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Correspondence from George MacNie Cowie to Aleister Crowley
14 Glenisla Gardens, Edinburgh.
[Undated: circa 1914?]
Care Frater.
Slavery resumed as usual today. It was a good plan returning in the daytime yesterday as I had plenty to read and to think of during the long and not at all tiresome journey.
On leaving London I opened the packet and devoured the devastating secrets of the VII Degree. Strange! it almost seemed as if I'd known this before. From a hundred hints here and there I knew that divinity was in some mysterious way connected with the creative organs in man, and from the Book of Lies one can infer that the vital fluid is a vehicle of immortality and so on.
Now you have given me specific and direct knowledge and of the kind I want, but as always happens it only raises a larger field of ?????????? than ever. One can't be content with this much, one wants to know, you know. In due time no doubt, after this had been soaked in and absorbed, and practice strengthened by the modes outlines.
It is good to have in a clear and formulated shape what I could only vaguely guess at and wonder about before, and the journey to London was not in vain. The VII Degree knowledge seems to link directly with the ceremony I went through, in such a way that I'm not sure for the moment if it was not actually the VII Degree.
By the way I had somehow got the idea that you'd put me through in some way without rising from your bed, and I was rather horrified to find you up and dressed—I hope that it wasn't an imprudence and that you are no worse for it.
Do you want me to copy the VII Degree M.S. in more permanent form for safe keeping? Typewriting isn't very permanent, but the matter must take its chance.
I'm scribbling this before I leave the office—I had no letters this morning, I may have left before the post came. A personal letter from Edinburgh should have reached me at 33 on Monday and I'm wondering if it came on Tuesday morning. I've evidently left bits of myself behind, as usual, gloves (possibly at 33) etc but there's no hurry. I will be anxious to hear how you are keeping. Must stop.
Yours fraternally.
F[iat] P[ax]
I'll return the borrowed M.S. tomorrow—and by the way I have Waite's [A. E. Waite] Rosicrucians of yours.
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