Thelema Lodge Calendar for February 2004 e.v.
Thelema Lodge Calendar
for February 2004 e.v.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.Copyright © O.T.O. and the Individual Authors, 2004 e.v.
Ordo Templi Orientis
Berkeley, CA 94702 USA
February 2004 e.v. at Thelema Lodge
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.
Lodge Members and Officers
Celebration of Nuit
As the dark season of the year, sacred to the stars and to the wisdom of
the night, the winter quarter is also a time of anticipation for the renewed
light at the next year's dawning with the equinox. We look forward to the
first centenary of the Equinox of the Gods next month, and another new year in
the no longer altogether new but by now rather firmly established aeon of
Horus. We are also planning this spring for a transition of the leadership of
the lodge to one of our long-serving senior officers, which will offer fresh
opportunities for involvement among the membership community. There will be
changes in this newsletter as well, but all of this is still a couple of
months away. Our temple, library, and oasis will continue to function very
much as we have established them together, but with the enthusiastic new
direction and according to the freshly calibrated bearings of our next
Our Father the Sun brings us to the halfway point of winter, attaining
fifteen degrees of Aquarius quite early in the morning of 4th February at
about 3:45. The lodge will gather that evening in Horus Temple to celebrate
the festival of Brigid (Candlemas), elemental feast of air, with a ritual
invocation of Nuit and a communal dinner. Join us beginning at 7:00 on
Wednesday evening 4th February, with the meal to follow our cross-quarter
ritual. This event is being coordinated for the lodge by members of the local
Lodge of Perfection. Speak ahead of time with brother Nathan Bjorge to assist
with the working, and for the feast everyone please bring dinner entrees or
salads to share, along with plenty of your favorite things to drink.
We light up Horus Temple every Sunday evening to celebrate the mass of
Ecclesia Gnostica Cathoilica, welcoming participation from all whose will it
is to join us in this Thelemic communion ritual. Those attending for the
first time should call the lodge well ahead for additional information and
directions to the temple. Members here take turns as officers in the gnostic
mass, and many of our more experienced celebrants are available by request to
assist novices in learning these roles. To sign up for a date to serve the
lodge at mass, form a team of officers and practice the ritual privately until
you have mastered it, then arrange with the lodgemaster for a date on the
From the Center of Silence
Join the Magical Practices group at Thelema Lodge on Thursday evening 12th
February from 7:30 until 10:00 for an inquiry into Aleister Crowley's Ritual
of the Star Ruby, a Thelemic variation on the Golden Dawn pentagram ritual.
First appearing in print with the publication of the Book of Lies in 1913
e.v., the Star Ruby (chapter 25 of Liber CCCXXXIII) was described by Crowley
as a "new and more elaborate version of the Banishing Ritual of the
Pentagram." Disciples at the Abbey of Thelema in Cefalu performed the ritual
as part of their daily practices, along with Will and Liber Resh. The ritual
was later modified somewhat, and released in 1929 e.v. as an appendix of
Magick in Theory and Practice (Book 4: Part III), where Crowley also noted in
chapter 13: "It is usually sufficient to perform a general banishing, and to
rely upon the aid of the guardians invoked. Let the banishing therefore be
short, but in no wise slurred -- for it is useful as it tends to produce the
proper attitude of mind for the invocations. 'The Banishing Ritual of the
Pentagram' (as now rewritten, Liber 333, Cap. XXV) is the best to use."
Built up from the traditional Lesser Pentagram Ritual of the Golden Dawn
(see Liber O vel Manus et Sagittae, section IV), and similar to it in some
aspects, the Star Ruby also has many significant differences in its structure,
for example, using Greek instead of Hebrew intonations. While its predecessor
is suitable for both invoking and banishing elemental forces, the Star Ruby is
exclusively a banishing ritual -- and a truly thorough, focused, and
exceedingly powerful one. The rituals do build upon one another, and it has
been found beneficial in my experience to first master the older form before
working with this new and improved ritual.
The ritual opens with the establishment of the divine form of Hoor-paar-
kraat in the operator, as he assumes the Sign of Silence. The successful
establishment of this form and condition of consciousness is central to the
remainder of the ritual, for it establishes within the magician the center of
authority within as the "still, silent self" of the Divine Child Harpocrates,
a symbol of the Holy Guardian Angel that is effectively known and experienced
as the True Will. From this center of Silence, the calm depths of true power,
lying timeless in eternity, we now move into action. The lightning flash of
Will is invoked to banish by fiat with a "great sweep" of the right hand "down
and out, expelling forcibly thy breath" the words
("away every evil spirit.").
The qabalistic cross section of the ritual invokes the solar-phallic
regency of God in all glory and majesty:
With the same forefinger touch thy forehead and say , thy member, and
say , thy right shoulder, and say , thy left shoulder, and say
then clasp thine hands, locking the fingers, and cry .
In the sparse notes to the ritual given in Liber 333, Crowley informs us in
a footnote to the phrase that the "secret sense of the words is to be
sought in the numeration thereof." The isopsephy of this injunction to the
solar-phallic creative God has a value of 1366, which is identical to that of
(535) + (831), or yoni + lingam. Another phrase with this same
value is , "the voice." Thus visualizing oneself standing as a
radiating erect column of light, crying out in Greek words which may be
translated "Thine, O Phallus, Mighty, Beneficent, IAO!" the creative and
irresistible universal currents of Love, Life and Liberty are invoked.
The ritual then proceeds to the establishment of the quarters, with a
flaming pentagram visualized at the forehead and cast forth into each cardinal
quarter with the forceful Sign of the Enterer. The older form of the ritual
from Liber 333 uses the formula of in descent around the perimeter of the
circle as the magician moves widdershins, so that to the East is associated
Fire and the Lion Kerub; to the North is Water and the Eagle Kerub; in the
West, the Kerub of Man and Air; and finally in the South the element of Earth
and the Bull Kerub. The characteristic vocalization of each Kerub is used to
project the name out into the quarter: the roar of the Lion, the scream of the Eagle, the voice of Man, and the bellowing of the Bull. (These names and
vocalizations would be changed in the later version of the ritual, using
Therion, Nuit, Babalon and Hadit instead. The later form is more in alignment
with the structure of Liber V vel Reguli.)
The circle being completed, the magician returns to the center of the
circle and raises "thy voice in the Paian" invoking Pan under the starry dome
of Night, and giving the Signs of N.O.X. in such a way as to show the
progression up the Tree of Life and across the Abyss. Then the magician,
standing in the radiant form of the solar-phallic cross, calls forth the
guardians of the quarters and the effulgent ensigns of the Pentagram and
Hexagram. The guardians called forth in this ritual are not those of the
Hebraic Archangels as in the Lesser Ritual of the Pentagram; rather, the Star
Ruby appears to be working with beings that first find their description in
the Neoplatonic accounts of Proclus. The rite then concludes with the
Qabalistic Cross again, followed by the banishing by fiat.
|---- Brother Gregory Peters|
Mantra ---- You Can Say That Again
"There are certain sacred words called mantras, which . . . when repeated
under the proper conditions . . . produce extraordinary powers" (Vivekananda,
Raja-Yoga). The yoga of mantra, consisting of the repetitious vocalization of
sacred words, is in some form or another integral to most sacred traditions,
as well as to many systems of personal exercise. Our Mantra Yoga circle at
Thelema Lodge has so far explored this practice in Sanskrit, Egyptian, Arabic,
and English, with many other possibilities remaining to be sampled. Meeting
in the lodge library on Thursday evening 26th February at 8:00 under the
direction of brother Jeffrey Sommer, this group is open for participation,
with complete instruction offered at each session in the particular exercise
selected for that evening, along with an introduction to the tradition from
which it arises. Members of the group are also encouraged to design their own
mantras and to work with them throughout the month, bringing their impressions
of the practice to share with the others.
Frater Paralisee Galtinarde R+C
For our meeting just after Valentine's Day the Section Two reading group
will explore selections from the vast autobiography of Giacomo Casanova (1725-
1798), a Venetian adventurer who wrote in French as Jacques Casanova, self-
proclaimed Chevalier de Seingalt, Knight of the Golden Spur. Meeting in the
lodge library at 8:00 on Monday evening 16th February, we will sample one of
the most sustained, intimate, and enjoyable presentations of European life in
the latter half of the eighteenth century. Casanova's Histoire de ma Vie was
written over a period of eight years of exile toward the end of his long life,
while he was employed as a librarian in a noble household in Bohemia. Its
huge manuscript, preserved in twelve bundles, was published posthumously. It
recounts not only one of the greatest erotic careers ever chronicled, but all
aspects of the life of a traveling gentleman who loved to tell stories, dine,
drink, and gamble; who was employed at various times as a secretary,
violinist, physician, and secret agent; and who frequently engaged in
elaborate occult workings as a ceremonial magician and alchemist. All the
while he remained -- first, last, and always -- a lover and seducer of women
whenever he found them.
Casanova's system of qabalah, which involved counting the letters in the
words of an inquiry, arranging their sums in a pyramid, and generating a
response from the numeric pattern thus presented, is mentioned in passing but
not discussed in detail. As with the comprehensive planetary invocations he
sometimes performed with his patrons, he seems to have had difficulty years
later determining just what attitude to adopt in recounting them. He usually
tries to make out that he never really understood such things, only pretending expertise when called upon to please his friends. This may be cautious
modesty (in the days of the Inquisition), though some of his results seem
certainly to have been tricks. Once he dressed up an old artist friend,
selected for his long beard and intense eyes, to introduce him as Frater
Querilinth, one of the three chief officers in the Fraternity of the Rosy
Cross. When this man then tried to capitalize upon the role and had to be
dismissed, Casanova announced that Querilinth had contracted syphilis from an
infected sylph under some obscure curse, and would have to retire for the
cure. Casanova's own Rosicrucian name was Paralisee Galtinarde, and his
supreme working was an attempt, conducted at various times over several years,
to translate the soul of his friend and patron Madame d'Ufre, a wealthy old
lady, into a young male body so that she could devote a second lifetime to
investigating all of the initiatory experiences which had been denied to her
as a woman. A series of sexual workings, in which Madame d'Ufre (as
Rosicrucian sister Semiramis) sometimes watched and sometimes participated,
was arranged to produce a male child who could become her heir and the
recipient of the soul-transference. In one experiment Madame d'Ufre paid a
handsome fee to a virgin who agreed for the purpose to let Casanova impregnate
her "in a manner known only to the Rosicrucian Fraternity." Unfortunately the
girl ran off before they could tell whether she was pregnant, and they were
left to explore alternate methods of transference.
Casanova's great memoir was translated complete by Arthur Machen (whose
Works appear on Crowley's Section Two reading list) beginning in 1888, and
privately printed in twelve volumes for members of the Casanova Society in
1894 (five years before Machen was initiated into the Golden Dawn as Frater
Avallaunius). This edition, reprinted in three thick paperback volumes, can
often be found in secondhand book stores. Casanova's French was so full of
Italian vocabulary and regional idioms that the original French edition of his
work (published from Leipzig in twelve volumes between 1826 and 1838) was
extensively edited and rewritten in proper French, suffering some cuts of
problematic passages as well. Only in the twentieth century did the author's
manuscript become available to scholars, and the Memoir has recently been
translated again from a detailed study of the original, with greatly increased
accuracy, and is currently in print in an excellent new edition.
Previous Section Two Next Section Two
In Memorium: Harry McBride
Thelema Lodge mourns our loss at the passing of brother Harry McBride, who
celebrated his greater feast on 27th December 2003 e.v. following a long fight
with cancer. Born on 7th March 1941 e.v. and raised in Philadelphia, Harry
had an Irish-American Catholic childhood. As a young man he joined the US
Navy and was decorated for his service in Viet Nam, after which he transferred
to the merchant marine. At sea for nearly two decades, circling the world
many times, he saw most of its major ports and many of its stranger shores.
In the 1980s he settled near the port of Oakland, and was soon involved in
several traditions of the local pagan community. He took work as a conductor
on the BART trains, and as he was pursuing initiation in Wiccan and Thelemic
circles he was also becoming the classic figure of a railroad engineer,
complete with cap and vest-pocket watch. Pagan commuters were occasionally
privileged to ride with him up in the driver's compartment if Harry spotted
them as his train pulled up to the platform, or if they recognized his voice
over the loudspeaker and looked in to greet him. Upon retirement Harry was
free to devote himself to a profound study of the expansion of consciousness,
and he cultivated a discriminating taste in psychedelics, even journeying to
the jungles of the Amazon to study their usage. He was also a devoted
practitioner of the sacrament of cannabis, and a hardworking spiritual and
political organizer in the successful movement for medical marijuana reform in
California. In recent years he volunteered as one of the spiritual directors
of a Berkeley patients' group, helping to create a healing atmosphere where
enlightenment as well as comfort could be shared. He also continued to travel widely, attending conferences in Europe as an advanced student of diverse
magical and spiritual traditions.
Harry was active under the name of Belenus in several covens over the
years, practicing Wicca in the classic Gardnerian style, and was a founding
member of the board of directors for the Fellowship of the Spiral Path. He
was a I° initiate in the O.T.O., whom we saw often at the Rites of Eleusis, at
celebrations of the gnostic mass, and at other Thelemic events. He was a
favorite deacon here in Horus Temple, and also at local independent
sanctuaries of the gnosis, and had been ordained to the deaconate in the
Liberal Catholic church as well. His patience and compassion made him a
particularly calming counselor for some of the more troubled members of the
community. Harry loved conversation and company, but he also had an
extraordinary independence; he didn't rely upon the reactions of others to
measure his personal progress, and he seemed always able to live according to
his own standards. Freeing his friends from any demands for bolstering his
self-image, he left open the possibility of spontaneous and authentic
interaction, and seemed otherwise happy to accept silence rather than chatter.
Uncomplaining even through several years of pain and debility in his final
adventure with the disease that killed him, Harry maintained a wisdom and
courage which remain inspiring to us. He was well and lovingly cared for at
the end by a circle of his closest friends, with sister Glenn Turner
especially supportive throughout, and he died at home on the eve of transfer
to a nursing hospice facility. At his memorial service last month, many of
his friends crowded into the beautiful marijuana collective where he had been
a member (just across the street from where Thelema Lodge first met at Grady's
old house), to celebrate Harry and his life, sing some sea chanteys, and pass
a pipe around as a last salute to our departed brother.
Offered here as a reading for Valentine's Day, this little play was originally published in The International (New York: March 1918), as part of an "All Drama Issue" which Crowley wrote and edited nearly single-handedly. So far as we can determine, this play was never staged, nor does it appear to have been previously reprinted.
The Bonds of Marriage
by Aleister Crowley
A Romantic Farce in One Act
John Sampson (Jack) a man of business; age 30
Mary, his wife; age 25
Slyman Squiff, master detective
Sampson's apartment, in any city of the United States.
(Jack is putting on his overcoat with Mary's aid.)
JACK: Well, good-bye, dear. Remember, I may be a little late for dinner; I'm
rushed to death this week, you know, what with four men called to the
colors, and three of the girls gone for the Red Cross.
MARY: Good-bye, Jack. Take care of yourself. This is dreadfully treacherous
weather, dear, and you with your weakness! (While helping him she had
dexterously extracted his wallet. She embraces him warmly.) Good-bye,
JACK: Good-bye, sweetheart, good-bye!
(He goes. She immediately searches the wallet. It contains a large number of bills, of which she thrusts a goodly proportion into her stocking, and a memorandum, which she reads, sitting.)
MARY: Monday L. B. 100, Wednesday L. B. 50, Thursday L. B. 200, Saturday L.
B. 200. Oh, God! Oh, God! That it should have come to this!
(The bell rings sharply. She puts the wallet in the pocket of a secondovercoat, and conceals the paper. She then touches the button whichreleases the door, and begins to put away the breakfast things. Enter Jack.)
JACK: Darling, I've left my wallet, or it's been stolen. I must be crazy. I
could have sworn I had it on me.
MARY: Oh, I guess it's in the overcoat you wore yesterday.
(Jack finds it.)
JACK: So it is! Stupid of me! I must run, Good-bye again, dear girl!
MARY: Good-bye, Jack! (He goes. She sinks into a chair.) He didn't even
kiss me! Oh, the mask's off the viper now! The veil has fallen from the
rat! He and his L. B. -- the fifties and hundreds he's spending on her --
and I haven't a rag to my back. Well, I'll know the worst -- and then go
back to mother -- mother -- mother. (The bell rings sharply. She touches the button and returns, half fainting.) Oh, Mother! come and comfort me!
(Enter Slyman Squiff. He is a tall, pale man. His face and feet are large
and flat. He wears huge brown horn spectacles and wide red whiskers, an
old battered Derby hat, a frock coat with a pale yellow waistcoat and
lavender pants, all cut in the most fashionable style, new patent leather
boots, frayed and dirty linen, new white kid gloves. He carries a cane,
which can be used as a periscope, gun, or cigar holder. On his entry it is
a cigar holder. His flowery language is spoken as if by a rather effete
dandy, his slang in tones of cunning and vulgarity. His high notes of
protest or affirmation reach the level of a lugubrious bellow. His costume
can be varied if any items of it are difficult to obtain, but in any case
it should be notable incongruous.)
SQUIFF: Good morrow, madam! May all blessings flow upon that dainty dome of
thine. Indeed, ahem!
MARY: Good morning, Mr Squiff! Do sit down! Have you found out anything?
SQUIFF: Say everything, fair lady. What a question to ask of me, the master
detective, the man who arrested Edward Kelly! I am indeed delighted to be
able to inform you that your humble and devoted servant is now able to
vindicate that pledge of confidence which you so amicably honored me by
hypothecating -- hum! I've got the dope on the slob, madam, permit me to
assure you on the faith of a master detective!
MARY: Tell me the worst, quickly, for pity's sake!
SQUIFF: Alas! that these lips should needs profane their sanctity with such a
tale of treachery and infamy. Kid, it's the limit, believe me! Yes,
madam, I deeply regret to have to inform you that he who pledged his honor
to his marriage vows is no better than -- ah! how can I frame the phrase
without wounding that sensitive soul of yours? -- no better than a-a-a
MARY: Then you can interpret this? (She hands him the memorandum.)
SQUIFF: Madam, I can. What a question to ask me, the master detective, the
man who arrested Edward Kelly! L. B. is Laura Brown. Yet not so brown --
she is a blonde!
MARY: Heavens above! a blonde!
SQUIFF: A blonde! She is employed in the office itself as a stenog.
MARY: A stenog?
SQUIFF: A stenog. Well may we say og -- she is a swine!
MARY: Did you make her confess?
SQUIFF: I wouldn't go near her for a million dollars. Blondes are more
terrible than tigers, more ruthless than rattlesnakes, more squamacious
than skunks -- oh, madam! Ahem!
MARY: I wish I had never been born. Oh, mother! mother!
SQUIFF: But, madam, calm your agitation, I beg of you. Open fire with anti-
aircraft guns! What must be done? Ah, what?
MARY: I shall go home to mother.
SQUIFF(exhibiting alarm): But not today; oh, not today, let me beg of you!
Trust me! Trust the master detective, the man who arrested Edward Kelly!
There is much yet to do. Possess yourself awhile. We must have yet more
proof -- prehoof! Prehoof's the one best bet!
MARY: Laura Brown! It is for her that he has cut my allowance, moved into
this tiny flat, made me turn my old dresses and do my own housework. Laura
Brown! I've been starving, Mr Squiff, literally starving, and he earning
fifty a week!
SQUIFF: Indeed, madam, the worst is yet to come. For four months he had been
branch manager, at two hundred a week, and three per cent commission into
MARY: Oh, perfidy! perfidy!
SQUIFF: A raw deal, madam, as I live. I am the master detective! I arrested
Edward Kelly, and I never heard a tale more pitiable!
MARY: Tonight I will confront him.
SQUIFF(in a hollow voice): 'Tis well. 'Tis well. Until tomorrow's sun,
then, gild the horizon with his rays from the same elevation as at present,
I bid you most respectfully adieu. I'll beat it, madam. Beat it! Ahem!
(He goes. Mary sinks in grief, and begins to sob. The clock strikes ten.)
MARY: I won't believe it -- not until I know. But -- well -- the day's work --
I guess there's a hundred with what I got this morning! (She rises, and
takes her hat and coat.)
The curtain falls to indicate the passage of Time.
(The clock strikes four. The bell rings. After a little, enter Squiff with
Jack, crouching, like persons stalking game.)
SQUIFF: Ha! we are unobserved. Now, then, go to it, kid, go to it!
JACK: I almost hate myself for having employed you to spy on my wife's
actions. But it has been too much for me! Week after week no proper
meals! What does she do with her allowance? She hasn't had a dress or a
hat in six months. And between you and me, I believe there's more than my
carelessness in the way my money disappears. Sixty-four dollars this very
morning, or I miss my count. You have discovered all, you say?
SQUIFF: What a question to ask me, the master detective, the man who arrested
Edward Kelly! Mr Sampson, it grieves me to the heart to have to break the
terrible news to you, but it's a cinch. Bear up, man, it's the booze.
Your lady wife's a secret drinker. It is the drink! Dre-hink! Dre-hink!
JACK: I've never seen her drink in my life. It's absurd.
SQUIFF: It is on such paradoxes that detective genius has an average of over
.300. I am the master detective. I arrested Edward Kelly, and believe me,
I'm the wise guy. Never drink? That sort's the worst of all. Always
sober, never seen to touch a drop, but she'll put away her weight in
whiskey in a week, gol darn it! It is one of the most paradoxical and
lamentable facts in the psychopathy of the neurological diathesis of
dipsomania and parallel noioplegias, b'gosh!
JACK: God! it's too dreadful. Is there no doubt possible?
SQUIFF: It is not possible for a sound ratiocinatonary apparatus which is
functioning normally to enter a caveat against the ipse dixit of my ex-
cathedra pronunciamento. Holy smoke, no, ahem! It's a sure thing, babe,
she's doing the hula-hula with the demon Rum.
JACK: How can you be so sure?
SQUIFF: You forget! I am the master detective. I am the man who arrested
Edward Kelly! And so -- ah, so! Well? Ahem! I listened in. I did. It
may have been unworthy, but I listened in! Ahem! Only yesterday! No
sooner had your manly foot spurned the threshold of this your mansion in
disdain and haste as you fled swiftly to your house of affairs -- ahem! --
than -- ting! the masterpiece of Morse and Bell resounded. 'Twas even the
sweet voice of your fair spouse -- wife of your bosom, alas that I should say it! (Bosom -- alas! that I should say it!) She called one Joe -- I
know not who he may be, this pander to unhallowed vice and debauchery of
drunkenness. She gave her order in terms that she thought darkly hidden,
but to me, the master detective, the man who arrested Edward Kelly, they
were -- alas! -- too clear -- ahem! Too plain! Too evident! Too damnable
damning, damn it! Oh, yes, ahem! "Joe!" cried she, "two hundred bucks.
Wilson -- that's all!" My innocent friend, "Wilson -- that's all" is the
advertisement of a famed brand of whiskey. It was enough. She rang off.
JACK: Two hundred dollars worth of whiskey! The woman must be a barrel!
SQUIFF: 'Tis the dread truth! 'Twill out, wil't not, indeed, ahem?
JACK: My God, can nothing be done?
SQUIFF: First, brother in distress, we must prehoove it on her. Prehoof!
Prehoof's the one best bet. Hark! my trained ear perceives a fairy foot
fall. Camouflage, Mr Sampson, camouflage! Quick -- in the window bay --
behind your Arras tapestry!
(They hide behind the window curtain, in the recess. Squiff keeps watch
through the periscope. Enter Mary with parcels, which she leaves on the
table. She looks round, as if fearing observation.)
MARY: All safe here! (Aside.) Yet I am the most wretched of women. At this
very moment my husband -- my own husband -- is ensconced within the arms of
that vile sorceress, Laura Brown. The fly is in my ointment, and I cannot
swat it! Accursed by him that invented hydrogen peroxide with a little
ammonia in it, to be combed though the hair carefully, well into the roots!
Blondes! Blondes! Blondes! Oh, mother! mother! (aloud) But to my
secret joy, my only compensation in this valley of woe!
SQUIFF (in a horse whisper, very loud): Did you hear that, Mr Sampson?
Prehoof! Prehoof I promised you, and there I am with the goods. Prehoof!
JACK (very loud): Alas! I hear you, and I am lost. But hush! will she not
SQUIFF: No fear; her mind is on the drink. Drehink! Drehink! Oh, woe!
MARY: I could have sworn that I heard voices, had I not promised my mother
not to swear. But nothing matters now -- nothing save my secret! (She
extends her arms to heaven and gives a cry as of ecstasy) Wilson -- that's
all! (She goes to a cupboard and closes the door behind her.)
SQUIFF: Now, then, Mr Sampson, to the prehoof! Confront her. I'll stay
hidden, and be witness. Hully gee! I'll reveal myself in my true form --
aha! -- at the proper moment, yes, indeed, ahem! as the master detective,
the man who arrested Edward Kelly!
JACK: I'll do it, if it breaks my heart.
(He comes out and leans with folded arms against the table. Mary comes out of
MARY: Jack! Why, how did you get in? I never heard you!
SQUIFF (with a loud laugh): What a question to ask! All things are easy when
they are taken in hand by the master detective, the man who arrested Edward
MARY: Oh, Jack, why don't you speak? I thought I heard a voice, another
JACK: It was the voice of your own guilty conscience, Mary!
MARY: Jack! What do you mean? You frighten me. Why don't you kiss me? Why
do you act so strangely?
JACK: Wilson -- that's all!
MARY: Oh, Jack, Jack, don't!
(She comes to him, he repulses her, she begins to cry.)
SQUIFF: Aha! she trembles, she confesses, it is prehoof!
MARY: Oh, I'm sure I hear a voice!
JACK: Do you see nothing? No snakes, rats, beetles, pink-toed marmosets?
Drink, wretched woman, drink! These things are on your program! No day so meatless but shall show you leopards nesting in your hair! Hear voices,
indeed! Ha! ha! ha!
MARY: Oh, Jack, you're crazy!
SQUIFF: 'Tis she that's smitten with the dread dementia of drink! Dre-hink!
Dre-hink! She things others crazy, she must then be crazy herself. 'Tis
all Prehoof! Prehoof! Prehoof!
JACK: Mary, we've been good friends and more for over three years now. Won't
you trust me? I'd cut off my hand to save you from this ghastly thing that
has come over you. Tell me the truth. Let's face it together!
MARY: Is this a practical joke?
JACK: Oh, don't try to put me off. I know you have become a secret drinker.
I have proof.
SQUIFF: Pre-hoof! Pre-hoof! Pre-hoof!
MARY: It is a voice. It is familiar, too. Oh, this must be a joke.
JACK: Mary, you are right. It is the voice of Slyman Squiff, the master
SQUIFF: The man who arrested Edward Kelly!
MARY: Then I understand. You wretch! You abandoned wretch! How low must
have I fallen to have loved you! Oh, mother, mother!
JACK: Hey, what's this? That's no answer!
MARY: It is for you to answer me! Here have I been, dragged from a happy
home into this cheap flat, not a rag to my back, nor even a new hat, and
there's a lovely one in ------'s (use name of local milliner) at three
seventy-five, marked down from eight thirty-eight; no girl help any more;
no more dinners in restaurants; oh, those blondes! I suppose Laura Brown's
in an apartment at a thousand a month; the little beast!
JACK: Laura Brown! Mary, you're raving.
SQUIFF: Ha! he thinks others crazy, he's crazy himself. Such is the fate of
all unfaithful husbands. It is Prehoof! Prehoof! Prehoof!
JACK: Shut up, Squiff, you ass!
MARY: Then you hear voices, too! What does this all mean?
JACK (in a low, thrilling, sinister voice): This is a stratagem of Slyman
MARY (equally intense): Traitor, it is. A stratagem of the master detective!
SQUIFF: The man who arrested Edward Kelly!
MARY: Jack, it won't do. Your best chance is to confess. Otherwise I go
straight home to mother. Oh, mother! mother!
JACK: Stop talking nonsense!
MARY: Confess! I have proof!
SQUIFF: Pre-hoof! Pre-hoof! Pre-hoof!
MARY: He knows about it all -- he knows -- he knows! He, Slyman Squiff, the
SQUIFF: The man who arrested Edward Kelly.
JACK: Confound Edward Kelly!
MARY: He did. And he may yet arrest you, John Sampson, you and your Laura
JACK: I haven't exchanged three words with the girl in my life, except good
MARY: Ah! good morning! A clever scoundrel can do much with such materials.
Why, I fell in love with you myself, poor fool I was, because of the way
you used to say, "What a pleasant afternoon, aren't we, Miss Mary." You
JACK: For God's sake be reasonable. You can't stall like that. If you're
not soaking whiskey like an Irish bog, perhaps you'll explain what you do
with all the money you get? Where's the necklace I gave you on your
birthday? And your engagement ring? And the sixty-four dollars you took
from my wallet this morning?
(Silence. Mary, pale as death, clenches her teeth and fists. A pause.)
SQUIFF (in a hollow voice): Caught out! Prehoof!
MARY: Jack, it's no business of yours what I do with my money. You never
asked me before. You're only asking me now to anticipate my asking you.
And I do ask you now. What do you do with your money, if you don't spend
it on that vile, low creature, Laura Brown?
JACK: She's a perfectly nice girl, and I won't hear you slander her.
MARY: Ah! you defend her, of course. Oh, men are all alike! Mother!
JACK: You want it both ways. Women are all alike. If I don't defend her,
that would be a confession; if I do, it's proof that I'm a more hardened
SQUIFF: Prehoof! Prehoof! Prehoof!
MARY: Oh, well; explain how you do spend all your money! I happen to know
that you've been branch manager four months, and you never told me!
JACK (stammering): Mary, dear, it's a -- it's a -- a -- a sort of -- er -- sort
of secret. A -- er -- kind of a -- er -- surprise for bye and bye.
MARY (sneering): Your manner is convincing, and your explanation most
JACK: Bah! you're only stalling. Look here, Mary, I believe you loved me
once, before this drink got hold of you. I'm going to tell you something.
I saw the doctor again today. That weakness of mine was only temporary.
I'm fit. They've accepted me for the Aviation Corps, and I'm off to camp
MARY (between joy and anxiety): Jack!
JACK: How can I leave you, knowing this about you?
MARY: How can you leave Laura Brown, you mean! Here's your memorandum, with
notes of all the money spent on her.
JACK: Laura Brown? L. B. Good God!
SQUIFF: Prehoof! It is enough. Now comes the supreme moment, the triumph of
Slyman Squiff, the master detective, the man who arrested Edward Kelly.
(He comes out and presents his cane at them.) Hands up! Both of you,
hands up! (Amazed, they obey.) Behold the triumph of the strategist! I
was employed by both of you, I have convicted both of you. No more shall
whiskey and Laura Brown absorb your superfluous funds! I will annex them,
or -- by the Great Horn Spoon-- I expose the pair of you.
JACK: But, you great thundering ass ----
MARY: Oh, Jack, be careful! Don't defy him!
JACK: Defy your grandmother! You silly baby, here's L. B. that I spent all
my money on. (He unlocks a cabinet and pulls out papers, which he throws
on the table.) Here's L. B. LIBERTY BONDS!
MARY (laughing wildly): Why, that was my secret, too! (She rushes to the
cupboard and throws her bonds with Jack's. Wilson -- that's all! (They
SQUIFF: The Bonds of Marriage! And I thought I had Prehoof!
JACK (over his shoulder): Here, you're wanted outside. There's been an
escape from Sing Sing.
SQUIFF (eagerly): Oh, if it were only Edward Kelly! (Jack and Mary renew
their embraces. Squiff observes them through the periscope. He fires the
gun in the air.) Break away! (They take no notice. He fires again.)
Time! (They take no notice. Squiff puts a cigar in the cane and begins to
smoke. Then he puts up the periscope again at the audience.) Hey, Mr
Sampson! (He taps him on the shoulder.) Nothing can escape for long the
eagle eye of Slyman Squiff, the master detective, the man who arrested
JACK: Oh, go to blazes
SQUIFF: But see here, Mr Sampson, there's all these people here! (He points
to the audience. Mary releases her husband with a little scream of
MARY: Well, they're all very nice people indeed! Suppose we put them on to
the good thing? We can get plenty of new bonds for ourselves before the
show opens tomorrow! Come on, Jack! Come on, Mr Squiff!
(They gather up the bonds and go about the audience selling them, each actor
making a little sale speech from time to time, as may be convenient. This
should be impromptu, and fitted to the special needs of each district.
When the day's quota is disposed of, the actors return to the stage and bow
in the conventional manner, with possibly a speech of thanks.)
C U R T A I N
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from the Grady Project:
Grady came home from the second World War proudly considering himself a poet.
Praise for some of his verses from Aleister Crowley, the writer he considered
preeminent in the world, had added greatly to his confidence, inspiring him to
make a discipline out of poetry. On the troop carrier which brought him home
from Europe late in 1946 e.v., Grady edited the ship's daily news sheet in
high humor as a cleverly rhyming soldier-poet. For the following few years,
however, he was reading mostly political science, and living in a small
apartment with his wife and infant son in Berkeley, without any time left over
for poetry. Then, during his two and a half years of active duty for the
Korean War, Grady wrote letters, but seems not to have produced any finished
poems -- at least not to have mentioned or kept any. Instead, he brought his
impressions back home to Berkeley, and there in the mid-1950s e.v. while back
in graduate school they were sufficiently compelling that he found the time to
spin them out and edit them down into a long poem, which he finished and
preserved in typescript. Continued here from our last issue, this is the
first time it has appeared in print..
Memo Pencilled On a Helmet Skull
by Grady L. McMurtry
Out in the boondocks
Out in the sandhills and rice paddies
(Uuh, that Rice Paddy #5!)
Where the public piss call is universal
And sex squats by the side of the road
With its pudenda hanging out
Unpretty, exotic, the not-so-mysterious East
Free of Victorian taboo and neo-Puritanism
And with a fine appreciation for the sensuality
Of a woman's neck and shoulders
(Not too surprisingly where women have legs like children)
And out in the broiling sun of summer
So hot you wonder how it is possible to live
When you are being cooked alive.
This is a miserable existence but
"I am a combat soldier
I've got my combat boots on!"
(Ai, yi-yi, yi, yi!)
And up in the mountain passes
Where the dust rolls and billows and smothers
Choking you until your stomach revolts
And coating your throat with a fine metallic lining
That only a can of cold beer can cut
If you can find one
And then if you are very, very lucky
A cold shower in the evenings
So that just once a day you can
Splash and revel and shout with anthropoid delight
At being "20° Cooler Inside!"
In the evenings you drink Scotch and chlorinated water
In the mornings you shave out of your helmet
In water that smells green with chlorine
And you stride forth into the noonday sun
With your head in a spray of aerosol DDT
Dignified by the unconscious arrogance
Of the man born in freedom
To whom it has never occurred
That others may not share his childlike faith
That all our problems can be solved with the clean simplicity
Of a hard right to the chin.
In the high hills of Korea, in the valley south of Ch'unch'on, there stands
the fire cleansed remains of an institution of learning. Here one will find
in rain stained mortar and weed grown halls a silent testimonial to the
desecration of destruction. Here in the gapetoothed walls the lidless windows
stare with an idiocy whose mindless agony fails to comprehend this awful hurt.
Here where former years beheld the golden promise of youth even the chalk
marked paneling has been burned from the walls as if to erase forever the
intelligible communication of generation unto generation. Here where one may
savor the ultimate consummation of tyranny, here where the teaching voice is
stilled, the books are burned, the guiding mind is dispossessed. Here where
one may see and touch and feel the imprint of the vandal, the new barbarian,
the tyranny against all rights of men. Here let us see the face of the enemy, that tyranny will destroy what it cannot possess, that terror is a weapon and
violence a way of life. Here where wind and shadow mark the passage of the
hours on the flame drenched masonry and sunlight streams upon the futility of
passive security there comes a moment of silent dedication. Here, in the high
hills of Korea, in the valley south of Ch'unch'on, where time is meaningless
in the chaos of desolation, let us vow that we will never cease until we have
wiped the blasphemy of all tyranny from the face of the Earth.
Then comes the rain
And the typhoon Karen
Striking in out of the China Sea
Slashing, tearing, flooding, gorging
Collapsing waterlogged bunkers along the MLR
Undercutting the never ending work of the Engineers
Turning the dust into splashing silt
Mining the roads into chuckholes
And over the steep cut road banks
The water pregnant hills begin to slide.
-- to be continued --
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Fundamentals of Magical Practice
The Midnight Sun
by Brother Gregory Peters
revised 1/16/2004 e.v.
[As a ritual of energization and invocation, suitable for ritual operations
in which a powerful influx of the stellar Light is required as a preliminary
to other magical or meditative practices. Similarly, it may be used as a
personal rite of devotion and invocation.]
000. [Stand, facing East. Take three deep cleansing breaths and exhale,
letting the breath out slowly, relaxing the body. Establish a rhythmic
00. [Assume the Sign of Silence, seeing yourself in the form of the Divine
Child Harpocrates, standing upon two crocodiles afloat in the Celestial Nile
(cf. Atu XX). Visualize your entire form encased in an egg of fluidic blue
astral water. Do not proceed until the protective Silence is firmly
0. [Drop the arms to the sides, releasing the previous visualization. See
a vast, dark ocean with no waves. It is night, and the sky is dark and filled
with myriads of radiating stars. During the following sequence, visualize the
Sun rising above the waters in east with the brilliance of a Golden Dawn. By
the completion of the third line, the Sun will be in all its glory at the
zenith of the sky, radiating streams of light in all directions, in the middle
of the night:]
Nu is my Refuge [raising arms slightly]
As Hadit my Light[continuing to raise arms]
And Heru-Ra-Ha is the Strength, Force, Vigour of my arms.
[Arms are now raised outstretched.]
[Cross arms over chest, right over left, and say:]
Above, the gemmed azure is The naked splendour of Nuit;
She bends in ecstasy to kiss
The secret ardours of Hadit.
The winged globe, the starry blue,
Are mine, O Ankh-af-na-khonsu!
1. [Drop the arms to your sides. Visualize the crown center (Kether) as an
intense pulsating sphere of white brilliance.]
2. [Inhale. As the breath is drawn in, a shaft of radiance descends from
Kether to the breast (Tiphareth), where it expands into a sphere of golden
3. [Exhale. As the breath is released, the shaft of brilliance descends
from Tiphareth to the feet (Malkuth), where it expands into a sphere of
brilliant whiteness, radiant but less brilliant than the Kether center.]
4. [Inhale. As the breath is drawn in, a reflux charge of intense rose-gold
flame rises from the Malkuth and passes into the Tiphareth center.]
5. [Exhale. The Light rests.]
6. [Repeat the sequence (3) through (6) five, six, or eleven times.]
7. [Concentrate on the Tiphareth center. The central solar-nucleus remains
quite distinct as a blazing and vibrant inner Sun, but emits a powerful
radiance which steadily grows until the total sphere of sensation is charged
with golden yellow light.]
8. [Give the Sign of Typhon and Apophis (the Trident), striving with all of
your being to aspire unto the Light, while invoking:]
I am the Heart; and the Snake is entwined
About the invisible core of the mind.
Rise, O my snake! It is now is the hour
Of the hooded and holy ineffable flower.
Rise, O my snake, into brilliance of bloom