I recieved a copy of "The Magickal Link" today. The "Link" is the Biannual newletter of the Ordo Templi Orientis. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's a Initiatory Order dedicated to spreading the word of Thelema. If you don't know what Thelema is, well, use Google and look it up, there are people out there who can explain it better and more plain than I can. I tend to be rather wordy on such subjects, but then again, I'm rather wordy on most subjects. It's nice to hear from them, even if most of the issue is about their legal battles (which they have won, in most cases that were important), and the documented proof that supported their legal battles.
The OTO has been instrumental in the preservation and distribution of the works of Aleister Crowley for the not officially initiated such as myself. For that alone the world should be thankful to them. While I have on occasion, mentioned a general dislike for the style with which Crowley wrote a good many of his works (mostly due to the inclusion of his personal dislike for women, and other opinions), Crowley's work is exemplary mostly due to it's scope. He was the first person of his time to attempt to examine every aspect of spirituality fully. Sometimes he treaded over the same ground, but only, it would seem, in an attempt to clarify himself. He was adept at hiding golden nuggets in piles of verbal crap. What I mean by this, is that Crowley had a way of using double and triple meanings in his writing that one might not find the valuable one without certain background training. Or an exceptionally well-developed psyche. I didn't have the second one, and I'm still finding meanings in some of his works that I've had for years. Enough about shoe-making for tonight. At least in prose form, as I never know where the poem of the day is going to take me until I get there.
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I hear secrets whispered
On the wings of passing sparrows
And the dreams of howling dogs
While mid-America sleeps through
Another night of harsh beauty
I am sitting on the roof
Of a red '92 Corseca
Whose door has been smashed in
By the force of stupidity
Of her average citizen
We all pay small prices
That total an instant of our lives
In order to keep our humanity in check
But each instant adds to another
And soon we find out
That we have nothing left to give
Too late we realize
That our humanity is our salvation
~MattMagus
