THE MYSTERY LEGACY OF DE LAURENCE...

FROM OCCULT BOOKS TO JAMAICAN OBEAH

Before De Laurence: A Personal Glimpse into Hidden Practices and Spiritual Deception

Growing up with a Jamaican father and a mother born in America, I had the rare privilege—and sometimes the quiet burden—of living between two distinct cultural worlds. My father’s half of the family, deeply rooted in Jamaican traditions, gave me a unique peek into Caribbean life: its vibrant energy, its music, its food, its ironclad family values—and its spiritual undertones. I say “peek” because while I was welcomed in with love and warmth, there were certain things that just weren’t openly discussed.

One of those things was Obeah.

Now, I never sat down with anyone in my Jamaican family and had conversations about Obeah, voodoo, or occult practices. In fact, from what I observed and later confirmed through indirect knowledge, most of them seemed to deliberately stay away from that kind of energy. It was something unspoken, something that floated just outside the walls—felt, but not acknowledged. But outside the protective bubble of my bloodline, especially as I grew older and interacted with others—Caribbean friends of friends, elders in the neighborhood, and later, people across different cultures and borders—I started to hear stories.

Some were wild. Some were chilling. Some felt like folklore meant to scare children into behaving. But others had a sinister consistency to them, the kind of patterns that make you pay attention—not to practice, but to protect.

See, I’ve never had the desire to get involved in any of those things. I don’t fear it, but I don't romanticize it either. What struck me most was how many people felt they needed it. I noticed it wasn’t just isolated to some rural village in the mountains or some hidden practitioner behind a curtain—it had crept into so-called Christian households. People were mixing scripture with spells. Reading Psalms by day and burning powders by night. People who couldn’t quote five verses from the Bible could rattle off rituals to bind, block, or destroy someone with ease.

And I began to ask myself: Why?

Why would people cling to the occult while claiming to follow a higher divine power? I came to understand that for many, it was a response to powerlessness. A desperate grasp for control in a world that had chewed them up, spat them out, and laughed in their face. Whether in the Caribbean, America, or even Africa—yes, especially Africa—I began to see the same patterns emerge. People using spiritual manipulation, invoking ancestral energies or deities, not for healing or growth, but for revenge, control, or fear.

I’ve had things done to me—rituals, spells, whispers over candles and grave dirt—all meant to stop what I was doing, slow down my momentum, or shut down my voice. Not speculation—confirmed. But here’s the strange thing: it never worked.

Not because I’m special. Not because I’m bulletproof. But because I never gave it energy. I don’t subscribe to that fear. I walk in truth, and I don’t seek shortcuts or hidden forces to solve problems that nature and the Most High already equipped us to face. I believe in the medicine of the earth—seeds, roots, herbs. I believe in meditation, alignment, peace, fasting, stillness, and the power of truth. Those are the tools that have kept me strong.

To many of these practitioners, it’s about power—not healing. That’s where the real danger lies.

So no, I never chased the knowledge of Obeah to use it. I dug deeper to recognize its signatures, to discern it in others, to know who I’m dealing with. Because too often, the same people smiling in your face, shaking your hand in church, or standing in your corner are dabbling in the dark arts to control outcomes in their lives—and maybe even yours.

When I look back now, everything I’ve observed, everything I’ve learned, every strange moment that passed in front of me or brushed against me in my life—it all led up to De Laurence.

Because while De Laurence is a name, a place, a brand—it’s also a symbol. A symbol of the hidden hands behind the curtain. The watered-down, store-bought version of something ancient, sinister, and very much alive. A commercial gateway into a world of spiritual manipulation that too many people either blindly consume or secretly depend on.

This prequel isn’t about fear—it’s about clarity. I don’t walk in fear, and I don’t want you to either. But just know: this stuff is real to the people who practice it. And if they believe it works, that belief alone can be a weapon in the hands of the spiritually desperate.

I choose a different path. And before you read about De Laurence, know that this isn’t just a distant analysis for me. It’s personal. It’s lived. And it’s ongoing.

Stay grounded. Stay clear. Stay discerning.

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In the world of hidden knowledge and mystical traditions, few names have had the strange and lasting impact of a man called De Laurence. Even though he never lived in Jamaica and wasn’t born on the island, his name became deeply connected with one of its most secretive and powerful spiritual practices—Obeah. Many Jamaicans today still whisper about "De Laurence books" or "De Laurence science," sometimes with fear, sometimes with respect. But who was this man? And how did his writings travel across oceans to become part of Jamaican folklore and spiritual life?

De Laurence was not Jamaican, Scottish, or even from the Caribbean. In fact, he was an American. Yet, the name De Laurence—sometimes misspelled as "Delawrence"—came to represent much more than a person. In time, it symbolized an entire way of working with the spiritual world, especially in communities that felt left out or oppressed by society. His books were full of rituals, prayers, and spells. To some, they were tools for healing. To others, they were dangerous and forbidden.

Obeah, a spiritual tradition that came from West Africa and took root in Jamaica, already had deep meaning in the lives of people on the island. It was about healing, protection, and fighting spiritual battles. But when De Laurence’s writings made their way into the country, they added something new to the practice. Some people saw them as giving more power to what Obeah already was. Others believed they brought something different—something more Western, more formal, and maybe even more dangerous.

Even today, the name De Laurence can stir up emotions. For older Jamaicans especially, it reminds them of a time when spiritual practices had to be kept quiet, and anyone caught using “science” could face real trouble with the law. His books were once banned in Jamaica, but that didn’t stop them from spreading. Some were smuggled into the island. Others were copied and passed around like sacred treasures. People believed these books held real power—and in many communities, they still do.

This blog will explore who De Laurence was, how his work became connected to Obeah in Jamaica, and why his name still carries weight today. Whether you're deeply familiar with these traditions or hearing about them for the first time, this story reveals how ideas can travel, transform, and take root in places far from where they began.

Who Was L. W. de Laurence?

Lauron William De Laurence was born in the United States in 1868. He lived in Chicago and worked as a publisher and bookseller. His business focused on occult knowledge—books about magic, spiritual power, and mysterious forces. In the early 1900s, he printed copies of older mystical texts like The Sixth and Seventh Books of Moses, as well as his own writings about how to control spirits, protect oneself, or gain success in life using spiritual power.

De Laurence wasn’t just selling books. He was selling candles, oils, powders, and other spiritual items by mail order to people all over the world. His catalog reached people in the Caribbean, Africa, and parts of the American South. For those who couldn’t find help in churches or schools, his books offered another kind of knowledge—one that spoke to the soul and promised change. Some saw it as dangerous, while others saw it as hope.

His writings mixed Bible verses with rituals, prayers with magic. To some people, this made him a false prophet. To others, it made his teachings powerful. He took ancient ideas and gave them structure, using Christian language to explain things that sounded like magic. That approach connected deeply with readers in places like Jamaica, where African traditions and Christianity had already blended for centuries.

Even though De Laurence never stepped foot in Jamaica, his influence on the island was enormous. His name became a symbol. In fact, many Jamaicans would refer to Obeah as simply "De Laurence" or “Science.” In this way, his books were not just popular—they helped shape the very way people talked about spirituality and power.

Eventually, the Jamaican government saw these books as dangerous. The country had already passed laws against Obeah going back to colonial times. But now, De Laurence’s books were added to the list of banned materials. That only made them more mysterious, more powerful, and more wanted. The ban didn’t stop their spread. If anything, it made people believe the books were even more powerful than before.

What Is Obeah?

Obeah is an African spiritual practice that came to Jamaica with enslaved people during the colonial era. It includes healing, protection, and the use of herbs, rituals, and spirits to help or harm, depending on the intent. While some call it witchcraft, most practitioners see it as a form of wisdom passed down through generations. It was never just about spells—it was about surviving in a world that often treated African people unfairly.

Over the years, Obeah mixed with Christianity, local traditions, and other belief systems. It became a way for people to solve problems when no one else could help—whether that meant healing from sickness, protecting a home, or dealing with enemies. But because colonial governments feared it, they made it illegal. This only forced it underground, where it continued to grow quietly in the shadows.

When De Laurence’s books entered Jamaica, they gave Obeah practitioners access to new tools and ideas. Some saw his writings as a way to “modernize” their work or add power to their rituals. Others were cautious. They believed that using De Laurence’s books brought too much outside influence into a deeply Jamaican tradition.

Still, the mix became popular. In some areas, people believed that using De Laurence’s books could make a practitioner stronger or more respected. His name became so tied to Obeah that even people who didn’t practice would speak of “De Laurence men” or say someone “works with De Laurence.” Whether they believed in it or not, almost everyone knew the name.

To this day, Obeah remains illegal under Jamaican law. But that hasn’t stopped it from surviving. Even in modern cities, you can find spiritual shops that quietly sell items connected to Obeah—candles, oils, and powders with De Laurence’s name still printed on the label.

A Name That Still Echoes

Even though De Laurence died in 1936, his name still holds power in Jamaican culture. It shows up in music, poetry, and everyday conversations. Many older people still won’t speak his name too loudly. Others remember hearing stories of what happened to those who used his books—or crossed someone who did. These memories are part of a bigger story about belief, fear, and survival.

There are also stories of fraud. Because the name De Laurence became so tied to magic and power, some people used it to scam others. They claimed they had “De Laurence power” and charged money to solve problems or remove curses. Some were real practitioners. Others were not. This caused confusion, and it gave the name both mystery and suspicion.

Despite that, De Laurence's name continues to attract interest. Some Jamaicans who move abroad look for his books in old shops or online. Spiritual seekers and researchers also continue to study his writings, trying to understand why they had such a strong effect on the island.

The lasting impact of De Laurence isn’t just about one man’s books. It’s about how ideas travel and take root in different cultures. It’s about people finding power in places where society said there was none. And it’s about the way spiritual traditions adapt, grow, and survive—even under pressure.

In today’s world, where science and technology rule, stories of Obeah and De Laurence still have a place. Whether whispered in alleyways or studied in classrooms, these traditions remind us that the unseen still matters—and that history lives on, not just in books, but in the hearts and minds of people.

Why This Story Matters

Learning about De Laurence and his connection to Jamaican Obeah is more than just an exploration of the occult. It shows how power, knowledge, and belief travel between people and places. His books crossed borders, broke rules, and planted seeds in the soil of another culture. What grew from that wasn’t just magic—it was a whole new expression of spiritual survival.

The fact that De Laurence never set foot in Jamaica but still influenced generations there shows how strong cultural exchange can be. It wasn’t through violence or colonization—it was through paper, ink, and the promise of hidden wisdom. That wisdom became part of something much older and deeper: the African spiritual roots already alive in Jamaica.

Obeah, like many African-derived traditions, was misunderstood and feared. But through time, it remained. De Laurence added something to it, for better or worse. He didn’t replace Obeah—he became a name woven into its long and complicated story. And that name still calls out, especially in the parts of society where people feel forgotten, overlooked, or in need of something more than just physical help.

As we look at today’s Jamaica, we still see signs of this hidden world. The government may keep the old laws on the books, but the people still talk about spirits, rituals, and the man called De Laurence. His legacy lives in the shadows, in whispers, in warnings—and in the belief that not all power can be explained by science alone.

So whether you see De Laurence as a symbol of power, mystery, or confusion, one thing is clear: his story is not over. It’s still being told by those who light candles in quiet rooms, flip through worn pages, and pass down stories from mouth to ear. In that way, De Laurence continues to live—not just as a man, but as a part of spiritual history that refuses to be erased.