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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Jane Wolfe
Aug. Non. a.d. VII die Saturn [4 August 1919]
Vivien beloved {since you insist on being Arthurian!)
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.
I moped all day yesterday, and couldn't answer your sweet letter. I had something on my mind. I was working out the roots of 'LV 'LYKY which seems to be actually beyond TO XY. But if we limit TO XY, don't we destroy it altogether as a notion? And if so, what then? Some conditions are to be referred to all possibilities—so we limit them. Hence Being (or Becoming, or Not—Being) is a complex idea after all, and therefore passes. Yet, as previously demonstrated, a Simplicity is impossible, except, O°. Then has 0° these inherent limitations? By definition it has not—or so it seems to me. These are indeed deep waters, 'Watson.
Thank you for the 'Vision', but we can't use these sex-things. What are you, by the way, in your calmer moments? I don't see your name in the movies. Do you write, or direct, or what? Why not be open and candid in these matters? Candid, oh yes! Trust you for the box, which reached N.Y. but has not, got here yet. I wish you had come yourself, instead of sending your frog sister. (No news of her yet!) Frog and Wolf; it's Aesop's Fables. I wish I could divine what is to come of all this: physical obstacles seem huge. l am passionately eager to get No. 2. [Equinox Vol. III, No. 2] out, and there's infinite trouble about it.· However, the Gods are presumably on the job. So then, what about you? Leave that to the Gods too, I suppose. Just go on with the sand and the wind, the sea and the sun. Ah, there's a human bit of me that kicks whenever you come on the scene too vigourously; and that is always happening.
The more I stay here, the more I want to know about you and the Work.
Luckily (I suppose) the Gods have planted me on this spit of sand, to teach me not to worry.
Love is the law, love under will.
Yours ever,
666.
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