BAPHOMET

The young man sits on the damp earth floor, its moist chill penetrating his thin cotton robe. He has not noticed the cold for hours. The flickering of candles picks out random details of an unremarkable cellar. The candles, black to the left, white to the right, are seated on a makeshift altar: a trestle table with a simple white cloth thrown over it. On the cloth is an array of magical weapons, most of them improvised from household utensils. The air is harsh with incense.
The chant has gone on for most of the night. It was scripted to begin with, but has evolved into spontaneous devotions. Exhaustion is setting in and the effect of the sacrament the young man took earlier is peaking. His state of mind is drifting as far out from the mundane as it has ever been. After months of preparation he is finally prepared. He is ready to meet a god. He is calling Baphomet.
Baphomet is all things. To some, he/she is a god, to others, the devil; the fusion of human and animal, male and female, base and divine. Baphomet is the universe and all things in it, the mystical union of all the facets of creation into the one, indivisible whole. Tonight, the young man hopes, Baphomet will be the answerer of his prayers.
There is a clean, honest anger inside the young man. He knows it is just. His life has not turned out as it should, but now he is taking action. His friends have turned out to be frauds, willing to turn away at the first sign of adversity. Women have shunned him, preferring the company of shallower men. The success and attention that is his due has failed to materialise, no matter how hard he has tried. Baphomet will save him, though. His everyday form will be torn away from the world an replaced by something extraordinary. Everything will be made right. Baphomet will take his inner self and bring it out for all to see.
"What will it be, Baphomet? A tiger or leopard, with claws for the rending of flesh? Will I be given large, hungry teeth? My soul has such teeth."
He writhes and wails with anger. The brick walls echo with his cries and exaltations. Nothing happens.
A brief moment of calm insinuates itself into the young man's mind. He has not found the right emotional pitch yet. There is still work to be done.
He reaches inside himself and finds the channels of lust and longing that run through him like a nervous system. As he brings them up to the surface of his mind, he feels the eddies of loneliness that come in their wake. An empty, desperate erection pushes up the folds of his robe.