Demons And The City

Jünger

Ostrich
a more subtle indicator of spiritual degeneracy and overall degradation was the presence of astrology and new age stores.
I had an employer who spent lots of money buying that stuff. Absolutely destructive, encouraging the traits that had already made a mess of her life.

 

NickK

Woodpecker
My sister has schizophrenia. Her first psychotic episode was when she was 16, we were home alone and she came running out of her room saying that there was a devil in there and it was talking to her. She ran out of the house only wearing a t-shirt and underwear. Then she was hospitalized and diagnosed with schizophrenia. I have always been there for her when she is in the hospital, I bring her food and anything else she wants and visit her almost every single visiting day she has but she hates me so much. She has even tried to poison my food and threw a glass table at me. It's not normal how much she hates me and I love her so much. I really believe that she might be possessed because sometimes when she is not hearing voices, she will talk really sweetly to me and she will be so loving and happy. But when she is hearing voices, she talks about the scariest things anyone could imagine.
Your sister needs an Orthodox priest, she doesn't have schizophrenia.
 

The_Trigg

Robin
Originally posted on RooshV.com

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The typical Western city of today is the most effective environment to encourage sin. It is able to generate immoral behaviors so effectively that the task of corrupting your soul becomes one of demonic auto-pilot.

If the opportunity to commit evil is all around you, and you have already chosen for that evil, why do demons need to get involved? Demons must labor to influence you to choose wrong, but if you voluntarily place yourself in an evil environment with the purpose of satisfying a wish list of sinful desires, you make their job effortless. A good example is someone who moves from a small, traditional town to a city like New York or Los Angeles. A man or woman uprooted themselves and went to the big city because they desire to gorge themselves on money, sex, and fame. When a hungry child is in a candy store, do you need to convince him to eat candy? He simply dives in until he gets sick, and during that time of eating, he needs no convincing from a being or external force to keep going until his belly is full of sugar and high fructose corn syrup.

I suspect that there are not many demons residing in the major cities. The evil you may feel while in one may not come from the presence of demons but the mass quantity of people who have chosen evil. The city is actually a platform for evil, one that Satan has constructed and optimized over hundreds of years to lower the barrier for you to commit severe sins. To engage in pride or fornication within a modern city involves no debate or consternation—they’re so normalized that you are looked at as an oddball if you decide against them. You don’t have Instagram? You’re anti-social. You don’t want to hook up after a night of drinking? You’re sexually inadequate. Your friends and acquaintances play the role of the demons by tempting you to sin, and they do that work for free. Surely the demons swing by on weekend nights to appreciate their handy work, especially in the month of June when the sodomites take over much of the Western urban world, but do they need to persuade a homosexual to attend a gay pride parade? Do they need to urge him to wave dildos and other sexual paraphernalia in public?



If the demons are not in the city then where are they? On assignment corrupting souls that have chosen for Christ. Demons venture out of the city, away from the nightlife and gay pride parades, and into the suburbs to cause strife in families. They separate man and wife and put rebellious ideas in the minds of children. They’re in the countryside, introducing subtle traps to those who want to worship God through the natural world. And they’re in the monasteries, attacking men who are on their way to receiving a hundredfold blessing from God.

The demons only care about you when you care about your salvation. The ancient Desert Fathers remarked on the pattern: the instant you choose to pick up your cross and walk with Christ, the demons climb on your back and won’t leave until God has deemed their attacks sufficient for the building of your virtue. When I went into the mountains for two months to live in what I later found out was a former crack house, a den of exceeding vice, I was tormented by sexual dreams and nightmares involving actual demons burning my flesh. Relief only came when I slept beside a wooden cross. While the nightmares were frightening at the time, I must take it as a compliment that the demons cared enough to single me out.

In my old life in the city, when I chased women for casual sex, Satan left me alone as I destroyed myself, and I can’t recall having even a single nightmare from the time I was behaving at my worst. From this point on, if Satan wants my soul, he’s going to have to devote all his resources to the task, whether I live in a city or not, because I certainly won’t give it to him without a fight.

Read Next: I Lived Most Of My Life Under Demonic Influence

wbY5Tt_nk_Q

Permalink
Imagine the conversations on that balcony. Ewww
 
Well, my parents and other relatives had remembered the art college from its pre-1960s days, its pre pop-art days. Back then it had taught European academic painting, classical marble sculpture, architecture, etc. And it still taught some academic painting—to a degree. Still taught some traditional sculpture—to a degree. But the rest of the stuff was just Mark Rothko garbage, and there was no way to really convey this to my family (they weren’t artists themselves).

That's the thing - 1. It's a lot easier (and more profitable) for an art school to pump out students who are another Pollock or Warhol, than it is to create the next Mucha or Lawrence Alma-Tadema and 2. It's also a lot quicker (and, once again, more profitable) for the art world to regularly and consistently churn out trashed beds, glasses of water on shelves that are "conceptually" "oak trees," and "figurative paintings" that look like they were executed by a 5 year old on a sugar high, than it is to patiently wait for the oil painting and the Bernini-esque sculpture masterpieces of old, that would take literal years to complete.

Don't get me started on Rothko's glorified first year art student color swatch exercises blown up to be the size of walls. One of the most laughably cringey moments I remember, is when I saw part of this documentary on Rothko (been so many years I forget the name and channel.) The camera was zooming in slowly on one of his two color swatch works, while playing ominous ambient music (think the psychedelic light tunnel scene from near the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey) and intercutting with flashes of scenes from World War II, the Civil Rights Movement, and other clichéd "dramatic moments in history." The producers/editors were blatantly trying to manipulate the viewer into thinking that two gigantic color swatches could evoke all these "deep" and "complex" emotions.


I can't comment on any particular demonic experiences in the art school I went to. Most of my time there I was an apostate, and did not return to Christianity until around my final year or two there, give or take. Nevertheless, I do have my fair share of horror stories about students and teachers being clearly unhinged and disturbed, along with unpleasant encounters with those who took issue with my conservative stance. Conflict would also arise from my merely politely but firmly disagreeing with something completely apolitical, or simply "offended" their liberal sensibilities without even trying.

I remember, in particular, being in a critique in which we were showing the progress of our thematic series assignments. In one of my pieces in progress, I had drawn a nude woman as a placeholder. Just a normal nude woman standing: no provocative lust inspiring pose or anything tasteless whatsoever. I explained to the teacher my reasoning, and she laughed and rejected my explaination in a smug and condescending manner. She then went up close to it and said, to the best of my recollection: "You know, when I'm in a gallery, I don't have to look at the label next to a painting for the artist's name to tell if it was done by a guy or not." She then turned to me and furiously began raising her voice to almost yelling levels while screeching "This looks like it was done BY A GUUUUY!!!!!!" The look on her face was as if I had raped her daughter by drawing that female nude.

In a similar vein, during my last semester, my teacher at the time took issue with a classy nude piece I did due to supposedly a male drawing a nude female in the "MeToo" era. Meanwhile, a female student in my graduating class had an exhibit inundated with blatantly objectifying and pornographic imagery (including literal bondage porn) without a peep of protest. I fought tooth and nail to get my piece into my senior show, and said teacher proceeded to try to gaslight and passive-aggressively sabotage me. Still got in, still graduated and got out with my sanity intact (barely.)

I could go on about both student and teacher behavior. The bottom line is that if there was demonic influence in that art school, I would not be surprised (the front entrance had a bunch of propaganda for a new gay pride center on the walls for awhile.)


My first completed oil portrait since I went back to it is one of Aleksandr Dugin. Don’t know how people on this site feel about Dugin, but I’m in agreement with him.

Have not heard of him. Will have to do research.

I’m now working on a Virgin Mary portrait in the vein of Bouguereau. I’m using the same black gown for my Virgin that Bouguereau used in his “Virgin With The Angels”.

A man of taste I see!

Learn from people online, and if you weren’t blessed to grow up with family or friends who are artists (I wasn’t), then also seek some sort of intelligent social interaction online, as you’re dealing with a craft that demands you work alone for long stretches. And the social interaction is the only thing that’s going to pull you out of ruts.

^^^^A thousand times this. It's a tricky balance I have yet to master.
 

Philonous

Pigeon
That's the thing - 1. It's a lot easier (and more profitable) for an art school to pump out students who are another Pollock or Warhol, than it is to create the next Mucha or Lawrence Alma-Tadema and 2. It's also a lot quicker (and, once again, more profitable) for the art world to regularly and consistently churn out trashed beds, glasses of water on shelves that are "conceptually" "oak trees," and "figurative paintings" that look like they were executed by a 5 year old on a sugar high, than it is to patiently wait for the oil painting and the Bernini-esque sculpture masterpieces of old, that would take literal years to complete.

Don't get me started on Rothko's glorified first year art student color swatch exercises blown up to be the size of walls. One of the most laughably cringey moments I remember, is when I saw part of this documentary on Rothko (been so many years I forget the name and channel.) The camera was zooming in slowly on one of his two color swatch works, while playing ominous ambient music (think the psychedelic light tunnel scene from near the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey) and intercutting with flashes of scenes from World War II, the Civil Rights Movement, and other clichéd "dramatic moments in history." The producers/editors were blatantly trying to manipulate the viewer into thinking that two gigantic color swatches could evoke all these "deep" and "complex" emotions.


I can't comment on any particular demonic experiences in the art school I went to. Most of my time there I was an apostate, and did not return to Christianity until around my final year or two there, give or take. Nevertheless, I do have my fair share of horror stories about students and teachers being clearly unhinged and disturbed, along with unpleasant encounters with those who took issue with my conservative stance. Conflict would also arise from my merely politely but firmly disagreeing with something completely apolitical, or simply "offended" their liberal sensibilities without even trying.

I remember, in particular, being in a critique in which we were showing the progress of our thematic series assignments. In one of my pieces in progress, I had drawn a nude woman as a placeholder. Just a normal nude woman standing: no provocative lust inspiring pose or anything tasteless whatsoever. I explained to the teacher my reasoning, and she laughed and rejected my explaination in a smug and condescending manner. She then went up close to it and said, to the best of my recollection: "You know, when I'm in a gallery, I don't have to look at the label next to a painting for the artist's name to tell if it was done by a guy or not." She then turned to me and furiously began raising her voice to almost yelling levels while screeching "This looks like it was done BY A GUUUUY!!!!!!" The look on her face was as if I had raped her daughter by drawing that female nude.

In a similar vein, during my last semester, my teacher at the time took issue with a classy nude piece I did due to supposedly a male drawing a nude female in the "MeToo" era. Meanwhile, a female student in my graduating class had an exhibit inundated with blatantly objectifying and pornographic imagery (including literal bondage porn) without a peep of protest. I fought tooth and nail to get my piece into my senior show, and said teacher proceeded to try to gaslight and passive-aggressively sabotage me. Still got in, still graduated and got out with my sanity intact (barely.)

I could go on about both student and teacher behavior. The bottom line is that if there was demonic influence in that art school, I would not be surprised (the front entrance had a bunch of propaganda for a new gay pride center on the walls for awhile.)




Have not heard of him. Will have to do research.



A man of taste I see!



^^^^A thousand times this. It's a tricky balance I have yet to master.
I can tell right away your penchant for naturalist painting (as opposed to sacred art like iconography) is bit more on the romantic side than mine—Mucha and Alma-Tadema being more “art nouveau” than my own interests from that same period, which would probably put me in the semi-journalistic “Ashcan School” of painters. John Singer Sargent and those who came a bit later (but in the same vein).

Thing is, what really I dreamt about doing as an artist way back in high school was being something like Boris Vallejo—I loved that comic-book “reflected light” he’d put on his photorealistic figures, and I figured if I could get done just one painting like that to my name then my years suffering through high school scholastics (which I stunk at, and only bothered with to get into art school) would have been worthwhile.

Only it seems I then did something a little unpopular, art school wise, the year before I enrolled. Namely, I joined the Marines and became a reservist.

I did it partly for the GI Bill, partly to get out of my parents’ basement—partly because I was a skinny teen who wanted to bulk-out like Sly Stallone. I had also gotten dumped by my first real girlfriend during my senior year of high school, and so I was fighting a depression on top of everything else.

Nobody at art school cared about that. I was now an “imperialist”.

And I could not get a date at that place to save my life—not with any of the girls I actually wanted dates with. Instead, I got dates with fat chicks who shaved the sides of their head and insisted “makeup’s bad because it’s tested on animals” (platonic dates—I wasn’t interested in getting whatever their other boyfriends had—just someone to see a movie with).

But it was still the 1980’s. So I had a pretty good photorealism paint class, and another pretty good life drawing class—learned about Theodore Gericault and Diego Velazquez.

But then came that “modern art history” class. What a 4-month long stint in a sewer—and taught by a boomer Jew who had spent his own youth in Greenwich Village, so he know all the cultural marxist lingo that supposedly proves Mark Rothko was God’s gift to 20th century art—and the expectation was all his students would then speak that way.

I got through with a “C”. I had stopped him in the middle of his diatribe on day and said, “For the life of me I can’t see how ‘cubism’ had any effect whatsoever on movies, advertising, design, or anything equally memorable in 20th century visual art—how it was anything more than a gimmick that lived only in galleries, and once the fad died nobody went back to it.” His response was, “You know what your problem is? You’re too detached”—and then he just kept on talking.

Well, when I got through with a year at that place I was psychologically messed-up. Badly. I wound up returning to my high school job, which was a “chicken cook” for Roy Roger’s restaurants. About 2 years later I enrolled in the local state university hoping to finish up there—and I did finally meet normal heterosexual college kids who, however liberal, would at least marry each other and have kids—but internally I was a wreck, and so I just dropped out again without graduating.

Tried seeing a shrink. Another fine specimen of the kosher variety. Didn’t work. Stelazine did nothing for me. I told the guy straight out, “This is like taking 2 shots of whiskey each day—I can do that on my own.” He then informed me it was my body and I could do “whatever the hell I want with it”.

After that you get into my lengthy personal history where me and my bipolar agnostic father don’t see eye-to-eye, and I wind kicked out of the house and doing more Roy Rogers level jobs to survive. And I can’t blame art school for that, as it’s just the family I was born into.

On the upside, I did wind up doing some illustrations for my father, as he then started doing things online that merited artworks—this is now early and mid 1990s stuff. Then later wound-up caring for both my parents until they died—father from emphysema, mother from Alzheimer’s.

And so now it feels very much as though I’m right back in that former period of my life—late 1980’s, early 1990’s. Granted, I’m not in the Marines anymore, not having nightmares each night and considering putting an M-16 in my mouth, but as far as where I’m at with my art, yes, it is as though I’m waking up after a 30-year coma and like, “Looks like it’s time to paint once again.”

And I have no idea what’s it’s going to feel like if I put my paintings up for consignment in any of the local galleries around here. I think they’re just about all run by liberal women, and they all have the “WE STAND WITH BLACK LIVES MATTER” signs in the windows.

Thing is, if they’re actually trying to sell artworks, then I think I can make a case for what I’m doing. Namely, people will pay me for my realistic portraits and other imageries. There’s no BS’ing anyone—no need to talk someone’s ear off about how my “dada installation” is going to save the environment and fight racism.

The rest of it feels like I’m in a science fiction story. Our culture’s basically falling apart in big chunks, yet here I am in my 50’s trying to keep a refined art form alive.

It was something I saw my mother do when I was a boy. I was about 7, and she took this nighttime painting class where she had to do one “oil painting still life” for homework. And so in our kitchen she set up this bowl of wax fruit on a red and white striped tablecloth, and over the course of about 3 months she painted it—almost getting the perspective right.

That’s over 40 years ago, and I’m still using her easel.
 
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My wife had been an atheist her entire life, mainly due to her being raised by her rabid communist grandparents. Well, for some strange reason we both invited God into our lives about a year ago, although for me it was more of a return to the faith I had been raised with as a child.

Now get this. The other day my wife comes to me and tells me that she has had recurring nightmares recently about the devil and that she could literally feel his presence during her dreams, which made her wake up in fear.

I told her to not be afraid and trust that the Lord will protect her from evil. But I would be open to suggestions as to how to help her through what obviously is Satan's attempt to throw her off the right path.
 

DelMarMisty

Sparrow
Woman
My wife had been an atheist her entire life, mainly due to her being raised by her rabid communist grandparents. Well, for some strange reason we both invited God into our lives about a year ago, although for me it was more of a return to the faith I had been raised with as a child.

Now get this. The other day my wife comes to me and tells me that she has had recurring nightmares recently about the devil and that she could literally feel his presence during her dreams, which made her wake up in fear.
I told her to not be afraid and trust that the Lord will protect her from evil. But I would be open to suggestions as to how to help her through what obviously is Satan's attempt to throw her off the right path.
The Jesus Prayer helps, or sleeping with an icon or a wooden cross in your hand.

Psalm 4:8

This prayer may help before bed.
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, grant me quietness of mind and body while I sleep. Let me remember that You do not sleep, but keep watch over me day and night. Help me lie down in peace, and always remember that You alone make me dwell in safety. AMEN.

And this one:
O Christ our God, please grant me peaceful and undisturbed sleep. Let me fill my mind with your holiness by day, that I may dwell on Your goodness by night. Protect my mind from every evil thought, memory, or attack of the evil one. For You alone are holy, now and ever and unto the ages of ages.AMEN.

Advice from Saint Paisios:

When you have a bad dream,never examine what you saw,how you saw it, or whether you're guilty or how much you may be at fault.The evil one,having failed to tempt you during the daytime,comes to you at night.Sometimes God permits the devil to tempt us in our sleep,so that we may see that the old self has not entirely died.Other times,the enemy approaches a person in his sleep and presents various dreams in order to upset him when he awakes.This is why you shouldn't pay any attention to them.Cross yourself and the pillow,place a cross and an icon on your pillow,and say the Jesus Prayer until you fall asleep.The more importance you attach to such dreams,the more the enemy will come to disturb you.This is something that happens to children,too, even though they are little angels.The enemy comes and scares them in their sleep,and they wake up frightened,running into their mother's arms.Often times,they are approached by Angels who make them smile in their sleep out of joy,or they may wake up from their great joy.As such,dreams brought about by temptations are an external influence of the enemy upon man while he's asleep.
 
My wife had been an atheist her entire life, mainly due to her being raised by her rabid communist grandparents. Well, for some strange reason we both invited God into our lives about a year ago, although for me it was more of a return to the faith I had been raised with as a child.

Now get this. The other day my wife comes to me and tells me that she has had recurring nightmares recently about the devil and that she could literally feel his presence during her dreams, which made her wake up in fear.

I told her to not be afraid and trust that the Lord will protect her from evil. But I would be open to suggestions as to how to help her through what obviously is Satan's attempt to throw her off the right path.

Pray for her. This story will be very informative for you:

I can recall a demon that entered my room while I was asleep and somehow managed to show up in my dream. The dream was pretty random but it involved music and I heard someone in the dream say to me “dance.” I said assertively “no, I only dance for Jesus!” Immediately I woke up in a sleep paralysis state. Apparently, the demon got angry I proclaimed my loyalty to Lord Jesus and retaliated.


Once I fasted for several weeks petitioning something from the Lord. After several weeks when I prayed I felt oil dripping down my head. I had a sleep paralysis attack where a demon actually took out a vacuum to try to suck it up. I know, weird.


There were times that sleep paralysis attacks would happen so frequently that I would think in my head before it happens “and here we go again.” But one night I did something differently and prayed to Jesus to send an angel to protect me. I saw in the spirit an angel standing outside my bedroom window and I didn’t get attacked that night. I never asked because I would think “who am I to ask God to send an angel on my behalf?” Thanks be to God that He would dispatch an angel for believers especially if you ask.


I can recall one night when I woke up from a dead sleep and I perceived a demon in my closet peeking at me (perhaps preparing to attack me with sleep paralysis?). And it was my inner voice rebuking it in my head but it wasn’t me who was doing it (I believe it was the Holy Spirit in me doing it). Then the demon flew right past my head as it fled. Strange.



I had a similar thing happen to me at once as I had a nightmare that was demonic or felt demonic. But what I did is that I immediately called upon Jesus Christ to help me and the dream stopped.

Pray with your wife that God and ask him to dispatch Angels to guard her and her dreams. Ask that the LORD send some of the Host of Heaven to encamp around your wife.
 

Vigilant

Woodpecker
Woman
My wife had been an atheist her entire life, mainly due to her being raised by her rabid communist grandparents. Well, for some strange reason we both invited God into our lives about a year ago, although for me it was more of a return to the faith I had been raised with as a child.

Now get this. The other day my wife comes to me and tells me that she has had recurring nightmares recently about the devil and that she could literally feel his presence during her dreams, which made her wake up in fear.

I told her to not be afraid and trust that the Lord will protect her from evil. But I would be open to suggestions as to how to help her through what obviously is Satan's attempt to throw her off the right path.
 
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