The Abramelin Diaries. Ramsey Dukes

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      7 pm. Less convinced now! Before lunch I made a very simple lamp from some aluminium I found in the garage. I must request permission to be proud of it, it does look really nice and I long to see it in situ. The only pity is that the lamp is seldom lit. Shame.

      I have also prepared a floor for the altar. I hope it fits.

      After the last-minute, late-night altar-building panic on Sunday I was bleary on Monday morning. It was very cold, so I was thankful for my Norwegian underwear suit. I noticed the steam of my breath ascending to the window as I prayed. Tried some cross-legged meditation but since then I have remained kneeling.

      There is a sense of unreality about the operation. The oratory looks like a sauna inside—only freezing. Until today I always stopped when the fidgeting started.

      Dilemma: should I consecrate the oratory with only the best-quality prayers, or should I try to improve myself with the struggle to lengthen them? As the book stipulates that they should be extended in the second two months, I have decided on the former. I must not go too fast only to deteriorate later, it is quite enough to instil regularity. Half an hour seems to be about right; in fact, I really should consider an upper limit if I find I can do much more.

      Trying too hard at this stage could curdle my routine into a cycle of supreme efforts surrounded by collapsing relief. Actually, I feel that I should extend my prayer gradually to fill the whole day, with the time in the oratory as merely a focus of the prayer.

      Accordingly, I have been “watching the watcher”.⁸

      As I lunched with Biker J on Monday, I saw quite a bit of the world. I was aware of my desire to impress strangers: “I say, I'm no ordinary drop-out; I'm really quite a posh mystic, you know”. This idea is embarrassingly persistent. Even more persistent is the “teacher” habit; as I do things I mentally give directions to imaginary pupils, or compose essays on the subject. Perhaps writing this down will exhaust that one.

      I ate after evening prayer—after finding that I was too agonisingly hungry during prayer—and it made for a late night. I'm ashamed to say I was slightly afraid of the dark.

      On Tuesday it was a dull morning, but much warmer. As I was not bleary, things went much better.

      After breakfast I read about Taoist meditation and, horror of horrors, I dropped off! It's only my second day and I've broken a basic law, even if only for a second. I must get a bed of nails.

      I did some shopping in the High Street, and wasted time looking at books. On my way back across the common I remembered myself non-stop! The awkward, slipping and about-to-burst shopping bag helped me to maintain awareness; I must remember that arcanum. However, come evening prayer, I felt disappointed in myself for lack of achievement or work done—hence my vow to start writing today and to make the lamps, etc.

      Ate before evening prayer. This caused my gut to bulge with chilli bean soup and it was not satisfactory. I must work on that one. I must take either a very early supper or a quick snack straight after.

      I have not yet adjusted to vegetarian food; the fish stall looked like a mirage of the holy grail, and at Hall's butchers I jokingly ordered a whole fillet for October. My farts ascend like incense smoke.

      Today I pulled myself together a bit. Having to avoid clashing with N helped. I made a lovely lamp and prepared the altar floor. After (or between) the rain it was a sunny day and I managed to sunbathe as I read my Gnostic Anthology. Must confess I was very attracted by the antinomianist heretics.

      My bible reading kicked off with John's Gospel and, I must say, I was stunned to find it so readable and so packed full of gags. It looks as though the Bible might prove to be my light relief to dilute the Zohar, etc. rather than vice versa.

      Tunes run unnecessarily through my head—I wonder whether I can replace them with mantra?

      Saw N as he returned this evening. Chatted over tea.

      Now the shadows lengthen—but I wish the busy world would hush—and I must get ready for evening prayer. Not much red in the sky. 7.40 pm.

      9.15 pm. I felt very detached and pure as I meditated, and probably could have continued for a much longer time, but found that I had left early!

      N and I coincided as I ate after prayer. Sorry to see my old ridiculous irritation at his kitchen methods, but I was glad to note that a greater distance from them enabled me to avoid clinging to them so much. This is important as it is my first clear sign of a change. I showed him my lamp; pride diluted with sociability.

      Alas, my altar floor did not fit, so I'll have to take it down a bit.

       Thursday 14 April

      Exciting dream: my house was large, I lived in one half and in the other half there was someone else. The basement was large and stuffed with rubbish—old wood, etc. (A woman came seeking her lost hamsters in it.) Part of my side were the offices of some sinister firm. They planned to kill the neighbour—a doctor (played by Jack Nicholson). In time, he infiltrated them disguised as a Rolling Stone—Charlie Watts (the corpse-like one)—but he failed to kill the two ringleaders and the alarm was raised. The firm was something a bit showbizzy.

      Did this symbolize my conscious soul? There is half a house, littered with junk below and corrupted with the evil firm's office above, then there is the Saviour disguising himself as a corpse to gain admittance and then transforming into a young woman for victory. Oh well, it was great entertainment.

      Lovely clear cold morning that later turned to cloud and irritating high wind. Hung my lamp this morning. Making an early and efficient start enabled me to sow beans and carrots before cycling to St. Albans. The return was a real test, which saw me slaving against high wind and cold. How will it compare with later tests? It nearly broke me.

      Rather rushed and ungrateful today. Did some washing and small chores. Irritation at N's kitchen habits tried to get me again. After evening meditation I was being efficient when a lengthy phone call from PF ruined it and put me on edge. It is now 10.20. Oh dear.

       Friday 15 April

      Dream of two conjurors. Before the show they took great care to make the stage symmetrical—for instance, they were worried that one had fewer Chinese rings than the other, and so on—but the act itself was quite asymmetrical. The right-hand one (who was known for his thesis on the psychology of cookery) left the stage and then came back on wearing long underwear. Unfortunately, his tool was hanging out. This produced a mixture of amusement and shock in the audience, but it turned to outrage when he made it clear that it was deliberate. M and G thought him rather offensive as the whole of the first half of their act consisted of a radical sociological diatribe. I was backstage and went round to the front to watch. By the time I'd got there the second half had begun. The right-hand conjuror was now looking very smart in a suit and they were both doing tricks, which seemed to consist entirely of them producing cakes. Everyone (including M) was impressed. I tried one of the cakes and it was delicious.

      This seems like a parody of my operation. I would have liked to see the left-hand conjuror play an equal part. In yesterday's dream it was the left-hand side of the house that was not mine, and did not feature in the story.

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