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Correspondence from John Jameson to Aleister Crowley
1 Jan 39
My dear Aleister.
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.
Thank you for your letter. I agree with your letter. You probably find it very irritating that I do not agree with you so often, but unless a person is talking what appears to me to be nonsense, I do my best to refrain from 'kicking against the pricks', and do not argue. You have a most disconcerting habit of talking sense, so I agree. Apologies are loathsome and I do not intend to apologise—why should I? As a child there were an enormous number of sides to my character, all clamouring for expression. Since then many of these have been eliminated, or ingested by others, but many still remain. My country is ruled by many princes, each for a term, none predominating, none puny, but each strong in his time. That is what I am. I have a brain, and in my opinion, a very indifferent one at the moment, which is detached from what I am. This brain can—although it does not always do so—look on impartially at what is going on inside me. It can decide what parts of me are undesirable. Six years ago it decided that the creative side of me must be fed, nourished and preserved. Two years later, it decided that the 'occult' side of me must be treated likewise, and that the artistic side would eventually be absorbed by the 'occult', but that to begin with the stage must have preference over all.
Unfortunately, although the brain was able to merrily make these decisions, the results weren't instantaneous, and there has, in fact, been a battle royal going on ever since. Unfortunately, my journey to America brought to the surface a side of me which was very far removed from the creative side of me, and that is why my attitude to you has been rather distant and uninformative for the most part. My behaviour during the last two months has often shocked, but it did not seem to me that it would help rather if I behaved in exactly the opposite way to which I felt.
Coming out here is definitely jerking me out of my slap-dash ways. I cannot agree with you about skiing, chiefly, I think, because it means to what I try to do here. If I wanted to get the kind of experience which you suggest, I should not ski at all. Here one of our objectives is to get down from the top of a run to the bottom at the greatest possible speed without falling, and eventually with a certain amount of grace. You have for to continually attempt things which appear to be completely impossible, you have got to scrape considerable quantities of courage together from somewhere, and your brain has got to work with considerable speed. It is certainly doing me good in more ways than the physical.
This letter has been written in easy stages, and is not nearly finished, but I must send you the cheque, so I will finish it now and start another tomorrow night. I am so sorry you have been ill. I have a frightful cough and cold.
Love is the law, love under will.
Yours—one day to be dutiful.
John
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