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Mary Butts Diary Entry Friday, 12 August 1921
Bathed, excellent. After lunch a perception—the ‘astral description’ of the Beast. Again that corridor with the shutters, and half opened doors. The Beast came well out of it, lent his accompaniments . . . I was being shewn something dangerous. ‘How perfectly beastly’. I trace the connection on from the former [illegible] that disgusted us. The unemptied pot in his room, the American’s story from the landlady at the Inn—My idea last night of a novel on the fundamental aspect of the Beast’s life, his relation to the ‘unseen’, revealing sensuality, [illegible], culminating in this place.
The perception came, left me bruised and aching, and perused by dreams. A strong wind has risen—like a magician’s wind. There is a great interest here.
I noted also such initiation I have had since I came here.
I see that it is a penance and if I had ‘lived up’ to my [illegible] I shouldn’t have needed it. Should have laughed at it, or have formed it. As it is, It can make me uneasy.
An idea about Lea [Leah Hirsig].
My chief complex pulled into full light.
Daimon more than ever before.
Astral eyes shewing.
Not bad for six weeks.
Also about what can come out of sexual intercourse, its unexplored possibilities—C. [Cecil Maitland] had begun to develop it, then I suddenly saw ‘what it was all about’.
I have an idea that C. and I are two spirits who definitely do not belong to this planet, and have got here for penance or adventure. Skins are peeling off my eyes, same as scales that have a little blood, and will form again, but thinner.
C. is right about ‘Aiwas’. On the evidence he may, for the moment be considered.
(i) a depraved streak in A.C.’s subconsciousness. (ii) an evil spirit.
Or mixed as I like to add. All judgments subject to revision.
The Beast says, after this aeon, there will come another Equinox, and a new word, which will be Therion’s. I can only say ‘I will work for the God who is not yet come’.
Pranayama—1/2 hour. [illegible] 10 . 15 . 10. [illegible] to 20. No cool spots. Felt I ought to inhale more, and fill tummy like a ball.
In analysis of my fear, I notice how my ‘good-breeding’ is a mark for it. I am panicked (for instance) to think that I once tried, unsuccessfully, to borrow money off Oliver [illegible]. He told people. How could I meet him again? And it does not matter a damn.
There is another mask.
Good-breeding mask.
Pity mask.
Snob-pride mask.
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