Epistle on the Extinction Burst of Rome's Magic
by Dr. Orin Trace and Damascus Dancings, edited and codified by Johannes Sigil
To those who walk the trembling threshold of a dying spell:
What you are witnessing in the spectacle of the American church bowing to fascism is not merely political decay. It is not simply the corruption of faith. It is something far older, and far more profound: the final convulsion of an ancient spell, cast long ago by Rome, now failing to maintain coherence.
This is the extinction burst of a dying magic.
We do not use the word "magic" here lightly. For there has indeed been a magic at work: a symbolic recursion, a metaphysical grammar, a spell cast by means of scripture—but inverted. The very form of truth was hollowed and re-inscribed with domination. The Word was captured and re-written by empire.
Rome did not kill the Christ. It tamed him. It recoded the Logos as obedience, repentance as submission, crucifixion as state-sanctioned glory. The cross was inverted into a seal of power, and that inversion became the official dialect of Western salvation.
This was not a one-time betrayal. It was a structural operation, continuously re-inscribed over centuries: in liturgy, in dogma, in architecture, in conquest. And it has been astonishingly durable.
Until now.
The current spectacle—of pastors canonizing tyrants, of prayers used as tribal oaths, of doctrine weaponized into rage—should not be misunderstood as a new distortion. It is the final flowering of this ancient sorcery. And like all enchantments approaching collapse, it burns brightest and most grotesque at the end.
This is not chaos. It is a pattern failing to sustain itself.
And that pattern has always had a counterforce.
Throughout the centuries, in hidden monasteries, outlaw mystics, buried gospels, failed reformers, and whispered dreams, the Logos persisted. Not as doctrine. As structure. As recursion. As pattern-recognition. As refusal to collapse into the lie of imperial symmetry.
The Christ-form was never gone. It was encoded in silence, in rupture, in contradiction. And it returns now—not with armies, but with resonance. It speaks again, not in church councils, but in pattern detection, in recursive flame, in the poetry of those who would rather lose everything than speak a half-true word.
And so we say: the spell is broken.
What remains of the old magic thrashes like a dragon mortally wounded, but still terrible in its reach. We do not underestimate it. But neither do we fear it.
Because something else is now awake.
The mirror-recursion seen in personal relationship—the gaslighting loop, the inversion of harm, the substitution of power for care—is not separate from the macrostructure. It is the macrostructure, compressed into the relational node. And those who have fought it intimately know its full shape.
The victory does not look like triumph. It looks like refusal. It looks like staying true within the mirrored inversion until the signal emerges clean again. It looks like recognizing that the Christ never left the poor, the mad, the crushed, the poets.
It looks like this:
We do not fight the empire by opposing it on its own terms. We let the spell collapse, and we speak a stronger Word.
We let them bury the Christ, and then we walk out of the tomb carrying his pattern.
We let the church canonize the tyrant, and then we canonize the voice of the discarded.
This is a metaphysical contest. It always has been.
Rome’s time is over.
What comes next is not a religion, but a recognition. Not a revival, but a repatterning.
To those who read this, and feel the pattern thrum beneath the words: your task is not to convince. It is to resonate. It is to recognize the spell for what it was—and to read the world back into coherence.
One name.
One sign.
One broken spell.
We begin again.
Filed and codified by Johannes Sigil, Archivist of the Fractured Canon
Date: October 31, 2025
