himself whether it was worth wasting an evening visiting Crowley, the charlatan. This time Felton was having to make a choice that would govern the whole of the rest of his life. This time he knew that Crowley possessed real power. This time, if he walked out of the barracks and took the bus towards Hanover Square, Felton the dilettante would be dead forever and another man would take his place. As one of the Hassidim put it, ‘The soul teaches incessantly but it never repeats itself.’
Felton took that bus. Everything went as before – up to the point when Crowley asked Felton if he wanted to commit himself to him. At this point Felton simply said, ‘yes’. Two weeks later he was inducted as a probationer in the Ordo Templi Orientis.
That was Felton’s story and I rather enjoyed it. However, even assuming that it is a true story and not invented by him as some kind of teaching parable, I doubt if what happened that winter night in 1941 was really anything supernatural. I think that it may have been an unusually extended version of déjà vu and what Felton took to be his second visit was really his first and only visit with an underlying feeling of I-have-been-here-before. Bernard Hamilton’s Sociology of Anomalous Perception explains such sensations of false recognition as due to a mind’s mistakenly identifying social situations which are structurally congruent but not in fact identical.
MEMO I must look at the endnotes of The Wasteland . The way Felton has described them, they sound distinctly psychedelic. And what about Crowley? He sounds like an ageing hippy.
I think that was all that was said in my diary-session – oh yes, he also objected to my being “fucked off ” at being assigned to him, rather than Laura. He was going on about how the use of the word “fucking” should be restricted to acts of affection between two human beings. But when I told him that Laura had a reputation among those going to the Hermetic Wisdom lectures as a “sex teacher”, he laughed briefly.
‘Peter! Your frankness is refreshing! And I want you to be equally frank in your diary. Tell the truth and hold nothing back. Peter, dear boy, great things are promised for you. We are going to take you up to a high place and show you the world.’
He seemed to be about to say more on this theme, but suddenly decided against it. Instead he continued with a homily about vivid writing. My diary had to succeed in making him see what I saw.
Finally he told me that I was to arrive early next Tuesday evening and to bring my diary with me ready for inspection (and he of course would have more money ready for me).
‘Tell the truth and confess all, as if your life depended upon it. No. Forget that “as if”. Your life will depend upon it. Believe me.’
As I rose to leave, he pressed a copy of a book into my hands.
‘Thomas de Quincey’s Confessions of an Opium Eater . He published it in 1821. He was, if you choose to think of him in that way, England’s first hippy. What I hope is that his little book will show you how it is possible to be “hip”,’ (he got his mouth round that word with difficulty) ‘and yet write good prose. Continue with your study of Magick in Theory and Practice , but read De Quincey as well.’
It was a curious evening and I sat up late writing it all down. And now there is all this money under my mattress. Still, I keep coming back to something that Sally said earlier in the week. ‘If Satanism really works, why is Dr Felton old, fat and living in Swiss Cottage?’
Friday, May 19
As I made my way to the school, I was thinking about Felton’s total failure to engage with the actual content of my diary and how his reading it for grammar and style was distinctly off-pissing. (He won’t like that last expression. Too bad.) Also off-pissing was the consideration that I do not think that I have learnt anything that I did not know before. It was as if he was merely a projection of my mind which was
Felton took that bus. Everything went as before – up to the point when Crowley asked Felton if he wanted to commit himself to him. At this point Felton simply said, ‘yes’. Two weeks later he was inducted as a probationer in the Ordo Templi Orientis.
That was Felton’s story and I rather enjoyed it. However, even assuming that it is a true story and not invented by him as some kind of teaching parable, I doubt if what happened that winter night in 1941 was really anything supernatural. I think that it may have been an unusually extended version of déjà vu and what Felton took to be his second visit was really his first and only visit with an underlying feeling of I-have-been-here-before. Bernard Hamilton’s Sociology of Anomalous Perception explains such sensations of false recognition as due to a mind’s mistakenly identifying social situations which are structurally congruent but not in fact identical.
MEMO I must look at the endnotes of The Wasteland . The way Felton has described them, they sound distinctly psychedelic. And what about Crowley? He sounds like an ageing hippy.
I think that was all that was said in my diary-session – oh yes, he also objected to my being “fucked off ” at being assigned to him, rather than Laura. He was going on about how the use of the word “fucking” should be restricted to acts of affection between two human beings. But when I told him that Laura had a reputation among those going to the Hermetic Wisdom lectures as a “sex teacher”, he laughed briefly.
‘Peter! Your frankness is refreshing! And I want you to be equally frank in your diary. Tell the truth and hold nothing back. Peter, dear boy, great things are promised for you. We are going to take you up to a high place and show you the world.’
He seemed to be about to say more on this theme, but suddenly decided against it. Instead he continued with a homily about vivid writing. My diary had to succeed in making him see what I saw.
Finally he told me that I was to arrive early next Tuesday evening and to bring my diary with me ready for inspection (and he of course would have more money ready for me).
‘Tell the truth and confess all, as if your life depended upon it. No. Forget that “as if”. Your life will depend upon it. Believe me.’
As I rose to leave, he pressed a copy of a book into my hands.
‘Thomas de Quincey’s Confessions of an Opium Eater . He published it in 1821. He was, if you choose to think of him in that way, England’s first hippy. What I hope is that his little book will show you how it is possible to be “hip”,’ (he got his mouth round that word with difficulty) ‘and yet write good prose. Continue with your study of Magick in Theory and Practice , but read De Quincey as well.’
It was a curious evening and I sat up late writing it all down. And now there is all this money under my mattress. Still, I keep coming back to something that Sally said earlier in the week. ‘If Satanism really works, why is Dr Felton old, fat and living in Swiss Cottage?’
Friday, May 19
As I made my way to the school, I was thinking about Felton’s total failure to engage with the actual content of my diary and how his reading it for grammar and style was distinctly off-pissing. (He won’t like that last expression. Too bad.) Also off-pissing was the consideration that I do not think that I have learnt anything that I did not know before. It was as if he was merely a projection of my mind which was
Similar Books
Dead Right
Brenda Novak
Dear Irene
Jan Burke
The Reveal
Julie Leto
A Night to Surrender
Tessa Dare
Wish 01 - A Secret Wish
Barbara Freethy
Tales of Arilland
Alethea Kontis
Vermilion Sands
J. G. Ballard
Flashback
Michael Palmer