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Aleister Crowley Diary Entry Wednesday, 8 August 1923
Die Mercury
Hail unto Kheph-Ra.
1.11 a.m. I have several times referred to morbidity of thought as afflicting me. I have not described the symptoms in the proper detail & I am ashamed to say that the cause of this omission is that I have been too much ashamed of them to write them down. Yet it is most important for mankind that I should do so.
Briefly, there is a development of the fear of death (which is, as I have now at last made sure, a masked desire of it. The healthy reaction should be restored by deliberately risking my life as of old in some manly way) & of what is really worse the fear of the fear of it. It takes a strange form, which shows clearly the pathology of it: I have somehow stripped off the manhood layers of thought, & uncovered the childhood complexes. Cf. the regular results of Yoga. (I may here mention that deliberate attempts to feel the fear fail completely. It is thus not thought at all in any true sense, but a symptom, like a pain, which comes & goes will I nill I. I note similar difficulties in trying to control my bodily reactions to [Dr.] Domela’s[1] work on my urethra: I cannot suppress my reflexes (e.g. the tone of my voice is characteristic, though my words are under control; & I’m obliged to tighten up certain muscles, apparently lest they should make some effort to escape(!) though it never occurs to me to postpone the treatment.
Now these childhood-thoughts are of this kind: shall not I go insane with terror when I learn that I am mortally sick?—suppose it happens that way-shall I not try all sorts of anaesthetic dodges? Shall not I struggle against resigning consciousness? But above all; shall not I be terrified of what may happen to me after death? And so I put up any number of fancy pictures of my doping myself with Christianity. I see myself going to my Quaker cousins, trying to dig up some survivor of the Plymouth Brethren, becoming a great revivalist preacher, & having myself regularly soothed by assurances that Jesus is waiting for me beyond the portals of the tomb, or even that I may escape death altogether by his ‘Second Coming’ turning up after all!
All this is so pitiful that I really feel ashamed that such shameful inhibitions take possession of my mind, even for a moment. The outrageousness of the abdication of all good sense, all knowledge, moral integrity, mental stability, & Will is obviously the guarantee that these ideas are so many waking nightmares. Also, I wake from them just as I do from an actual nightmare: the only difference is that I remember them more coherently than I do most dreams. That is, I can recall the substance of them, though not the reaction to them. Pari Passu, however, I am on the whole, very much better in nearly all respects. The cold bath, the brisk walk, the mental elasticity . . . Tonight I burst into a longish lyric of love to Leah [Leah Hirsig]: followed by a couple of epigrams against Brother Mouse. Yet I could not concentrate at Chess, draw one & lost one of three games by simply forgetting to look at the board. But that is an old story: once I am sure I have won I lose interest. I feel the other man ought to resign; I should like to hand over the game to a secretary to finish off for me. This is of course a fault in me, especially as it extends to other matters.
As to these nightmares, however, I will simply ask 93 to cure me. It is most certainly a nasty & degrading malady: I have felt like a nice Y.M.C.A. man confessing the clap to a wicked atheistic doctor.
But it is well—for the sake of the weaker brethren—are there many weaker than I?—that the existence of so loathsome a disease be described; especially in view of the fact that it is definitely a matter of physical pathology & not in the least related to any mental & moral state. (I have just made a serious effort to put my mind into relation with the nightmare—ideas-there is no possible point of connection.)
Lyric of Love to Leah. Tunis, 8 Aug [19]23 e.v.
Come, my darling, let us dance To the moon that beckons us To dissolve our soul in trance Heedless of the hideous Heat & hate of Sirius— Shun his baneful brilliance!
Let us dance beneath the palm Moving in the moonlight, frond Wooing frond above the calm Of the ocean diamond Sparkling to the sky beyond The enchantment of our psalm.
Let us dance, my mirror of Perfect passion won to peace, Let us dance, my treasure trove, On the marble terraces Carven in pallid embroideries For the vestal veil of Love.
Heaven awakes to encompass us, Hell awakes its jubilance In our hearts mysterious Marriage of the azure expanse, With the scarlet brilliance Of the Moon with Sirius.
Velvet swathes our lissome limbs Languid lapped by sky & sea Soul through sense & spirit swims Through the pregnant porphyry Dome of lapis-lazuli:— Heart of silence, hush our hymns.
Come my darling; let us dance Through the golden galaxies Rhythmic swell of circumstance Beaming passion’s argosies: Ecstasy entwined with ease, Terrene joy transcending trance!
Thou my scarlet concubine Draining heart’s blood to the lees To empurple those divine Lips with living luxuries Life importunate to appease Drought insatiable of wine!
Tunis in the tremendous trance Rests from day’s incestuous Traffic with the radiance Of her sire—& over us Gleams the intoxicating glance Of the Moon & Sirius.
Take the ardour of my impearled Essence that thy shoulders seek To intensify the curled Candour of the eyes oblique, Eyes that see the seraphic sleek Lust bewitch the wanton world.
Come, my love, my dove, & pour From thy cup the serpent wine Brimmed & breathless—secret store Of my crimson concubine Surfeit spirit in the shrine— Devil-Goddess—Virgin—Whore.
Afric sands ensorcel us, Afric seas & skies entrance Velvet, lewd & luminous Night surveys our soul askance! Come my love, & let us dance To the Moon & Sirius!
I will now copy my epigrams—being very tired, I leave the lyric till the afternoon—& compose myself to sleep, invoking mine Holy Guardian Angel that He may keep from even accidental profanation of the shrine wherein He dwelleth eternally!
11 a.m. Woke after glorious sleep with good dreams, feeling all right. No tendency to ‘nightmares’.
3.0. p.m. Confidence in one’s self is the nearest one can get to the unconscious state when things go absolutely right. This is the truth around which Bergsonians & Eddyites grope. Consider now how the phrases of CCXX I. 44 & such passages become clear? This is the truth behind Coue” on the one hand & the ‘perfect surrender’ mystics on the other.
(I reached this by thinking: one must have some attitude or other to the future: which is correct? I arrived at confidence by elimination.)
I must now define exactly what qualities this ‘Right Confidence’ demands. It is also pertinent to enquire how far one’s attitude to the future is capable of modifying the future. The answer is that some of the conditions of Right Confidence involve making proper dispositions. (Here is the heed[?] with Coué & Eddie-Quimby: a somewhat cardinal crevasse!)
3.21. I feel that I am not in quite good condition to undertake any regular work in circumstances (if necessary) of physical hardship. I can live on pretty well nothing a day; provided I am spared humiliation, i.e. economy must be dressed up as Romance. I will sweep out a brothel or dance through Tunis as a Holy Man in a tent—fine fun that! Let’s cable Alostrael [Leah Hirsig] to come!
On the other hand, I can get on quite well at the T.[unisia] P.[alace] H.[otel] if I have some one under my hand to work on The Spirit of Solitude [The Confessions of Aleister Crowley] with me. (Note: I instinctively avoid calling it The Hag any more.)
4. p.m. Michelet’s remarks on the Steam Engine & the Spinning Jenny enable me to trace in imagination the process by which the Law of Thelema & the industrial use of Semen will revolutionize human Society. (Some vision!)
5.55 p.m. This afternoon I caught myself thinking ‘when I was Cromwell’.
I analysed at once: it had nothing to do with any reincarnation speculations. It was simply that Aleister Crowley’s mind was spontaneously acting as the Instrument of the Spirit of Mankind. I regard this apparently trifling incident as one of the whitest landmarks of my spiritual wandering through the wilderness. This is the true [Beast?] whose number is the number of a man! 666.
10.22. p.m. [Question] Should I summon Progradior [Frank Bennett] to come to Cefalu to be Abbot Coadjutor? Give full advice. [O.P.V. [Norman Mudd] manipulates the sticks.]
[Moon/Kteis] Luna/0 [Pi Hexagram] VIII
Union. The fixation of the Infinite Desire. He is the ideal man for the job & will attract others to the Abbey [Abbey of Thelema].
Line 1. His sincerity is precisely the quality most required. [Line] 2. This plan is in accordance with his True Will. [Line] 3. He must not refuse at the idea of leaving his family & friends. (See Thwan—the right people will follow him.) [Line] 4. It will be excellent for him to get into more intimate contact with his H.G.A. [Holy Guardian Angel] This alone indicates that he ought to accept the post. [Line] 5. His acceptance of the post will be of the utmost value to 666 in collecting people to assist in the G. W. [Great Work] He will greatly serve the object of justifying 666 to those who at present misunderstand him. [Line] 6. The comparative failure of his work in Australia is due to his not having fully carried out the object of his previous journey to the Abbey? His journey was vitiated by A. Lust of Result. B. Attachment. He had to get back to Sydney by Xmas in order to get the job supposed to be available at that period of the year. The obvious result was that he found no job, & has never had any luck since. [Line] 7. ‘We see oje . . .’ He must buy the black egg without haggling.[2] He must come to Cefalu without the slightest consideration of circumstances or sentimental attachment.
I consequently wrote the following letter: I hereby summon you to proceed immediately to Cefalu to assume the office of Abbot Coadjutor.
This summons to be enclosed in a covering letter from O.P.V. communicating the general result of the Yi Divination & making any necessary explanations.
1—Crowley’s doctor in Tunis, who he went to see about stopping his heroin habit. 2—Refers to the often repeated injunction in grimoires to purchase the necessary equipment and provisions for magic without haggling over the price. Crowley hoped that Bennett would not haggle over the cost of removing from Sydney to Cefalu.
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