The Muslims have a concept called shirk. It is the supreme act of idolatry. To give something else the place of God. Anything. To Divide God’s Will from himself. To make him incarnate, tripartite…even something as simple as postulating a causal mechanism between his breath and the wind is Shirk, in some interpretations.
Thou hast no right but to do thy Will. — The Thelemic Secret Chiefs
We say that God himself is a self-existing God. Who told you so? It is correct enough, but how did it get into your heads? Who told you that man did not exist in like manner upon the same principles? (Refers to the old Bible.) How does it read in the Hebrew? It doesn’t say so in the Hebrew; it says God made man out of the earth and put into him Adam’s spirit, and so he became a living body.
The mind of man is as immortal as God himself…All sins shall be forgiven except the sin against the Holy Ghost. After a man has sinned against the Holy Ghost there is no repentance for him. He has got to say that the sun does not shine while he sees it. He has got to deny Jesus Christ when the heavens have been open to him. — Joseph Smith, Jr.
These, then, are the singular sins in every religion. The sin of naming the way, of counting one’s self equal with God by counting renunciation as one’s highest duty. There is no more ascent to be done — this is the determination of every abased junkie, every womb of unclean fluids, every beast and crawling thing. This of course is an esoteric interpretation. But every interpretation of every text, for a magician, must fit the facts. It must produce fruit. There is in beauty and well-made weapons no error.
So it is that I have personally been battling depression again. I, of course, you may well have gathered, am bipolar. I am profoundly unmedicated. I am married to a woman who I have helped to realize is also bipolar — it ran in her family and she had minimized her view of its effects to enable her to handle bigger issues. We trigger each other, a lot.
For I am divided for Love’s sake…for the chance of Union…
I have burned in this terrible crucible since last I wrote here, readers. Bipolar, you see…I believe it’s an autoimmune physical disease, with similarities to epilepsy. It only presents as mental because…well, there be Terminators out there. And Skynet hates it when we are given so fully to the flame that we fear it not.
So burning, I drew back my hand. In the day thou seest my face…
You see, I’m a shitty magician sometimes. I let my allergy meds expire between paydays. I had one advantage, though. I knew that was the cause…took me two years in New Mexico to figure it out! Derp. And so immediately I noticed the symptoms. Slowness of speech, thickness of thought…quickness to wrath. The world was ending all around me, and I a stranger in a strange land. I no longer Lazarus Long, but Fred Merkle! About to boner and take down my Cubbies with me…yes, I truly believe that the Cubs’ World Series drought and the state of world politics since 1908 and my mental health and my Great Work and Steven Moffat’s Doctor Who stories are connected. You forgot you were talking to a crazy person :p (The 1945, 1969, 1984 and 2003 teams are worth another post, though…) Anyways, depressed out of my ever-loving mind, I could only follow the pillar of smoke and fire. I got myself some Equate Zyrtec. I will not allow my body to depend on prescription drugs to survive its immune reactions to its environment. None of them!
The connection, you see…it burns us, precious…it is what we crave but union is nuclear fusion is death I BURN LIKE A SUN INSIDE…
And so this time it was different. I had sustained a body blow, but I mapped myself here, didn’t I? I mapped myself a route back. And I’m taking Linda with me. We’re developing a magical routine that will keep us second star to the right and straight on ’til morning…because I’ve seen the sun while it shines and even when it’s black as night I remember. None of this has been laid on me except that the fate of the world, in some sense, depends on it. Just as it does on you, and on me.
This blog is my Will. It is my Will, clearly stated, to set aside time to work, to divide always unto Nu, and to hide away Hadit with equal measure. To die daily, to fight with beasts at Ephesus, and to produce the fruit of an Adept one way or another. To no longer hide from what I am, and by doing so raise the flag of him who I must become.
I am AHMAN. My fire is poured out upon the world like whisky, and it clothes the Moon. The destroyer is only born to create.
I am the Terminator. I am John Connor. I am a Grey. And my attention, like a Terminator, like a bowling ball will always be single-minded. On the path of my Will towards its God, and on the truth that we are only divided to notice something. The important thing is not the objective truth, but that we notice certain things that are beneficial to us. “Delusion”, properly understood, is a story. A path through the noticed, the act of noticing. This underlies my magical thinking, and I’m going to get more into it as time goes on. But here’s a Rune Soup article I like on the subject.
You cannot hide from the Universe you are. Yet you cannot embody it without breaking out in hives of angry bees, allergies, AIDS, rheumatoid arthritis, and other symptoms of being who we are without limits. Hell. Society itself is an immune reaction. The Final Solution was a white cell. So was “Lord, I am not worthy”. They in a sense are always from the same root.
A hug is just a way to hide your face.
I haven’t turned GOOD! I am who I have always been. Bananas. And Im torquing that sacrifice of attention to 11. There is a certain point at which the question of “shall I be devoted to myself or to another?” is the question we all face in everything we do. I or Thou? Object or subject? And then you realize it’s just juggling. Just arranging pieces on a board. But what is the juggler but the magician? And what did Heraclitus say about the child playing with his game?
Strange things happen at the one-two point. Fuck it, Dude. Let’s go bowling.
Fuck it, Dude. Let’s go bowling.