. I threatened to leak his work. I meant it when I wrote it. By then every ordinary avenue had failed and I wanted him to understand that his conduct would have consequences. That isn't what I'm doing here. Here, I'm making the record public and telling the truth about what happened when I asked the seller first. But if we're going to be honest about his conduct, we have to be honest about mine, and mine, on that particular day, included a leak threat. I'm not going to pretend it didn't.
I've spent the intervening year separating the work from the man, as the reading said to.
I want to walk through the active phase of this slowly, because I keep thinking I must be missing something.
A customer asks for materials he has already paid for. The seller, after months of unrelated silence caused by a filtered inbox, sees the messages and agrees to send them. The seller then recalls that the customer was, at some earlier point, rude in one of those messages. The seller is, apparently, spiritually unable to drag the PDFs into an email.
For roughly three months, from mid-November into February, the seller maintains the position that he intends to send them. He reads the customer's apologies in real time. He does not respond to them. Beginning in December, he posts a tarot spread. The next day he posts another tarot spread. He answers a different student publicly about the next course cycle. He posts a tarot spread. This continues, daily, for the rest of the window in which the materials are not being sent.
I would like, in good faith, to find another explanation for this sequence. I have not been able to.
By February, I had stopped asking.
What was actually happening, looking back, was a social economy with very specific rules: admiration in, access out. Flattery in, attention out. Emotional tribute paid upward in exchange for his attention. The irony of a narcissistic validation economy forming around a man whose magical name means "one with no name" is something to behold.
The screed I'd sent had, almost by accident, named the arrangement directly and made it clear I was no longer willing to participate in it. That's what couldn't be forgiven. People in his position can survive mockery. They can survive haters, detractors, gossip, piracy, schizoposting, and open hostility. Their entire defensive apparatus is built for frontal assault. What it isn't built to survive is a paying customer, no longer interested in approval, accidentally finding the exact arrangement of words that names what's actually happening. The mask came off because the words struck a load-bearing wall.
I had no strategic intent in any of it. I was just a customer asking for the PDFs I'd paid for, while saying what I'd come to think of the distribution system between me and the work.
I've watched the course emerge, circulate, and become one of the recognized modern access-points for Hekatean practice. I've also watched the landscape around it widen. Hekate isn't held inside the small rooms and privileged access-points that once seemed to dominate the conversation. The forums have multiplied. People who've gone through the courses now speak openly about their experiences.
What I figured out, eventually, is that you don't actually need him.
The chapter titles for both courses are publicly available; he uses them as advertising copy. The map is visible. Anyone with that map, a working relationship with Her, and enough discipline can begin rebuilding the territory. The system was never the locked vault he positioned it as.
I'll give him exactly this much: the arrangement is real, and the arrangement is his. It doesn't need to stay his. Eventually you take the training wheels off the bike, grind the asshole's initials off the frame, and ride it as your own. What's left after that is between you and Her.
The format itself, along with the distribution apparatus around it, is a disgrace to the deity whose name is being profited from. I want to back off from that slightly — it's a strong claim. He's running a small business on Her name. The business sells the same goddess in three pieces because three pieces sell better than one. I've used the phrase "turning Her names into toilet paper sales" to describe one of the worst offenders in what I call the Hekate Industrial Complex. I stand by both phrases. They might be slightly hot. That's where I land on it.
He did his job getting the work into circulation. Whatever relationship people build with it after that is between them and Her.
She is bigger than one curriculum. Bigger than one man's distribution system.
You can sit down, trace the sources the chapter titles point toward, follow the magical logic underneath them, and put together your own practice from Her directly. You do not need the Gatekeeper. You never did. What you may need is discipline, discernment, and a real relationship with Her.
I want to be careful with the word "guru" here, because I don't think he'd accept it. He's something else. A carnival operator, maybe. He has a stage. He has a microphone. He has, going for him, charisma, a blog, and a PayPal link.
If you meet Hekate's self-appointed prophet on the road, take his name to the crossroads and put a pendulum on it.
I once asked Her through divination why people like him are tolerated around this work at all. The answer was: "I use their big mouths to spread my name." I had been hoping for vindication. I got perspective instead. I am still adjusting.
One last thing before I close.
I'm not saying his work doesn't work. I'm not calling him a fraud. His magic works. The system he sells is real. It delivers results for students who use it. None of this post should be read as disputing any of that. That's part of why the harm is what it is.
If he were running a scam, this would be a consumer complaint about expecting magic and receiving nothing. He isn't running a scam. He's running a real apparatus, on Her name, in which the magic does in fact work — and in which access to the magic is governed by his temper, his ego, his selective attention to students, his willingness to ghost people who have spent thousands of dollars and a decade of loyalty over a single message he found inconvenient, and his readiness to indefinitely withhold paid-for materials over any disturbance to his self-image.
What I'm calling him is someone exploiting Her name for profit while behaving with contempt toward his own students. I've also taken his Lucifer course and his Tibetan sorcery work, and the arrangement is the same in both. The contempt is selective. It activates when the student stops paying tribute. I have watched this activate, in my own case, in real time. I'm describing what I saw.
One more thing worth flagging. His business and his personal Facebook are fused. Paying for his courses includes ongoing exposure to his feed, which is its own experience.
The magic is real. The mediation is corrupt.
I'm laying this down so it might spare other people from emptying their pockets, over time, into the bank account of someone whose work isn't as deep as he claims it is. The goddess doesn't need gatekeepers. What he runs, in the end, is a small carnival. The carnival has a barker. The barker has a microphone. The applause, in this arrangement, is the product. Every round of clapping goes in his paycheck.
No future student should have to endure the financial predation, the emotional damage, or the slow corrosive disregard that I and others have endured at his hands.
That this post is shipping on the next Taurus new moon, thirteen months after the reading that told me to separate the work from the man, is not lost on me.
I didn't plan it. I would have shipped it months ago if I could have.
I couldn't. Here we are.
— Spookster, signing off here as Mist Starkana from this point forward.
