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Wm Gray letter #4Ta everso for the letter. We seem to be gradually extending our range of subject matter until these letters of ours stretch from here to this side of the grave. Occultism, though, is man so presumably whatever part of it one decides to examine, one always ends up with more knowledge and more detail than one was originally bargaining for. Probably like that old saw of art teachers about the one model who can be sculpted by an artist for his total working life, and still remain undiscovered.Agreed about the fuller life of the past. I for my part have a distinct impression of being a rough old bastard, but as you say, we all lived then, felt, loved, hated, desired and all for real. This century has had the effect of making everything genteel, clouding the pang of life in clouds of deodorant. Everything is so nice, everything is so grey and completely without taste. We are all Victorian gentlewomen neatly stitched into a twentieth century, that is not really nice or so easy going as the ad man and mass consumer redi-mix culture would have us believe. I feel that one day someone is going to kick over the scenery, then we will all see the bare brick walls of the theater. I have more than a shrewd suspicion that it is this that affects the boys who tore up the sea side towns, it is there that the real mass castration has taken place. Where the desires of millions of genteel people have coalesced into the monstrosities known as sea side holidays, getting away from it all' and having a good time. Youth with its good instincts, decided to try and kick the whole sorry mess over by doing everything that is agin the mass concept of the good life and the genteel way. When they are more mature and have stopped warring amongst themselves, we may see some interesting things from this generation. As for the modern artist, he is a poet without a theme, afraid of looking outside himself because it hurts his precious sensitivity, warbling around inside his own head, a delightful little love affair with himself. I was listening to one explain a painting of a woman, and I realised that he wasn't talking about woman as she is, but the pitiful creation of himself that he called woman. One day they must all realise that reality is outside not inside, and that reality hurts as well as teaches. So what if naked truth does kill the man who looks upon her, at least our kind have had the fun of the chase. A little iconoclasm is the best emetic for the indigestion of modern life. My own opinion is that this is the age of the drums, when somewhere from the inner planes a war drum is beating, calling all men of good intent together and to arms before it is too late. Sooner or later we must face the enemies of life and decide once and for all who and what is going to be the guiding light of this planet. Mars himself is esoteric at times, and I feel that there has been a dangerous infiltration from the Firbolg, the children of Dylan and darkness are covering the old human light. Poverty is a good master, a bad bedfellow though. I was born in a slum, one of eight children. I have had riches in the places where they really count, I have also known genuine hunger though. There is something to be learned from it, now I can look back upon some things with quiet joy, not because they were good at the time, but because I have learned the lesson from them. One thing about poverty is that it teaches compassion as well as anger, but its biggest drawback is frustration, frustration at never having the right things at the right time, of being at the mercy of anyone who employs you, of being constantly misunderstood. I personally would rather walk behind the plough than be in my present job, but this at least is skilled and offers me some escape from the run of work that is open to people like myself. Destiny.....destiny is the one word that means so much and is so very real and unreal together. I personally believe strongly in destiny, but although I can see it for others and sometimes for nations, myself to myself is a closed book. I do know there is something afoot, some force that controls me, not I it. Maybe a son born to some old carpenter somewhere, who is just gathering his wits together to say 'Follow me!'. I keep on getting the feeling that we are preparing ground for a crop that we will not reap, waiting for a dawn that may never come, but wait we must. We are force for something else that is to occur, the creators of opinion for a new concept that is arising somewhere in the world. The St. Johns the Baptists, hundreds strong, waiting, waiting, waiting. So far the new word hasn't come through, but it will, that I feel certain of. I am also certain of the workers of the inner planes. The one who I see is a man dressed in sixteenth century costume, cloaked and with a cynical smile. I have heard him speak and surprisingly he spoke with a broad accent that must have been sixteenth century English. It was the very first time I saw the Power we call God, at least a representative of Her. That night both Jane and I were sleeping, and I woke up suddenly to find myself sitting upright in my own body, half in half out. A dark form was in the room with me, and I was genuinely frightened. Protesting weakly, I was hauled out of myself and taken to a wood, where I saw my master for the first time. He was dressed as I described him, and said 'Here comes the Lass. Let us worship Her'. I looked up from the ground where I was laying (The moss was so distinct and so real that every individual plant stood out clearly in the most brilliant green) and saw coming through the oak trees a white Light, and I realised that it was a naked woman on horseback, but brilliant pure light also. I have never felt anything like I did then, before or since, but then I was shot back to myself with a thundering crash, and got out of bed trembling and shaking. It wasn't for many years afterwards that I realised that what I had seen was the cosmic power we call Truth. However since that time I have believed very strongly in the Inner Planes, and have occasionally seen my master. I also know that when he bends his will to a task, there is no gainsaying, it must be done or else. Of course all this may be illusion, but like yourself, I have an inner conviction that is stronger than all the psychiatric texts ever written. We do what we are told, protesting complaining, even whining, but we do what we are told, not because we are slaves to something running loose in our own heads, but because whatever it is that writes out the company orders, knows. I seem to remember something about Liz standing with her feet apart, puffing away at a clay pipe in one of the pieces of historical research I take up occasionally. She was an out and out pagan, that is if I am to believe what was written about her by various poets. There is an interesting inscription on a door at Hampton Court which refers to her as Diana, and gives her all the classical attributes of the Goddess of Hounds and hunting. I would very much like to join you at Glastonbury Tor, since these places are doorways (Stonehenge is a collection of doorlintels). Perhaps we can work our differing patterns together at fifteen paces and see what results we can get. Midsummer is my big night, or the nearest I can get to it. Quite simply our ritual falls into this pattern: This is the taper that lights the way . As you can see, it is a childs game, but one that works. We use a skull as much in the same fashion as the Knights Templars, but Mithraic worship is out for us, two differing concepts. The Druids, however, were eastern in origin, they again superimposed a different pattern upon the aboriginal Gods of the Kelts. They were supposed, by the Romans, to have more magic than the rest put together, however they were a bloody minded lot. If you want to use nature magic, then you must work outside, preferably by running water, or failing that, as high as you can get. It must be open to the four winds, since they carry the seeds of life and destruction, and they represent your four elements. The earth should be disturbed, and preferably a small sacrifice made of wheaten meal or wine. Working amongst timber tends to put too much wildness in the results, since it is the dark forest of Pan. The more water there is the better, the best sources of all is near a country churchyard, but be very careful of that one since you are liable to disturb the 'watchers' and they are something to be reckoned with. There are no hard and fast rules, it must be played by ear. The sense of power is usually denoted by a sensation of extreme panic, then comes the 'gathering' in you feel that you are being surrounded by hosts of 'watchers'. You may possibly see them out of the corner of your eye, these must be ignored, and the panic overcome. Then there comes a cold blast of wind, and the power which is being asked for begins the manifestation, this will appear in the form that you expect to see, the main difficulty is in holding it, since (and I speak from experience) it is rather like being hit with a hammer. Usually green, brilliant lights flash on and off in the centre of the working space. Incidentally you will find that a metal sieve placed in a central position gives no end of aid, and acts as a form of working grid for the force that the power is using to transmute its own energy. Once he is established then is the time to ask the questions, and the answers may not come just then, but come they will. Whatever you do, resist the temptation to panic or to feel that 'everything is going wrong'. The Farmer has a reputation for affecting human beings in this fashion (hence the words 'panic', pandemonium', etc.) Here is a short prayer that may help to consolidate: My Lord.....The invokation of Earth may help you: I do conjure Thee, Earth Basically nature magic is very simple, it is as simple as doing it, but like all simple things, it has some fantastic fortifications behind it. Witches believe that all things are One and joined, there is no singular (except human beings - Law of correspondence). To create spiritual effect, one must create physical effect, and to work nature magic, you must first do natural things. There are dangers though, these are in effect leaving anything undone. Once you have achieved your purpose, leave everything as you found it,or else you will spend some uncomfortable nights with nature spooks clomping around your room, taking it out of you for disturbing them. They are elemental and know not conscience as we know it. However they can be tamed and kept by you as a friend. My family had one for years and he delights in practical jokes. According to how he has been used, so he has become, and I think Tomkins was used unnecessarily for tangle foot work. Once he took an evil delight in appearing before some friends of ours and worrying them silly, but we took him in hand over that one and he behaved himself. There is a possibility that he was responsible for playing the fool and making Bobby make errors in her map. However he is easily seen, and cannot resist making loud thumps and clangs upon metal objects (possibly a left over from the days when iron was taboo to him). He usually is seen as a large black cat or dog, if you do catch him out, tell him off and send him back. But apart from all my personal natter Robin Goodfellow was no figament of the imagination. They are mischievous, unfriendly at times, and completely unreliable unless you twist their tails. They will take a delight in leading you on, and generally making a nuisance of themselves. You will find that once they sense you are out to try and work nature magick, they will fool around all the time, tripping you up, leading you around in circles and so on. Once you begin though, they will be quiet and even help you to achieve your aim. Position five is your best defence against their unsociable side, position six is your best way of making friends with them. As you say the teenagers are using magic all the time. If they but knew it they are doing what their direct ancestors called 'raising Cain'. All that noise, sexual hysteria and so on is a dangerous force to play with, and that is what the Beatles are doing. I would never be surprised to read that (a) a meeting of R&B had evolved into a fertility rite, and (b) that one of the Beatles has come to a very bloody and untimely end, a la primitive magic as the God of Vegetation. They are obviously tools of older forces that seek an outlet in our age, and what better than the twelve year olds who is basically everything man was at that particular period? I have no knowledge of astrology at all, since it would be a bad mistake for me to know too many types of divination at once. I base my own divination upon three things, my intuition, Tarot cards and my left hand. At this very moment, my hand is telling me about your past lives. The one nearest to you for instance, you were in the occupations of Mars, Venus had too much control over your head, and that you were in the seat of Jupiter which you treated like a fool. Through Mars, via Venus, you came to an untimely end, and left with regret a life that satisfied the worse part of you. In this life you have gone to Mercury as a counterbalance and have succeeded in balancing the effect of the past. Now is the time when you can step forward, but remourse for your past is holding you back, there is little or no opposition to you advancing in occultism now, you have paid the price. My wrist hurts like crazy, so from this I conclude that in the last life, no, the one before that, you were in some fashion a prisoner or a cripple caused through circumstances of birth, or possibly your parent of that life died giving birth to you. These are only rough readings given as I sit here at the typewriter. However I will do it properly for the next letter. I write as I speak, that is how I can do so much, that and a few years at knocking off a thousand words a day. We must really try and get our heads together and see if we can work at some piece of nature magic. As I said I would love to work at Glastonbury Tor, it would be ideal. Perhaps when we meet we can compare notes and find out if there is a common way. Regards, |
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