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Correspondence from David Curwen to Aleister Crowley
7a Melcombe Street Baker Street, NW1
Dec. 21st, 1945
Dear Brother Crowley,
If I have not sent you a word before this to thank you for the kind manner in which you received me on Sunday last, it was simply because I had nothing else to say of any usefulness. So now I want you to know that I am glad that I at last have seen you personally, and I appreciate everything that went with my visit.
At present my mind is in rather a confused state; perhaps a little vacuous, or perhaps a little bit gorged. I feel I am not able to think clearly about the matters we discussed and I waited until now.
The reason is because possible I am, in some way, disappointed and frustrated; I seem to have arrived at the end of a journey which I felt was really just beginning. Although I ought to have known better from the last few letters that what happened was all that could happen, yet secretly, maybe subconsciously, I had hoped for something more to round off my visit. Could it have been that I hoped that you had some bit of information for me that, not mentioned in your letters, but which having received from you direct would change everything for me? I suppose I am just being silly. But even in empty [illegible word] masonry one meets many new friends.
From your letters, if I had not done some wishful thinking, I would have known (a) There was really nothing to add to that [which] I have known for years, the secret of the amrita. (b) Although the O.T.O. may have been in existence sometime in the past, it was non-existent now. (c) I was being sworn in to keep a secret that I would have never divulged to anyone, in any case. (d) The needlessness of asking me for so much money for no conceivable useful purpose at all, except that you must live of course. But why not be frank about it? You really do not know me; I am really generous by nature, and if I have even mentioned the money part of the business, it was because I am in the dumps with regard to money at present as I have explained before.
As for Dr. Wilkinson [Louis Wilkinson], well I do not know what to think. As a brother of the IX° of the O.T.O., he seemed singularly vague about most of the direct questions I put to him. Blame me not, if I have the curious feeling of being a dupe where he was concerned; that he merely acted out the part assigned to him.
However, I really don't care about that. I was secretly hoping that the swearing in might mean that you could now tell me more about the O.T.O. where members meet, who some of them are, when to meet, and anything else that would give me an entrée into the O.T.O., so that I could feel at least if I am no wiser, though poorer, I am at least a member of an organization where I may contact people thinking along the same lines as I do.
It used to be a jest of yours, about calling a man aside to swear him into tremendous oaths to keep secret what he was going to be told, and then telling him what he could learn by buying a sixpenny book at Foyles' [Bookstore] any day. That is how I feel exactly, although I should have know better I admit.
There is little more I want to say for the present, I do not blame you at all. I see now why at first you resisted my entry into the O.T.O. You did not like the idea of telling me, that it did not exist except on paper, but you really did say so in your letters in a round about way.
There are still quite a few things that I would like to discuss with you, but this time as equals. We have both travelled along different paths to meet in the same place, and you have much experimental knowledge which I have not, on the magical side per contra. You have taken many things as of magical results which in fact are quite natural and would have happened anyway had you done nothing about it.
Best wishes to you and no hard feelings.
Yours Fraternally,
D. Curwen
I would like to read your Confessions if you can spare the books, & some of the letters—The Talisman particularly
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