Alright. Let’s cut the light on this muthafucka!
You didn’t come here for a gentle parable. You came because a dream crawled up from the root-work and showed you its teeth. So let’s read it raw. I am a Mongo Witch, a Hoodoo practitioner, and a Spiritualist. I don’t do sugar. I do salt, brick dust, and the truth. This dream ain't a metaphor. It’s a reconnaissance report from the front lines of the spirit war.
Act 1: The Room of Waste
A sister in spirit knows something’s rotten. She brings you to see it. You find her man in the dark, naked, spilling his seed on a wall.
Grimy Details:
This ain’t about sex. It’s about a spirit of perverse waste. In the root, seed is life-force, potential, ancestry, money, power. This spirit makes a man take his own God-given life force—his creativity, his lineage, his vitality—and spend it on a dead wall. It’s masturbation of the soul. Addiction. A life force turned in on itself, creating nothing but a stain. The wife is devastated because she’s bound to it; she’s watching her own prosperity get jacked off into the void by the one who should be building with her.
The Hoodoo Read:
This is acrossed condition of the highest order. A man crossed into uselessness, his own nature turned against him. The “dark room” is the hidden condition, the secret habit, the private sin that drains the whole house. You opening the door is divine inspection. The light from the hall is truth. And when you speak? “Fool, get your nasty ass up…” That ain’t you talking. That’s the Commanding Voice of the Ancestors using your mouth. You spoke the Word of Order against the Spirit of Chaos.
The room cleans up fast—that’s the trick. The spirit will dress the situation, turn on the lights, and smile. “See? All better.” But the stain is still on the wall. The physical evidence of the spiritual crime remains. That’s when you cuss him again: “Clean that mess.” You called for actual cleansing, not a cover-up. That’s when the mask drops. The smiling man is gone, and the thing inside him—the spirit of perverse waste—floats at you to attack. To shut the witness up.
And it BOUNCES.
Remember that. It hit you with everything it had, and you didn’t even stumble. That’s not you being tough. That’s you being sealed. Your spiritual work, your protections, your ancestors—they’ve made you a wall of living brick dust. The crossed condition can’t cross you.
Act 2: The Street of Lies
Now you’re outside. The world is confused. “AI humans and animals.” They don’t know what’s real.
Grimy Details:
“AI” here is the spirit of simulation. The False Copy. The convincing lie. The friend who ain’t a friend. The lover who’s a energy vampire. The spiritual leader with a dead spirit. It looks right. It smiles, it waves, its dog is nice. It sniffs you—trying to get your scent, to learn how to mimic you better.
You look at it and you NAME IT. “That’s fake. That’s AI.”
The Hoodoo Read:
This is discernment. Not a feeling. A knowing. The gift of the Witch to see through glamours. When you name it, the thing can’t hold its form. Its face turns evil, eyes go red—the true spirit revealed. In its rage, it smashes its own prop (the clay dog). This is critical: The spirit of deception will destroy its own creations to frighten you. It will break its own fake peace to show you how violent it can be.
Then, the broken prop gets up—now overtly demonic (red eyes, sharp teeth)—and flies at you. Again. It cannot penetrate. This time you’re amused. Why? Because you’ve passed the test. The first attack (the man) proved your defense is strong. This second attack proves your discernment is lethal. You’ve seen its whole cycle: the fake smile, the revealed rage, the violent threat. And you find it funny. That’s the power position. The witch who is entertained by the devil’s tantrum is a witch who owns the room.
The Message for the Practitioners on the Ground:
1. You Are Being Shown Your Office. This dream is an anointing. You are being shown that your role is Divine Inspector & Truth-Teller. You are the one who opens doors people keep closed, points at the stain everyone is ignoring, and commands the cleansing. You are the one who names the “AI” in the room when everyone else is just scared and confused.
2. The Attack is the Proof of Work. If you speak truth to a hidden condition, it will lash out. The floating vampire attack is the standard response. Your job is not to avoid the attack. Your job is to stand so sealed that the attack becomes a joke. The bounce-off is your confirmation that your mojos, your baths, your ancestor veneration is WORKING.
3. Your Weapon is Naming the Stain. The spirit’s first trick is the cover-up (the clean room, the smiling man). Its second trick is the threat. Your power is to keep pointing at the stain. “I know you see it. Clean it.” Don’t argue with the smile. Don’t flinch at the fangs. Point at the stain. Name the waste. Name the fake. The naming alone unravels everything.
This dream is your confirmation: You are built for the grimy work of seeing and slaying. The world is full of rooms with stains on the wall and pretty dogs made of clay. You have the eyes to see it, the mouth to name it, and the spiritual seal to let the resulting tantrum bounce right the fuck off.
Now go handle your business.
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