P.M.

1:15

At 12:30 I lie down to rest—cannot sleep. Rise, go to altar for prayer, then work. The flaming angel takes me by the hand but I can get no farther—some confusion. I then banish any and all vision and hold silence. Letting nothing enter. There had been a force of some kind against me, like a wind, in which I could not compose myself—this for some little time. Now use Tao and finally become one with that wind. Then realize all mentions of the world are a part of me—that all breath is my breath. From this I pass through top of head and spread out like a blanket, covering many, but I cannot make these many a part of the blanket.

Then I find myself back with flaming angel, who takes me by the hand, raises me to his level—the spot to which he has descended, and I discover myself in a white robe, a narrow filet about my hand. It seems like a confirmation and I stand, as a maiden, before the threshold of life. Am conscious of a name ending ‘iel’—Auriel? Aniel? Iliel? Amiel? Unable to grasp fully and think A.C. will know.

2:35

Does 2 mean anything to me? Yesterday, just before beginning work, two sounds, one on table, one on case of drawers. Just now, while my head rested on altar, came two faint but distinct ticks on wand lying there.

(At present do not like phenomena.)

6:00

A.C. back from Palermo without Russell [C. F. Russell], which I regret. How he must get bored with naught but three women.

He says: Lea [Leah Hirsig] has told me much about you. It might be interesting to hear the ‘much’, having discovered my first week here her incapacity (as I thought) to report conversations correctly, but having come to the conclusion—after the fanciful story of the California pal—that she falsifies deliberately.

10:00

^[1]

Such an element of doubt—it all seems rubbish! The truth is, I suppose, I am equally bored.

I say: “I am content—I have patience”, but it is a lie. My slowed-up mental (?) reactions are humiliating at times.

Does one who likes to be lied to want his vanity tickled?