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Mary Butts Diary Entry Friday, 1 July 1921
Astral journey yesterday. Sigil—
Dry white grass and sand, like dunes, but the grass thick—Trees low and wind-swept—A path. There was a tendency to get confused with the [illegible] mental picture of the olives on the hill side here. But the chief feature was the dry silvery grass and the path and the trees, very English and northern in quality.
I remembered the patch of trees on the way to Goathorn.
Stout and short—clumsy and stupid.
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Later,
there was an edge to a cliff, and a high crag over the sea—a
cave there with a man going in—He may have been black—But
the shape of the crag was reminiscent of the Cefalu rock.
He moved very quickly—scooted.
Young—30.