Apologia for Olla!
by Aleister Crowley
Thelema Lodge
Ordo Templi Orientis
P.O.Box 2303
Berkeley, CA 94702 USA
January 2001 e.v. at Thelema Lodge
Announcements from
Lodge Members and Officers
The possibility -- and the necessity -- of fraternity in Thelema is a fundamental concept for our Order, and one which we can only define collectively in the largest scope of our lives together. About us in the circle of stars an ever-altering concord of individual wills works in free relation together. As a local body of members under charter from the US Grand Lodge of Ordo Templi Orientis, we model our social structure upon this universal pattern, endeavoring to welcome all who will to work along with us, whether independently or reciprocally. Members and friends at Thelema Lodge organize opportunities to share freely their pursuits, their studies, their disciplines, and their pleasures. Ritual celebrations to be shared amongst a large community, or study groups with just a few around a table, or informal occasions of fellowship, can be offered by those who want to get them under way, open for participation by any who sustain an interest. Most events at the lodge, including our weekly Sunday evening celebrations of the mass of Ecclesia Gnostica Catholica, along with study groups, dramatic rituals, and the annual cycle of Thelemic festivals, are open to friends, guests, and visitors, along with initiate members. For anyone wishing to visit the lodge, attendance at our gnostic mass is one of the best times to meet those involved here. This pagan eucharist ritual is a magical operation in which a priest, priestess, and deacon lead the congregation in the charging of an edible talisman of two elements, which is finally consumed in communion by all present. The mass was specifically designed by our Grand Master Baphomet to offer the most efficient introduction to the philosophical concepts and magical formulations central to a Thelemic fraternity. To attend mass, call the lodgemaster well ahead of time at (510) 652-3171 for directions to Horus Temple, and then arrive by 7:30 any Sunday evening. All who participate with the lodge are encouraged to study the canon of the mass in the O.T.O.'s Liber XV, and to familiarize themselves with the roles both of the people and of the officers. To serve the lodge in the celebration of mass, teams of officers who have worked together in private until they know the ritual well, and who are ready for a date on the temple calendar, are also invited to confer with the lodgemaster.
A Curriculum (as published in the "Blue" Equinox of 1919 e.v., and now available in Book Four, appendix 1: "Literature Recommended to Aspirants"). Having made at least a preliminary study of each work, the group determined to continue, updating the curriculum informally with further selections of "suggestive" fiction, and also making return visits to some of the major works on the list. Our first additions to the curriculum were mostly taken from Crowley's related recommendations in other instructional writings, with the reading list of erotic classics in Liber Artemis Iota proving particularly valuable. In fact we are still searching for some of the obscure pornographic volumes recommended therein: if anyone has access to texts in English of Alfred de Musset's Gamiani (1833) or the W. G. Waters translation (1895) of Masuccio Salernitano's fifteenth-century Novellino (famous as Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice source), please let us share them. Our twin titles for this month -- a doubling of tales about doubling -- are not from any of the Crowley's own lists, but we will argue that they easily might have been, had they not seemed too obvious at the time to be mentioned. Both are by authors extraordinarily popular during Crowley's youth, and in whom he is known to have taken particular interest. Robert Louis Stevenson he admired as a stylist (see for example this month's "Crowley Classics" selection), and in 1903 with Gerald Kelly he had dramatized and performed one the stories from Stevenson's New Arabian Nights. Oscar Wilde, whose artificially dramatic prose was less of an influence, had been so prominent and pathetic a celebrity as to attain nearly mythic status for Crowley's generation.
by Aleister Crowley
So, the more restrictions we place upon art, the better that art will
become. We must not publish our youthful metrical monkey-tricks -- like our
Chants Royals or our Villanelles -- because they cannot possibly come out
exactly right; language will not suffer such extremely tight lacing. A
perfect sonnet, even, is a miracle beyond the hope of any rational poet. But,
by trying to write Rondeaux and Ballades and Pantoums, a poet becomes the
master of the essential difficulties of language; they are his "five finger
exercises;" and when he has burnt about a million of them, perhaps, by God's grace, a thought will come to him, and he will get it written down in
moderately decent prose, or even in one of the simpler stanza forms of verse.
You can recognize success in writing because the product has this quality:
it is inevitable. It is like a Greek tragedy; it is like Nature herself. It
has being and form in perfect harmony. It is impossible to go into its
details; for there are no details. They are all absorbed into the living
unity of the whole; much as in the human body, the cells are absorbed into the
living man. Anything which stands out in art, is deformity, or disease, or
weakness. Consider the long bad passage in the middle of "Kubla Khan," and
the anticlimax of the last verse of the "Ode to a Nightingale!" Even in so
short a verse-form as the heroic, one is put to it to quote a dozen
consecutive perfect couplets. (Swinburne's "Anactoria" would be our first
candidate.)
If the free worms be really masters of the language, let them show it by
producing just one perfect sonnet by way of advertisement. If their lack of
ideas and lack of music, as well as their disproportion, redundancy and a
dozen other faults, are not immediately evident, then we may begin to take
their poets seriously. Until then, we shall maintain that this article is the
greatest extant masterpiece of English, composed in cataleptic triturated
parallelopipeds of a rhythmic -- motjustiste -- borborogmic paraprosdokian-
aposeiopesis, the flower of the Washington Square or Dutch Oven School of
Literature; or perhaps it would be cleverer to claim that it is not writing at
all, but sculpture, or aviation, or imageless iconography, or something --
anything -- which it obviously is not. Then, a lot of my readers will look
surprised, and I can pity them.
by Aleister Crowley
"Everything that lives is holy." -- William Blake
Poetry is the geyser of the Unconscious. Since "Every man and every
woman is a star," each of us is, or makes, his own poem; expressed, or
unexpressed, in song. Robert Browning understood this; almost the whole of
his work consists of the utterances of very varied individuals. But these are
dramatizations of the speaker, analytically disclosed, and rationally set
forth. His lyrics are, with the rarest exceptions, the uprush of his own
personal genius.
When I consider my own work, it appears that I have constantly put myself
into the soul of various types of men and women, identified myself with their
inmost creative Word, lent them my technique, and let them exult for
themselves.
Thus Amphora records the devout yet (unconsciously) passionate outbursts of
a Catholic Christian woman; Alice, of a romantic boy in love, the seed of
doubt and disillusion beginning to sprout; Clouds without Water, of a sexual
maniac who is also a man of the world, a sardonic jester, and a mystic. Such
impersonations are almost as frequent as the ecstatic moods of Our Lady, of
the many-minded, many throned Aphrodite, weaver of wiles.
"What a nice poem ---- is; I think it ever so pretty! Why can't you always
write like that?" So says nearly everybody about some poem or other of mine.
A striking instance of this mental obfuscation received some publicity in
the Court of King's Bench some years ago. In CROWLEY v. CONSTABLE et al., Mr Malcolm Hilbery K.C. found occasion to recite my popular song, which Gwendolen Otter had endeared to the cultured and
magnanimous cognoscenti of our great Metropolis -- the "Dilettanti," you
remember? -- "The World for a Whore!" I found his rendering most acceptable,
and he was rewarded with a judgeship. I murmured "Go on!" as usual, for Mr
Hilberry's quotations from my works were adroitly curtailed to suit his
purpose; the next sentence or two was certain to give a totally different
significance to the chosen passage.
But my own counsel, Mr J. P. Eddy, emulous, jumped up and obliged with "An
Hymn for the American Republic;" which breathes piety and patriotism in every
punctuation mark. He did it well enough, and was allowed, shortly afterwards,
to take silk.
The judge -- Jeffreys, the name was, a memory betray me not -- sat astounded.
He positively stammered; "Is that really the same book?" "The very next page,
m'lud!" Stupor!
This book is to make clear the poetic standpoint.
I have made this collection of short poems as diverse as possible; time and
space have been asked their utmost range; every corner of the earth which has
contributed to my delight, and every period of my life which has modulated my
music, have lent a flower to this posy.
Louis Marlow, subtlest, profoundest, and wittiest writer of the last two
generations, has found the word for my work: surprising. This is the root of
the superstitious fear which I impose on nearly every reader. The more I
write, the less can I be classified, docketed, pigeon-holed; omne ignotum pro terribili is still the pill-box defence against science, against every shape
of thought until it has been rolled in enough dirt to make it a soft,
comfortable cliche.
The grotesque contradictions of these poems have been deliberately enhanced
by contraposition; they tear in sunder the veil of my soul, and clothe it in
disguise only the more impenetrable for that fact.
To wind up this thesis, here, it concludes, "The Garden of Janus," my
poetic summary of the above truth: of me is it written: "Vel sanctum invenit, vel sanctum fecit." My object is to proclaim the duty of every poet; and this
is: to reveal the Godhead in every man and woman through the expression of
each one's rapture at the ecstatic moment of Union with that Godhead; thereby
to show as just and perfect every soul that is.
Editorial notes:
Vers libre -- "free verse" emerged in French in 1886 with the publication of
Rimbaud's free-verse Illuminations, influenced by the prosody of Whitman's
Leaves of Grass. Laforgue and Apollinaire popularized it in French, as did
Ezra Pound and his associates in English. In the poetry of D. H. Lawrence
and William Carlos Williams (and many less talented versifiers) it had
become quite a popular poetic mode by the time of Crowley's denunciation of it.
Piers Plowman -- Crowley's remark upon the "free verse" of this great Middle
English poetic allegory of social economics is misleading, because the
verse of Piers Plowman is regular rather than "free," although based upon
patterns of stress and alliteration with no regular rhythm of metrical "feet."
take silk -- meaning that Crowley's solicitor was raised to the position of
barrister with the title of King's Counsel, which carries the privilege of
wearing a silk robe before the court.
Louis Marlow -- pen name of Louis Wilkinson, novelist, editor, literary
critic, and a close friend of Crowley's at this time. His edition of The
Law is for All is currently in print.
omne ignotum -- "everything unknown is held to be terrible." Adapted from a
phrase (concerning the boundaries of the British nation) in the Agricola of
Tacitus: "omne ignotum pro magnifico est."
vel sanctum invenit -- "one either finds holiness, or one brings it about"
(source untraced).
interviewed regarding his
upbringing and early life
by Glenn Turner
Berkeley, 6th April 1981 e.v.
(fourth extract)
Grady: And then Granddad either did something very bright, or very stupid;
I've never been able to figure it out. In fact, I think, in a way, he
invited it. I don't think he had meant to invite it, but what he did was
this: He took my grandmother, who was a very young girl, of course, if not
actually a virgin (of course I could care less, actually) and he locked her
in the outhouse. Now the outhouse was not --
Glenn: He took your mother?
Grady: My -- my grand -- my mother, yes; okay. Now when I say out-house, I
mean the back house. Now that's where you hang the hams that are drying
(in the Southern tradition, you know); when I said out-house I didn't mean
the shit-house; I meant --
Glenn: Oh, yeah -- right. {laughs} I was wondering.
Grady: -- anyway; and he nailed boards across the window. Okay; romance;
medieval; right out of Tristan and Isolde. So one night, in the dark of
the moon, my Dad, on his great black charger, in his big black uniform,
came riding up over the hills, pried those god-damned boards off the
window, lifted my mother-to-be out of there, put her on the back of his
saddle, and rode off across the hills!
Glenn: -- "rode off across the hills!" Beautiful!
Grady: Oh God! Back to Oklahoma! Oh boy! -- that's the romance of it.
Glenn: So, did they have a cabin? Did he have a cabin in the hills he took
her to, or something?
Grady: Well, as a matter of fact, yes: that's the tragedy of it. As a matter
of fact, maybe it should be recorded. What happened was this: he fucked
her of course, naturally, and I was in the process to get born. That is to
say I was a fetus in her womb. I mean, personally, I think that the life
was waiting. And he told me something once, many years later; it scared
the shit out of me. He said, "I damned near killed you before you were
born." I said, "What?" He said, "Yes." And what happened was this: he
had been -- He was one of five sons: my grandfather, George McMurtry. All
right; the family history is this -- I've been able to research it so far as
this -- that when the Confederates lost the Civil War (or they call it the
"War between the States"), there were a lot of former Confederates that
decided to simply split for Oregon. I mean, get the fuck out of there.
And of course they were going in ox-trains. All right; fine. Now the
McMurtrys, this is the clan that -- the McMurtrys -- I don't even know what --
what my great-grandfather's name was, or what my great-grandmother's name
was. Because you see, our problem was this: in those days the only history
you had was the family Bible. You wrote down the names in the family
Bible, who had been born or died; but the god-damned cabin burned every
other year.
Glenn: Right; so you loose a lot of history.
Grady: And that -- there went the Bible, right, and there the history went.
In consequence I could only give you the general outline, and it went
something like this: So the McMurtrys split from -- wherever they were --
Glenn: I have a lot of ancestors like that; who knows?
Grady: Okay, fine. They came across the Mississippi. The parents became
infected with (what do call it?) malaria, from the -- from the --
Glenn: The river?
Grady: -- from the mosquitoes of the river. Right --
Glenn: They were leaving the Civil War? Post Civil War?
Grady: That's right, they were leaving the post-Civil War, and they were
heading for Oregon, man, they were going to get the fuck away, right.
Glenn: So malaria strikes down the parents.
Grady: That's -- malaria strikes down the parents. But, being of good
Scottish-Irish ancestry (in other words, good pioneer stock), they lasted
all the way to the Arkansas-Oklahoma Territory boarder. (Now in those days
it was a territory.) They died. They left two sons: George and -- the
other fellow -- what's the guy's name -- {pause} out of it, right? Anyway,
they -- these two kids, two brothers, were raised then by a local pioneer
family; they had a farm, of course. And they -- George would become of
course my grandfather -- and they would of course become Pentecostal. That
is to say (what do you call it?) Holy Roller. That's why I was raised a
Holy Roller. And there's a curious history there --
Glenn: You were raised Holy Roller? Huh? Interesting.
Grady: Just like Crowley. Different name --
Glenn: Really? He was too? Okay, right; I remember reading the history;
different "brand."
Grady: -- different name; that's right. And this is very interesting. I
mean, it's syncronisity, right. In other words, they called it in his day
"the Plymouth Brethren;" in my day we called it "Holy Roller."
Glenn: A kind of missionary --?
Grady: Absolutely completely fundamentalist Protestant. Which is one reason
why Crowley knew his Bible so well, and also one reason why I know my Bible
so well.
Glenn: So, did you read the whole Bible as a kid?
Grady: Well you bet you; oh yeah, oh sure.
Glenn: That must have been your first reading, if you were a book person.
Grady: It was the only thing I had to read. Just like Crowley.
Glenn: Right; so there's a similarity --
Grady: There's a synchronicity there, which I did not understand, except much
later. But in terms of your history, it might be something worth -- you
know -- thinking about.
By Lawrence Sutin
Reviewed by Bill Heidrick
Lawrence Sutin comes with noteworthy credentials, as a professor at Hamline
University holding a J.D. from Harvard. His previous works include Divine Invasions: A Life of Philip K. Dick, Jack and Rochelle: A Holocaust Story of Love and Resistance, and A Postcard Memoir. His research for this life of
Crowley extended over many years and delved deeply into Crowley's surviving
diaries. Sutin pursued his quarry like the "Haggis" of Loch Ness through
memories of witnesses and notions of Thelemites here and abroad, but he found
the Beasty! That said, be ready for a shock when you go to admire the trophy.
Do What Thou Wilt is far and above the best chronology yet to emerge of
Crowley's life, including many facts overlooked by other biographers. Sutin
is more helpful than Crowley himself in that regard, and issues of "where and
when" are resolved here that leave the reader in an impossibly cramped asana
after Crowley's own Confessions. Not only is the main stream of Crowley's life traced in this work, but many side rivulets in the lives of A.C.'s often
stunned acquaintances and former lovers are mapped out to conclusion along the
way. The book is a bit like Burton with the notes made narrative, rather than
purloined away below fables.
This biography is clearly written and interesting all through, but it's not
an easy read. Some Crowley fans will spit like a cat at times, while Crowley
despisers may need a neck brace from too much nodding. Sutin focuses on
Crowley's problems in living. A sheltered childhood likely deprived little
Alex of the essentials of knowing the value of money or how to earn a living.
Crowley is portrayed as unreliable, unsympathetic, prejudiced, unkempt at home
and ridiculously flamboyant away. With a few exceptions, his lovers, both
male and female, experience and often return violence as an almost daily
routine. A.C.'s sense of self left room for no lasting domestic harmony and
spared little attention for his children. In short, he was chronically
difficult. This comes as no surprise, but the details of dereliction and
abuse quite crowd out the good times in most chapters.
Sutin mentions and lauds Crowley writings, but usually doesn't investigate
them for insights much beyond the surface. In some respects, this is Crowley
"in a zoo", with more of the dirty ape than Thoth in evidence. An impression
of reading the natural history of a bonobo with herpes is fleeting with this
book, but it comes several times. People have written worse and less
accurately of the Prophet's life. At that, there are a few unlikely outrages
catalogued and some particular dreadfuls omitted. All in all, it's accurate
by preponderance. It goes a good deal farther into fact than any here-to-fore.
Crowley's multiple drug addictions are cited more than examined in detail.
His pioneering work in description of the negative effects of various no
longer "strange drugs" is mentioned, but the gloss is quickly over when it
comes to benefits. There is too little said on the topic of what these
experiences may have brought to Crowley's inventive genius, but oddly also
little said about the price he paid. How much was lost by age's slowing down
and how much by the oblivion of heroin? No reckoning is tabulated. Heroin
began in a doctor's "benign" prescription. Cures were attempted, with failure
more from rejection of the prevailing moral manner treatment than from lack of
trying. Crowley's writing continued to the end, always striving to
communicate ideas in novel guise. The credit and the discredit are fairly
distributed here.
There are imperfections, particularly later in the book. A few of the
events at Agape #2, in southern California in the 30's and 40's seem out of
sequence. It is doubtful if Jack Parsons was all that bothered by W.T.Smith
and L.Ron Hubbard's successes with the ladies, since Jack seemed to have been
quicker to drop than to loose. Those were confusing times. The 1930's court
case decision seems too disparate between the account in this book, v.
Crowley's own remembrance of it. Perhaps Crowley was in denial of the
outcome, and the resulting bankruptcy was certainly real enough. A closer
study of the findings might show actual vindication on a few points, not
rising in the balance to success at proving libel damages. Gardner's relation
to Crowley is almost as much a mystery after as it was before reading this
book. Certainly, Crowley had neither time nor strength to write the Wiccan
Book of Shadows, but there's far too much Crowley in the early Gardnarian materials to dismiss the influence as simply copy-theft. The 1900 e.v. Golden Dawn rebellion is a little lightly handled, omitting some particulars that might have made it easier to follow. Mather's involvement in G D authorship seems exaggerated a bit, but that's not unusual. His use of standing translations of some works is cited but other known cases of his "translating for hire" from the already well Engished are overlooked.
Sutin presents Crowley as a troubled genius with emphasis on the trouble
rather than the genius. Crowley's accomplishments are more often remarked in passing than examined. His Influence on 20th century movements is not much
pursued. Here, we see the lotus surrounded by a stinking swamp, not yet in
bloom. This nenuphar must find its way into poems yet to come, though
hopefully not as frequently as it did in Crowley's own early efforts where AC
rhymed it into nearly every song. Do What Thou Wilt shall serve as the
sounding board for all future bio's of Crowley. It is so far the clearest,
with many points raising questions and thoughts. This biography is no simple
pile of twigs and leafs. It's a skillful pruning of Crowley's Tree which will
lead to the establishment of major scaffolding branches.
After-thoughts raised in contemplation following reading, the mark of a good book:
Crowley was impressed by his killing a cat in childhood, an event oddly
given space in Confessions. How much later did he come to believe that a
sacrificed elemental spirit must be absorbed by sacrificer, as noted in Magick in Theory and Practice? Did A.C. unconsciously become a "tom cat" in an effort
to balance the karma? It sounds far fetched but seems more than plausible
after reading Sutin. Just what kind of kitty was the Beast, anyway?
Crowley's oaths often tended to reflect his inadequacies; not what he
subsequently refused to attempt but rather what he could not rightly expect to
accomplish. Was this deliberately done to force main effort through
envisioning a terrible penalty for failure? Not said in Sutin, but there's
more than a hint.
Crowley treated personally close women like men and personally close men
like women. That is brought out in many examples.
Are Crowley's manifest crudities and blind spots significant of a lack of
compassion or have they instead to do with blocking complexity and the
distractions of normal living? Do you do that?
It's a wonderful book. Get it!
Note:
1. What follows is an adaptation (read: mangling) of the Viable Systems Model (VSM) of management cyberneticist Stafford Beer into motivational grimoirese.
Wisdom is one thing. Avoidance of starvation is another. Sometimes it's
necessary to point out that difference. If you have studied well, you find
that you "know less than you did before". With much learning, more questions
come. That's of wisdom, but it's not much good for dinner. Reason itself can
be distorted by confusion of modes of application between pure contemplation
and survival.
Logic is fine for details and for a sort of symmetrical esthetic equivalent
to aspects of poetry. It is not a good way to create. One should arrange
sections of one's philosophy in self-consistent groupings, but logic is not
versatile enough to handle a living system. With all the complexity that life
affords, any group of postulates will eventually develop contradictions. This
is a question of tools. One should put one's tools in the best condition,
making the best selection that can be afforded. Don't use a screwdriver to
pound in a nail. Logic is good for finishing. It is often useful in working.
It's not good for starting.
A tool, either mental or physical, can be truth in its action. Any other
sense of truth for it is relative to externals, including customs and
perceptions. Aims and means can likewise be confounded between essence and
cultural mind sets. That doesn't mean living in a society is completely a
matter of the demented mass imagination. The accepted means and aims are
conditioned or selected by what is going on around a person.
A reason is inside the mind, but a cause may be more often external.
Consider chemical addiction? That's more physical in the body than internal
to the mind. What of bad brakes in a car? The worry is internal, but the
cause is external.
Some causes are externally assigned, although internal by other
considerations. Shifts of the mind in that manner can be used or abused.
They are voluntary actions, or should be. The fact that a cause is outside
does not eliminate interior need to work with the result. Fixing causality, except in artificially simplified examples, is usually a
matter of selecting a chain of events, by subjective choice. Any actual
situation is the compound of many convergent "causes".
Blame is a way of forgetting. Some trivial annoyances should be forgotten.
Some things need to be remembered and not blamed away by attribution to
external cause.
Something is balanced, but not you, without self. Forgetting the self is
an extreme, good for some things but not for all. Balance is relative. One
can change the character of the "self". It may extend or condense to larger
or smaller scope. What you consider to be yourself may in fact be a
collection of ideas and emotional opinions from other people, with your real
center somewhere buried under all of that.
It is dangerous to ignore cultural framework, as well as grossly
inefficient and frequently destructive. Your culture is what you possess,
almost as much as you possess natural talents and physical qualities; and it
also possesses you! Much of the art of Magick consists in identifying these
aspects of cultural framework and coming to a functional way of working
through them or around them without harm. Cultivation of a variety of points
of view is a necessary part of that, coupled with the difficult to develop
"good sense" necessary to distinguish understanding from social duty. It is
important to identify those tendencies and blindnesses in the self which are
not desirable, such as prejudices or involuntary desires inherited from the
days of childhood. Even so, no one can be relied upon to "tell you" what is
important and not important in that way. You have to find out on your own, as
a fundamental part of maturity. A rudimentary example is "money". A coin has
little or no value in itself. Belief in the value of such an object is
cultural and inter-cultural. What is represented is not actual value but a
sort of "social covenant" to associate human life (time and labor) to a token.
If you ignore money, people will deal with you to your disadvantage. If you
obsess on money, you will find no value in it.
Gestalt is required, continually evolving in depth and extent. You cannot
depend on a learned meaning staying final, or hope to discover "the way things
really are." As you gain experience, the context extends and has to be re-integrated. That changes many things. Also, memory and mental agility tend
to suffer with time and age. What was clear at one stage of life may become
less clear later, as the world view gradually thins and a particular life
reaches toward an end. Even moving to a new home or changing one's job can
have a similar effect. Creating a personal philosophy is one of the ways in
which these inherent destructive effects in living (Qlipoth) are countered.
-- TSG (Bill Heidrick)
Thelema Lodge Events Calendar for January 2001 e.v.
| 1/7/01 | Gnostic Mass 7:30PM Horus Temple | (510) 652-3171 | Thelema Ldg. | |||
| 1/13/01 | Initiations into OTO, call to attend | (510) 652-3171 | Thelema Ldg. | |||
| 1/14/01 | Gnostic Mass 7:30PM Horus Temple | (510) 652-3171 | Thelema Ldg. | |||
| 1/17/01 | Magical FORUM: "Rituals of the | (510) 652-3171 | Thelema Ldg. | |||
| Pentagram" 8PM in the library | ||||||
| with Nathan | ||||||
| 1/18/01 | "Habits of Effective Demons" | (510) 652-3171 | Thelema Ldg. | |||
| with Michael, 8PM in the library | ||||||
| 1/21/01 | Gnostic Mass 7:30PM Horus Temple | (510) 652-3171 | Thelema Ldg. | |||
| 1/22/01 | Section II reading group with | (510) 652-3171 | Thelema Ldg. | |||
| Caitlin: "Dr Jekyll & Mr. Hyde" & | ||||||
| "Dorian Gray" 8PM library | ||||||
| 1/25/01 | "Habits of Effective Demons" | (510) 652-3171 | Thelema Ldg. | |||
| with Michael, 8PM in the library | ||||||
| 1/28/01 | Gnostic Mass 7:30PM Horus Temple | (510) 652-3171 | Thelema Ldg. |
The viewpoints and opinions expressed herein are the responsibility of the
contributing authors and do not necessarily reflect the position of OTO or its
officers.
Thelema Lodge
Ordo Templi Orientis
P.O. Box 2303
Berkeley, CA 94702 USA
Phone: (510) 652-3171 (for events info and contact to Lodge)
Production and Circulation new address:
OTO-TLC
P.O.Box 167
Artois, CA 95913 USA
Internet: heidrick@well.com (Submissions and circulation only)