TyphOnia

On the eve of the Nu Moon I sat down to play this DVD of what T.O.P.Y. (Temple ov Psychic Youth) would call a "sigil". That's to say the old paper based system as it is now in the digital age. So it's not a straight forward film but a fifteen minute transmission intended to invoke a dream in the viewer. Filmed largely in black and white - its the record of a typhonian rite conducted by the very attractive members of Luxifera Research Group (aionicstar.com) presumably in a deserted Canadian necropolis.

To the sounds of a discordant soundtrack, the half dozen or so celebrants perform an invocation of the Typhonian current, the hieroglyph of Apep flashes momentarily on the screen, along with many another secret sign - the chorus chants a line from the powerful repertoire of the classical mage - ABLANATHANALBA. It's a very spirited production that definitely carried me to the end - despite my reservations about yet another occult production with no script. But there again I must remind myself this is a sigil not a film in the conventional sense - so I'm certainly glad people are making and circulating such material for the edification of the magi.

As an exponant of a peculiar system of Egyptian magick I was expecting a visitation from the incubair - that which the sigil is designed to incubate. And sure enough as I prowled the night-time I came upon a film crew filming interviews on the topic of the importation of crocodile skin - and the destruction of their habitat - I probably don't need to remind you of the typhonian nature of Sobek - so much so that a recent part-work having omitted Seth, one of the most important of Egyptian gods, partially redeemed themselves by the inclusion of Sobek. I was woken by someone hammering on the door at seven am (seven the number of the Typhon) come to deliver a copy of Stephen Skinner and David Rankine's latest offering 'The Goetia of Dr Rudd' (more on that next time). So all in all not a bad result - why not get yourself a copy and see for yourself. Sigils such as TyphOnia probably work only the once or perhaps intermittently. Best use them - pass them on or put them away somewhere, until they are almost forgotten then give them another go - but do have a go.. [Mogg Morgan]

The Goetia of Dr Rudd by Stephen Skinner David Rankine

isbn 978-0-9547639-2-3, £40 Golden Hoard

448pp, hardback includes full text of Lemegeton or Lesser Key of Solomon (Liber Malorum Spiritum seu Goetia, Theurgia Goetia, Ars Paulina (1&2) Ars Almadel)

Is there such a thing as a definitive edition of a grimoire? The authors of this spanking new edition certianly think so. The Goetia or Lemegeton to give it its full title, is a well known sorcerous book still widely available through Aleister Crowley's 1903 edition, which like several other of the master's works was re-badged from the manuscript provided by Samuel Liddel MacGregor Mathers of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. Skinner Rankine's justification for reprinting this new edition lies in the fact that the Crowley/Mathers edition is incomplete, contains editorial errors and is peppered with 'extraneous' material including some of Crowley's trade mark jokes. Crowley also added some additional ritual material such as the powerful Egyptian 'Headless Ritual' which is seen as anachronistic by some or a touch of magical genius; by others.

In their Goetia, Skinner & Rankine discuss the recent scholarly edition of The Lesser Key of Solomon edited by Joseph Peterson. They advance many coherent reasons as to why a further edition is useful. Controversially their edition is based on a manuscript actually rejected as defective by Peterson yet, so they argue, it possesses an internal coherence that has perhaps been overlooked. Viz: Dr Rudd's edition, warts and all, shows a system of magic as actually practiced by a working magician of the seventheenth century. In this respect, the edition of Dr Rudd has a lot in common with that of Crowley/Mathers. Dr Rudd also made his own additions to the text, additions that Stephen Skinner David Rankine this time welcome because they make the system more rational and to their minds safer. Rudd's brilliant addition was to add corresponding angelic seals for each of the demonic names, thus provided a technique by which one (the angels) could control the other (the demons).

Skiinner and Rankine's rather excellent introduction now addresses the putative history of the Grimoire, a topic which is in many ways more interesting than the grimoire itself (you might guess I'm not a grimoire man myself - one has to specialise afterall. Although I do have my own theories about the Goetia, but that can wait for another day.) As one might expect, details of the history of the Lemegeton gets murkier, the further back one looks. Ultimately, one is in the territory of myth and selective memory. I wonder if the editors had seen Lon Duquette's lively little book The Key to Solomon's Key (reviewed in MS) in which he addresses the historicity of King Solomon 'the Magician'. In 586bce the Hebrew elite of Jersualem were taken into captivity by the Babylonians and the 'Solomonic' temple destroyed. When this captivity ended the captives returned with a new name and some would say a new history and religion. Which means that all those post captivity stories of King Solomon cannot be taken at face value. King Solomon is a figure of myth who has so far remained invisible in the archaeological and historical record. So is the King Solomon who inspired the Lemegeton really a Hebrew mage or could he derive from Arabic or even Egyptian tradition? Afterall the Goetia itself says that the demons speak the Egyptian tongue?

Which brings me back to my opening question. I've yet to be convinced that the grimoires really deal with a world of facts; they seem to be much more connected to an imaginal world of magick. For all those magicians wanting to address this and other issues for themselves - you probably couldn't ask for a clearer and more complete guide than Stephen Skinner & David Rankine's excelllent new edition.. [Mogg Morgan]

The Book of Mephisto- A Left Hand Path Grimoire of the Faustian Tradition,
Asenath Mason, Edition Roter Drache, 2006. 76 pages.
ISBN 3-939459-00-3

The Necronomicon Gnosis- A Practical Introduction,
Asenath Mason, Edition Roter Drache 2007. 184 pages.
ISBN 978-939456-05-7

Experienced occult practitioners understand that the Mysteries may be invoked under many identities, shifting forms and names from circumstance to circumstance. Thus it is that amongst the oldest traditions we often find elements of what might otherwise be called ‘post modern’ sorcery. For example, I remember during an adventure into the dark underbelly of London coming across a Voudon altar which had been erected to the Baron of the Cemetery - a genuine lwa of that tradition- represented by the image of Darth Vader (or perhaps that should be Daa’th Vader?). Much to the bafflement of the uninitiated, many of those practicing ‘traditional’ witchcraft often display a similar attitude towards the Mysteries of our own culture. We know that underneath all archetypes, be they from the pagan myth cycles or modern popular iconography, there lies the power of the ultimately unknowable, unnameable Mysteries of which even our traditional pantheons are ultimately the merest shadows.

Just as the Voudon cultists have identified their own lwa or ‘laws’ at different times with the saints of Catholicism, or the new myth cycles of popular culture such as the Star Wars films, so have we as witches in England. Hence it is also that the pagan gods found themselves re-identified as demonic forces in the various grimoires of cunning tradition. We know that neither interpretation of these Mysteries are strictly speaking the ‘ultimate truth’. We know also that the form beneath which the Mysteries are called may even be completely fictional, and like the rest of Western Magic in the modern day have even succumbed on occasions to applying the mythos of H. P. Lovecraft in our rites. Similarly, post-modern Chaos magicians have found that it has proved possible to work effective sorcery by invoking gods that did not exist five minutes ago, or even invoking characters from ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ (although why you would want to do that is anybody’s guess). It is an attitude that is shared also by Asenath Mason, founder of Lodge Magan – Polish lodge of the Order Dragon Rouge, in the two books I have recently received from her.

In the ‘Book of Mephisto’, Asenath explores the goetic tradition through an exploration of the Faustus myth, specifically his making of a Pact with Mephistopheles, whom she identifies at various times with Ahriman, Samael, the Initiator, the Opposer, and the Jungian ‘Shadow’. She sees the Faustian Pact to be ultimately a misunderstood manifestation of the Great Work of the Left Hand Path, pointing out early on that in Marlowe’s play he does not evoke demons to satisfy petty desires, as many of the later editions of The Lesser Key promise to fulfil. He does not seek material benefit, or to have control over other humans. Rather, he sells his soul in exchange for knowledge, and for exploration of the outer and inner cosmos. In this sense he seeks illumination with the ultimate aim to become himself ‘as a god’, which as Mason points out is the definitive quest of the Left Hand Path magician. From this perspective she goes on to explore the tradition of the magical pact in sinister witchcraft, identifying Mephistopheles also as a face of the Black Man of the Sabbat. The work includes a number of ritual formulae that combine traditional and modern elements that might be employed by any aspiring magician or witch to commune and invoke this Mystery, whether in the guise of Mephistopheles or any of its other names.

In ‘Necronomicon Gnosis’ Asenath explores the employment of the Cthulhu mythos in practical modern Left Hand Path sorcery; not entirely unknown also amongst witches (being not too far a stretch of the imagination, since we commonly refer to the Mysteries as The Old Ones even when we are not being post-modern about it all), Chaos magicians, the Typhonian O.T.O., and not forgetting of course the Voudon traditions as they are transmitted through Michael Bertiaux’s O.T.O.A., nearly all of whom receive at least a passing mention. Although described as an introductory level work, there is also much here that may be of inspiration to the more experienced practitioner. Indeed, Asenath generally assumes an advanced knowledge in her readers, hoping perhaps as much to reach out to those who might be her equals (distressingly few I would imagine) as to inspire those whose journeys are only just beginning. Again, she employs this modern pantheon to explore mysteries that are in fact so ancient as to be ultimately unnameable. Along the way she offers us her always profound and occasionally alarming insights into such traditional magical practices as astral travel, the Sabbat, dream incubation, shape-shifting, necromancy, sexual communion, invocation, evocation, the creation of though-forms, and other elements that fit well into the Cthulhoid mould of working. That the pantheon is fictitious means very little, since it resonates with the deeper mind that knows no bounds to ‘truth’ or ‘fantasy’; the dreaming mind of the sorcerer.

Logic might tell us that offering sacrifices and pacts to gods that do not actually exist will bring no fruit, yet experience tells us otherwise. Similarly, just because a subjective magical belief yields objective results, this does not necessitate the objectivity of that belief. This, besides the human mind’s incapability of seeing the whole ‘truth’ at any one time, is something that we can be very thankful for. Again there are enough inspiring rituals to keep any cultist happy. These are much more your ecstatic rituals of sex and blood than the usual dry old recycled ceremonial material one has got so used to reading but never getting around to doing these days. You cannot go wrong with the odd frenzied rite here and there..

I am reminded also of a telling of a Buckinghamshire coven that, wrapped up in the usual inter-coven magical warfare over the five mile ruling or some such nonsense, attempted to evoke the Lovecraftian entity known as Azazoth, the ‘Blind Idiot God’, to direct its destructive capabilities towards their perceived ‘enemies’. As if such a being is likely to concern itself with petty squabbles about poaching each other’s coven members… As Asenath points out in the ‘Necronomicon Gnosis’, summoning entities like this to manifestation is never wise move under any circumstances. True to form, this coven failed entirely to direct the chaotic forces of Azazoth in the directions they intended, and within six months all those involved in the ritual were either in an asylum, dead after a freak accident, or had committed suicide. Which, personally, is the kind of magical f**k up we could all learn from observing. Thank the Old Ones that other people are out there to make mistakes like that for us, so that we do not have to.

Both works display profound insight into the Mysteries, as does her breathtaking ‘fantasy’ artwork which adorns their pages. I am always suspicious of so called Left Hand Path magicians that display no particular talent, such as the ability to paint inspiring images to write evocative prose (this is supposed to be the Dark Art after all) and it is obvious that Asenath Mason must surely be an accomplished sorceress to produce the quality of work that she does. I expect that her lodge will prosper and grow through her inspiration and guidance. It should matter little if your own approach is purely ‘Traditional’, or whether you are open to employing elements from fantasy as new ‘masques’ for the ancient Mysteries, there will most likely be much to inspire you within these pages. Highly recommended indeed.
So mote it be,
Nathaniel J. Harris
(Skratte)

For further details of these and other books published by Edition Roter Drache visit their web page at http://roterdrache.org
For information on the Order Dragon Rouge, visit http://www.dragonrouge.net

To see Asenath Mason’s accomplished dark fantasy artwork, and to find links to various esoteric articles by her, visit http://www.asaenath.deviantart.com

Lectures

Details of location below

Venues & Organisers:

TyphOnia

On the eve of the Nu Moon I sat down to play this DVD of what T.O.P.Y. (Temple ov Psychic Youth) would call a "sigil". That's to say the old paper based system as it is now in the digital age. So it's not a straight forward film but a fifteen minute transmission intended to invoke a dream in the viewer. Filmed largely in black and white - its the record of a typhonian rite conducted by the very attractive members of Luxifera Research Group (aionicstar.com) presumably in a deserted Canadian necropolis.

To the sounds of a discordant soundtrack, the half dozen or so celebrants perform an invocation of the Typhonian current, the hieroglyph of Apep flashes momentarily on the screen, along with many another secret sign - the chorus chants a line from the powerful repertoire of the classical mage - ABLANATHANALBA. It's a very spirited production that definitely carried me to the end - despite my reservations about yet another occult production with no script. But there again I must remind myself this is a sigil not a film in the conventional sense - so I'm certainly glad people are making and circulating such material for the edification of the magi.

As an exponant of a peculiar system of Egyptian magick I was expecting a visitation from the incubair - that which the sigil is designed to incubate. And sure enough as I prowled the night-time I came upon a film crew filming interviews on the topic of the importation of crocodile skin - and the destruction of their habitat - I probably don't need to remind you of the typhonian nature of Sobek - so much so that a recent part-work having omitted Seth, one of the most important of Egyptian gods, partially redeemed themselves by the inclusion of Sobek. I was woken by someone hammering on the door at seven am (seven the number of the Typhon) come to deliver a copy of Stephen Skinner and David Rankine's latest offering 'The Goetia of Dr Rudd' (more on that next time). So all in all not a bad result - why not get yourself a copy and see for yourself. Sigils such as TyphOnia probably work only the once or perhaps intermittently. Best use them - pass them on or put them away somewhere, until they are almost forgotten then give them another go - but do have a go.. [Mogg Morgan]

Driven to it : An Autobiography – Jean Overton Fuller

isbn 978-0-85955-306-3, £17.95 Michael Russell Publishing

Jean Overton Fuller is known to occultists principally for her 1960s biography The Magical Dilemma of Victor Neuburg, published in paperback by Mandrake of Oxford. For most it is this book's forbidden fruit that is its real attraction - ie the long and detailed account of Neuburg's homosexual relationship with Aleister Crowley, one of the twentieth century's most influencial magi. Hence the 'magical dilemma' of the title is presumably whether Neuburg should continue with the whole magical project following his rejection and execration by his former lover. This book is regarded by many to be a fascinating if rather flawed account of an extremely important magical partnership - for it was in the cauldron of Crowley and Neuburg's forbidden love that the seeds of the current obsession with sexual magick were sown.

JOF has a very distinctive style - what I call 'auto-romance' - that is to say she tends to write herself into the story. She has written a great many books ranging from the history of the SOE (Special Operations Executive),the precursor to MI6, to the her most famous Madeleine: the story of Noor Inayat Khan; one of the very few female holders of the VC. She's even written a very ripping yarn about the White Chapel Murders. All her books have a large chunk of autobiography as for instance she begins the Magical Dilemma with her account of how, as an aspiring poet, she was drawn into Neuburg's literary circle, her huge crush on him and the slow drip drip of revelations of his 'sinister past'. In some ways I think the dilemma is more Jean's than Neuburg's. In Driven to It, she joins all the dots between the various biographical episodes in her continuous line of publications. Only when they are brought together does one see how often she is presented with some tantalising choice of a straight or crooked path. So for instance I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had she become Gerald Heym's 'scarlet woman' instead of doing a runner?

My feeling is that approaching her ninth decade she has probably left it a little late for the clarity of thought and self-reflection this task needs. The books certainly details every fork in the road but we never quite get the punch line - what exactly does Miss Fuller think? These days JOF is the elder stateslady of the Theosophical Society, a regular, until quite recently, of their Theosophical History conference. But she never quite tells the reader what it is about Theosophy that won her to their cause with such tenacity and with such approbium for others on the path such as Crowley, Cremmers, and even in the end Neuburg. But despite the feeling of this being an ever so slightly wasted opportunity (and who hasn't had one of those) this is an entertaining and informative account of one very singular woman's creative journey. [mogg]

NECROMANTRA
BY
TRISTRAM BURDEN

Garna had the sense to walk away.

Oak roots erupted onto the tarmac, obstructing her footsteps. Her thick brown hair blew wild in the wind, and the breaking rhythm set by her feet urged me into trance. Confidence fell away from her. She'd changed. I yearned for a final glimpse of her blue eyes, her thin, white face. Even the leaves didn't touch her; they floated, spreading on the path noiseless. A loose dog avoided her, stretching a worried head as she passed. Then she was gone around a corner, hidden by oak, and a door slammed shut.
She had the teacup. It sat between a Massai Warrior and Dante's death mask on an otherwise barren mantelpiece. During a mushroom frenzy we both saw the alphabet suspended in a dreamscape, etched on etheric-blue monoliths. We wrote it down on what we had, mud, shit, blood, fingers and the teacup with which we shared our psychedelic broth. Its form glowed, meaning at that time impenetrable. Mud on a teacup and all else concealed.

The event was almost forgotten. Mercury had left us and Saturn began its obstruction. But the glyphs lingered in deep-mind, and occasionally leapt to the surface, paralysing us then leaping back down to be revisited if consciousness was ever prepared.

Garna reported similar phenomena. Spontaneous recollection over money-withdrawal, coffee-making, tooth-brushing - spurning a cue, causing some spillage, toothpaste on breasts. We agreed to meet, perhaps prevent the invasions, encounter the source and figure the scope of the operation.

Twenty three sigils. We gazed at that cup in awe, seated comfortably in Garna's living room, facing east over coffee and spliff. We felt urgency, were mystified as to how we squeezed this number on the tiny container. The delicate lines, perfect circles and alien intricacy. We didn't know their order, or whether it was important, and the arrangement of the monoliths in memory gave us no clue.

“What do we do?” Garna set her coffee down and leaned forward, eyes fixed on those vast, tangled sigils. She lifted the teacup and turned it with grace in her lithoid young hands.

“Explore...” Dante's death mask stared down at me from the fireplace. I looked at those closed eyes, convinced I saw them move, whispering something. “We just have to go a little further.”

“...Than?” Her eyes never lifted from the cup.

“Before.”

Absorbed in personal contemplation, we turned and looked at each other, knowing what the other was thinking. And so we agreed an approach. Find the origin of the alphabet, then see what it says; the first steps of an odyssey through untapped channels.

We dedicated ourselves to the operation, deeming all other activity peripheral.

No other language, remotely similar, presented itself to us over the weeks of our exploration. Without knowledge of pronunciation, our sterile attempts at rendering it phonetically were abandoned. It bore no resemblance to even the wackiest UFO cults that had sprung up on this Earth, and all ancient grimoires kept this grammar secret. The people we showed it to, scant few language experts and arcane lorists, screwed faces up at it and insisted we were perpetrating a hoax, confessing how we came by the language a final nail in the coffin of the conversation.

Alone in this endeavour, we settled working on the glyphs in the order we captured them. So we indulged in logistics, taking for granted that when the finger was put to the cup, we had copied them correct in some implicit order.

Garna first displayed glints of avarice afew weeks in. We sat on her sofa. I lay back, legs crossed, she sat forward. I dragged slow on spliff, brow furrowed at her, feeling invisible like some voyeur. She then sat back, knees hugged to her chest, bare-feet firmly pointing towards the cup on the coffee-table before her. She rocked slightly, and in the silence her eyes drifted to it, like a funeral party magnetised by television, some plea connoting irresponsibility for the silence. Garna and I, we had no awkwardness with dead air, we were comfortable with our own thoughts.

The alien sensation that I should be saying something crept from my belly and into my throat.

The first indicator of growing dominion of the twenty-three.

Sleeping that night, Garna's leg draped over mine in perfect trust, her face fixed itself behind my eyes, and slowly was shrouded by darkness.

I tried to seek out the current possessing Garna, that took her away from me. We sat on her bed, taking turns at self-analysis, stripping motives until we discovered common ground. And we had it: to imbibe these mysteries, unveil any oracular tendencies and utilise their status as potential portals.

Then Garna uttered a foreign desire. As soon as she spoke it, we paused and looked at each other. My pen, pressed to the page, drifted into scribble as we sat astonished by the words. However aware of the alphabet's power, its effortless talent for shifting mind into dreaming, her words confirmed the seeds planted, and we became conscious of the urgency required.

I wrote down what Garna had said, sealing it with a circle and two asterisks. I looked at the page.
...TO CAUTERISE THE INNER CHAMBER...

After deciding that Mercury should be with us while we performed the working, nailing rationality to the base of our journey, I banished and we coaxed out our daemons.
Garna and I slept together that night, converting nervous energy into frenzied coitus; aware only of pleasure and flesh, as large pages numbering twenty-four, all inscribed with flashing colours, surrounded us, entered us, flapped in the wind.

We were on the threshold of the vein, ready to enter the heart, the veiled ventricle of these markings.

I awoke fresh. She was beaming. We bathed, cleansing each other in turn and distracting ourselves from the indulgence to come. Once relaxed we performed pranayama and divination. As we gazed at the High Priestess we mused on the value of the outcome. Did the acquisition of learning justify this escapade? We continued, prepared, and drove our minds into waking-dreaming.

One at a time, burning musk. I stared at the selected glyph, focused, absorbing it into consciousness. The room faded and I spiralled out.

Through blazing tunnels, passing archetypes. A sphere of light grew into glistening green seas; three suns in pyramid formation spread their rays and on a cliff-top, sea still and silent below me, vast glass towers reflected white shadows on blue-grey grass and a figure beckoned me towards it.

Androgynous, hairless and waiting for form, this being squinted its small black eyes, searching for recognition or a sign of passage. We examined each other at a distance, making no movements. It changed colour frequently; purple to pink to yellow to azure. I could understand the questions that it formed, there were no barriers restricting thought-travel. Just impressions, no language. I communicated my purpose and my motive. As I did so his chest flashed the glyph, a pulsating orange embedded in his skin. The creature raised its left leg into a hook, stomping it back down onto the grass with force, with message. It became liquid and changed into a perfect self-replica, the glyph glowing orange still, now on its forehead. It touched the glyph and turned, began walking. I followed.

We were walking towards the glass towers, cylindrical, symbols etched in octagon formations. Closer, closer, through thin, pale and moving plants crowned with plate-sized multicoloured flowers. Closer until I recognised the towers arrangement and the blue monoliths flashed in memory. I was where I should be. The figure, my mirror image, halted in front of the one. Leg outstretched into a hook, he stomped it hard on the grass, and changed back into the formless, colourful anomaly. It extended its left arm, brought its right over its chest, both hands pointing towards the first glass edifice. The creature stayed in the position for a time, and I heard an unpronounceable name, realising it was theirs and the multitude of identities this form housed. They united into one astral image, all faces seen at once, all arms and all legs - they walked backwards, palms held over the right eye. The plants swallowed them, and I turned..

My journey formed an orbit around the colossal glass-towers. I was mesmerised by their angles, their inner resonance. The doors were open. Some light, indefinable eminence, burned from the centre of their arrangement. The glyph glowed and flashed in the construction of the landscape. I advanced towards the closest, feet sinking in the cool grass, the suns on my left. The tower was open and I stepped into a temple of reflection. Orbicular inner chamber, a table dead-centre. I approached it.
A bird, black and large, engulfing light with a bald and grey head, rested in the tables centre. Its eyes were purple, wrinkled skin folded under them - a black pupil shined penetrative and conscious. Our eyes were locked and I came closer. The table was hexagonal and etched with a grid, yellow on opaque red. The bird occupied a silver disc in the centre. The head, now before me, was anthropoid.

The light in the building enveloped me, and I became a nerve centre for ineffable energy. The winged-creature opened its small mouth, emitting a low, rumbling omnipotent and long groan vibrating unremitting through the landscape. Low, deafening and warm. The bird's eyes were closed, mouth wide open. The glass in the tower began to reverberate harmonies. It was a word. And the word was remembered...

Urban spillage echoed in the room. Portals shifted into closure. I wriggled my hands and toes and fidgeted in the aftermath, eyes slowly opening onto familiar territory. Garna's welcome face appeared and smiled; she thrust the journal into my hands. I stared at the blank paper and its potential, then recorded. Enthusiasm forced her to take her position. I watched her, my mind revisiting the place. And holding the journal firm, the word was written.

Lying on Garna's bed, sweating, the intense moist heat of the room forced us into comfortable nudity. Though our eyes were heavy, our enthusiasm burned fiercer. We read each other's accounts with captivation and analysis.

Garna's journey had more meaning, more information. She memorised the form of the alphabet, their precise arrangement. She had sat for an hour, seized with urgency, constructing a shape. Confronted with the order, spiralling hierarchic, we deemed the chaos in our selection. She, at least, had selected the Alpha. In comparison to her own, my journey seemed crippled, lacking anything but the word received.

The teacup, that first vessel, drifted into obsolescence and gathered dust on the shelf. The next epoch beckoned, fertile and seductive. We were peering into an open vein now, linear and initiatory - the inner chamber lay in waiting.

When I closed my eyes at night, the glyphs formed massive grids moving in horizontal and vertical lines, vast matrices encouraging an instant meditative state. I would drift into sleep as they sped on their highways not slowing with distraction.

The workings continued, loaded with a new calm. There was intense thirst for results. Garna and I travelled, past familiar trappings and enervation, efforts crowned with raw energy. I became suspicious about the dosage, the absorption rate. A removal from regular routines set in, and I came to fear for our safety. Garna's in particular.
She had a different approach, some back-door key. The glyphs showered her and penetrated her with message. By the third working I was left to collate and document her visions, the material extensive. But we flowered in these roles, me as scribe and she as psychic tourist, and so the work turned into a lucid, progressive oracular machine.

An irregular and impressive activity was witnessed by Garna. It was the fourth operation and Garna's journey had been significantly different, the plane seeming to close itself to our observance, becoming in some way grudging. A solid line of communication ran, but far removed from expectations and the fulfilments of our purpose. Garna found strange and familiar faces. But the inner chamber stayed strictly out of our immediate reach.

She landed beside a forest populated by trees with a yellow bark, small grey cauliflowers running vertical in four lines on each. As she turned, she noticed a woman walking towards her - a woman wearing white floating robes, with dark, thick curly hair, subtly bovine with penetrating azure eyes...she stood still and placid awaiting the woman's arrival. She communicated that the distance between them and the duration of its lessening defied reason. Behind the woman she could see a gathering of shapes; they began moving and the woman was in front of Garna, embracing her - Garna returned the embrace. When they separated the name of the woman drifted into Garna's consciousness - her mind, she then communicated, felt extended, reaching beyond the boundaries of grey-matter and bone and open to scrutiny. Her comfort, she said, the warmth of the plain, verged on arousal. Feeling reborn, Garna sounded the woman's name on what felt like new lips, with a new tongue.

"...Upasika..." She paused, momentarily wordless. It occurred to her that the woman knew her name, that there had been an unnoticed exchange. Upasika smiled, her manner slow but firm. She took Garna's hand, and they moved in the direction the people verged. Garna conveyed to me that she felt in some way exclusive. She listened to her companion feeling extraordinarily safe and warm.

"I travel in these lands also,. They appear to be newly opened, perhaps even newly formed. It is always pleasing to find a fellow traveller. New territory always defies expectations." She spoke with an accent, the origin of which Garna couldn't elucidate. It seemed a combination of various tongues. Garna squeezed Upasika's hand lightly, affectionately - an alien but comfortable impulse.

They walked towards a gathering. Men and woman sat suspended around a massive, floating disc. Grass that was now russet spread in vast plains about them. She looked behind her to deem location: the three suns, but the cliff edge had gone. They seemed to have come a very long way. They both approached the disc. Before Garna could identify the shapes, Upasika addressed her, lightly touching Garna's arm. She became stern and serious.

"We are all here to discuss this place. We fear, despite its intense beauty and natural right to existence, that a reaction will be provoked. It seems to some of us, myself not yet included, that its formation has diminished Equilibrium. It stands alone with no opposite and in an admittedly concerning way, with little to other territories. There are no familiar signposts. As you are standing here before me, I'm sure you understand the abnormality of such an emergence."

Garna went blank for a second. She then turned her eyes to Upasika and nodded. Upasika proceeded, leaving Garna to follow in her own time. She watched her float, cross her legs and sit in a space around the table. It seemed there was no room for Garna, then she saw Upasika float slightly to her left, allowing a space into which Garna's thin frame could settle. Upasika beckoned. Garna looked at the other figures. Men and woman in light or no garments, some human some clearly not. Recognition struck her sometimes as her eyes past over the gathering. She recalled in particular a man with blue, perforated skin and a baldhead, naked, passing a confused gaze over her. He then raised his hand, smiling warmly.

She floated over to the space beside Upasika, around this suspended silver disc, and crossed her legs. She turned her head to the right and saw a man with monks robes, a bald crown and a classic ring of hair above his nape. He nodded his head slow in greeting, and she to him, feeling as if she knew this man.

Garna looked around the table, in no way intimidated by the mass and the strangers, nodding approval.

After explaining our situation with lucidity, every one of the gathered listening with much interest, a long-bearded man with sad but beautiful eyes leant forward slightly.
"By way of interest, what have you understood concerning the words, their meaning? Can you communicate them to us?"

"No. We are collecting all of them first, we don't think they'll make sense by themselves."

This man seemed familiar to her also. He nodded, gratified by the answer. A brief conversation fluttered between a very thin Asian and a yellow-skinned woman wearing a blue cap. They spoke in an unfamiliar language, and Garna said she felt confusion at her presence emanating from the rest of the party. Upasika touched her arm. "I feel that perhaps you might not be prepared for some of these sights. There is much that can never be learned in your present incarnation..." Garna understood and agreed. She straightened. "I came here for a fourth word." With boldness it was said, not to the people but to the plain. It seemed to respond. In the centre of the disc a white globe appeared, growing, growing, burning brighter than her eyes tolerated. A high pitch, and then the whole octave below it, the suspended disc answered with a tirade of impossible and beautiful harmonics, wrapped around the goal of the journey. Garna felt herself vibrating to her core. The people all became faint immediately. She said then that she felt she had been expelled, rejected by the plain. The people faded around her, she was unwilling; she recalled the very concerned faces of Upasika and Philippus, and their hands reaching out to her. Scrapes, like metal on stone, sounded and echoed around her. A whirlpool of colours rushed and enveloped her. The cacophony ceased. Blackness.

When she returned, the room shocking her, a brief convulsion ensued. I rushed to her, calmed her, handed her the journal, breathing hard and feeling solidly removed, experience insufficient. Banishing rituals. Repeated, repeated and repeated...exhausted, we both lay, Garna in my arms, elated, astonished and terrified of the journeys ending. We agreed that I should go next time.

I didn't sleep; Garna lay with her head on my chest, fragile.
The second indicator. 24; 6 and 3. The glyphs on the pages still surrounded us in her bedroom. I carefully laid Garna's head on the pillow. She moaned. I walked to the first, removing it, working around the whole room until the walls were blank again. They lay in a pile, cornered.
I slept. Garna's face re-emerged from the shadows. The speeding highways, their traffic of infinite grids, slowed their pace.

An awareness ground itself, slow and heavy, as the architecture and the significance of the data, the mass-exertion, lay on all sides. We stayed on Garna's bed, looking over the distance we had come, realising the distances untravelled. We contemplated history, and began to sense the impersonal nature of our operations. Our imaginations had not conjured the series. They were preconceived and known, belonging to an alternative and presently astral culture. We had been selected to experience the realms and to know the channels. Why then, was there a feeling of rejection? What had we done? We contemplated, briefly, the possibility of seeking aid - but in all of the many existing places to find help, how could we be assured of the authenticity? We decided to keep our tongues still and our papers invisible. Those who should know, will know, we realised. And now the Chariot, inverted, lay at the centre of the reading, the Hermit above, and The Hanged Man below; The High Priestess emerged as the conscious desire, Strength as the unconscious. Four words, now phonetically written, danced on the page, resonance almost overpowering. Twenty words left. Garna expressed her unwillingness to continue, and I said I understood, placing my hands on her face and bringing her forehead to my lips. I had to complete the operation. She agreed to stay and document. Mars was with us. I memorised the words, speaking them inwardly and containing their immense power. Vibrations sent yellow and red tinctures to our sphere. I prepared. Garna and I gave each other a final, solitary glance, strong messages floating between our retinae.
The portal to the fifth glyph was opened. I entered, white blinding light burning solid in my centres.

Oneiric shifting of colours, identities and familiar constructs precipitated the motions. New forces exposed themselves, but the archetypes remained, at least. The difference in the junction was immediately perceptible; I was pushed over an abyss and through watery vortexes until the plain revealed itself - in darkness, mainly. All three suns were eclipsed, red fire burning around the black globes that obstructed the light. Ice and snow drowned the plains and the colours; I emerged on the cliff top, standing on snow that burned my feet with freezing. I looked to the sea and gazed at an endless expanse of ice-sheets; they had risen far up the side of the cliff. I looked for the glass towers in their usual placement. After searching, on the horizon, far out and cast in pure obsidian they stood, clouds barely visible floating around them. In the centre of the ice a fire suddenly exploded, forcing me back, its flames green and blue, flickering in phoenix shapes and revealing a crowd standing in an arc. I knew they were staring at me - unmoving, a truculence ebbing from their stance. One man stood on the ice, separated from them, behind them, forming a dot that the mass of bodies curved around. They seemed to be waiting. I walked to the cliff-edge and jumped down onto the ice, walking forward against a strong current of portent that acted like an obstructive wind. I came closer to the figures; closer, closer. Their bodies were hidden in shifting metal, thick and wavering - their heads were hairless, faces not male, female or even a median. Their eyes were coloured different hues of purple; pupils black and minuscule, ultra-conscious; penetrative. Identical to the bird in the tower, which, having been remembered, now sat on the shoulder of the figure furthest behind. I could see now that that orbited figure bore a great sword with two hands, whose blade thickened and forked obtusely at its point. I walked forward. Their hands beckoned me. Noiselessness but for the roar of the towering flames throwing wavering shadows onto the stark white ice. They all stood before me, curving away; solid stances, fluxing great metal jackets. I stopped in front of them. They stared hard, directly into me. Aeons seemed to pass as we stood there. Gradually, I watched amphibian mouths pull downwards in grimaces, flapping, delayed messages increasing in volume, pouring from them, a chaos of noise from all sides, thousands of different voices floating, volume fluctuating, ringing through the dreamscape; no gaps, no pauses in the onslaught the discords, the intolerable noise-scape

"...watching these fools occlude the light THERE IS ELSEWHERE BURNING into CLOSURE CLOSURE CLOSURE DESIRETUAC SI REBMACH (si rebmach SI REBMACH) RENNI EHT eht eht eht renni eht..." Never ending, the words continued screaming, whispering, layers and layers; "Dscreeble vronkrar moophtroon al-sak-sim trosophor, ELNACH LROMALL grrsynsynsyno, laktosiphor tosiphor tosiphoir tosiphor..."

Endless always growing in volume. I began to flinch, felt poisoned by the sonic onslaught. I watched the crowd part, aching from the vibrations, and the solo man, his eyes sown shut with thick silver thread, gracefully brought the sword above his head, he bent his right knee, kept the left stretched backwards, the sword was horizontal pointing behind, and he brought it forward and down hard in a swift swipe, slashing the airspace and slicing cosmic fabric so that a massive long fissure floated above the ice, blue fluid and globulous bubbles oozing out of it, floating chaotically in wisps, direction-less and sparkling.

The layers of voices continuing to resound beating my senses into retreat. The bright light at my centres struggled to burn and I ripped myself out from the chaos with a strenuous push of will, feeling choked, unable to breath there was so much dark otherness pounding, pulsating as the noise continued.

I opened my eyes, expecting the ice, but finding myself in Garna's bedroom, she recoiled into a corner, the massive fissure, blue fabric oozing and floating, the noises, the mass-cacophony filling the room, extending beyond perceptive boundaries. I opened my mouth into a silent scream, uttered the names of gods old and new to dispel it, mind flaming with blue fire. I closed my eyes and streched in crucifix form, charging, amplifying light. The voices pierced the airspace, vibrating all cosmic fabric, louder still and louder.

"...DESIRETUACSI REBMACH RENNI EHT RENNI EHT renni EHT EHT EHT renni DESIRETUACSI DESIRETUASCI..." I spoke names, the words over, over and over; "...THESE FOOLS THESE FOOLS..." laughter intertwined the flexing sonic muscle of this titan, this immense force...I repeated, and repeated, visualising a translucent blue globe around the fissure, pentagrams on all corners. One huge boom echoed among the waves, and the noises lessened. My light burned brighter, ineffable power pulsing to my aid as the forces dissipated and I opened my eyes onto the bedroom, blue fissure contained in the sphere I had created for it; Garna lay shaking, cornered. Shaking myself I walked towards her, head ringing with one high-pitched squeal, blood running down my ears...I collapsed beside her, our eyes spent slits...we lay in an embrace - safety grasped. I closed my eyes, breathing deep; thinking lessened. The glyphs sped faster, faster, and faster behind my eyes...I felt Garna's chest rising and falling, rising and falling. The rhythm set, sleep proceeded it...

Garna had the sense to walk away. We swapped apartments, agreeing on some future reunion. Once she had left, I found filling her space no obstacle. I had the teacup. Dante's death-mask continued whispering and shifting from the corner of the room, I sat lotused on the sofa and ignored him, vibrating words. Days spent absorbing and desensitising the glyphs until they were passive and I was immaculately conversant with all of their lines, the maps they traced in my consciousness.
I couldn't be sure whether she was the sender, but shortly after her departure, I received in a white envelope, unmarked but for my name, a newspaper clipping about an uncharted planet which had suddenly appeared just beyond our moon. The consensus seemed to be that it was approaching this Earth, disrupting the orbit of everything it came close to.

I turned on the television, hoping to get a glimpse of reports about this phenomenon. And sure enough, blasting into every channel, interrupting all regular programmes were clear images of a galactic body, twice the size of this Earth, suddenly spinning on its own axis, disrupting the calm of space between the moon and mercury. As I watched it, the lights in the apartment began to flicker, and the television, and all of its incessant soundbites, began to crackle, hum and fizz into white noise.
The fissure called. I had kept my eye on it, daily, and it seemed increasingly to breath, the pulsing blue fabric within wavering and beckoning. And just as outside the street-lamps flickered and died, as people ran out of their houses, shrieking at the sky, I stood, needing to move towards it. And in the dark of the room, behind the moon as the lights flickered on, off, on, off,.through the wide open window,curtaiun flapping in a sudden gust of changeable wind, a dark round shadow of a planet loomed three-quarters, reflecting the sun back onto the Earth in a deep, green, glow.

No more delay, I decided, as light from this intruder spilt into the room. Two weeks past since the last encounter. I stepped into the bedroom, the third indicator observed and strolled past. No rituals. No preparation. Everything was set.

I went to the bedroom, and stood in front of the translucent globe housing the portal, the barriers I had erected beginning to crackle and fizz, phase in and out like the channels of the television, and the exploding street lamps outside, the sudden cacophony of emergency vehicles and a raw panicked traffic.
I stretched my hand out and pushed the tips of my fingers through it, pausing for a second, inches before the fissure; I breathed slow and firm. Rigid, my hand moved forwards, the blue fabric enveloping it. A faint groan discharged from within the pulsing mass, a groan loaded with sexual release. As the blue barrier about it finally splintered into a flash of light, gone, I plunged my arm in. I felt nothing but a warm crackle of otherness seep up my elbow and deep into my teeth.
I pushed myself in, up to my shoulder. Further...further...further...until I was through....

Lectures

Details of location below

Venues & Organisers:

Songs of Witchcraft & Magic

Price: £14.00 (£13.00 plus £1.00 p&p)/Cheques made payable to 'The Museum of Witchcraft'

The Museum of Witchcraft

The Harbour

Boscastle

Cornwall

PL35 0HD

Driven to it : An Autobiography – Jean Overton Fuller

isbn 978-0-85955-306-3, £17.95 Michael Russell Publishing

Jean Overton Fuller is known to occultists principally for her 1960s biography The Magical Dilemma of Victor Neuburg, published in paperback by Mandrake of Oxford. For most it is this book's forbidden fruit that is its real attraction - ie the long and detailed account of Neuburg's homosexual relationship with Aleister Crowley, one of the twentieth century's most influencial magi. Hence the 'magical dilemma' of the title is presumably whether Neuburg should continue with the whole magical project following his rejection and execration by his former lover. This book is regarded by many to be a fascinating if rather flawed account of an extremely important magical partnership - for it was in the cauldron of Crowley and Neuburg's forbidden love that the seeds of the current obsession with sexual magick were sown.

JOF has a very distinctive style - what I call 'auto-romance' - that is to say she tends to write herself into the story. She has written a great many books ranging from the history of the SOE (Special Operations Executive),the precursor to MI6, to the her most famous Madeleine: the story of Noor Inayat Khan; one of the very few female holders of the VC. She's even written a very ripping yarn about the White Chapel Murders. All her books have a large chunk of autobiography as for instance she begins the Magical Dilemma with her account of how, as an aspiring poet, she was drawn into Neuburg's literary circle, her huge crush on him and the slow drip drip of revelations of his 'sinister past'. In some ways I think the dilemma is more Jean's than Neuburg's. In Driven to It, she joins all the dots between the various biographical episodes in her continuous line of publications. Only when they are brought together does one see how often she is presented with some tantalising choice of a straight or crooked path. So for instance I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had she become Gerald Heym's 'scarlet woman' instead of doing a runner?

My feeling is that approaching her ninth decade she has probably left it a little late for the clarity of thought and self-reflection this task needs. The books certainly details every fork in the road but we never quite get the punch line - what exactly does Miss Fuller think? These days JOF is the elder stateslady of the Theosophical Society, a regular, until quite recently, of their Theosophical History conference. But she never quite tells the reader what it is about Theosophy that won her to their cause with such tenacity and with such approbium for others on the path such as Crowley, Cremmers, and even in the end Neuburg. But despite the feeling of this being an ever so slightly wasted opportunity (and who hasn't had one of those) this is an entertaining and informative account of one very singular woman's creative journey. [mogg]

NECROMANTRA
BY
TRISTRAM BURDEN

Garna had the sense to walk away.

Oak roots erupted onto the tarmac, obstructing her footsteps. Her thick brown hair blew wild in the wind, and the breaking rhythm set by her feet urged me into trance. Confidence fell away from her. She'd changed. I yearned for a final glimpse of her blue eyes, her thin, white face. Even the leaves didn't touch her; they floated, spreading on the path noiseless. A loose dog avoided her, stretching a worried head as she passed. Then she was gone around a corner, hidden by oak, and a door slammed shut.
She had the teacup. It sat between a Massai Warrior and Dante's death mask on an otherwise barren mantelpiece. During a mushroom frenzy we both saw the alphabet suspended in a dreamscape, etched on etheric-blue monoliths. We wrote it down on what we had, mud, shit, blood, fingers and the teacup with which we shared our psychedelic broth. Its form glowed, meaning at that time impenetrable. Mud on a teacup and all else concealed.

The event was almost forgotten. Mercury had left us and Saturn began its obstruction. But the glyphs lingered in deep-mind, and occasionally leapt to the surface, paralysing us then leaping back down to be revisited if consciousness was ever prepared.

Garna reported similar phenomena. Spontaneous recollection over money-withdrawal, coffee-making, tooth-brushing - spurning a cue, causing some spillage, toothpaste on breasts. We agreed to meet, perhaps prevent the invasions, encounter the source and figure the scope of the operation.

Twenty three sigils. We gazed at that cup in awe, seated comfortably in Garna's living room, facing east over coffee and spliff. We felt urgency, were mystified as to how we squeezed this number on the tiny container. The delicate lines, perfect circles and alien intricacy. We didn't know their order, or whether it was important, and the arrangement of the monoliths in memory gave us no clue.

“What do we do?” Garna set her coffee down and leaned forward, eyes fixed on those vast, tangled sigils. She lifted the teacup and turned it with grace in her lithoid young hands.

“Explore...” Dante's death mask stared down at me from the fireplace. I looked at those closed eyes, convinced I saw them move, whispering something. “We just have to go a little further.”

“...Than?” Her eyes never lifted from the cup.

“Before.”

Absorbed in personal contemplation, we turned and looked at each other, knowing what the other was thinking. And so we agreed an approach. Find the origin of the alphabet, then see what it says; the first steps of an odyssey through untapped channels.

We dedicated ourselves to the operation, deeming all other activity peripheral.

No other language, remotely similar, presented itself to us over the weeks of our exploration. Without knowledge of pronunciation, our sterile attempts at rendering it phonetically were abandoned. It bore no resemblance to even the wackiest UFO cults that had sprung up on this Earth, and all ancient grimoires kept this grammar secret. The people we showed it to, scant few language experts and arcane lorists, screwed faces up at it and insisted we were perpetrating a hoax, confessing how we came by the language a final nail in the coffin of the conversation.

Alone in this endeavour, we settled working on the glyphs in the order we captured them. So we indulged in logistics, taking for granted that when the finger was put to the cup, we had copied them correct in some implicit order.

Garna first displayed glints of avarice afew weeks in. We sat on her sofa. I lay back, legs crossed, she sat forward. I dragged slow on spliff, brow furrowed at her, feeling invisible like some voyeur. She then sat back, knees hugged to her chest, bare-feet firmly pointing towards the cup on the coffee-table before her. She rocked slightly, and in the silence her eyes drifted to it, like a funeral party magnetised by television, some plea connoting irresponsibility for the silence. Garna and I, we had no awkwardness with dead air, we were comfortable with our own thoughts.

The alien sensation that I should be saying something crept from my belly and into my throat.

The first indicator of growing dominion of the twenty-three.

Sleeping that night, Garna's leg draped over mine in perfect trust, her face fixed itself behind my eyes, and slowly was shrouded by darkness.

I tried to seek out the current possessing Garna, that took her away from me. We sat on her bed, taking turns at self-analysis, stripping motives until we discovered common ground. And we had it: to imbibe these mysteries, unveil any oracular tendencies and utilise their status as potential portals.

Then Garna uttered a foreign desire. As soon as she spoke it, we paused and looked at each other. My pen, pressed to the page, drifted into scribble as we sat astonished by the words. However aware of the alphabet's power, its effortless talent for shifting mind into dreaming, her words confirmed the seeds planted, and we became conscious of the urgency required.

I wrote down what Garna had said, sealing it with a circle and two asterisks. I looked at the page.
...TO CAUTERISE THE INNER CHAMBER...

After deciding that Mercury should be with us while we performed the working, nailing rationality to the base of our journey, I banished and we coaxed out our daemons.
Garna and I slept together that night, converting nervous energy into frenzied coitus; aware only of pleasure and flesh, as large pages numbering twenty-four, all inscribed with flashing colours, surrounded us, entered us, flapped in the wind.

We were on the threshold of the vein, ready to enter the heart, the veiled ventricle of these markings.

I awoke fresh. She was beaming. We bathed, cleansing each other in turn and distracting ourselves from the indulgence to come. Once relaxed we performed pranayama and divination. As we gazed at the High Priestess we mused on the value of the outcome. Did the acquisition of learning justify this escapade? We continued, prepared, and drove our minds into waking-dreaming.

One at a time, burning musk. I stared at the selected glyph, focused, absorbing it into consciousness. The room faded and I spiralled out.

Through blazing tunnels, passing archetypes. A sphere of light grew into glistening green seas; three suns in pyramid formation spread their rays and on a cliff-top, sea still and silent below me, vast glass towers reflected white shadows on blue-grey grass and a figure beckoned me towards it.

Androgynous, hairless and waiting for form, this being squinted its small black eyes, searching for recognition or a sign of passage. We examined each other at a distance, making no movements. It changed colour frequently; purple to pink to yellow to azure. I could understand the questions that it formed, there were no barriers restricting thought-travel. Just impressions, no language. I communicated my purpose and my motive. As I did so his chest flashed the glyph, a pulsating orange embedded in his skin. The creature raised its left leg into a hook, stomping it back down onto the grass with force, with message. It became liquid and changed into a perfect self-replica, the glyph glowing orange still, now on its forehead. It touched the glyph and turned, began walking. I followed.

We were walking towards the glass towers, cylindrical, symbols etched in octagon formations. Closer, closer, through thin, pale and moving plants crowned with plate-sized multicoloured flowers. Closer until I recognised the towers arrangement and the blue monoliths flashed in memory. I was where I should be. The figure, my mirror image, halted in front of the one. Leg outstretched into a hook, he stomped it hard on the grass, and changed back into the formless, colourful anomaly. It extended its left arm, brought its right over its chest, both hands pointing towards the first glass edifice. The creature stayed in the position for a time, and I heard an unpronounceable name, realising it was theirs and the multitude of identities this form housed. They united into one astral image, all faces seen at once, all arms and all legs - they walked backwards, palms held over the right eye. The plants swallowed them, and I turned..

My journey formed an orbit around the colossal glass-towers. I was mesmerised by their angles, their inner resonance. The doors were open. Some light, indefinable eminence, burned from the centre of their arrangement. The glyph glowed and flashed in the construction of the landscape. I advanced towards the closest, feet sinking in the cool grass, the suns on my left. The tower was open and I stepped into a temple of reflection. Orbicular inner chamber, a table dead-centre. I approached it.
A bird, black and large, engulfing light with a bald and grey head, rested in the tables centre. Its eyes were purple, wrinkled skin folded under them - a black pupil shined penetrative and conscious. Our eyes were locked and I came closer. The table was hexagonal and etched with a grid, yellow on opaque red. The bird occupied a silver disc in the centre. The head, now before me, was anthropoid.

The light in the building enveloped me, and I became a nerve centre for ineffable energy. The winged-creature opened its small mouth, emitting a low, rumbling omnipotent and long groan vibrating unremitting through the landscape. Low, deafening and warm. The bird's eyes were closed, mouth wide open. The glass in the tower began to reverberate harmonies. It was a word. And the word was remembered...

Urban spillage echoed in the room. Portals shifted into closure. I wriggled my hands and toes and fidgeted in the aftermath, eyes slowly opening onto familiar territory. Garna's welcome face appeared and smiled; she thrust the journal into my hands. I stared at the blank paper and its potential, then recorded. Enthusiasm forced her to take her position. I watched her, my mind revisiting the place. And holding the journal firm, the word was written.

Lying on Garna's bed, sweating, the intense moist heat of the room forced us into comfortable nudity. Though our eyes were heavy, our enthusiasm burned fiercer. We read each other's accounts with captivation and analysis.

Garna's journey had more meaning, more information. She memorised the form of the alphabet, their precise arrangement. She had sat for an hour, seized with urgency, constructing a shape. Confronted with the order, spiralling hierarchic, we deemed the chaos in our selection. She, at least, had selected the Alpha. In comparison to her own, my journey seemed crippled, lacking anything but the word received.

The teacup, that first vessel, drifted into obsolescence and gathered dust on the shelf. The next epoch beckoned, fertile and seductive. We were peering into an open vein now, linear and initiatory - the inner chamber lay in waiting.

When I closed my eyes at night, the glyphs formed massive grids moving in horizontal and vertical lines, vast matrices encouraging an instant meditative state. I would drift into sleep as they sped on their highways not slowing with distraction.

The workings continued, loaded with a new calm. There was intense thirst for results. Garna and I travelled, past familiar trappings and enervation, efforts crowned with raw energy. I became suspicious about the dosage, the absorption rate. A removal from regular routines set in, and I came to fear for our safety. Garna's in particular.
She had a different approach, some back-door key. The glyphs showered her and penetrated her with message. By the third working I was left to collate and document her visions, the material extensive. But we flowered in these roles, me as scribe and she as psychic tourist, and so the work turned into a lucid, progressive oracular machine.

An irregular and impressive activity was witnessed by Garna. It was the fourth operation and Garna's journey had been significantly different, the plane seeming to close itself to our observance, becoming in some way grudging. A solid line of communication ran, but far removed from expectations and the fulfilments of our purpose. Garna found strange and familiar faces. But the inner chamber stayed strictly out of our immediate reach.

She landed beside a forest populated by trees with a yellow bark, small grey cauliflowers running vertical in four lines on each. As she turned, she noticed a woman walking towards her - a woman wearing white floating robes, with dark, thick curly hair, subtly bovine with penetrating azure eyes...she stood still and placid awaiting the woman's arrival. She communicated that the distance between them and the duration of its lessening defied reason. Behind the woman she could see a gathering of shapes; they began moving and the woman was in front of Garna, embracing her - Garna returned the embrace. When they separated the name of the woman drifted into Garna's consciousness - her mind, she then communicated, felt extended, reaching beyond the boundaries of grey-matter and bone and open to scrutiny. Her comfort, she said, the warmth of the plain, verged on arousal. Feeling reborn, Garna sounded the woman's name on what felt like new lips, with a new tongue.

"...Upasika..." She paused, momentarily wordless. It occurred to her that the woman knew her name, that there had been an unnoticed exchange. Upasika smiled, her manner slow but firm. She took Garna's hand, and they moved in the direction the people verged. Garna conveyed to me that she felt in some way exclusive. She listened to her companion feeling extraordinarily safe and warm.

"I travel in these lands also,. They appear to be newly opened, perhaps even newly formed. It is always pleasing to find a fellow traveller. New territory always defies expectations." She spoke with an accent, the origin of which Garna couldn't elucidate. It seemed a combination of various tongues. Garna squeezed Upasika's hand lightly, affectionately - an alien but comfortable impulse.

They walked towards a gathering. Men and woman sat suspended around a massive, floating disc. Grass that was now russet spread in vast plains about them. She looked behind her to deem location: the three suns, but the cliff edge had gone. They seemed to have come a very long way. They both approached the disc. Before Garna could identify the shapes, Upasika addressed her, lightly touching Garna's arm. She became stern and serious.

"We are all here to discuss this place. We fear, despite its intense beauty and natural right to existence, that a reaction will be provoked. It seems to some of us, myself not yet included, that its formation has diminished Equilibrium. It stands alone with no opposite and in an admittedly concerning way, with little to other territories. There are no familiar signposts. As you are standing here before me, I'm sure you understand the abnormality of such an emergence."

Garna went blank for a second. She then turned her eyes to Upasika and nodded. Upasika proceeded, leaving Garna to follow in her own time. She watched her float, cross her legs and sit in a space around the table. It seemed there was no room for Garna, then she saw Upasika float slightly to her left, allowing a space into which Garna's thin frame could settle. Upasika beckoned. Garna looked at the other figures. Men and woman in light or no garments, some human some clearly not. Recognition struck her sometimes as her eyes past over the gathering. She recalled in particular a man with blue, perforated skin and a baldhead, naked, passing a confused gaze over her. He then raised his hand, smiling warmly.

She floated over to the space beside Upasika, around this suspended silver disc, and crossed her legs. She turned her head to the right and saw a man with monks robes, a bald crown and a classic ring of hair above his nape. He nodded his head slow in greeting, and she to him, feeling as if she knew this man.

Garna looked around the table, in no way intimidated by the mass and the strangers, nodding approval.

After explaining our situation with lucidity, every one of the gathered listening with much interest, a long-bearded man with sad but beautiful eyes leant forward slightly.
"By way of interest, what have you understood concerning the words, their meaning? Can you communicate them to us?"

"No. We are collecting all of them first, we don't think they'll make sense by themselves."

This man seemed familiar to her also. He nodded, gratified by the answer. A brief conversation fluttered between a very thin Asian and a yellow-skinned woman wearing a blue cap. They spoke in an unfamiliar language, and Garna said she felt confusion at her presence emanating from the rest of the party. Upasika touched her arm. "I feel that perhaps you might not be prepared for some of these sights. There is much that can never be learned in your present incarnation..." Garna understood and agreed. She straightened. "I came here for a fourth word." With boldness it was said, not to the people but to the plain. It seemed to respond. In the centre of the disc a white globe appeared, growing, growing, burning brighter than her eyes tolerated. A high pitch, and then the whole octave below it, the suspended disc answered with a tirade of impossible and beautiful harmonics, wrapped around the goal of the journey. Garna felt herself vibrating to her core. The people all became faint immediately. She said then that she felt she had been expelled, rejected by the plain. The people faded around her, she was unwilling; she recalled the very concerned faces of Upasika and Philippus, and their hands reaching out to her. Scrapes, like metal on stone, sounded and echoed around her. A whirlpool of colours rushed and enveloped her. The cacophony ceased. Blackness.

When she returned, the room shocking her, a brief convulsion ensued. I rushed to her, calmed her, handed her the journal, breathing hard and feeling solidly removed, experience insufficient. Banishing rituals. Repeated, repeated and repeated...exhausted, we both lay, Garna in my arms, elated, astonished and terrified of the journeys ending. We agreed that I should go next time.

I didn't sleep; Garna lay with her head on my chest, fragile.
The second indicator. 24; 6 and 3. The glyphs on the pages still surrounded us in her bedroom. I carefully laid Garna's head on the pillow. She moaned. I walked to the first, removing it, working around the whole room until the walls were blank again. They lay in a pile, cornered.
I slept. Garna's face re-emerged from the shadows. The speeding highways, their traffic of infinite grids, slowed their pace.

An awareness ground itself, slow and heavy, as the architecture and the significance of the data, the mass-exertion, lay on all sides. We stayed on Garna's bed, looking over the distance we had come, realising the distances untravelled. We contemplated history, and began to sense the impersonal nature of our operations. Our imaginations had not conjured the series. They were preconceived and known, belonging to an alternative and presently astral culture. We had been selected to experience the realms and to know the channels. Why then, was there a feeling of rejection? What had we done? We contemplated, briefly, the possibility of seeking aid - but in all of the many existing places to find help, how could we be assured of the authenticity? We decided to keep our tongues still and our papers invisible. Those who should know, will know, we realised. And now the Chariot, inverted, lay at the centre of the reading, the Hermit above, and The Hanged Man below; The High Priestess emerged as the conscious desire, Strength as the unconscious. Four words, now phonetically written, danced on the page, resonance almost overpowering. Twenty words left. Garna expressed her unwillingness to continue, and I said I understood, placing my hands on her face and bringing her forehead to my lips. I had to complete the operation. She agreed to stay and document. Mars was with us. I memorised the words, speaking them inwardly and containing their immense power. Vibrations sent yellow and red tinctures to our sphere. I prepared. Garna and I gave each other a final, solitary glance, strong messages floating between our retinae.
The portal to the fifth glyph was opened. I entered, white blinding light burning solid in my centres.

Oneiric shifting of colours, identities and familiar constructs precipitated the motions. New forces exposed themselves, but the archetypes remained, at least. The difference in the junction was immediately perceptible; I was pushed over an abyss and through watery vortexes until the plain revealed itself - in darkness, mainly. All three suns were eclipsed, red fire burning around the black globes that obstructed the light. Ice and snow drowned the plains and the colours; I emerged on the cliff top, standing on snow that burned my feet with freezing. I looked to the sea and gazed at an endless expanse of ice-sheets; they had risen far up the side of the cliff. I looked for the glass towers in their usual placement. After searching, on the horizon, far out and cast in pure obsidian they stood, clouds barely visible floating around them. In the centre of the ice a fire suddenly exploded, forcing me back, its flames green and blue, flickering in phoenix shapes and revealing a crowd standing in an arc. I knew they were staring at me - unmoving, a truculence ebbing from their stance. One man stood on the ice, separated from them, behind them, forming a dot that the mass of bodies curved around. They seemed to be waiting. I walked to the cliff-edge and jumped down onto the ice, walking forward against a strong current of portent that acted like an obstructive wind. I came closer to the figures; closer, closer. Their bodies were hidden in shifting metal, thick and wavering - their heads were hairless, faces not male, female or even a median. Their eyes were coloured different hues of purple; pupils black and minuscule, ultra-conscious; penetrative. Identical to the bird in the tower, which, having been remembered, now sat on the shoulder of the figure furthest behind. I could see now that that orbited figure bore a great sword with two hands, whose blade thickened and forked obtusely at its point. I walked forward. Their hands beckoned me. Noiselessness but for the roar of the towering flames throwing wavering shadows onto the stark white ice. They all stood before me, curving away; solid stances, fluxing great metal jackets. I stopped in front of them. They stared hard, directly into me. Aeons seemed to pass as we stood there. Gradually, I watched amphibian mouths pull downwards in grimaces, flapping, delayed messages increasing in volume, pouring from them, a chaos of noise from all sides, thousands of different voices floating, volume fluctuating, ringing through the dreamscape; no gaps, no pauses in the onslaught the discords, the intolerable noise-scape

"...watching these fools occlude the light THERE IS ELSEWHERE BURNING into CLOSURE CLOSURE CLOSURE DESIRETUAC SI REBMACH (si rebmach SI REBMACH) RENNI EHT eht eht eht renni eht..." Never ending, the words continued screaming, whispering, layers and layers; "Dscreeble vronkrar moophtroon al-sak-sim trosophor, ELNACH LROMALL grrsynsynsyno, laktosiphor tosiphor tosiphoir tosiphor..."

Endless always growing in volume. I began to flinch, felt poisoned by the sonic onslaught. I watched the crowd part, aching from the vibrations, and the solo man, his eyes sown shut with thick silver thread, gracefully brought the sword above his head, he bent his right knee, kept the left stretched backwards, the sword was horizontal pointing behind, and he brought it forward and down hard in a swift swipe, slashing the airspace and slicing cosmic fabric so that a massive long fissure floated above the ice, blue fluid and globulous bubbles oozing out of it, floating chaotically in wisps, direction-less and sparkling.

The layers of voices continuing to resound beating my senses into retreat. The bright light at my centres struggled to burn and I ripped myself out from the chaos with a strenuous push of will, feeling choked, unable to breath there was so much dark otherness pounding, pulsating as the noise continued.

I opened my eyes, expecting the ice, but finding myself in Garna's bedroom, she recoiled into a corner, the massive fissure, blue fabric oozing and floating, the noises, the mass-cacophony filling the room, extending beyond perceptive boundaries. I opened my mouth into a silent scream, uttered the names of gods old and new to dispel it, mind flaming with blue fire. I closed my eyes and streched in crucifix form, charging, amplifying light. The voices pierced the airspace, vibrating all cosmic fabric, louder still and louder.

"...DESIRETUACSI REBMACH RENNI EHT RENNI EHT renni EHT EHT EHT renni DESIRETUACSI DESIRETUASCI..." I spoke names, the words over, over and over; "...THESE FOOLS THESE FOOLS..." laughter intertwined the flexing sonic muscle of this titan, this immense force...I repeated, and repeated, visualising a translucent blue globe around the fissure, pentagrams on all corners. One huge boom echoed among the waves, and the noises lessened. My light burned brighter, ineffable power pulsing to my aid as the forces dissipated and I opened my eyes onto the bedroom, blue fissure contained in the sphere I had created for it; Garna lay shaking, cornered. Shaking myself I walked towards her, head ringing with one high-pitched squeal, blood running down my ears...I collapsed beside her, our eyes spent slits...we lay in an embrace - safety grasped. I closed my eyes, breathing deep; thinking lessened. The glyphs sped faster, faster, and faster behind my eyes...I felt Garna's chest rising and falling, rising and falling. The rhythm set, sleep proceeded it...

Garna had the sense to walk away. We swapped apartments, agreeing on some future reunion. Once she had left, I found filling her space no obstacle. I had the teacup. Dante's death-mask continued whispering and shifting from the corner of the room, I sat lotused on the sofa and ignored him, vibrating words. Days spent absorbing and desensitising the glyphs until they were passive and I was immaculately conversant with all of their lines, the maps they traced in my consciousness.
I couldn't be sure whether she was the sender, but shortly after her departure, I received in a white envelope, unmarked but for my name, a newspaper clipping about an uncharted planet which had suddenly appeared just beyond our moon. The consensus seemed to be that it was approaching this Earth, disrupting the orbit of everything it came close to.

I turned on the television, hoping to get a glimpse of reports about this phenomenon. And sure enough, blasting into every channel, interrupting all regular programmes were clear images of a galactic body, twice the size of this Earth, suddenly spinning on its own axis, disrupting the calm of space between the moon and mercury. As I watched it, the lights in the apartment began to flicker, and the television, and all of its incessant soundbites, began to crackle, hum and fizz into white noise.
The fissure called. I had kept my eye on it, daily, and it seemed increasingly to breath, the pulsing blue fabric within wavering and beckoning. And just as outside the street-lamps flickered and died, as people ran out of their houses, shrieking at the sky, I stood, needing to move towards it. And in the dark of the room, behind the moon as the lights flickered on, off, on, off,.through the wide open window,curtaiun flapping in a sudden gust of changeable wind, a dark round shadow of a planet loomed three-quarters, reflecting the sun back onto the Earth in a deep, green, glow.

No more delay, I decided, as light from this intruder spilt into the room. Two weeks past since the last encounter. I stepped into the bedroom, the third indicator observed and strolled past. No rituals. No preparation. Everything was set.

I went to the bedroom, and stood in front of the translucent globe housing the portal, the barriers I had erected beginning to crackle and fizz, phase in and out like the channels of the television, and the exploding street lamps outside, the sudden cacophony of emergency vehicles and a raw panicked traffic.
I stretched my hand out and pushed the tips of my fingers through it, pausing for a second, inches before the fissure; I breathed slow and firm. Rigid, my hand moved forwards, the blue fabric enveloping it. A faint groan discharged from within the pulsing mass, a groan loaded with sexual release. As the blue barrier about it finally splintered into a flash of light, gone, I plunged my arm in. I felt nothing but a warm crackle of otherness seep up my elbow and deep into my teeth.
I pushed myself in, up to my shoulder. Further...further...further...until I was through....

Lectures

Details of location below

Venues & Organisers:

Songs of Witchcraft & Magic

Price: £14.00 (£13.00 plus £1.00 p&p)/Cheques made payable to 'The Museum of Witchcraft'

The Museum of Witchcraft

The Harbour

Boscastle

Cornwall

PL35 0HD

"Sex is Magick, mysterious and beautiful"

To celebrate the 60th. Anniverersary of the death of Aleister Crowley on the 1st. of december 2007. Seb Cox is having an erotic competition...

You may enter inspiring pictures, poems, stories, film, songs or a combination of these.
The winning six entries will recieve a cheques for £111. 6 runners-up will receive a Pantra Man Massager. All published entries will receive a copy of the Book, and a lucky cheque for £6.66. If you would like to offer a prize please contact Seb Cox.
Closing date for entries is 31st. September 2007. All entries should be emailed to dublinerx@... with a CC to lisatenner@...
More details at www.cumm.co.uk

Driven to it : An Autobiography – Jean Overton Fuller

isbn 978-0-85955-306-3, £17.95 Michael Russell Publishing

Jean Overton Fuller is known to occultists principally for her 1960s biography The Magical Dilemma of Victor Neuburg, published in paperback by Mandrake of Oxford. For most it is this book's forbidden fruit that is its real attraction - ie the long and detailed account of Neuburg's homosexual relationship with Aleister Crowley, one of the twentieth century's most influencial magi. Hence the 'magical dilemma' of the title is presumably whether Neuburg should continue with the whole magical project following his rejection and execration by his former lover. This book is regarded by many to be a fascinating if rather flawed account of an extremely important magical partnership - for it was in the cauldron of Crowley and Neuburg's forbidden love that the seeds of the current obsession with sexual magick were sown.

JOF has a very distinctive style - what I call 'auto-romance' - that is to say she tends to write herself into the story. She has written a great many books ranging from the history of the SOE (Special Operations Executive),the precursor to MI6, to the her most famous Madeleine: the story of Noor Inayat Khan; one of the very few female holders of the VC. She's even written a very ripping yarn about the White Chapel Murders. All her books have a large chunk of autobiography as for instance she begins the Magical Dilemma with her account of how, as an aspiring poet, she was drawn into Neuburg's literary circle, her huge crush on him and the slow drip drip of revelations of his 'sinister past'. In some ways I think the dilemma is more Jean's than Neuburg's. In Driven to It, she joins all the dots between the various biographical episodes in her continuous line of publications. Only when they are brought together does one see how often she is presented with some tantalising choice of a straight or crooked path. So for instance I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had she become Gerald Heym's 'scarlet woman' instead of doing a runner?

My feeling is that approaching her ninth decade she has probably left it a little late for the clarity of thought and self-reflection this task needs. The books certainly details every fork in the road but we never quite get the punch line - what exactly does Miss Fuller think? These days JOF is the elder stateslady of the Theosophical Society, a regular, until quite recently, of their Theosophical History conference. But she never quite tells the reader what it is about Theosophy that won her to their cause with such tenacity and with such approbium for others on the path such as Crowley, Cremmers, and even in the end Neuburg. But despite the feeling of this being an ever so slightly wasted opportunity (and who hasn't had one of those) this is an entertaining and informative account of one very singular woman's creative journey. [mogg]

NECROMANTRA
BY
TRISTRAM BURDEN

Garna had the sense to walk away.

Oak roots erupted onto the tarmac, obstructing her footsteps. Her thick brown hair blew wild in the wind, and the breaking rhythm set by her feet urged me into trance. Confidence fell away from her. She'd changed. I yearned for a final glimpse of her blue eyes, her thin, white face. Even the leaves didn't touch her; they floated, spreading on the path noiseless. A loose dog avoided her, stretching a worried head as she passed. Then she was gone around a corner, hidden by oak, and a door slammed shut.
She had the teacup. It sat between a Massai Warrior and Dante's death mask on an otherwise barren mantelpiece. During a mushroom frenzy we both saw the alphabet suspended in a dreamscape, etched on etheric-blue monoliths. We wrote it down on what we had, mud, shit, blood, fingers and the teacup with which we shared our psychedelic broth. Its form glowed, meaning at that time impenetrable. Mud on a teacup and all else concealed.

The event was almost forgotten. Mercury had left us and Saturn began its obstruction. But the glyphs lingered in deep-mind, and occasionally leapt to the surface, paralysing us then leaping back down to be revisited if consciousness was ever prepared.

Garna reported similar phenomena. Spontaneous recollection over money-withdrawal, coffee-making, tooth-brushing - spurning a cue, causing some spillage, toothpaste on breasts. We agreed to meet, perhaps prevent the invasions, encounter the source and figure the scope of the operation.

Twenty three sigils. We gazed at that cup in awe, seated comfortably in Garna's living room, facing east over coffee and spliff. We felt urgency, were mystified as to how we squeezed this number on the tiny container. The delicate lines, perfect circles and alien intricacy. We didn't know their order, or whether it was important, and the arrangement of the monoliths in memory gave us no clue.

“What do we do?” Garna set her coffee down and leaned forward, eyes fixed on those vast, tangled sigils. She lifted the teacup and turned it with grace in her lithoid young hands.

“Explore...” Dante's death mask stared down at me from the fireplace. I looked at those closed eyes, convinced I saw them move, whispering something. “We just have to go a little further.”

“...Than?” Her eyes never lifted from the cup.

“Before.”

Absorbed in personal contemplation, we turned and looked at each other, knowing what the other was thinking. And so we agreed an approach. Find the origin of the alphabet, then see what it says; the first steps of an odyssey through untapped channels.

We dedicated ourselves to the operation, deeming all other activity peripheral.

No other language, remotely similar, presented itself to us over the weeks of our exploration. Without knowledge of pronunciation, our sterile attempts at rendering it phonetically were abandoned. It bore no resemblance to even the wackiest UFO cults that had sprung up on this Earth, and all ancient grimoires kept this grammar secret. The people we showed it to, scant few language experts and arcane lorists, screwed faces up at it and insisted we were perpetrating a hoax, confessing how we came by the language a final nail in the coffin of the conversation.

Alone in this endeavour, we settled working on the glyphs in the order we captured them. So we indulged in logistics, taking for granted that when the finger was put to the cup, we had copied them correct in some implicit order.

Garna first displayed glints of avarice afew weeks in. We sat on her sofa. I lay back, legs crossed, she sat forward. I dragged slow on spliff, brow furrowed at her, feeling invisible like some voyeur. She then sat back, knees hugged to her chest, bare-feet firmly pointing towards the cup on the coffee-table before her. She rocked slightly, and in the silence her eyes drifted to it, like a funeral party magnetised by television, some plea connoting irresponsibility for the silence. Garna and I, we had no awkwardness with dead air, we were comfortable with our own thoughts.

The alien sensation that I should be saying something crept from my belly and into my throat.

The first indicator of growing dominion of the twenty-three.

Sleeping that night, Garna's leg draped over mine in perfect trust, her face fixed itself behind my eyes, and slowly was shrouded by darkness.

I tried to seek out the current possessing Garna, that took her away from me. We sat on her bed, taking turns at self-analysis, stripping motives until we discovered common ground. And we had it: to imbibe these mysteries, unveil any oracular tendencies and utilise their status as potential portals.

Then Garna uttered a foreign desire. As soon as she spoke it, we paused and looked at each other. My pen, pressed to the page, drifted into scribble as we sat astonished by the words. However aware of the alphabet's power, its effortless talent for shifting mind into dreaming, her words confirmed the seeds planted, and we became conscious of the urgency required.

I wrote down what Garna had said, sealing it with a circle and two asterisks. I looked at the page.
...TO CAUTERISE THE INNER CHAMBER...

After deciding that Mercury should be with us while we performed the working, nailing rationality to the base of our journey, I banished and we coaxed out our daemons.
Garna and I slept together that night, converting nervous energy into frenzied coitus; aware only of pleasure and flesh, as large pages numbering twenty-four, all inscribed with flashing colours, surrounded us, entered us, flapped in the wind.

We were on the threshold of the vein, ready to enter the heart, the veiled ventricle of these markings.

I awoke fresh. She was beaming. We bathed, cleansing each other in turn and distracting ourselves from the indulgence to come. Once relaxed we performed pranayama and divination. As we gazed at the High Priestess we mused on the value of the outcome. Did the acquisition of learning justify this escapade? We continued, prepared, and drove our minds into waking-dreaming.

One at a time, burning musk. I stared at the selected glyph, focused, absorbing it into consciousness. The room faded and I spiralled out.

Through blazing tunnels, passing archetypes. A sphere of light grew into glistening green seas; three suns in pyramid formation spread their rays and on a cliff-top, sea still and silent below me, vast glass towers reflected white shadows on blue-grey grass and a figure beckoned me towards it.

Androgynous, hairless and waiting for form, this being squinted its small black eyes, searching for recognition or a sign of passage. We examined each other at a distance, making no movements. It changed colour frequently; purple to pink to yellow to azure. I could understand the questions that it formed, there were no barriers restricting thought-travel. Just impressions, no language. I communicated my purpose and my motive. As I did so his chest flashed the glyph, a pulsating orange embedded in his skin. The creature raised its left leg into a hook, stomping it back down onto the grass with force, with message. It became liquid and changed into a perfect self-replica, the glyph glowing orange still, now on its forehead. It touched the glyph and turned, began walking. I followed.

We were walking towards the glass towers, cylindrical, symbols etched in octagon formations. Closer, closer, through thin, pale and moving plants crowned with plate-sized multicoloured flowers. Closer until I recognised the towers arrangement and the blue monoliths flashed in memory. I was where I should be. The figure, my mirror image, halted in front of the one. Leg outstretched into a hook, he stomped it hard on the grass, and changed back into the formless, colourful anomaly. It extended its left arm, brought its right over its chest, both hands pointing towards the first glass edifice. The creature stayed in the position for a time, and I heard an unpronounceable name, realising it was theirs and the multitude of identities this form housed. They united into one astral image, all faces seen at once, all arms and all legs - they walked backwards, palms held over the right eye. The plants swallowed them, and I turned..

My journey formed an orbit around the colossal glass-towers. I was mesmerised by their angles, their inner resonance. The doors were open. Some light, indefinable eminence, burned from the centre of their arrangement. The glyph glowed and flashed in the construction of the landscape. I advanced towards the closest, feet sinking in the cool grass, the suns on my left. The tower was open and I stepped into a temple of reflection. Orbicular inner chamber, a table dead-centre. I approached it.
A bird, black and large, engulfing light with a bald and grey head, rested in the tables centre. Its eyes were purple, wrinkled skin folded under them - a black pupil shined penetrative and conscious. Our eyes were locked and I came closer. The table was hexagonal and etched with a grid, yellow on opaque red. The bird occupied a silver disc in the centre. The head, now before me, was anthropoid.

The light in the building enveloped me, and I became a nerve centre for ineffable energy. The winged-creature opened its small mouth, emitting a low, rumbling omnipotent and long groan vibrating unremitting through the landscape. Low, deafening and warm. The bird's eyes were closed, mouth wide open. The glass in the tower began to reverberate harmonies. It was a word. And the word was remembered...

Urban spillage echoed in the room. Portals shifted into closure. I wriggled my hands and toes and fidgeted in the aftermath, eyes slowly opening onto familiar territory. Garna's welcome face appeared and smiled; she thrust the journal into my hands. I stared at the blank paper and its potential, then recorded. Enthusiasm forced her to take her position. I watched her, my mind revisiting the place. And holding the journal firm, the word was written.

Lying on Garna's bed, sweating, the intense moist heat of the room forced us into comfortable nudity. Though our eyes were heavy, our enthusiasm burned fiercer. We read each other's accounts with captivation and analysis.

Garna's journey had more meaning, more information. She memorised the form of the alphabet, their precise arrangement. She had sat for an hour, seized with urgency, constructing a shape. Confronted with the order, spiralling hierarchic, we deemed the chaos in our selection. She, at least, had selected the Alpha. In comparison to her own, my journey seemed crippled, lacking anything but the word received.

The teacup, that first vessel, drifted into obsolescence and gathered dust on the shelf. The next epoch beckoned, fertile and seductive. We were peering into an open vein now, linear and initiatory - the inner chamber lay in waiting.

When I closed my eyes at night, the glyphs formed massive grids moving in horizontal and vertical lines, vast matrices encouraging an instant meditative state. I would drift into sleep as they sped on their highways not slowing with distraction.

The workings continued, loaded with a new calm. There was intense thirst for results. Garna and I travelled, past familiar trappings and enervation, efforts crowned with raw energy. I became suspicious about the dosage, the absorption rate. A removal from regular routines set in, and I came to fear for our safety. Garna's in particular.
She had a different approach, some back-door key. The glyphs showered her and penetrated her with message. By the third working I was left to collate and document her visions, the material extensive. But we flowered in these roles, me as scribe and she as psychic tourist, and so the work turned into a lucid, progressive oracular machine.

An irregular and impressive activity was witnessed by Garna. It was the fourth operation and Garna's journey had been significantly different, the plane seeming to close itself to our observance, becoming in some way grudging. A solid line of communication ran, but far removed from expectations and the fulfilments of our purpose. Garna found strange and familiar faces. But the inner chamber stayed strictly out of our immediate reach.

She landed beside a forest populated by trees with a yellow bark, small grey cauliflowers running vertical in four lines on each. As she turned, she noticed a woman walking towards her - a woman wearing white floating robes, with dark, thick curly hair, subtly bovine with penetrating azure eyes...she stood still and placid awaiting the woman's arrival. She communicated that the distance between them and the duration of its lessening defied reason. Behind the woman she could see a gathering of shapes; they began moving and the woman was in front of Garna, embracing her - Garna returned the embrace. When they separated the name of the woman drifted into Garna's consciousness - her mind, she then communicated, felt extended, reaching beyond the boundaries of grey-matter and bone and open to scrutiny. Her comfort, she said, the warmth of the plain, verged on arousal. Feeling reborn, Garna sounded the woman's name on what felt like new lips, with a new tongue.

"...Upasika..." She paused, momentarily wordless. It occurred to her that the woman knew her name, that there had been an unnoticed exchange. Upasika smiled, her manner slow but firm. She took Garna's hand, and they moved in the direction the people verged. Garna conveyed to me that she felt in some way exclusive. She listened to her companion feeling extraordinarily safe and warm.

"I travel in these lands also,. They appear to be newly opened, perhaps even newly formed. It is always pleasing to find a fellow traveller. New territory always defies expectations." She spoke with an accent, the origin of which Garna couldn't elucidate. It seemed a combination of various tongues. Garna squeezed Upasika's hand lightly, affectionately - an alien but comfortable impulse.

They walked towards a gathering. Men and woman sat suspended around a massive, floating disc. Grass that was now russet spread in vast plains about them. She looked behind her to deem location: the three suns, but the cliff edge had gone. They seemed to have come a very long way. They both approached the disc. Before Garna could identify the shapes, Upasika addressed her, lightly touching Garna's arm. She became stern and serious.

"We are all here to discuss this place. We fear, despite its intense beauty and natural right to existence, that a reaction will be provoked. It seems to some of us, myself not yet included, that its formation has diminished Equilibrium. It stands alone with no opposite and in an admittedly concerning way, with little to other territories. There are no familiar signposts. As you are standing here before me, I'm sure you understand the abnormality of such an emergence."

Garna went blank for a second. She then turned her eyes to Upasika and nodded. Upasika proceeded, leaving Garna to follow in her own time. She watched her float, cross her legs and sit in a space around the table. It seemed there was no room for Garna, then she saw Upasika float slightly to her left, allowing a space into which Garna's thin frame could settle. Upasika beckoned. Garna looked at the other figures. Men and woman in light or no garments, some human some clearly not. Recognition struck her sometimes as her eyes past over the gathering. She recalled in particular a man with blue, perforated skin and a baldhead, naked, passing a confused gaze over her. He then raised his hand, smiling warmly.

She floated over to the space beside Upasika, around this suspended silver disc, and crossed her legs. She turned her head to the right and saw a man with monks robes, a bald crown and a classic ring of hair above his nape. He nodded his head slow in greeting, and she to him, feeling as if she knew this man.

Garna looked around the table, in no way intimidated by the mass and the strangers, nodding approval.

After explaining our situation with lucidity, every one of the gathered listening with much interest, a long-bearded man with sad but beautiful eyes leant forward slightly.
"By way of interest, what have you understood concerning the words, their meaning? Can you communicate them to us?"

"No. We are collecting all of them first, we don't think they'll make sense by themselves."

This man seemed familiar to her also. He nodded, gratified by the answer. A brief conversation fluttered between a very thin Asian and a yellow-skinned woman wearing a blue cap. They spoke in an unfamiliar language, and Garna said she felt confusion at her presence emanating from the rest of the party. Upasika touched her arm. "I feel that perhaps you might not be prepared for some of these sights. There is much that can never be learned in your present incarnation..." Garna understood and agreed. She straightened. "I came here for a fourth word." With boldness it was said, not to the people but to the plain. It seemed to respond. In the centre of the disc a white globe appeared, growing, growing, burning brighter than her eyes tolerated. A high pitch, and then the whole octave below it, the suspended disc answered with a tirade of impossible and beautiful harmonics, wrapped around the goal of the journey. Garna felt herself vibrating to her core. The people all became faint immediately. She said then that she felt she had been expelled, rejected by the plain. The people faded around her, she was unwilling; she recalled the very concerned faces of Upasika and Philippus, and their hands reaching out to her. Scrapes, like metal on stone, sounded and echoed around her. A whirlpool of colours rushed and enveloped her. The cacophony ceased. Blackness.

When she returned, the room shocking her, a brief convulsion ensued. I rushed to her, calmed her, handed her the journal, breathing hard and feeling solidly removed, experience insufficient. Banishing rituals. Repeated, repeated and repeated...exhausted, we both lay, Garna in my arms, elated, astonished and terrified of the journeys ending. We agreed that I should go next time.

I didn't sleep; Garna lay with her head on my chest, fragile.
The second indicator. 24; 6 and 3. The glyphs on the pages still surrounded us in her bedroom. I carefully laid Garna's head on the pillow. She moaned. I walked to the first, removing it, working around the whole room until the walls were blank again. They lay in a pile, cornered.
I slept. Garna's face re-emerged from the shadows. The speeding highways, their traffic of infinite grids, slowed their pace.

An awareness ground itself, slow and heavy, as the architecture and the significance of the data, the mass-exertion, lay on all sides. We stayed on Garna's bed, looking over the distance we had come, realising the distances untravelled. We contemplated history, and began to sense the impersonal nature of our operations. Our imaginations had not conjured the series. They were preconceived and known, belonging to an alternative and presently astral culture. We had been selected to experience the realms and to know the channels. Why then, was there a feeling of rejection? What had we done? We contemplated, briefly, the possibility of seeking aid - but in all of the many existing places to find help, how could we be assured of the authenticity? We decided to keep our tongues still and our papers invisible. Those who should know, will know, we realised. And now the Chariot, inverted, lay at the centre of the reading, the Hermit above, and The Hanged Man below; The High Priestess emerged as the conscious desire, Strength as the unconscious. Four words, now phonetically written, danced on the page, resonance almost overpowering. Twenty words left. Garna expressed her unwillingness to continue, and I said I understood, placing my hands on her face and bringing her forehead to my lips. I had to complete the operation. She agreed to stay and document. Mars was with us. I memorised the words, speaking them inwardly and containing their immense power. Vibrations sent yellow and red tinctures to our sphere. I prepared. Garna and I gave each other a final, solitary glance, strong messages floating between our retinae.
The portal to the fifth glyph was opened. I entered, white blinding light burning solid in my centres.

Oneiric shifting of colours, identities and familiar constructs precipitated the motions. New forces exposed themselves, but the archetypes remained, at least. The difference in the junction was immediately perceptible; I was pushed over an abyss and through watery vortexes until the plain revealed itself - in darkness, mainly. All three suns were eclipsed, red fire burning around the black globes that obstructed the light. Ice and snow drowned the plains and the colours; I emerged on the cliff top, standing on snow that burned my feet with freezing. I looked to the sea and gazed at an endless expanse of ice-sheets; they had risen far up the side of the cliff. I looked for the glass towers in their usual placement. After searching, on the horizon, far out and cast in pure obsidian they stood, clouds barely visible floating around them. In the centre of the ice a fire suddenly exploded, forcing me back, its flames green and blue, flickering in phoenix shapes and revealing a crowd standing in an arc. I knew they were staring at me - unmoving, a truculence ebbing from their stance. One man stood on the ice, separated from them, behind them, forming a dot that the mass of bodies curved around. They seemed to be waiting. I walked to the cliff-edge and jumped down onto the ice, walking forward against a strong current of portent that acted like an obstructive wind. I came closer to the figures; closer, closer. Their bodies were hidden in shifting metal, thick and wavering - their heads were hairless, faces not male, female or even a median. Their eyes were coloured different hues of purple; pupils black and minuscule, ultra-conscious; penetrative. Identical to the bird in the tower, which, having been remembered, now sat on the shoulder of the figure furthest behind. I could see now that that orbited figure bore a great sword with two hands, whose blade thickened and forked obtusely at its point. I walked forward. Their hands beckoned me. Noiselessness but for the roar of the towering flames throwing wavering shadows onto the stark white ice. They all stood before me, curving away; solid stances, fluxing great metal jackets. I stopped in front of them. They stared hard, directly into me. Aeons seemed to pass as we stood there. Gradually, I watched amphibian mouths pull downwards in grimaces, flapping, delayed messages increasing in volume, pouring from them, a chaos of noise from all sides, thousands of different voices floating, volume fluctuating, ringing through the dreamscape; no gaps, no pauses in the onslaught the discords, the intolerable noise-scape

"...watching these fools occlude the light THERE IS ELSEWHERE BURNING into CLOSURE CLOSURE CLOSURE DESIRETUAC SI REBMACH (si rebmach SI REBMACH) RENNI EHT eht eht eht renni eht..." Never ending, the words continued screaming, whispering, layers and layers; "Dscreeble vronkrar moophtroon al-sak-sim trosophor, ELNACH LROMALL grrsynsynsyno, laktosiphor tosiphor tosiphoir tosiphor..."

Endless always growing in volume. I began to flinch, felt poisoned by the sonic onslaught. I watched the crowd part, aching from the vibrations, and the solo man, his eyes sown shut with thick silver thread, gracefully brought the sword above his head, he bent his right knee, kept the left stretched backwards, the sword was horizontal pointing behind, and he brought it forward and down hard in a swift swipe, slashing the airspace and slicing cosmic fabric so that a massive long fissure floated above the ice, blue fluid and globulous bubbles oozing out of it, floating chaotically in wisps, direction-less and sparkling.

The layers of voices continuing to resound beating my senses into retreat. The bright light at my centres struggled to burn and I ripped myself out from the chaos with a strenuous push of will, feeling choked, unable to breath there was so much dark otherness pounding, pulsating as the noise continued.

I opened my eyes, expecting the ice, but finding myself in Garna's bedroom, she recoiled into a corner, the massive fissure, blue fabric oozing and floating, the noises, the mass-cacophony filling the room, extending beyond perceptive boundaries. I opened my mouth into a silent scream, uttered the names of gods old and new to dispel it, mind flaming with blue fire. I closed my eyes and streched in crucifix form, charging, amplifying light. The voices pierced the airspace, vibrating all cosmic fabric, louder still and louder.

"...DESIRETUACSI REBMACH RENNI EHT RENNI EHT renni EHT EHT EHT renni DESIRETUACSI DESIRETUASCI..." I spoke names, the words over, over and over; "...THESE FOOLS THESE FOOLS..." laughter intertwined the flexing sonic muscle of this titan, this immense force...I repeated, and repeated, visualising a translucent blue globe around the fissure, pentagrams on all corners. One huge boom echoed among the waves, and the noises lessened. My light burned brighter, ineffable power pulsing to my aid as the forces dissipated and I opened my eyes onto the bedroom, blue fissure contained in the sphere I had created for it; Garna lay shaking, cornered. Shaking myself I walked towards her, head ringing with one high-pitched squeal, blood running down my ears...I collapsed beside her, our eyes spent slits...we lay in an embrace - safety grasped. I closed my eyes, breathing deep; thinking lessened. The glyphs sped faster, faster, and faster behind my eyes...I felt Garna's chest rising and falling, rising and falling. The rhythm set, sleep proceeded it...

Garna had the sense to walk away. We swapped apartments, agreeing on some future reunion. Once she had left, I found filling her space no obstacle. I had the teacup. Dante's death-mask continued whispering and shifting from the corner of the room, I sat lotused on the sofa and ignored him, vibrating words. Days spent absorbing and desensitising the glyphs until they were passive and I was immaculately conversant with all of their lines, the maps they traced in my consciousness.
I couldn't be sure whether she was the sender, but shortly after her departure, I received in a white envelope, unmarked but for my name, a newspaper clipping about an uncharted planet which had suddenly appeared just beyond our moon. The consensus seemed to be that it was approaching this Earth, disrupting the orbit of everything it came close to.

I turned on the television, hoping to get a glimpse of reports about this phenomenon. And sure enough, blasting into every channel, interrupting all regular programmes were clear images of a galactic body, twice the size of this Earth, suddenly spinning on its own axis, disrupting the calm of space between the moon and mercury. As I watched it, the lights in the apartment began to flicker, and the television, and all of its incessant soundbites, began to crackle, hum and fizz into white noise.
The fissure called. I had kept my eye on it, daily, and it seemed increasingly to breath, the pulsing blue fabric within wavering and beckoning. And just as outside the street-lamps flickered and died, as people ran out of their houses, shrieking at the sky, I stood, needing to move towards it. And in the dark of the room, behind the moon as the lights flickered on, off, on, off,.through the wide open window,curtaiun flapping in a sudden gust of changeable wind, a dark round shadow of a planet loomed three-quarters, reflecting the sun back onto the Earth in a deep, green, glow.

No more delay, I decided, as light from this intruder spilt into the room. Two weeks past since the last encounter. I stepped into the bedroom, the third indicator observed and strolled past. No rituals. No preparation. Everything was set.

I went to the bedroom, and stood in front of the translucent globe housing the portal, the barriers I had erected beginning to crackle and fizz, phase in and out like the channels of the television, and the exploding street lamps outside, the sudden cacophony of emergency vehicles and a raw panicked traffic.
I stretched my hand out and pushed the tips of my fingers through it, pausing for a second, inches before the fissure; I breathed slow and firm. Rigid, my hand moved forwards, the blue fabric enveloping it. A faint groan discharged from within the pulsing mass, a groan loaded with sexual release. As the blue barrier about it finally splintered into a flash of light, gone, I plunged my arm in. I felt nothing but a warm crackle of otherness seep up my elbow and deep into my teeth.
I pushed myself in, up to my shoulder. Further...further...further...until I was through....

Lectures

Details of location below

Venues & Organisers:

Songs of Witchcraft & Magic

Price: £14.00 (£13.00 plus £1.00 p&p)/Cheques made payable to 'The Museum of Witchcraft'

The Museum of Witchcraft

The Harbour

Boscastle

Cornwall

PL35 0HD

"Sex is Magick, mysterious and beautiful"

To celebrate the 60th. Anniverersary of the death of Aleister Crowley on the 1st. of december 2007. Seb Cox is having an erotic competition...

You may enter inspiring pictures, poems, stories, film, songs or a combination of these.
The winning six entries will recieve a cheques for £111. 6 runners-up will receive a Pantra Man Massager. All published entries will receive a copy of the Book, and a lucky cheque for £6.66. If you would like to offer a prize please contact Seb Cox.
Closing date for entries is 31st. September 2007. All entries should be emailed to dublinerx@... with a CC to lisatenner@...
More details at www.cumm.co.uk

Terra Incognita – The Foolish People –

491 Gallery, East London, 31st March/April 1st.
by Skratte

This March ‘Skratte’ were lucky enough to be invited by the Masque Noir ritual performers to participate in the Foolish People’s event ‘Terra Incognita’ in our role as practicing witches. Having heard all kinds of intriguing things about the Foolish People we were keen to accept this invitation and so packed our bags and left our secret location in the deserts of Avon and headed up to East London’s 491 gallery, where the party and play were taking place. Since our own role was to add power to the closing ritual, rather than as actors or musicians in this instance, our experience of the event was somewhat in between performer and observer. Thus we can tell you that the Foolish People were a great pleasure to work alongside and deserve heartfelt congratulations and recognition for the incredible amount of work that went into making this event happen. As audience, we offer these same congratulations in that we did indeed come away feeling like our heads had been turned inside out by about 1500 mics of L.S.D., despite the fact that we made the decision to remain completely sane and sober in order to know what we had really seen and what we had not. (We are glad that we did this, even though we are nevertheless still unsure as to exactly what we experienced at some points). All the cast were brilliant. Every one of them possessed their own unique star quality, which under the (sometimes brutal) direction of Mr. Harrigan were truly allowed to shine forth. There were also some fine musicians to entertain us, some incidental and others a part of the story, who would be well worth the travel to experience all on their own.
So as not to ruin things for anyone should there ever be a chance to see a repeat performance, we will not tell you too much about the plot of the play and its unfoldings. What we will say is that the crew all made great use of the space available to them, with the audience following characters from room to room as the tale took them from one place to another- although as one spirit pointed out to us as we passed them on our way, “You don’t have to go with them, you know…” Since different parts of the play were often unfolding in different parts of the venue at the same time not everyone will have the whole picture as to what the plot is anyway. Since there was no stage to divide the actors from the audience, it was a lot more like entering a different dimension than it was going to see a play at any normal theatre. We found ourselves quite at home, surrounded by spirits/figments of the main characters fracturing psyche/heightened consciousness. At times we were not even sure as to whether we had been sucked into the play and become ‘symptoms’ of their unsanity ourselves. At other times, we were fairly certain that we had been- which was a more than unsettling experience.
Observing the audience itself as much as the play offered another level of entertainment. Particularly memorable was to have seen their reactions to the very first spirit manifestation, a genuinely dark and disturbing figure that appeared seemingly from nowhere- thanks to some very clever distraction techniques?- and the fear on the faces of those he approached and interacted with. I suspect that some of them went away with their perceptions of ‘reality’ permanently altered. In a good way. We hope.
The Masque Noir themselves had their own contained space, within which they worked a continuous ritual creating a vortex through which further manifestations may enter our dimension. This was achieved through their own adoption of spirit personas, acting ‘as if’ until entering a generally prelingual condition and displaying some truly phaerie like behaviour- or perhaps even the behaviour of poltergeist, since they were both creative, destructive, quiescent and excitable by turns. One spirit was so badly behaved that we were given no choice but to beat them into submission with our walking stick- the smashed pieces of which were then quickly stolen by other spirits and added to the collaged sigil representing the vortex. That we are not normally aggressive in this manner, and that the fellow whose poltergeist behaviour had so provoked us showed no bruising or harm once leaving trance, is testament to the extremely bizarre atmosphere of this event.
We would also like to congratulate the 491 Gallery itself for playing such wonderful hosts, and for having the courage to allow an event such as this to happen in the very home within which they live. It was a highly challenging event. Blessings upon them all.
Those who were not in attendance have truly missed out on a uniquely mind bending experience. Shame on you. Make sure you catch the next one.

For further information on the Foolish People visit;
http://www.myspace.com/foolishpeople
For the 491 Gallery visit;
http://www.myspace.com/491
SKRATTE are magical musicians whose work is dedicated to the re-enchantment of the world. For further information please visit;
http://www.myspace.com/urbanwitchcraft

MTTV aka Rockbitch

For those who are curious, the band has produced a video which they have now uploaded to YouTube. It shows the girls, and their land in Florida. If you want to take a look, and hear their latest stab at a hit, go to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0oXladJQB3I .

Lectures

Details of location below

Venues & Organisers:

Music Review : The Sadness of Witches by Skratte

Skratte, the musical project of witch Nathaniel Harris, author of Witcha,
has released a new album. And the Sadness of Witches is a fascinating album
indeed. On one hand it introduces some of the best darkly ambient
electronica I’ve heard for some time, while on the other it preserves
traditional ‘witchcraft ballads’ in a modern form. An interesting balance of
the old and new, past and future. Both however capture the spirit of Nathan’
s conception of Witchcraft perfectly, and the essence of its Arcana seem to
be highlighted both in the contrast between the two forms and their
commonalities. The traditional songs are represented by the paradoxical
ballad The Cruel Sister, which reflects on the unity of light and dark, as
well as the famous Gowdie ballad on shapeshifting, here called In the Devil’
s Name, reconstructed by Graves in The White Goddess, from a traditional
song apparently referred to by the witch Isobel Gowdie in her trial of 1662.
Both these ballads and more are explored in Nathan’s book Witcha.
The modern material includes some of the most haunting electronica and
trippy soundscapes I've heard in a long time. My favourites here are the
Burroughsian Spiritual Assassin and the Sabbatic Your God Is Weak. There are
also some great supporting artists on this album including the fantastic
vocals of the talented Jasmine Deville, which compliment Nathan's sinister
songmanship perfectly.
The tracks contain some powerful expressions from a distinctly Left Hand
Path perspective, and if you have any Christian tendencies whatsoever I
suggest you buy some Gospel instead! However there is no attempt at cheap
sensationalism here, or the deluded ramblings of the juvenile ‘Satanist’,
there is a dark existentialism present in many of the lyrics, albeit a
somewhat pessimistic one at times. Most importantly of all each track has a
profound magical charge to it, a power resides in this music, albeit a
subtle and somewhat distant one. It contains the echoes of something very
dark and mysterious that is well worth exploring...

Frater Sar Kaotec

Pagan Federation Wessex (review)

Terra Incognita – The Foolish People –

491 Gallery, East London, 31st March/April 1st.
by Skratte

This March ‘Skratte’ were lucky enough to be invited by the Masque Noir ritual performers to participate in the Foolish People’s event ‘Terra Incognita’ in our role as practicing witches. Having heard all kinds of intriguing things about the Foolish People we were keen to accept this invitation and so packed our bags and left our secret location in the deserts of Avon and headed up to East London’s 491 gallery, where the party and play were taking place. Since our own role was to add power to the closing ritual, rather than as actors or musicians in this instance, our experience of the event was somewhat in between performer and observer. Thus we can tell you that the Foolish People were a great pleasure to work alongside and deserve heartfelt congratulations and recognition for the incredible amount of work that went into making this event happen. As audience, we offer these same congratulations in that we did indeed come away feeling like our heads had been turned inside out by about 1500 mics of L.S.D., despite the fact that we made the decision to remain completely sane and sober in order to know what we had really seen and what we had not. (We are glad that we did this, even though we are nevertheless still unsure as to exactly what we experienced at some points). All the cast were brilliant. Every one of them possessed their own unique star quality, which under the (sometimes brutal) direction of Mr. Harrigan were truly allowed to shine forth. There were also some fine musicians to entertain us, some incidental and others a part of the story, who would be well worth the travel to experience all on their own.
So as not to ruin things for anyone should there ever be a chance to see a repeat performance, we will not tell you too much about the plot of the play and its unfoldings. What we will say is that the crew all made great use of the space available to them, with the audience following characters from room to room as the tale took them from one place to another- although as one spirit pointed out to us as we passed them on our way, “You don’t have to go with them, you know…” Since different parts of the play were often unfolding in different parts of the venue at the same time not everyone will have the whole picture as to what the plot is anyway. Since there was no stage to divide the actors from the audience, it was a lot more like entering a different dimension than it was going to see a play at any normal theatre. We found ourselves quite at home, surrounded by spirits/figments of the main characters fracturing psyche/heightened consciousness. At times we were not even sure as to whether we had been sucked into the play and become ‘symptoms’ of their unsanity ourselves. At other times, we were fairly certain that we had been- which was a more than unsettling experience.
Observing the audience itself as much as the play offered another level of entertainment. Particularly memorable was to have seen their reactions to the very first spirit manifestation, a genuinely dark and disturbing figure that appeared seemingly from nowhere- thanks to some very clever distraction techniques?- and the fear on the faces of those he approached and interacted with. I suspect that some of them went away with their perceptions of ‘reality’ permanently altered. In a good way. We hope.
The Masque Noir themselves had their own contained space, within which they worked a continuous ritual creating a vortex through which further manifestations may enter our dimension. This was achieved through their own adoption of spirit personas, acting ‘as if’ until entering a generally prelingual condition and displaying some truly phaerie like behaviour- or perhaps even the behaviour of poltergeist, since they were both creative, destructive, quiescent and excitable by turns. One spirit was so badly behaved that we were given no choice but to beat them into submission with our walking stick- the smashed pieces of which were then quickly stolen by other spirits and added to the collaged sigil representing the vortex. That we are not normally aggressive in this manner, and that the fellow whose poltergeist behaviour had so provoked us showed no bruising or harm once leaving trance, is testament to the extremely bizarre atmosphere of this event.
We would also like to congratulate the 491 Gallery itself for playing such wonderful hosts, and for having the courage to allow an event such as this to happen in the very home within which they live. It was a highly challenging event. Blessings upon them all.
Those who were not in attendance have truly missed out on a uniquely mind bending experience. Shame on you. Make sure you catch the next one.

For further information on the Foolish People visit;
http://www.myspace.com/foolishpeople
For the 491 Gallery visit;
http://www.myspace.com/491
SKRATTE are magical musicians whose work is dedicated to the re-enchantment of the world. For further information please visit;
http://www.myspace.com/urbanwitchcraft

GluckSteyne

Aleister Crowley turns up for one dramatic moment in a new play about Victor Neuburg (which is historically as it happened). The performances are happening as part of the Steyning Festival on 2nd and 9th June - the piece is called GluckSteyne - it is about Gluck and Neuburg, while they lived in Steyning - more info available at:

Lectures

Details of location below

Venues & Organisers:

Music Review : The Sadness of Witches by Skratte

Skratte, the musical project of witch Nathaniel Harris, author of Witcha,
has released a new album. And the Sadness of Witches is a fascinating album
indeed. On one hand it introduces some of the best darkly ambient
electronica I’ve heard for some time, while on the other it preserves
traditional ‘witchcraft ballads’ in a modern form. An interesting balance of
the old and new, past and future. Both however capture the spirit of Nathan’
s conception of Witchcraft perfectly, and the essence of its Arcana seem to
be highlighted both in the contrast between the two forms and their
commonalities. The traditional songs are represented by the paradoxical
ballad The Cruel Sister, which reflects on the unity of light and dark, as
well as the famous Gowdie ballad on shapeshifting, here called In the Devil’
s Name, reconstructed by Graves in The White Goddess, from a traditional
song apparently referred to by the witch Isobel Gowdie in her trial of 1662.
Both these ballads and more are explored in Nathan’s book Witcha.
The modern material includes some of the most haunting electronica and
trippy soundscapes I've heard in a long time. My favourites here are the
Burroughsian Spiritual Assassin and the Sabbatic Your God Is Weak. There are
also some great supporting artists on this album including the fantastic
vocals of the talented Jasmine Deville, which compliment Nathan's sinister
songmanship perfectly.
The tracks contain some powerful expressions from a distinctly Left Hand
Path perspective, and if you have any Christian tendencies whatsoever I
suggest you buy some Gospel instead! However there is no attempt at cheap
sensationalism here, or the deluded ramblings of the juvenile ‘Satanist’,
there is a dark existentialism present in many of the lyrics, albeit a
somewhat pessimistic one at times. Most importantly of all each track has a
profound magical charge to it, a power resides in this music, albeit a
subtle and somewhat distant one. It contains the echoes of something very
dark and mysterious that is well worth exploring...

Frater Sar Kaotec

Pagan Federation Wessex (review)

Terra Incognita – The Foolish People – 491 Gallery, East London, 31st March/April 1st.
by Skratte

This March ‘Skratte’ were lucky enough to be invited by the Masque Noir ritual performers to participate in the Foolish People’s event ‘Terra Incognita’ in our role as practicing witches. Having heard all kinds of intriguing things about the Foolish People we were keen to accept this invitation and so packed our bags and left our secret location in the deserts of Avon and headed up to East London’s 491 gallery, where the party and play were taking place. Since our own role was to add power to the closing ritual, rather than as actors or musicians in this instance, our experience of the event was somewhat in between performer and observer. Thus we can tell you that the Foolish People were a great pleasure to work alongside and deserve heartfelt congratulations and recognition for the incredible amount of work that went into making this event happen. As audience, we offer these same congratulations in that we did indeed come away feeling like our heads had been turned inside out by about 1500 mics of L.S.D., despite the fact that we made the decision to remain completely sane and sober in order to know what we had really seen and what we had not. (We are glad that we did this, even though we are nevertheless still unsure as to exactly what we experienced at some points). All the cast were brilliant. Every one of them possessed their own unique star quality, which under the (sometimes brutal) direction of Mr. Harrigan were truly allowed to shine forth. There were also some fine musicians to entertain us, some incidental and others a part of the story, who would be well worth the travel to experience all on their own.
So as not to ruin things for anyone should there ever be a chance to see a repeat performance, we will not tell you too much about the plot of the play and its unfoldings. What we will say is that the crew all made great use of the space available to them, with the audience following characters from room to room as the tale took them from one place to another- although as one spirit pointed out to us as we passed them on our way, “You don’t have to go with them, you know…” Since different parts of the play were often unfolding in different parts of the venue at the same time not everyone will have the whole picture as to what the plot is anyway. Since there was no stage to divide the actors from the audience, it was a lot more like entering a different dimension than it was going to see a play at any normal theatre. We found ourselves quite at home, surrounded by spirits/figments of the main characters fracturing psyche/heightened consciousness. At times we were not even sure as to whether we had been sucked into the play and become ‘symptoms’ of their unsanity ourselves. At other times, we were fairly certain that we had been- which was a more than unsettling experience.
Observing the audience itself as much as the play offered another level of entertainment. Particularly memorable was to have seen their reactions to the very first spirit manifestation, a genuinely dark and disturbing figure that appeared seemingly from nowhere- thanks to some very clever distraction techniques?- and the fear on the faces of those he approached and interacted with. I suspect that some of them went away with their perceptions of ‘reality’ permanently altered. In a good way. We hope.
The Masque Noir themselves had their own contained space, within which they worked a continuous ritual creating a vortex through which further manifestations may enter our dimension. This was achieved through their own adoption of spirit personas, acting ‘as if’ until entering a generally prelingual condition and displaying some truly phaerie like behaviour- or perhaps even the behaviour of poltergeist, since they were both creative, destructive, quiescent and excitable by turns. One spirit was so badly behaved that we were given no choice but to beat them into submission with our walking stick- the smashed pieces of which were then quickly stolen by other spirits and added to the collaged sigil representing the vortex. That we are not normally aggressive in this manner, and that the fellow whose poltergeist behaviour had so provoked us showed no bruising or harm once leaving trance, is testament to the extremely bizarre atmosphere of this event.
We would also like to congratulate the 491 Gallery itself for playing such wonderful hosts, and for having the courage to allow an event such as this to happen in the very home within which they live. It was a highly challenging event. Blessings upon them all.
Those who were not in attendance have truly missed out on a uniquely mind bending experience. Shame on you. Make sure you catch the next one.

For further information on the Foolish People visit;
http://www.myspace.com/foolishpeople
For the 491 Gallery visit;
http://www.myspace.com/491
SKRATTE are magical musicians whose work is dedicated to the re-enchantment of the world. For further information please visit;
http://www.myspace.com/urbanwitchcraft

Open Studio - Cornwall with Greg Humphries (co-author of Now That's What I Call Chaos Magick)

I am (in)formally inviting you to join me in the studio for a cup of tea, a slice of cake and a chat about art.

I will be throwing open the studio doors as part of the Cornwall Open Studios project on

Saturday 28th May 2007 (11am - 5pm)
Sunday 27th May 2007 (11am - 5pm)
Monday 28th May 2007 (Bank Holiday 11am - 5pm)
Saturday 2nd June 2007 (11am - 5pm)
and Sunday 3rd June 2007 (11am -5pm)

This will be the last chance to view my work for a while as I'm moving studio and all the current work needs a good home. The studio is located within the Old Grammar School complex in Redruth (Details below) with over 80 creative practitioners and it's own cool cafe! (The Melting Pot).

So come along and bring your friends. I look forward to it.

Greg.

Studio Details and Directions:

Greg Humphries
Studio W18
The Old Grammar School
West Park
Redruth
Cornwall
TR15 3AJ

Directions: From the A30 take the Redruth exit. At roundabout take Pool exit; straight over next Mini roundabout. At next large roundabout take first exit - Redruth town centre. Next left turn - West Park. Next right - leads straight to the Grammar School.

Lectures

Details of location below

Venues & Organisers:

Rough Diamonnds & OTO Ritual & Sex Magick

Those mysterious folk from South Yorkshire have released yet another couple of CDRoms full of hard to obtain Crowley related material.

Rough Diamonds Volume II is what it says on the label - a compendium of rare and unpublished documents related to the works of Mr Aleister Crowley. There are rituals, documents and letters such as Crowley's literary exocet to the Theosophical Society complaining that they had passed him over as the leadership candidate to replace Helena Blavatsky (deceased). There are loads of facinating things here more than worth enduring the slightly tongue in cheek manner of the production - which starts from the promise of 'delux edition of 93 numbered copies' - now where have i heard that before??

OTO Ritual & Sex Magick was so I believe the subject of a recentish court case and thus printed copies are now very rare indeed with AFAIK absolutely no real posssibility of a reprint. This seems to include a slightly different set of OTO grade rituals to that compiled in an earlier 'banned' book Francis King's Secret Rituals of the OTO. The rituals include extensive background material compiled by independent nerdorian of the OTO - Peter Konig. There are forces abroad who wouldn't want you to read any of this material. The rituals are interesting historical pieces which have accumulated much added kudos from their rarity. When in the 1980s Peter Konig first began writing for journals such as my own Nuit Isis there was much harrumphing from certain quarters. But given the passage of time those 'Thelemites' who initially disliked this kind of freedom of information have come to appreciate its importance.

This CD has the complete text of the disputed book plus related PDF documents and several bonus goodies. Cheque out your copy at Naughty Nun/Black Flag website - I think the link is still working on the Mandrake blog.

Ursula K Le Guin

Call for Papers: Paradoxa: World Literary Genres

A Volume on Ursula K. Le Guin

"She is the kind of writer businessmen hate most, producing challenging, unpredictable books whose meanings are too elusive to be easily controlled." - Meredith Tax, The Nation:, January 28, 2002

If Ursula Le Guin were Japanese, she would surely be designated a National Treasure. Her work in Science Fiction and Fantasy spans the fields of fiction and criticism. From her first published story in 1962, her writing has blended elegance and passion, vividness and acuity, and she has the unerring ability to capture the unexpected perspective that is the trademark of science fiction. Her fantasy has achieved that genre's variant sense of wonder, the taste of age and Elsewhere that Tolkien called the air of Faerie. Over the scope of her long career as a storyteller, a poet and a critical thinker, perhaps her greatest achievement has been her work's enduring commitment to ideas as being both politicized and political. It is this commitment, particularly from the 1970s on, when she began thinking about gender in both theory and fiction, that has made Ursula Le Guin a major presence in SF and Fantasy, and in the smaller but more exacting fields of feminist SF and Fantasy.

In these fields Ursula Le Guin's contribution is remarkable, not simply for her fiction's shaping of political debate in the more immediate and gripping form of characters' action, speech, and literal flesh and blood, but also for her jargon-free and emotionally rich critical voice. And, uniquely, for the courage that has allowed her not simply to shift a position, but to admit, freely and in print, as with "Is Gender Necessary: Redux," that her previous arguments, however famous and praised, could have been wrong. It is courage, as much as commitment and talent, that has made Ursula Le Guin not merely one of the best known but one of the most respected and perhaps best loved writers in her field.

Ursula Le Guin has been involved with _Paradoxa_ since the journal's first issue, when she graciously agreed to participate in a "Paradoxa Interview" (1995.) She also agreed to serve on the journal's Board of Editors, and has subsequently contributed articles, and with them wisdom, expertise and entrée at many stages along _Paradoxa_'s path. _Paradoxa_ is now pleased to propose the publication of a special Ursula Le Guin volume, which will be in part a collection of critical essays and commentary about her work. This call for papers requests abstracts or expressions of interest for essays dealing with her adult SF and Fantasy, her critical writing, her books for children and young adults, and her poetry, including her notable translation of the _Tao Te Ching_, and ranging from overviews of her work to studies of specific texts. Especially welcome will be essays that assess the value or standing of this work or works to the field(s) as a whole and at the present.

Please send proposals by e-mail to Info@.... Final date for submissions will be August 31, 2007, and the volume will be published in 2008. For further information about Paradoxa, please visit our website:

The IFJ number 18

Printed on 64 pages of book stock quality paper and a cardstock cover, silk screen printed by hand with a three color design ::

Contents include:

* Photography by Lauren Swain
* Essay: Stevyn in Hell
* Untitled Collage by Stevyn
* New York, New York by Aaron Conlin
* Back to the Big Apple by Rhonya Holman
* Tourist Tips of San Fran by Hannah
* Mac & Cheese Reviews by Hannah
* Stevyn interviews DOGHEAD COLA
* Full page comic by PAVEL'
* Story: THIN PLACE by S.K. Sinor
* Article: Project TUPA
* Centerfold: The World of Comics by Rico Fonseca
* Story (excerpt) The Green Odyssey by Philip Jose Farmer
* Top 3 excerpts from Anais Nin Diary 1934-1939
* Reprint of zine: "Illegal #38" commodore c64 zine
* Cracking Tutorial by Prophecy /tNO '98
* Excerpt from Miss DJ Jackalope's Memoirs
* Essay by Alisa
* Dumpster Diving article by Stevyn
* Photography by Brian Nash
* Desert Storm Sound System Diary
* Poetry by Venus J. Valdez
* Poetry by Kumi
* Art by Sara Hankin
* Article: Denver's Secret Jack and Jill Off Parties
* Photo of Bad Kitty/Defcon
* Interview: Pam Winter (Hair to Stay)
* Art by Heather Petersen
* Art by Stacey B.
* Photography by John Gross
* Tips by Hannah

The FREE CD of music included with the zine features material by:

* Electric Messiah
* Norwegian Recycling
* Cheekyboy
* Devslashnull
* pH10
* The Flipside
* The Who Boys
* Celebrity Murder Party
* Simon Chapman
* DJ BC
* Rhythm Scholar
* Pilchard
* EBC

Wow, so it looks like nearly 50% of the issues will go to the contributors, and 17 were already sold at the Denver Zine Fest on Saturday so we only have 36 left. I am not sure if I will have any in the shops since I hardly have any left so if you would like this zine + CD please order direct, $10:

Stevyn Prothero
Iron Feather Journal no. 18
4931 West 38th Avenue
Denver, Colorado, 80212, USA

The Journal for the Academic Study of Magic (JSM)

Call For Papers for Issue 5, deadline 21-6-2007

Issue 5 of the JSM, due to appear late in 2007, is now seeking contributions. Scholarly articles in English about any aspect of magic/occultism are welcome up to 8000 words in length.

Drs. Susan Johnston Graf (Penn State, Mont Alto, USA) and Amy Hale (University of Maryland University College) are the new co-editors of the journal.

Submission to the journal is by Email attachment, in Rich Text Format documents using Harvard Citation Style. Full submission details, an outline style guide and further details about the journal can be found at the SASM website: www.sasm.co.uk

Could all submissions in the first instance please be sent to Susan Johnston Graf: sjg9@...

Please feel free to contact Susan or Amy (halea@...) about the suitability of any proposed article, but in principle we aim to be as inclusive as possible, welcoming submissions from any academic discipline concerning any aspect of magic/occultism from any geographic region in any historical period. Academic articles from magical practitioners are also encouraged.

Deadline for submissions is 21st June 2007, with early submissions welcome.

Lectures

Details of location below

Venues & Organisers:

Rough Diamonnds & OTO Ritual & Sex Magick

Those mysterious folk from South Yorkshire have released yet another couple of CDRoms full of hard to obtain Crowley related material.

Rough Diamonds Volume II is what it says on the label - a compendium of rare and unpublished documents related to the works of Mr Aleister Crowley. There are rituals, documents and letters such as Crowley's literary exocet to the Theosophical Society complaining that they had passed him over as the leadership candidate to replace Helena Blavatsky (deceased). There are loads of facinating things here more than worth enduring the slightly tongue in cheek manner of the production - which starts from the promise of 'delux edition of 93 numbered copies' - now where have i heard that before??

OTO Ritual & Sex Magick was so I believe the subject of a recentish court case and thus printed copies are now very rare indeed with AFAIK absolutely no real posssibility of a reprint. This seems to include a slightly different set of OTO grade rituals to that compiled in an earlier 'banned' book Francis King's Secret Rituals of the OTO. The rituals include extensive background material compiled by independent nerdorian of the OTO - Peter Konig. There are forces abroad who wouldn't want you to read any of this material. The rituals are interesting historical pieces which have accumulated much added kudos from their rarity. When in the 1980s Peter Konig first began writing for journals such as my own Nuit Isis there was much harrumphing from certain quarters. But given the passage of time those 'Thelemites' who initially disliked this kind of freedom of information have come to appreciate its importance.

This CD has the complete text of the disputed book plus related PDF documents and several bonus goodies. Cheque out your copy at Naughty Nun/Black Flag website - I think the link is still working on the Mandrake blog.

Ursula K Le Guin

Call for Papers: Paradoxa: World Literary Genres

A Volume on Ursula K. Le Guin

"She is the kind of writer businessmen hate most, producing challenging, unpredictable books whose meanings are too elusive to be easily controlled." - Meredith Tax, The Nation:, January 28, 2002

If Ursula Le Guin were Japanese, she would surely be designated a National Treasure. Her work in Science Fiction and Fantasy spans the fields of fiction and criticism. From her first published story in 1962, her writing has blended elegance and passion, vividness and acuity, and she has the unerring ability to capture the unexpected perspective that is the trademark of science fiction. Her fantasy has achieved that genre's variant sense of wonder, the taste of age and Elsewhere that Tolkien called the air of Faerie. Over the scope of her long career as a storyteller, a poet and a critical thinker, perhaps her greatest achievement has been her work's enduring commitment to ideas as being both politicized and political. It is this commitment, particularly from the 1970s on, when she began thinking about gender in both theory and fiction, that has made Ursula Le Guin a major presence in SF and Fantasy, and in the smaller but more exacting fields of feminist SF and Fantasy.

In these fields Ursula Le Guin's contribution is remarkable, not simply for her fiction's shaping of political debate in the more immediate and gripping form of characters' action, speech, and literal flesh and blood, but also for her jargon-free and emotionally rich critical voice. And, uniquely, for the courage that has allowed her not simply to shift a position, but to admit, freely and in print, as with "Is Gender Necessary: Redux," that her previous arguments, however famous and praised, could have been wrong. It is courage, as much as commitment and talent, that has made Ursula Le Guin not merely one of the best known but one of the most respected and perhaps best loved writers in her field.

Ursula Le Guin has been involved with _Paradoxa_ since the journal's first issue, when she graciously agreed to participate in a "Paradoxa Interview" (1995.) She also agreed to serve on the journal's Board of Editors, and has subsequently contributed articles, and with them wisdom, expertise and entrée at many stages along _Paradoxa_'s path. _Paradoxa_ is now pleased to propose the publication of a special Ursula Le Guin volume, which will be in part a collection of critical essays and commentary about her work. This call for papers requests abstracts or expressions of interest for essays dealing with her adult SF and Fantasy, her critical writing, her books for children and young adults, and her poetry, including her notable translation of the _Tao Te Ching_, and ranging from overviews of her work to studies of specific texts. Especially welcome will be essays that assess the value or standing of this work or works to the field(s) as a whole and at the present.

Please send proposals by e-mail to Info@.... Final date for submissions will be August 31, 2007, and the volume will be published in 2008. For further information about Paradoxa, please visit our website:

Clairsentiences

"Clairsentience [From the French clair, “clear,” + sentience, “feeling,” ultimately derived from the Latin clarus, “clear,” + sentiens, derived from sentire, “to feel”] is a form of extra-sensory perception wherein a person acquires psychic knowledge primarily by means of feeling.[1]"(wikpedia)" ( the present wikpedia entry)


Clairsentience article


The following piece of research was done by Tim Crosby who was both the subject , with the condition known as clairsentience , and also the researcher who, much like research chemists in former times, on the edge of new discoveries , used themselves as white mice in white coats to test a new as yet untried compound.

He developed a philosophical approach over 15 years of research which he found indispensable given the nature of the study area he was exploring. unlike empirical science which hopes to measure the material world and then to gradually reach understandings of its workings through repeated testing , the mind and its contents appears to be a somewhat more slippery fish . Descartes after many years of dedicated reasoning came to the conclusion that no one could prove beyond a doubt that anything coming into the self via the senses could be proved to be objectively existant including measurments , graphs ; other people`s research etc ; the whole external world , and as ethnobotanist terence mckenna put it , " you are at the centre of the only universe you will ever know ".

This pre amble is necessary when coming at the word clairsentience in a way which does justice to the nature of the self/reality which is implicit in its existence as a concept but also its very meaning which is embedded in human culture at large . The word itself pre supposes both a self ; a supra higher dimesional sense world and implicitly , a group of senses and sense organs of a new more highly developed nature.

For the most complete and detailed research in this area i suggest one takes a long look at the work of ex nasa scientist barbara brennan who after a research post at nasa exploring the nature of electromagnetic fields , later developed higher sense perception to a very advanced level. Her work in this area is pre eminent and gives a broader and deeper understanding on the relationships of higher sense perception including , clairaudience , clairvoiance , claircognisance and of course clairsentience ; and their relationship to higher worlds / dimensions of the universe and self.

for more information go to http://www.barbarabrennan.com/

Her approach contextualises these newly discovered layers of reality within the framework of the holographic theory of the universe suggested by physicist Dr. David Bohm in his book " the implicate order " in which he calls the manifest reality " the explicate enfolded order ", in which , " parts are seen to be in immediate connection , in which their dynamical relationships depend in an irreducible way on the state of the whole system......Thus, one is led to a new notion of unbroken wholeness which denies the classical idea of analyzability of the world into seperately and independantly existent parts." and also The Morphagenic field theory ( from morph, "form " , and genesis , " coming into being. " ) of Rupert Sheldrake which is explored more fully in his book "A New Science of Life ".

The action of this field involves " action at a distance " in both space and time . Rather than form being determined by physical laws outside of time , it depends on morphic resonance across time . This means that morphic fields can propagate across space and time and that past events could influence other events everywhere else.

An example of this is shown by Lyall Watson in his book , " Lifetide: The Biology of Consciousness ", in which he describes what is now popularly called the Hundredth Monkey Principle . Watson found that after a group of monkeys learned a new behaviour , suddenly other monkeys on other islands with no possible " normal " means of communication learned that behaviour , too.

Barbara brennan's exaustive work in this area gives a broad and highly detailed context for understanding unusually developed senses and perhaps a new understanding of other mechanisms in the universe whereby knowledege , feelings , thoughts and other objects in time and space , might travel across boundaries , for example between bird and tree ; between monkey and monkey or between human and human via a connectedness previously thought not to exist .

As Robert Anton Wilson so aptly put it , " any technology or science sufficiently far removed from ones own will be perceived as magic" , and much like the idea of new and emergent higher facilities which are explored to dramatic effect in the three X Men films , the idea of a new emerging higher state of consciousness is being discussed by integrated philosophers such as Ken Wilber , whereby the next stage of human evolution is not to be a physical innovation as our relative matereal comfort and sedantary lives suggest , but will be one of the mind.

Just as roaming homonids , with a culture which didn`t change one bit for millenia , were replaced by homo sapiens , with their art , religion , language etc , for whom culture now was so varied that it could be differentiated by an explosion of creativity , which is characterised by the highly individual designs of their hand axes and countless other artifacts which are found to be different from one valley to the next across the entire planet; so , the next leap of human development will perhaps be just as huge and qualatively different.

Thesource42 17:37, 10 February 2007 (UTC)

References

Barbara Brennan ex Nasa scientist http://www.barbarabrennan.com/ also her two text books " hands of light " , and " Light Emerging ".http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbara_Brennan

Physicist Dr. David Bohm "The Implicate Order "

Rupert Sheldrake , " A New Science Of Life ", http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rupert_Sheldrake

Lyall Watson ," Lifetide : The Biology of Consciousness ". http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lyall_watson

Robert Anton Wilson , " Cosmic Trigger ", " prometheus rising " and many more ,http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R.A.Wilson

Terence Mckenna , " True Hallucinations " , " Invisible Landscape ", and " Food of The Gods ", http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terence_mckenna

Rene Descartes http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ren%C3%A9_Descartes

David Horrobin , " The Madness Of Adam and Eve " .http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Horrobin

Ken Wilbur , http://www.kenwilber.com and http://wilber.shambhala.com/ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ken_Wilbur

A key idea in Wilber's philosophical approach is the holon, which came from the writings of Arthur Koestler.As a Mahayana Buddhist, he believes that reality is ultimately a nondual union of emptiness and form, with form being innately subject to development over time

The X Men , http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/X-Men
Star Trek Next Generation In which Diana Troy is Ship`s Empath or Clairsentient. ( see , above the Robert Anton Wilson Quote )

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Star_Trek_Next_Generation

Emergence : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emergence

"Perhaps the most elaborate recent definition of emergence was provided by Jeffrey Goldstein in the inaugural issue of Emergence.(Goldstein 1999) To Goldstein, emergence refers to "the arising of novel and coherent structures, patterns and properties during the process of self-organization in complex systems."

Holism : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holism

I Heart Huckabees . film. for an amusing take on the holographic universe.

The loon show , every saturday afternoon 2pm til 4pm at www.sheffieldlive.org.

The Journal for the Academic Study of Magic (JSM)

Call For Papers for Issue 5, deadline 21-6-2007

Issue 5 of the JSM, due to appear late in 2007, is now seeking contributions. Scholarly articles in English about any aspect of magic/occultism are welcome up to 8000 words in length.

Drs. Susan Johnston Graf (Penn State, Mont Alto, USA) and Amy Hale (University of Maryland University College) are the new co-editors of the journal.

Submission to the journal is by Email attachment, in Rich Text Format documents using Harvard Citation Style. Full submission details, an outline style guide and further details about the journal can be found at the SASM website: www.sasm.co.uk

Could all submissions in the first instance please be sent to Susan Johnston Graf: sjg9@...

Please feel free to contact Susan or Amy (halea@...) about the suitability of any proposed article, but in principle we aim to be as inclusive as possible, welcoming submissions from any academic discipline concerning any aspect of magic/occultism from any geographic region in any historical period. Academic articles from magical practitioners are also encouraged.

Deadline for submissions is 21st June 2007, with early submissions welcome.

Lectures

Details of location below

Venues & Organisers:

Ursula K Le Guin

Call for Papers: Paradoxa: World Literary Genres

A Volume on Ursula K. Le Guin

"She is the kind of writer businessmen hate most, producing challenging, unpredictable books whose meanings are too elusive to be easily controlled." - Meredith Tax, The Nation:, January 28, 2002

If Ursula Le Guin were Japanese, she would surely be designated a National Treasure. Her work in Science Fiction and Fantasy spans the fields of fiction and criticism. From her first published story in 1962, her writing has blended elegance and passion, vividness and acuity, and she has the unerring ability to capture the unexpected perspective that is the trademark of science fiction. Her fantasy has achieved that genre's variant sense of wonder, the taste of age and Elsewhere that Tolkien called the air of Faerie. Over the scope of her long career as a storyteller, a poet and a critical thinker, perhaps her greatest achievement has been her work's enduring commitment to ideas as being both politicized and political. It is this commitment, particularly from the 1970s on, when she began thinking about gender in both theory and fiction, that has made Ursula Le Guin a major presence in SF and Fantasy, and in the smaller but more exacting fields of feminist SF and Fantasy.

In these fields Ursula Le Guin's contribution is remarkable, not simply for her fiction's shaping of political debate in the more immediate and gripping form of characters' action, speech, and literal flesh and blood, but also for her jargon-free and emotionally rich critical voice. And, uniquely, for the courage that has allowed her not simply to shift a position, but to admit, freely and in print, as with "Is Gender Necessary: Redux," that her previous arguments, however famous and praised, could have been wrong. It is courage, as much as commitment and talent, that has made Ursula Le Guin not merely one of the best known but one of the most respected and perhaps best loved writers in her field.

Ursula Le Guin has been involved with _Paradoxa_ since the journal's first issue, when she graciously agreed to participate in a "Paradoxa Interview" (1995.) She also agreed to serve on the journal's Board of Editors, and has subsequently contributed articles, and with them wisdom, expertise and entrée at many stages along _Paradoxa_'s path. _Paradoxa_ is now pleased to propose the publication of a special Ursula Le Guin volume, which will be in part a collection of critical essays and commentary about her work. This call for papers requests abstracts or expressions of interest for essays dealing with her adult SF and Fantasy, her critical writing, her books for children and young adults, and her poetry, including her notable translation of the _Tao Te Ching_, and ranging from overviews of her work to studies of specific texts. Especially welcome will be essays that assess the value or standing of this work or works to the field(s) as a whole and at the present.

Please send proposals by e-mail to Info@.... Final date for submissions will be August 31, 2007, and the volume will be published in 2008. For further information about Paradoxa, please visit our website:

Clairsentiences

"Clairsentience [From the French clair, “clear,” + sentience, “feeling,” ultimately derived from the Latin clarus, “clear,” + sentiens, derived from sentire, “to feel”] is a form of extra-sensory perception wherein a person acquires psychic knowledge primarily by means of feeling.[1]"(wikpedia)" ( the present wikpedia entry)


Clairsentience article


The following piece of research was done by Tim Crosby who was both the subject , with the condition known as clairsentience , and also the researcher who, much like research chemists in former times, on the edge of new discoveries , used themselves as white mice in white coats to test a new as yet untried compound.

He developed a philosophical approach over 15 years of research which he found indispensable given the nature of the study area he was exploring. unlike empirical science which hopes to measure the material world and then to gradually reach understandings of its workings through repeated testing , the mind and its contents appears to be a somewhat more slippery fish . Descartes after many years of dedicated reasoning came to the conclusion that no one could prove beyond a doubt that anything coming into the self via the senses could be proved to be objectively existant including measurments , graphs ; other people`s research etc ; the whole external world , and as ethnobotanist terence mckenna put it , " you are at the centre of the only universe you will ever know ".

This pre amble is necessary when coming at the word clairsentience in a way which does justice to the nature of the self/reality which is implicit in its existence as a concept but also its very meaning which is embedded in human culture at large . The word itself pre supposes both a self ; a supra higher dimesional sense world and implicitly , a group of senses and sense organs of a new more highly developed nature.

For the most complete and detailed research in this area i suggest one takes a long look at the work of ex nasa scientist barbara brennan who after a research post at nasa exploring the nature of electromagnetic fields , later developed higher sense perception to a very advanced level. Her work in this area is pre eminent and gives a broader and deeper understanding on the relationships of higher sense perception including , clairaudience , clairvoiance , claircognisance and of course clairsentience ; and their relationship to higher worlds / dimensions of the universe and self.

for more information go to http://www.barbarabrennan.com/

Her approach contextualises these newly discovered layers of reality within the framework of the holographic theory of the universe suggested by physicist Dr. David Bohm in his book " the implicate order " in which he calls the manifest reality " the explicate enfolded order ", in which , " parts are seen to be in immediate connection , in which their dynamical relationships depend in an irreducible way on the state of the whole system......Thus, one is led to a new notion of unbroken wholeness which denies the classical idea of analyzability of the world into seperately and independantly existent parts." and also The Morphagenic field theory ( from morph, "form " , and genesis , " coming into being. " ) of Rupert Sheldrake which is explored more fully in his book "A New Science of Life ".

The action of this field involves " action at a distance " in both space and time . Rather than form being determined by physical laws outside of time , it depends on morphic resonance across time . This means that morphic fields can propagate across space and time and that past events could influence other events everywhere else.

An example of this is shown by Lyall Watson in his book , " Lifetide: The Biology of Consciousness ", in which he describes what is now popularly called the Hundredth Monkey Principle . Watson found that after a group of monkeys learned a new behaviour , suddenly other monkeys on other islands with no possible " normal " means of communication learned that behaviour , too.

Barbara brennan's exaustive work in this area gives a broad and highly detailed context for understanding unusually developed senses and perhaps a new understanding of other mechanisms in the universe whereby knowledege , feelings , thoughts and other objects in time and space , might travel across boundaries , for example between bird and tree ; between monkey and monkey or between human and human via a connectedness previously thought not to exist .

As Robert Anton Wilson so aptly put it , " any technology or science sufficiently far removed from ones own will be perceived as magic" , and much like the idea of new and emergent higher facilities which are explored to dramatic effect in the three X Men films , the idea of a new emerging higher state of consciousness is being discussed by integrated philosophers such as Ken Wilber , whereby the next stage of human evolution is not to be a physical innovation as our relative matereal comfort and sedantary lives suggest , but will be one of the mind.

Just as roaming homonids , with a culture which didn`t change one bit for millenia , were replaced by homo sapiens , with their art , religion , language etc , for whom culture now was so varied that it could be differentiated by an explosion of creativity , which is characterised by the highly individual designs of their hand axes and countless other artifacts which are found to be different from one valley to the next across the entire planet; so , the next leap of human development will perhaps be just as huge and qualatively different.

Thesource42 17:37, 10 February 2007 (UTC)

References

Barbara Brennan ex Nasa scientist http://www.barbarabrennan.com/ also her two text books " hands of light " , and " Light Emerging ".http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbara_Brennan

Physicist Dr. David Bohm "The Implicate Order "

Rupert Sheldrake , " A New Science Of Life ", http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rupert_Sheldrake

Lyall Watson ," Lifetide : The Biology of Consciousness ". http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lyall_watson

Robert Anton Wilson , " Cosmic Trigger ", " prometheus rising " and many more ,http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R.A.Wilson

Terence Mckenna , " True Hallucinations " , " Invisible Landscape ", and " Food of The Gods ", http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terence_mckenna

Rene Descartes http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ren%C3%A9_Descartes

David Horrobin , " The Madness Of Adam and Eve " .http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Horrobin

Ken Wilbur , http://www.kenwilber.com and http://wilber.shambhala.com/ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ken_Wilbur

A key idea in Wilber's philosophical approach is the holon, which came from the writings of Arthur Koestler.As a Mahayana Buddhist, he believes that reality is ultimately a nondual union of emptiness and form, with form being innately subject to development over time

The X Men , http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/X-Men
Star Trek Next Generation In which Diana Troy is Ship`s Empath or Clairsentient. ( see , above the Robert Anton Wilson Quote )

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Star_Trek_Next_Generation

Emergence : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emergence

"Perhaps the most elaborate recent definition of emergence was provided by Jeffrey Goldstein in the inaugural issue of Emergence.(Goldstein 1999) To Goldstein, emergence refers to "the arising of novel and coherent structures, patterns and properties during the process of self-organization in complex systems."

Holism : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holism

I Heart Huckabees . film. for an amusing take on the holographic universe.

The loon show , every saturday afternoon 2pm til 4pm at www.sheffieldlive.org.

The Journal for the Academic Study of Magic (JSM)

Call For Papers for Issue 5, deadline 21-6-2007

Issue 5 of the JSM, due to appear late in 2007, is now seeking contributions. Scholarly articles in English about any aspect of magic/occultism are welcome up to 8000 words in length.

Drs. Susan Johnston Graf (Penn State, Mont Alto, USA) and Amy Hale (University of Maryland University College) are the new co-editors of the journal.

Submission to the journal is by Email attachment, in Rich Text Format documents using Harvard Citation Style. Full submission details, an outline style guide and further details about the journal can be found at the SASM website: www.sasm.co.uk

Could all submissions in the first instance please be sent to Susan Johnston Graf: sjg9@...

Please feel free to contact Susan or Amy (halea@...) about the suitability of any proposed article, but in principle we aim to be as inclusive as possible, welcoming submissions from any academic discipline concerning any aspect of magic/occultism from any geographic region in any historical period. Academic articles from magical practitioners are also encouraged.

Deadline for submissions is 21st June 2007, with early submissions welcome.

Lectures

Details of location below

Venues & Organisers:

Seven Towers reading and open mic night

Dublin

-info@... www.seventowers.ie

Seven Towers is delighted to announce the first Seven Towers reading and open mic night to take place on 28th February 2007 inBowes of Fleet St, Dublin 2.At 7.30pm.The purpose of these nights is to provide a forum for new voices, recently published and unpublished, as well as showing a small number of electronic exhibitions by new and emerging artists. The night will consist of:Readings by Seven Towers Writers:Ross Hattaway – New Zealand poet, whose first collection The Gentle Art of Rotting was published in 2006;Oran Ryan - Dublin born novelist whose first novel The Death of Finn and second novel Ten Short Novels by Arthur Kruger were published in 2006Noel Ó’Briain – Kerry born poet whose first collection Scattering Day, 21 Sonnets and Other Poems will be published in May 2007Readings by Other Guests To Be Announced Including You- A large amount of time on the night will be given over to an ‘open mic’ where writers of prose, poetry and short drama can read their work.Participants in the nights will have their work considered for inclusion in Census a Seven Towers Anthology of new work the first volume of which will be published in late Autumn 2007.Admission Charge: €5 (€3 concessions)

Details of location below

Venues & Organisers:

Ursula K Le Guin

Call for Papers: Paradoxa: World Literary Genres

A Volume on Ursula K. Le Guin

"She is the kind of writer businessmen hate most, producing challenging, unpredictable books whose meanings are too elusive to be easily controlled." - Meredith Tax, The Nation:, January 28, 2002

If Ursula Le Guin were Japanese, she would surely be designated a National Treasure. Her work in Science Fiction and Fantasy spans the fields of fiction and criticism. From her first published story in 1962, her writing has blended elegance and passion, vividness and acuity, and she has the unerring ability to capture the unexpected perspective that is the trademark of science fiction. Her fantasy has achieved that genre's variant sense of wonder, the taste of age and Elsewhere that Tolkien called the air of Faerie. Over the scope of her long career as a storyteller, a poet and a critical thinker, perhaps her greatest achievement has been her work's enduring commitment to ideas as being both politicized and political. It is this commitment, particularly from the 1970s on, when she began thinking about gender in both theory and fiction, that has made Ursula Le Guin a major presence in SF and Fantasy, and in the smaller but more exacting fields of feminist SF and Fantasy.

In these fields Ursula Le Guin's contribution is remarkable, not simply for her fiction's shaping of political debate in the more immediate and gripping form of characters' action, speech, and literal flesh and blood, but also for her jargon-free and emotionally rich critical voice. And, uniquely, for the courage that has allowed her not simply to shift a position, but to admit, freely and in print, as with "Is Gender Necessary: Redux," that her previous arguments, however famous and praised, could have been wrong. It is courage, as much as commitment and talent, that has made Ursula Le Guin not merely one of the best known but one of the most respected and perhaps best loved writers in her field.

Ursula Le Guin has been involved with _Paradoxa_ since the journal's first issue, when she graciously agreed to participate in a "Paradoxa Interview" (1995.) She also agreed to serve on the journal's Board of Editors, and has subsequently contributed articles, and with them wisdom, expertise and entrée at many stages along _Paradoxa_'s path. _Paradoxa_ is now pleased to propose the publication of a special Ursula Le Guin volume, which will be in part a collection of critical essays and commentary about her work. This call for papers requests abstracts or expressions of interest for essays dealing with her adult SF and Fantasy, her critical writing, her books for children and young adults, and her poetry, including her notable translation of the _Tao Te Ching_, and ranging from overviews of her work to studies of specific texts. Especially welcome will be essays that assess the value or standing of this work or works to the field(s) as a whole and at the present.

Please send proposals by e-mail to Info@.... Final date for submissions will be August 31, 2007, and the volume will be published in 2008. For further information about Paradoxa, please visit our website:

Clairsentiences

"Clairsentience [From the French clair, “clear,” + sentience, “feeling,” ultimately derived from the Latin clarus, “clear,” + sentiens, derived from sentire, “to feel”] is a form of extra-sensory perception wherein a person acquires psychic knowledge primarily by means of feeling.[1]"(wikpedia)" ( the present wikpedia entry)


Clairsentience article


The following piece of research was done by Tim Crosby who was both the subject , with the condition known as clairsentience , and also the researcher who, much like research chemists in former times, on the edge of new discoveries , used themselves as white mice in white coats to test a new as yet untried compound.

He developed a philosophical approach over 15 years of research which he found indispensable given the nature of the study area he was exploring. unlike empirical science which hopes to measure the material world and then to gradually reach understandings of its workings through repeated testing , the mind and its contents appears to be a somewhat more slippery fish . Descartes after many years of dedicated reasoning came to the conclusion that no one could prove beyond a doubt that anything coming into the self via the senses could be proved to be objectively existant including measurments , graphs ; other people`s research etc ; the whole external world , and as ethnobotanist terence mckenna put it , " you are at the centre of the only universe you will ever know ".

This pre amble is necessary when coming at the word clairsentience in a way which does justice to the nature of the self/reality which is implicit in its existence as a concept but also its very meaning which is embedded in human culture at large . The word itself pre supposes both a self ; a supra higher dimesional sense world and implicitly , a group of senses and sense organs of a new more highly developed nature.

For the most complete and detailed research in this area i suggest one takes a long look at the work of ex nasa scientist barbara brennan who after a research post at nasa exploring the nature of electromagnetic fields , later developed higher sense perception to a very advanced level. Her work in this area is pre eminent and gives a broader and deeper understanding on the relationships of higher sense perception including , clairaudience , clairvoiance , claircognisance and of course clairsentience ; and their relationship to higher worlds / dimensions of the universe and self.

for more information go to http://www.barbarabrennan.com/

Her approach contextualises these newly discovered layers of reality within the framework of the holographic theory of the universe suggested by physicist Dr. David Bohm in his book " the implicate order " in which he calls the manifest reality " the explicate enfolded order ", in which , " parts are seen to be in immediate connection , in which their dynamical relationships depend in an irreducible way on the state of the whole system......Thus, one is led to a new notion of unbroken wholeness which denies the classical idea of analyzability of the world into seperately and independantly existent parts." and also The Morphagenic field theory ( from morph, "form " , and genesis , " coming into being. " ) of Rupert Sheldrake which is explored more fully in his book "A New Science of Life ".

The action of this field involves " action at a distance " in both space and time . Rather than form being determined by physical laws outside of time , it depends on morphic resonance across time . This means that morphic fields can propagate across space and time and that past events could influence other events everywhere else.

An example of this is shown by Lyall Watson in his book , " Lifetide: The Biology of Consciousness ", in which he describes what is now popularly called the Hundredth Monkey Principle . Watson found that after a group of monkeys learned a new behaviour , suddenly other monkeys on other islands with no possible " normal " means of communication learned that behaviour , too.

Barbara brennan's exaustive work in this area gives a broad and highly detailed context for understanding unusually developed senses and perhaps a new understanding of other mechanisms in the universe whereby knowledege , feelings , thoughts and other objects in time and space , might travel across boundaries , for example between bird and tree ; between monkey and monkey or between human and human via a connectedness previously thought not to exist .

As Robert Anton Wilson so aptly put it , " any technology or science sufficiently far removed from ones own will be perceived as magic" , and much like the idea of new and emergent higher facilities which are explored to dramatic effect in the three X Men films , the idea of a new emerging higher state of consciousness is being discussed by integrated philosophers such as Ken Wilber , whereby the next stage of human evolution is not to be a physical innovation as our relative matereal comfort and sedantary lives suggest , but will be one of the mind.

Just as roaming homonids , with a culture which didn`t change one bit for millenia , were replaced by homo sapiens , with their art , religion , language etc , for whom culture now was so varied that it could be differentiated by an explosion of creativity , which is characterised by the highly individual designs of their hand axes and countless other artifacts which are found to be different from one valley to the next across the entire planet; so , the next leap of human development will perhaps be just as huge and qualatively different.

Thesource42 17:37, 10 February 2007 (UTC)

References

Barbara Brennan ex Nasa scientist http://www.barbarabrennan.com/ also her two text books " hands of light " , and " Light Emerging ".http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbara_Brennan

Physicist Dr. David Bohm "The Implicate Order "

Rupert Sheldrake , " A New Science Of Life ", http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rupert_Sheldrake

Lyall Watson ," Lifetide : The Biology of Consciousness ". http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lyall_watson

Robert Anton Wilson , " Cosmic Trigger ", " prometheus rising " and many more ,http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R.A.Wilson

Terence Mckenna , " True Hallucinations " , " Invisible Landscape ", and " Food of The Gods ", http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terence_mckenna

Rene Descartes http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ren%C3%A9_Descartes

David Horrobin , " The Madness Of Adam and Eve " .http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Horrobin

Ken Wilbur , http://www.kenwilber.com and http://wilber.shambhala.com/ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ken_Wilbur

A key idea in Wilber's philosophical approach is the holon, which came from the writings of Arthur Koestler.As a Mahayana Buddhist, he believes that reality is ultimately a nondual union of emptiness and form, with form being innately subject to development over time

The X Men , http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/X-Men
Star Trek Next Generation In which Diana Troy is Ship`s Empath or Clairsentient. ( see , above the Robert Anton Wilson Quote )

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Star_Trek_Next_Generation

Emergence : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emergence

"Perhaps the most elaborate recent definition of emergence was provided by Jeffrey Goldstein in the inaugural issue of Emergence.(Goldstein 1999) To Goldstein, emergence refers to "the arising of novel and coherent structures, patterns and properties during the process of self-organization in complex systems."

Holism : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holism

I Heart Huckabees . film. for an amusing take on the holographic universe.

The loon show , every saturday afternoon 2pm til 4pm at www.sheffieldlive.org.

"The Temple That Never Sleeps"
By Josh Heller and Gerald Reilly

Cornerstone Book Publishers

"The subtitle of this book is "Freemasons and E-Masonry Toward a New
Paradigm," which is a hopeful prediction, but one that honors the gift of
instant global communication. This book tells the story of Masonic Light, an
internet meeting place for, at the time I write this, 859 Freemasons hailing
from 162 jurisdictions. Some of these jurisdictions you've heard of and
others you might not believe exist. You can learn more about ML at
masoniclight.org.

"Much the way internet shopping poses indefatigable competition to our local
"brick and mortar" retail stores through incomparable convenience and
limitless variety, this "emasonry" model gives Masons instant access to
brethren around the globe for the enjoyment of eye-popping scholarship and
jovial chat alike. For the education Mason, the value of this convenience
and variety can be more attractive than what's in our lodges. The book
quotes one anonymous Brother saying "With 50+ years as a Mason I have
discovered things about the Craft that I never dreamed existed." Imagine
that: a Gold Token Mason with the wideeyed excitement of a kid in a candy
store... and the store is open 24/7.

"It is difficult to say how the internet will shape Freemasonry's future.
With most jurisdictions still fumbling with amateurish websites devoid of
content while the non-recognized jurisdictions prefer privacy over
publicity, there is an actual need for individual Masons to employ the web
to find each other for intelligent conversation. This book is an account of
one forum where ideas like regularity and recognition are exposed as the
naked emperors they've been for the past 250 years. Identities like race,
religion and sex are as unimportant as the time of day in "The Temple That
Never Sleeps." The ML adventure is not for everyone, but if you're a fit,
then the experience can be highly rewarding, as this well written book
documents."

Groups Meetups

Heka:

The Practices of Ancient Egyptian Ritual & Magic

£15. isbn 1905297076. 198pp

There seems to be a bit of a revival in the practice of Egyptian magick fueled I think in the main by offerings from the more left-field commentators such as the author of Heka. Heka is an Egyptian term signifying the the power of magick, its divine personification or emanation and indeed the human practitioners, male and female, of the art. Although there is a difference between what we might call temple and folk magick in Egypt, there is no really real distinction to be made between religion and magic in the way that has distracted western theorists for so long. A study of Heka is an essential corrective to many a misconception about what magick actually was and indeed might become again.

David Rankine is familiar to many as a regular fixture of the UK occult scene, an officianado of the Children of Artemis; as well as an expert of the less familar byways of occultism - for which he has published, along with Stephen Skinner several substantial volumes on Enochia and the magick of the grimoires. So with a foot in both camps as it were, he has provided here a very useful pemican of the magical arts of Ancient Egypt. Writing as a Sethian, I might not share David's emphasis on the mysteries of the 'goddess' Maat, who seems more of a philosophical abstraction than a real flesh and blood goddess. But even so this is an indispensable addition to an occult library and therefore highly recommended.

[Since writing the above, Maat has demanded some attention - which goes to show that even a synthetic entity can become real given time]

Mogg Morgan

author: The Bull of Ombos

Details of location below

Venues & Organisers:

Fox Hunting in Cairo

Uncovered Editions are historic official papers which have not previously been available in a popular form.The series has been created directly from the archive of The Stationery Office in London and the books have been chosen for the quality of their story telling.Some subjects are familiar but others are less well known. Each is a moment of history.. At the time of this correspondence Egypt had been in the protection of the British Empire since 1882. In 1901, in order to provide sport for the officers, a pack of hounds was shipped out from England to hunt the Egyptian Fox.

Seidr & Seething - the saga continues

UK's Pentacle magazine issue 19 has a response to the updated chapter of Seidr from the new edition of Jan Fries, Helrunar: a manual of rune magick. An extract from the said chapter was reproduced in the Beltain edition of the same magazine. At the moment the pagan scene is gripped by 'academeitis' - that's when someone attempts to end an awkward argument by invoking some supposed academic authority. I say 'supposed' because those cited are often no more of an authority on the matter than us regular mortals. I've heard it several times now - 'academics say that whatever else seidr might be - it can't posssibly be seething'. Given the supposed impossibility of proving a negative - that seems a rather reckless statement from a supposed cooled headed scholar.

I'm still not quite sure why some people get so hot under the collar about Jan's interpretation of the mysterious seidr practice. Surely there is room for more than one view on what it might have been. Jan attempts through various arguments to link it to the universal phenonemon of the shaking trance. But some heathens will have none of it - pamphlets have been published in the vain attempt to repudiate Jan's view; he is accused of an unspecified eastern influence; speakers have been known to digress from their scripts in order to warn their audience of the dangers of following Jan's lead.

Jan's seething hypothesis is hardly that threatening. Jan is sympathetic, indeed supportive to various interpretations of seidr such the new American style seidr. Whilst pointing out the uncertainties of its theoretical basis he recognises that authors such as Diana Paxson have developed a useful syncretistic divination ritual which works well and to which they have associated the ancient name seidr. Jan merely points out that this same title is also associated with lots of things some modern magicians might find distasteful. Perhaps this explains why they loathe his theories and try to argue Nordic literature away?

Jan Fries is very much in favour of people bringing things up to date. Afterall there is no necessity for all good things to be ancient in order to be genuine. New interpretations of seidr should be welcomed, especially as it can now have ethical frame it probably lacked in its historic version.

Alan Nash is the latest to enter the fray. The intentions of Alan's letter in Pentacle may have got a bit lost in 'translation' but I suspect his interest is to provoke discussion and see the arguments rehearsed. Alan questions why Jan's appears to deny that that the lady in Erik's Saga was doing seidr. Erik's Saga is one of the prime sources of information on Seidr, and in it there are details of a supposed seidr rite (see Jan Fries Seidways: shaking, swaying and serpent mysteries, for the full text). I'd say that Jan merely asks why, if this really is an account of Seidr, the priestess isn't referred to as a seidkona as one would expect, but is instead almost invariably called a spakona (seeress)?

Alan Nash also questions Jan's apparent characterisation of seidr as 'evil' - now things are really getting serious as that could be seen as an insult to the whole heathen tradition! What Jan says is that historically seidr did have such a reputation in Nordic literature. Like it or not - there is apparently not a single text in Nordic literature that says anything kind about the practice.

Finally - as has been common on this debate - which has rumbled on for a while now - Alan evokes the shade of Edred Thorson, who apparently has strong views on this issue. The great man may have spoken but whether what he says stands up is another matter: "One thing I must vigorously insist on is that the word seidr can in no way beconnected to the English word 'seethe'."(Witchdom Of The True: A Study of The Vana-Troth and the Practice Of Seidr, Runa-Raven Press, 1999).

As any student of logic knows, definition is supposed to explain what a term means, not what it does not mean. Irvin Copi once wrote: "to define the word 'couch' as meaning not a bed and not a chair is to fail miserably to explain the meaning of a word." But to be fair I've not been able to see the article and perhaps it has some stronger arguments. I'm told Edred is an expert on etymology - so presumably he meant to say "Old English word 'seethe' ", occuring as it does in citations before 1100 AD. According to the lexicographers at the Oxford University Press it is in fact an Old Teutonic word - infinative seothan* - with an obsolete form sod.

There is a related word in Gothic sauth* which brings out its ritual connotations - as a sacrifice - which as Jan says in Helrunar - has the literally meaning of 'boiled meat' - the sine qua non for a Nordic sacrifice. The Oxford Lexicographers explain the limits of the OED's remit in their introduction, thus it is true that they do not mention Seidr as one of its cognates. The connection between the two is thus still, AFAIK, an open question. They do however say that seething had certain figurative uses not found in later texts - meanings such as 'to try someone by fire' or 'to afflict with cares'.

I suppose I ask myself does the word seidr survive in any form in the languages of Europe. If it does, then Old English or Modern English Seething, being very similar in sound to Seidr, would be a far from ridiculous suggestion that might yet be proved correct. The connection between Seidr and Sauthr is not something Jan made up. It has been argued before in many academic tomes, including Jakob Grimm's Deutsche Mythologie in the 1830s.

But as it happens, Jan's characterisation of Nordic Seidr as 'seething' was probably never really based on linguistics - his arguments are more about the nature of magick and trance activity. The English word he choose turned out to have a fortuitous and evocative history all its own. Seething takes us right back to the appropriate time and to the rich sacrifices that go into the steaming cauldron of magick.

Check it out for yourself. By all means let's debate the issues but let's also stick to the facts rather than spurious appeals to authority.

"The Temple That Never Sleeps"
By Josh Heller and Gerald Reilly

Cornerstone Book Publishers

"The subtitle of this book is "Freemasons and E-Masonry Toward a New
Paradigm," which is a hopeful prediction, but one that honors the gift of
instant global communication. This book tells the story of Masonic Light, an
internet meeting place for, at the time I write this, 859 Freemasons hailing
from 162 jurisdictions. Some of these jurisdictions you've heard of and
others you might not believe exist. You can learn more about ML at
masoniclight.org.

"Much the way internet shopping poses indefatigable competition to our local
"brick and mortar" retail stores through incomparable convenience and
limitless variety, this "emasonry" model gives Masons instant access to
brethren around the globe for the enjoyment of eye-popping scholarship and
jovial chat alike. For the education Mason, the value of this convenience
and variety can be more attractive than what's in our lodges. The book
quotes one anonymous Brother saying "With 50+ years as a Mason I have
discovered things about the Craft that I never dreamed existed." Imagine
that: a Gold Token Mason with the wideeyed excitement of a kid in a candy
store... and the store is open 24/7.

"It is difficult to say how the internet will shape Freemasonry's future.
With most jurisdictions still fumbling with amateurish websites devoid of
content while the non-recognized jurisdictions prefer privacy over
publicity, there is an actual need for individual Masons to employ the web
to find each other for intelligent conversation. This book is an account of
one forum where ideas like regularity and recognition are exposed as the
naked emperors they've been for the past 250 years. Identities like race,
religion and sex are as unimportant as the time of day in "The Temple That
Never Sleeps." The ML adventure is not for everyone, but if you're a fit,
then the experience can be highly rewarding, as this well written book
documents."

Groups Meetups

Heka:

The Practices of Ancient Egyptian Ritual & Magic

£15. isbn 1905297076. 198pp

There seems to be a bit of a revival in the practice of Egyptian magick fueled I think in the main by offerings from the more left-field commentators such as the author of Heka. Heka is an Egyptian term signifying the the power of magick, its divine personification or emanation and indeed the human practitioners, male and female, of the art. Although there is a difference between what we might call temple and folk magick in Egypt, there is no really real distinction to be made between religion and magic in the way that has distracted western theorists for so long. A study of Heka is an essential corrective to many a misconception about what magick actually was and indeed might become again.

David Rankine is familiar to many as a regular fixture of the UK occult scene, an officianado of the Children of Artemis; as well as an expert of the less familar byways of occultism - for which he has published, along with Stephen Skinner several substantial volumes on Enochia and the magick of the grimoires. So with a foot in both camps as it were, he has provided here a very useful pemican of the magical arts of Ancient Egypt. Writing as a Sethian, I might not share David's emphasis on the mysteries of the 'goddess' Maat, who seems more of a philosophical abstraction than a real flesh and blood goddess. But even so this is an indispensable addition to an occult library and therefore highly recommended.

Mogg Morgan

author: The Bull of Ombos

Details of location below

Venues & Organisers:

John Symonds

John Symonds lived a very long life despite authoring a controversial biography of Aleister Crowley that made him the target of hatemail. He died, aged 92 on October 21 2006. 'The Great Beast: the life of Aleister Crowley’ (also published by Rider) first appeared on 20 November 1951 just a few months after the repeal of the UK's notorious Witchcraft Act. This was probably the most radical book of the times. It was a time bomb that finally blew in the sixties.

‘The head of the OTO at the time, Karl Germer was shocked when he read ‘The Great Beast’. The Order of Oriental Templars (or Order of the Templars of the East) is a small international body of adepts who practice sexual magic. Germer said that the book would set the Order back a thousand years. He was mistaken. There is no doubt that the widespread interest today (1973) in Aleister Crowley stems from ‘The Great Beast.’ (Preface to 1979 edition of The Great Beast)’

Symonds is certainly right that it did no such thing, the very opposite in truth. It's interesting that the book has gone through many incarnations and rewrites and is in the words of Colin Wilson ‘a kind of appalling classic’ (on the back cover of 1989 reprint as ‘The King of the Shadow Realm: Aleister Crowley: his life and magic’). Did the 1951 act have any effect on the publication of this book? Yes I think it did, notice that there is no mention of magick on the cover of the first edition. Symonds says in another edition that at the time this sort of things couldn’t be too obviously cited on the cover and that in later works he was able to add more of the sexual magick stuff. Indeed the more magical material was not published until 1958 and then by another publisher called Mullers, whose output also included the books of Crowley’s disciple Kenneth Grant. It was not until 1973 that a complete revised edition of the Great Beast appeared in various cheap paperback editions licensed by Duckworth.

Symonds biography ‘The Great Beast’ has never been loved by occultists although its impact on popular culture has been, imo, immense. I remember reading one of the shlock horror editions given to me by a climbing friend. I must say I found the book a revelation, as did countless others. Since then other more ‘sympathetic’ writers have tried their hand at writing a more ‘balanced’ biography but few have really matched Symond’s panache. When Cecil Williamson, the owner of the witchcraft museum read it, it was a revelation and he immediately decided he needed to know more about the subject. So I say RIP John Symonds. [Mogg]

Here is a selections of other reviews this week - most, as my muse opines, a bit disrespectful:

From the Daily Telegraph

' a prolific author of imaginative, quirky fantasies, though he was better known
as the literary executor and biographer of the voluptuary, occultist
and megalomaniac Aleister Crowley (1875-1947).

Symonds met Crowley a year before his death, at a Hastings boarding
house where the self-styled "Beast 666" was eking out his squalid
final months as a spent mage on a diet of gin and heroin. Crowley's
will, which he apparently concocted himself, vested the copyright of
his works in Symonds and made him his literary executor.

Symonds was initially fascinated by Crowley, but as time went on and
his own political outlook moved from Left to Right, he became
increasingly critical of the occultist's lifestyle and ideas,
particularly his advocacy of drugs and unrestricted sex. Although he
edited and published (with Kenneth Grant) Crowley's Autohagiography,
and other books by Crowley, he provided an antidote to Crowley's
swashbuckling swankiness in his own four lively books on him: The
Great Beast (1952), The Magic of Aleister Crowley (1958), The King
of the Shadow Realm (1989) and Beast 666 (1997).