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Meredith Starr Diary Entry Friday, 5 August 1910
I
The mazes of my life are spun in curious threads of gold and grey, Bright sunshine from some hidden day, and grey that knows no star or sun.
See how the monsters of the deep toss their great crests if whirling foam, And dive to their dark hidden home, and curl their giant limbs in sleep:
Even so the monsters of my brain arise and shake themselves and roar, As tho' there were no secret shore their maddened fury could sustain.
Though new desires have dimmed the flame that flared around the ancient face, The older madness grows apace, and calls me by my secret name.
It calls; I follow; far away, beyond the veils that yet divide The Older Beauty from my side, I see the slow approach of day.
I see the brilliance which descends upon the hoary head of old; It mingles with the grey and gold that have fulfilled their hidden ends.
Today at 5.15 p.m. I took 180 minims of Anhalonium Lewinii—with the following results.
At 7.30 I went to see "The Merry Widow" again at The New Theatre—Southsea (George Edwards' Company with Louie Pounds as the Merry Widow). As before, I was filled with a feeling vast, inexhaustible power; curiously enough—other people also seemed to be aware of it. . . . I was sitting in the dress circle—and during the intervals between the acts—I noticed that almost everyone in the theatre was looking at me. Wherever I looked women smiled and bowed to me, and men whom I had never seen before nodded to me as if they were old acquaintances. The terrific power, of which I seemed to be the expression, seemed to sway the whole theatre. . . . all eyes were focused on me as if I held the destiny of thousands in the hollow of my hand. I heard a girl on my right exclaim that she had never felt so peculiar before, and that there was something very 'unusual' in the air. . . . She remarked that 'everything had quite a different appearance to usual.'
The Merry Widow was a tapestry of marvelous colour-visions, and the music was too exquisite for words. Whenever I gazed at the rose and violet wall-paper on the stage, curious devices traced themselves on their surfaces, and shadowy remembrances were resuscitated from the dusky recesses of my brain. I saw strange faces of long-forgotten races, Egyptian, Chaldean, Babylonian—all quite distinct. They welcomed me with their eyes and smiled upon me with their lips. I saw giant faces of stone, supreme in their colossal calm. Sphinxes gazed on me with their inscrutable eyes, wherein were shadowed the secrets of oblivion, and the wisdom that is born of experience, and the dominion of Truth. I also saw a large face—not unlike the face of Frater O∴M∴ [Crowley]—at first it leered at me cynically, sceptically, mockingly as though challenging me to a contest. I accepted the unspoken challenge, and our eyes met in a fierce struggle for mastery, And as I gazed, lo! the cynical, mocking light faded from his eyes which widened with apprehension and exceeding discomfort. As I gazed, strong in the consciousness of supreme power and assured victory, a devouring terror filled his eyes, and his features writhed in an extremis of tortured fear. The face then faded to a semblance of a shadow, and, as I gazed, even this became utterly extinct.
Besides these things I saw many magical signs and symbols which I cannot now remember. There appeared also unto me a multitude of men and women whose familiar faces were like the faces of gods and goddesses.
The physical body was in a sense non-existing. He was a habitation, a vesture. Yet is was immune from pain, and possessed capabilities far beyond the ordinary.
When I returned home, having donned my robe, I invoked Taphthartharath, Adonai, and Apollo. I had no difficulty in seeing astrally (or rather creating) the figures of angels with vessels of fire and illumination which they poured on my head etc etc. On my right hand was a pillar of fire, on my left a pillar of [illegible]. I became my Higher Self. Of the three I [illegible] Apollo last. In the Ritual I performed I obtained the following Poem.
Apollo.
Apollo, I summon thy lyrical light To ravage the dusky recesses of Night! I find, I conjure thee to come to mine aid; Shine out in thy splendour!— Thee, Thee I invoke by the might that is mine, The magical might of the Spirit Divine! Thee, Thee I invoke by the might of The Eye Immovably fired in the light that is I.
O master-musician! Great God of the Lyre! O burn through my being, thou fountain of fire! O ravage my spirit with infinite bliss! O stamp in my soul the white seal of thy kiss! O luminous singer, descend in thy might, Envelope my soul with thy lyrical light! O mingle forever thy music with mine; My soul be thy Temple, my spirit thy Shrine!
O great God Apollo, thy music is mine, I am even as thou art immortal divine! Behold on my forehead the Eye that is I Bewilders the glittering vault of the sky! And flashes of fire, and arrows of flame, Dart forth at the magical might of my name!
With my song I shall kindle the infinite fires That flare with passion of mighty desires! Around me shall thunder the planets of space! The Dew of the Morning descend on my face! My lyre shall summon the soul of the stars To dance to the light of my lyrical bars!
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