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Aleister Crowley Diary Entry Tuesday, 20 May 1924
Chelles—May 20/24 to July 13/24 e.v.
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law. The Magical Record of ΤΟ ΜΕΓΑ ΘΗΡΙΟΝ 666 continued at the Inn Au Cadrau Bleu/Chelles-sur-Marne (S - et - M). An XX
[The diary opens with a rough pencil sketch of The Toll-House Chelle-Gormey. S - et - M S et O (Le toit)]
die Mars. May 20/24.
At Chelles. Here, by those banks where once the fullest flood That hate could fill was met, and stemmed, and rolled Back, in a mist of agony and blood The lazy waters swirl, dull green and gold Seeking eternally the eternal sea. O waters that no might of man may stay Bear on your easy breast my thought; set free My equal spirit to its ordered way! O waters, heal this wide, this unavailing Wound, that no skill of medicine may redress My soul, a steady ship, go idly sailing In fancy down your leafy loveliness! So may I turn anon with lance and sword To lead once more the legions of the Lord!
5 1/2 P.M. circa. A Crowned and Conquering Child (in a straw hat with a blue ribbon (= nemyss and an orange sweater for force and fire, with bare legs, and sandals) came and made friends as soon as I came back from the station where I had seen Alostrael [Leah Hirsig] off to Paris. Together we built a fire on the river bank: the sun then came out brightly. I made the appropriate consecrations.
7.0. Began dinner with a Soixante-Quinze. ?Dinner. A duck is psychic. There are 11. They knew when I would throw them no more bread, though I had lots, and had drawn them close up to me by throwing it, which they gobbled greedily.
I am at Chelles, upon the Marne—
Invoke the omen!
But as I lie upon the banks in the May sunlight, hemmed in a net of thunderclouds, the waters send me back the image of my mind. Dull, sluggish, interminable: between one senseless eddy and the next a lapse of unconsciousness—black grey-green stagnations, as of some primal pool before creation. It is so long—so long—so long—before the next thought creeps somehow towards the sea to lose itself for ever in that balanced swell of purifying peace, won by the virtue of obedience to the sun and moon, instead of to the hungry pull of the earth. And, while it flows, there may be battle given and victory won, upon its banks. A.C.
8 ?. The Hopelessness of Art
Suppose we did get the world to see something --------------- it would be mere plagiarism of what the Artist sees.
To-night I go to bed with the Sun: To-morrow let me rise with Him. (Comment would spoil this). P.S. Don't see it at all now).
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