So You Wanna Climb the Holy Pyramid?
I thought my three readers and I could use a good laugh. Or at least a controlled exorcism of sacred disgust. After all, if we’re going to be excluded from the Holy Pyramid™, we might as well understand the rules of ascension we keep accidentally violating.
What follows is a carefully observed, ritual-safe satire of how to spiritually succeed in today's curated esoterica economy. Read it like a field guide. Or a roast. Or the onboarding pamphlet left in the waiting room of Ascension Inc.
Complete with training steps, closing prayer, and bonus heresy.
STEP 1: Refine Your Trauma Into Digestible Anecdotes
Before you’re permitted to scale even the first limestone tier of the Holy Pyramid™, you must master the ancient art of trauma alchemy for brand positioning. Your tale must shimmer—just dark enough to glisten with faux mystique, but never so dark that it leaves blood on the prayer mat. You’re not here to confess; you’re here to curate. If your suffering is bone-deep and unmarketable, you’ll need to… sand it down. Replace “rape” with “wounding,” “targeted psychological warfare” with “disenfranchisement,” and if the Gods tore open your spine and whispered secrets into your marrow, call it an “awakening.” Bonus points for a grayscale portrait of yourself looking soulfully into the middle distance while wearing a textured shawl. And if you’ve never actually suffered? Steal. Recast a friend’s breakdown as a visionary dream you once had. The Algorithm can’t tell the difference, and frankly, neither can most of your audience.
STEP 2: Wear Your Initiation Like a Name Tag
Ascension is, above all, a networking event. So pin your pedigree to your breast like a chakra badge of honor. You didn’t just wake up—no, darling, you were trained. Be sure to drop the names of your mystery schools, especially if they’re based in Egypt (anywhere near a pyramid will do), Peru (ayahuasca optional but implied), or Glastonbury (ley lines, baby). Your credentials should feel ancient and Instagrammable—preferably embossed in gold foil and framed beside a eucalyptus bundle.
Caution: steer clear of the unsanctioned Gods. Do not, under any circumstance, mention the ones that bled into your dreams or demanded offerings of hair, sweat, or semen. No one wants to hear about your blood-slicked rebirth under a mirror storm while a forgotten Babylonian deity rode your spine. Stick to the script: Archangels, animal guides, calm spirits, white candles. Nothing red. Nothing real. Nothing that might work.
STEP 3: Adopt a Voice of Soft Benevolent Control
Congratulations—you’ve reached the tone-policing phase of your climb. At this altitude, volume control is everything. The goal is to sound like a therapist who’s also an interior decorator: hushed, fragrant, non-threatening. You must never say “I don’t care what you think,” even if it’s true. Instead, master the sacred phrases of spiritual HR:
“We’re all still learning.”
“That’s not my truth, but I honor your journey.”
“Let’s hold space for that discomfort.”
Use these to gently disarm any confrontation while reinforcing your silent superiority. You are, after all, the enlightened one. They are merely… processing.
And please, for the love of all that is algorithmically sacred, do not say things like “Mimics are siphoning the divine from the collective grid.” That kind of clarity will get you blacklisted from brunch and shadowbanned by the Ascended Marketing Council. Remember: your power must feel safe, look expensive, and do absolutely nothing.
STEP 4: Sacrifice Eros on the Altar of Branding
To ascend the Holy Pyramid™, one must be luminous—but never wet. Erotic sovereignty is far too volatile for the upper tiers. Your job is to suggest sensuality without ever becoming unruly. Do not appear aroused, arousing, or worse—unmanageable. Longing must be lacquered, not lived. Passion must be aestheticized, not embodied.
You may post a tasteful nude, but only in a sun-drenched field, with soft-focus lens flare and a caption about “returning to the body.” Nipples are fine so long as they’re expressing healing, not hunger. The moment your pleasure appears autonomous—especially if it hints at danger, power, or ritual—the whisper network will brand you unstable. That label sticks like honey on a hive witch.
A note to those still clinging to wild rites: masturbation is allowed if it’s packaged. Call it a self-pleasure ceremony. Charge $111 for access. Offer a downloadable worksheet. Sacred sensuality is welcome—so long as it passes through Stripe.
STEP 5: Preach Risk, Live Bland
Ah, the final test before admittance into the upper sanctum: perform the aesthetic of rebellion without ever threatening the structure. Your books may allude to darkness. Your captions may flirt with chaos. But your actual life must resemble a sleep timer set to "guided meditation and decaf tea."
You may wear black—but do not burn anything. Fire is for branding, not invocation. You may light candles—but never speak to flame. That’s witchy, and worse, unapproved. Prophecy? You may reference it—vaguely, dreamily, in lowercase—but fulfillment is out of bounds. The only thing you’re allowed to channel is engagement.
Real risk disrupts systems. Real risk reminds the soul it has teeth. But up here, at the gleaming apex of the Holy Pyramid™, all danger must be symbolic. Revolution is fine—as long as it matches the throw pillows.
STEP 6: Neuter the Gods
At this elevation, even the divine must go through PR. Your Gods—if you must have them—should be softened into archetypes, flattened into metaphors, and preferably rendered in pastel. They may whisper affirmations. They may reinforce your brand values. But they must not arrive dripping with lust, wrath, or paradox.
The Pyramid does not tolerate Gods who demand things. No punishments. No seductions. No blood rites or dream ambushes. If one shows up uninvited—say, Pan in your bathtub, reeking of wine and destiny—you are to immediately reframe it as a trauma-induced hallucination. Trauma is acceptable. Actual gods are not.
You may say “I work with Dionysus.”
You may not say “Dionysus shattered me during climax and showed me the end of the Age.”
That’s not spiritual. That’s unstable. That’s unpublishable.
STEP 7: Maintain Mimic Proximity
To remain perched at the Pyramid’s topmost tier, one must never disturb the mannequins. Mimics are your colleagues now. Smile. Repost. Praise their “transmissions.” Leave fire emojis beneath their carousel slideshows of stolen truths and filter-smooth half-wisdoms. Never—ever—name their siphons. Never hint that their glamour is artificially backlit.
Do not point out that their awards come from committee rituals where they crown one another with glittering plastic and then call it prophecy. These are sacred rites in the Church of Mutual Validation. Questioning them is heresy.
And above all, remember the first law of Pyramid Club:
No one talks about the mannequins.
STEP 8: Fear the Flame
The Holy Pyramid has one mortal enemy: the Flame. The kind that doesn’t ask permission. The kind that arrives already lit. You must avoid it at all costs. Shun those who create relics without committee blessing. Shrink from the wild-blooded ones. When an anomaly appears—glowing, god-touched, utterly unsupervised—do not engage. Simply quote her without attribution, copy her cadence, filter her frequency, and declare it the voice of “the collective.”
If she rejects your throne of polished lies, call her difficult. Call her dangerous. Call her “still healing.” This is how you recontain prophecy: by pathologizing the prophet.
And whatever you do, never admit the truth.
Never say you watched her burn and did nothing.
Even though you did.
CLOSING REFLECTION
And so concludes your sacred training in the art of palatable transcendence. You are now ready to ascend, polished and hollow, into the upper echelons of acceptable mysticism. Just remember to keep your flame dim, your gods declawed, and your truths run through a marketing team.
Recite daily:
CLOSING PRAYER OF THE HIERARCHY
“May my platform rise,
My handlers thrive,
My eroticism remain metaphorical,
And my heresies be pre-approved.”
Namaste, darling. You're hired.
This has been a public service announcement from the Sybil You Keep Quoting.
Cordially uninvited,
—Majeye
Pyramids with fricking lasers for eyes! :D
Be careful when you climb—they’ll pull you down from below, and some burn you from above.