The Abramelin Diaries. Ramsey Dukes

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СКАЧАТЬ that was it! Lionel Snell had not died, but had revived and got away.

      The lad pointed to a tree that was supposed to be a silver birch, but was hideously deformed by the chemicals. One branch struggled off sideways like a pointing arm. “You see that tree? They say that when there is just one deformed tree like that it is Jesus Christ pointing the way for the dead souls to depart.” The tree pointed downstream to the sea. So Lionel Snell of old had risen from the dead and struggled downstream to the ocean and, presumably, across it to another land where he had founded the family de LionelSnell…

      I recall thinking that the last section was bad cinema: the part about the dog was a bit overdone and, although the tree was grotesquely hideous, it was by no means the only tree that was deformed. But LS and Therese were happy that they were able to solve the enigma, and they left in a lover's state of bliss.

      “Will you marry me then?” said she.

      “You really are very forward for a nun!” laughed he. “Of course I will!”

      I wondered how she would stand up to the test. After all, marrying a girl like this is all very well, but it would not help Abramelin. I went up to her, but to my surprise she cringed.

      “You say you went to a nunnery,” said I. “In that case you'll have no trouble reciting the Lord's Prayer with me, will you?”

      She cringed and struggled as I recited it, and under her cloak she seemed to shrivel.

      “Show me your face!” I cried repeatedly, though I half regretted it, expecting some awful Alfred Hitchcock type revelation! Eventually the hooded head rose black before me. I said it once more, but as I did so it occurred to me: “Hold on! Isn't this the face that turns men to stone?” and I woke up.

      This dream was very exciting, but also a bit disturbing. It was a nice example of temptation refuted by devotion (well-aimed at my attraction to physically beautiful girls—and she was great—and my snobbery, or rather, my desire to be a bit posher).

      But with my Taoist hat firmly on the other foot (as it were) I do realise the need to cool it morality-wise, lest all future nights are disturbed by this sort of “good versus evil” playacting. Just as, in the cold light of day, this paragraph is “cooling it morality-wise” playacting.

      In penitence, I was up before sunrise to sweep the oratory, burn incense, and light the lamp. I took my beeswax polish, but did not use it. The damp atmosphere made the morning feel very cold.

      After break I read Abramelin—very necessary—and the first fifty psalms. They were not much better than Genesis, which I read yesterday and which almost bored me to tears, except for the amusing little “Jewish” touches, like Abraham “doing business” with God as to how many good souls there needed to be in Sodom in order for it to be spared! So far, The Gospel of John is by far the best.

      Today I committed adultery (on my old bed, so I had to bathe afterwards). Abramelin will really love me for that. But, could there almost be a possibility of classifying it under “charitable work”? I did dedicate the operation to the Earth Mother (whom I've been very lax in thanking for my good food) because fecundity was its object. It was this latter fact that finally moved me—I would not have been so happy about a fuck just for fucking's sake! So my conscience is not so much troubled by that (perhaps it should be), but it is troubled by my inability to remain composed. Seven days is not enough to fortify oneself against seven hours of “female” chatter (“I do understand what you are doing, really I do; and I really admire you for it…”) like the Mistral unceasingly blowing sand against my rickety foundations. I slowly collapsed. Outwardly, I did not change a lot, but inwardly, composure and calm desiccated to aridity and numbness. Women fear to see men set out on projects because they fear the projects will change the men, whereas they would rather make the changes themselves.

       Monday 18 April

      Dreamed of a tornado racing across a field towards R and me. Did not feel scared as it seemed slow in the distance, but as it approached me I could see how fast it was. It gouged a channel in the field and would have struck me but for a tree that broke its force (and was itself damaged by the suction). Later I was trying to do my evening oration but without success as I had chosen a place right outside the front door and was disturbed by the family next door coming and going, and felt particularly idiotic kneeling in B's sight.

      Frosty morning—not very inspiring. Hard to get up.

      Further thoughts on last week: the greatest benefit of “sin” is the stimulus it gives to my sanctity. My most humble orations have followed my worst misdemeanours. I suppose this is another example of a low-grade “pact”.

      My “circulating the light” seems to have built up something I was unaware of until yesterday, prior to screwing. I felt a ball of fire in my inner belly quite distinct from the usual sexual feeling. I'm not sure I handled it correctly.

      This morning's meditation was slightly feeble.

      After break, I read St. Ignatius’ Spiritual Exercises (up to the first week). I think I must lend them to K.

      The trip to see K was excellent. I took some tools, books, and vegetables along with my lamp, on which I had done some early work beforehand. She welcomed me and we shared her delicious lunch. It was a real joy that she thought the lamp looked good. I stayed and chatted awhile before a nice cycle back.

      I was haunted by Majesty today. Read about the Hellfire Club during my morning cocoa, and have been drinking odd glasses of sparkling Rheingold to test my champagne stopper. At K's I read about the amazing private car collection of some eccentric Alsatian industrialists, who have an enormous number of Bugattis. Majesty, akin to nostalgia, is a powerful and neutral spirit that I must come to terms with.

       Tuesday 19 April

      Did some good reading today: Crowley's Tao Te King for an hour after break and after lunch while sunbathing for the first time this year—the shade of the shrubbery kept off the cool wind. Read Exodus for an hour, and found it all rather good. Also The Magical Ritual of the Sanctum Regnum by Eliphas Levi—the format of this clearly inspired Book 4, part two.

       Wednesday 20 April

      I dreamt of going to the gym, then later had a dream about sleeping with “Mary” and screwing over and over again. I notice that since becoming celibate my sex dreams have improved: in the past most of them were of frustrated or incompetent screwing; now they are wildly successful. This dream ended with my being dissuaded from going to morning orison by “Mary”. As I did not manage to go until six, it seems the succubus was fairly successful. A dull, damp (thank heaven) morning so I escaped the humiliation of witnessing a sun that had already risen.

      When I oversleep, should I give priority to orison, and so rush through or even skip my getting up routine? I chose not, to save the situation that develops with work: once I allow myself to skip my routine, I will tend to rise later and still be too late. Instead I will do the full routine and face up fully to the consequences of my lateness.

      This rain will save me watering.

      In the last two meditations I was more successful at centring consciousness in my belly.

      What a weather contrast! Drizzles and darkness all day. A kerfuffle about Bloaters let the drizzle and darkness into my soul, and I was faced with a testing day at last. Although I failed pretty well, I did have odd СКАЧАТЬ