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Correspondence from Aleister Crowley to Israel Regardie
die
[Undated: circa November 1930]
Dear Scorpio
93
Yours of 11th very welcome. I only got it yesterday: it was forwarded to the country, while I had gone back to Berlin. I am ashamed of myself for not having written before—bar that P[ost] C[ard]—but I have had a dreadful month I can tell.
What with the German crises and the World Markets, there has not been a penny to spare for constructive work of any kind. We have all been undergoing all sorts of privations; in particular, myself, because I only live the life of the Spirit, so that if I cannot work, or if I feel that the cause is hopeless, I perish. It makes me physically ill. I have been far worse in the last week than you ever saw me. But Eagles have ministered unto me—alas! that it should not suffice the soul.
It is a poor consolation that my prophecies are being fulfilled—see enclosed. You might call, see the medical officer, explain financial stringency, let me have your own report of her [Maria de Miramar] condition. I have of course no idea: can only surmise it is the natural result of insisting upon her royal ancestry etc. You might help the doctor greatly by giving him your personal experience of the way she always acted.
As to the Great Work, your one duty for the moment seems to be to keep the MSS. etc intact. Of course, if you see an opening any place, insert your Tau.
Forgive me if I don't write more legibly and intelligibly; but I spend about 6 hours a day in the Yoga Practice of Coughing—and shall do so until the weather becomes dry again.
Excuse me too if I'm depressed: in fact, I do rely upon your youth and courage to give me a swift kick in the pants and boost me back to the heavens where I belong.
93 93/93
F∴[raternal]ly
666.
P.S. I wish you could attend to the Perique matter. This foul German tobacco is responsible for more than half my cough. Please mail letter to Albemarle Street.
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[Sunday]