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Aleister Crowley Diary Entry Monday, 30 June 1924
die Monday.
1.40 A.M. Woke—after a Sunday of being bored etc., from an exceedingly vivid dream of evil. I was lying quite still, "comfortably asleep". Yet I thought (a) it was 2.30 "Oh well, that's only 1.30, as it's 'summertime' (b) I was in bed with my mother, who kept on pushing me or touching me (as Leah [Leah Hirsig] sometimes does, but did not do to-night). This kept me awake. (c) It was in her house yet I thought we were alone in it; what woke me was that my screams—I was sitting up in bed, my mother having got out in despair—and protestations "Oh, do get into that other bed, and give me a chance to sleep" etc were making a scandal. For through the open door I saw a woman in black—a "Mrs. Arnold"—going downstairs. She had been visiting Miss Moffatt—who was a companion of my grandmother, and this woke me. I find it hard to write down this dream so as to disentangle the dream from the waking, that is, for any reader. Even for myself, some of it is hard. e.g. "my mother" was not altogether so. The only thing I can say is that I recognized her as such, and it was nobody else. Otherwise the only resemblance was that it was a fat woman.
I ask once more: what is to guarantee us against such experiences being indefinitely prolonged when no physical awakening comes to destroy them. "In that sleep of death what dreams may come" etc. It was really 'Magdalen Blair' in many ways (the house was mostly one in Streatham, I think) yet I was adult, my present age, and I noticed the time by the clock actually present by my side as I write this. I can trace most of the elements of the dream (1) Lea and I went over a large empty house yesterday. (2) Yesterday was fascinated and rather horrified by a fat woman (3) "Mrs. Arnold" was more or less a mixture of several women dressed in black whom I saw yesterday. (4) I meant to put the clock right before sleeping, but did not. (5) I reconstituted recent scenes of insomnia and restlessness by simple memory.
I suppose the best guarantee is that such dreams go with an excited brain, and that in death the brain is anaemic. Yet who can say that the poisons of putrefaction may not excite the brain, from this point of view, as suggested in "Magdalen Blair"? The question is: what of the 'ego'? It was certainly 'I' that was going through these experiences. They were much longer than the waking clock allowed. One practical counsel emerges: Quetsch is a most poisonous drink! at least, don't mix it with Opium! (Cf. Ezra Jennings in 'The Moonstone'?) One observation emerges: it is not possible to judge from a sleeper's apparent calmness that he is not having a hell of a bad time! One experiment suggests itself: get the brain artificially into states as near that of death as convenient, and see what happens! (Note: tumour on the brain causes insanity with hallucinations). I feel more sure than ever that dreams are not wish-fulfilments, by no matter what ultra-German perversions of logic! I am less certain than ever about the dependence of the ego on the brain. Observe that the idea of self is quite uninjured by the most fantastic disguises of the non-ego. I go from rational to irrational surroundings and back again at the bidding of phantasms or physical states wholly beyond my control, without the least surprise or shock, or the arising of any doubt about the reality of my circumstances. The most practical safeguard seems to be the habit of controlling the brain, both in its reactions to fact and to imagination. One ought to acquire supreme will-power to abolish all types of inferior consciousness. But then is it not just this function which is abolished in all these 'intermediate' states between true sleep and true waking? I could not even recognize the possibility of destroying the dream, or of turning it into pleasant channels. I suspect strongly that most religious customs as to treating the corpse—embalming, burning, etc, besides ceremonial protection—are based on theories due to observations of the above type. The disproof of the value of the evidence of physical calm is peculiarly disturbing.
[The following is in the handwriting of Leah Hirsig:]
Monday June 30.
4.20 P.M. We mean by matter much what was meant by Ether 30 years ago. It is the medium by w[hich] phenomena take place or by which we become aware of them.
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