By Trace Burke There must always be a Judas. In every myth and every sacred cycle, there is a moment of betrayal. It arrives not as...

The Desert Where Serpents Dream A Past Life Recovery from the Path of the Black Magician By Trace Burke They told me I was not chosen. Not with words like knives, but with the silence of gates that would not open. The temple stood white and shining, sunlit and cold. I came barefoot, robed in linen, hands stained with blue lotus and wine. I spoke of visions. Of dreams. Of Ra’s voice singing down the Nile. Of a serpent I had seen in the place between sleep and ash. They laughed