Photo 8 Aug 19 notes THE SPENDTHRIFT  
~Aleister Crowley~
“ARCADIA, night, a cloud, Pan, and the moon.” What words 
to conjure with, what five shouts to slay the five senses, and
set a leaping flame of emerald and silver dancing about us as
we yell them forth under  the oaks and over the rocks and
myrtle of the hill-side. “Bruised to the breast of Pan”—
let us flee church, and chapel, and meeting-room; let us
abandon this mantle of order, and leap back to the heaths, 
and the marshes, and the hills; back to the woods, and the
glades of night! back to the old gods, and the ruddy lips 
of Pan! 
How the torches splutter in the storm, pressing warm
kisses of gold on the gnarled and knotted trunks of the beech 
trees! How the fumigation from musk and myrrh whirls 
up in anaromatic cloud from the glowing censer!—how for a 
time it greedily clings to the branches, and then is wafted to
the stars! Look!—as we invoke them, how they gather 
round us, these Spirit of Love and of Life, of Passion, of
Strength, and of Abandon—these sinews of the manhood of
the World! 
O mystery of mysteries! “For each one of the Gods is in
all, and all are in each, being ineffably united to each other
and to God; because each, being a super-essential unity, their 
conjunction with each other is a union of unities.” Hence 
each is all; thus Nature squanders the gold and silver of our
understanding, till in panic frenzy we beat our head on the
storm-washed boulders and the blasted trunks, and shout
forth, “Io … Io … Io … Evoe! Io … Io!” till the glades
thrill as with the music of syrinx an sistrum, and our souls are 
rent asunder on the flaming horns of Pan. 

THE SPENDTHRIFT  

~Aleister Crowley~

“ARCADIA, night, a cloud, Pan, and the moon.” What words 

to conjure with, what five shouts to slay the five senses, and

set a leaping flame of emerald and silver dancing about us as

we yell them forth under  the oaks and over the rocks and

myrtle of the hill-side. “Bruised to the breast of Pan”—

let us flee church, and chapel, and meeting-room; let us

abandon this mantle of order, and leap back to the heaths, 

and the marshes, and the hills; back to the woods, and the

glades of night! back to the old gods, and the ruddy lips 

of Pan! 

How the torches splutter in the storm, pressing warm

kisses of gold on the gnarled and knotted trunks of the beech 

trees! How the fumigation from musk and myrrh whirls 

up in anaromatic cloud from the glowing censer!—how for a 

time it greedily clings to the branches, and then is wafted to

the stars! Look!—as we invoke them, how they gather 

round us, these Spirit of Love and of Life, of Passion, of

Strength, and of Abandon—these sinews of the manhood of

the World! 

O mystery of mysteries! “For each one of the Gods is in

all, and all are in each, being ineffably united to each other

and to God; because each, being a super-essential unity, their 

conjunction with each other is a union of unities.” Hence 

each is all; thus Nature squanders the gold and silver of our

understanding, till in panic frenzy we beat our head on the

storm-washed boulders and the blasted trunks, and shout

forth, “Io … Io … Io … Evoe! Io … Io!” till the glades

thrill as with the music of syrinx an sistrum, and our souls are 

rent asunder on the flaming horns of Pan. 

Photo 7 Aug 18 notes from THE SCORPION: A TRAGEDY IN THREE ACTS
BY ALEISTER CROWLEY
LAYLAH.

From the heart of the sandThe water wells upPurer than the rain.So in my heartLove springsChaster than the grace of heaven itself.Earth purifiesMore subtly than the sea.Only through matterCan spirit understand itself,Justify itself, become itself.This mystery I heardFrom the holy man of Bassu.His beard was whiter than snowBecause it had once been blacker than burnt wood.
So will I cherish my love,The love which I owe,Which I give, to my husbandThe noblest of the Emirs;For I and my love and my serviceAnd my dutyAll are his.I have no duty to GodBut to obey my husband.So my heart is freerThat all other hearts, {74}As the dweller among the palmsIs freer than the wanderer in the desert.The wanderer must find the palms;The dweller is at ease.
My heart is a young gazelleLeaping with love toward my husband.He is black-bearded and bold and magnificent.Even on the morn of the wedding he rode forthAgainst the infidel.He is so strong and brave:God must look favourably upon him,Bidding him return a conquerorTo the flower of his gardenThat awaits his hand to pluck.
http://hermetic.com/crowley/equinox/i/vi/eqi06013.html

from THE SCORPION: A TRAGEDY IN THREE ACTS

BY ALEISTER CROWLEY

LAYLAH.

From the heart of the sand
The water wells up
Purer than the rain.
So in my heart
Love springs
Chaster than the grace of heaven itself.
Earth purifies
More subtly than the sea.
Only through matter
Can spirit understand itself,
Justify itself, become itself.
This mystery I heard
From the holy man of Bassu.
His beard was whiter than snow
Because it had once been blacker than burnt wood.

So will I cherish my love,
The love which I owe,
Which I give, to my husband
The noblest of the Emirs;
For I and my love and my service
And my duty
All are his.
I have no duty to God
But to obey my husband.
So my heart is freer
That all other hearts, {74}
As the dweller among the palms
Is freer than the wanderer in the desert.
The wanderer must find the palms;
The dweller is at ease.

My heart is a young gazelle
Leaping with love toward my husband.
He is black-bearded and bold and magnificent.
Even on the morn of the wedding he rode forth
Against the infidel.
He is so strong and brave:
God must look favourably upon him,
Bidding him return a conqueror
To the flower of his garden
That awaits his hand to pluck.

http://hermetic.com/crowley/equinox/i/vi/eqi06013.html

Photo 3 Aug 5 notes Hymn to Lucifer
Aleister Crowley


Ware, nor of good nor ill, what aim hath act?Without its climax, death, what savour hathLife? an impeccable machine, exactHe paces an inane and pointless pathTo glut brute appetites, his sole contentHow tedious were he fit to comprehendHimself! More, this our noble elementOf fire in nature, love in spirit, unkennedLife hath no spring, no axle, and no end.His body a bloody-ruby radiantWith noble passion, sun-souled LuciferSwept through the dawn colossal, swift aslantOn Eden’s imbecile perimeter.He blessed nonentity with every curseAnd spiced with sorrow the dull soul of sense,Breathed life into the sterile universe,With Love and Knowledge drove out innocenceThe Key of Joy is disobedience. 


http://nanahira.com/ (art)

Hymn to Lucifer

Aleister Crowley

Ware, nor of good nor ill, what aim hath act?
Without its climax, death, what savour hath
Life? an impeccable machine, exact
He paces an inane and pointless path
To glut brute appetites, his sole content
How tedious were he fit to comprehend
Himself! More, this our noble element
Of fire in nature, love in spirit, unkenned
Life hath no spring, no axle, and no end.

His body a bloody-ruby radiant
With noble passion, sun-souled Lucifer
Swept through the dawn colossal, swift aslant
On Eden’s imbecile perimeter.
He blessed nonentity with every curse
And spiced with sorrow the dull soul of sense,
Breathed life into the sterile universe,
With Love and Knowledge drove out innocence
The Key of Joy is disobedience. 

Photo 3 Aug 160 notes The essence of independence has been to think and act according to standards from within, not without.
― Aleister Crowley

The essence of independence has been to think and act according to standards from within, not without.


― Aleister Crowley

Photo 30 Jul 5 notes Aleister Crowley (Self-portrait)

Aleister Crowley 
(Self-portrait)

Photo 27 Jul 23 notes Every Star has its own Nature, which is “Right” for it. We are not to be missionaries, with ideal standards of dress and morals, and such hard-ideas. We are to do what we will, and leave others to do what they will. We are infinitely tolerant, save of intolerance.Aleister Crowley
New Commentary, II:57

Every Star has its own Nature, which is “Right” for it. We are not to be missionaries, with ideal standards of dress and morals, and such hard-ideas. We are to do what we will, and leave others to do what they will. We are infinitely tolerant, save of intolerance.

Aleister Crowley

New Commentary, II:57

Photo 6 Jul 18 notes At Bordj-an-NusEl Arabi! El Arabi! Burn in thy brilliance, mine own!O Beautiful! O Barbarous! Seductive as a serpent isThat poises head and hood, and makes his body tremble to the droneOf tom-tom and of cymbal wooed by love’s assassin sorceries!El Arabi! El Arabi!The moon is down; we are alone;May not our mouths meet, madden, mix, melt in the starlight of a kiss?El Arabi!There by the palms, the desert’s edge, I drew thee to my heart and heldThy shy slim beauty for a splendid second; and fell moaning back,Smitten by Love’s forked flashing rod -as if the uprooted mandrake yelled!As if I had seen God, and died! I thirst! I writhe upon the rack!El Arabi! El Arabi!It is not love! I am compelledBy some fierce fate, a vulture poised, heaven’s single ominous speck of black.El Arabi! There in the lonely bordj across the dreadful lines of sleeping men,Swart sons of the Sahara, thou didst writhe slim, sinuous and swift,Warning me with a viper’s hiss -and was not death upon us then,No bastard of thy maiden kiss? God’s grace, the all-surpassing gift!El Arabi! El Arabi!Yea, death is man’s Elixir whenLife’s pale wine foams and splashes over his imagination’s rim!El Arabi!El Arabi! El Arabi! witch-amber and obsidianThine eyes are, to ensorcell me, and leonine thy male caress.Will not God grant us Paradise to end the music Earth began?We play with loaded dice! He cannot choose but raise right hand to bless.El Arabi! El Arabi!Great is the love of God and manWhile I am trembling in thine arms, wild wanderer of the wilderness!El Arabi! Aleister Crowley

At Bordj-an-Nus

El Arabi! El Arabi! Burn in thy brilliance, mine own!
O Beautiful! O Barbarous! Seductive as a serpent is
That poises head and hood, and makes his body tremble to the drone
Of tom-tom and of cymbal wooed by love’s assassin sorceries!
El Arabi! El Arabi!
The moon is down; we are alone;
May not our mouths meet, madden, mix, melt in the starlight of a kiss?
El Arabi!

There by the palms, the desert’s edge, I drew thee to my heart and held
Thy shy slim beauty for a splendid second; and fell moaning back,
Smitten by Love’s forked flashing rod -as if the uprooted mandrake yelled!
As if I had seen God, and died! I thirst! I writhe upon the rack!
El Arabi! El Arabi!
It is not love! I am compelled
By some fierce fate, a vulture poised, heaven’s single ominous speck of black.
El Arabi! 

There in the lonely bordj across the dreadful lines of sleeping men,
Swart sons of the Sahara, thou didst writhe slim, sinuous and swift,
Warning me with a viper’s hiss -and was not death upon us then,
No bastard of thy maiden kiss? God’s grace, the all-surpassing gift!
El Arabi! El Arabi!
Yea, death is man’s Elixir when
Life’s pale wine foams and splashes over his imagination’s rim!
El Arabi!

El Arabi! El Arabi! witch-amber and obsidian
Thine eyes are, to ensorcell me, and leonine thy male caress.
Will not God grant us Paradise to end the music Earth began?
We play with loaded dice! He cannot choose but raise right hand to bless.
El Arabi! El Arabi!
Great is the love of God and man
While I am trembling in thine arms, wild wanderer of the wilderness!
El Arabi! 

Aleister Crowley

Photo 2 Jul 20 notes IndependenceCome to my arms —- is it eve? is it morn? Is Apollo awake? Is Diana reborn? Are the streams in full song? Do the woods whisper hush Is it the nightingale? Is it the thrush? Is it the smile of the autumn, the blush Of the spring? Is the world full of peace or alarms? Come to my arms, Laylah, come to my arms! Come to my arms, though the hurricane blow. Thunder and summer, or winter and snow, It is one to us, one, while our spirits are curled In the crimson caress: we are fond, we are furled Like lilies away from the war of the world. Are there spells beyond ours? Are there alien charms? Come to my arms, Laylah, come to my arms! 
Come to my arms! is it life? is it death? Is not all immortality born of your breath? Are not heaven and hell but as handmaids of yours Who are all that enflames, who are all that allures, Who are all that destroys, who are all that endures? I am yours, do I care if it heals me or harms? Come to my arms, Laylah, come to my arms! Aleister Crowley

Independence

Come to my arms —- is it eve? is it morn? 
Is Apollo awake? Is Diana reborn? 
Are the streams in full song? Do the woods whisper hush 
Is it the nightingale? Is it the thrush? 
Is it the smile of the autumn, the blush 
Of the spring? Is the world full of peace or alarms? 
Come to my arms, Laylah, come to my arms! 

Come to my arms, though the hurricane blow. 
Thunder and summer, or winter and snow, 
It is one to us, one, while our spirits are curled 
In the crimson caress: we are fond, we are furled 
Like lilies away from the war of the world. 
Are there spells beyond ours? Are there alien charms? 
Come to my arms, Laylah, come to my arms! 

Come to my arms! is it life? is it death? 
Is not all immortality born of your breath? 
Are not heaven and hell but as handmaids of yours 
Who are all that enflames, who are all that allures, 
Who are all that destroys, who are all that endures? 
I am yours, do I care if it heals me or harms? 
Come to my arms, Laylah, come to my arms! 

Aleister Crowley

Photo 18 Jun 14 notes The Great Work is the uniting of opposites. It may mean the uniting of the soul with God, of the microcosm with the macrocosm, of the female with the male, of the ego with the non-ego—or what not.~Aleister Crowley~-Magick Without Tears, Letter C 
http://melissafindley.deviantart.com/

The Great Work is the uniting of opposites. It may mean the uniting of the soul with God, of the microcosm with the macrocosm, of the female with the male, of the ego with the non-ego—or what not.

~Aleister Crowley~
-Magick Without Tears, Letter C

http://melissafindley.deviantart.com/

Photo 31 May 24 notes Venus art thou, the love and light of earth,
The wealth of kisses, the delight of tearsThe barren pleasures never came to birth,
The endless infinite delight of years.Thou art the shrine at which my long desire
Devoured me with intolerable fire.Thou wert song, music, passion, death upon my lyre—
My lyre.
I am the Grail and I the glory now;
I am the flame and fuel of thy breastI am the star of God upon thy brow;I am the queen, enraptured and possessed,Hide thee sweet river, welcome to thee, sea
Ocean of love that shall encompass theeLife, death, love, hatred, light, darkness return to me—
To me!
(from Tannhauser by A. Crowley)
Art of Michael Newberry

Venus art thou, the love and light of earth,

The wealth of kisses, the delight of tears
The barren pleasures never came to birth,

The endless infinite delight of years.
Thou art the shrine at which my long desire

Devoured me with intolerable fire.
Thou wert song, music, passion, death upon my lyre—

My lyre.

I am the Grail and I the glory now;

I am the flame and fuel of thy breast
I am the star of God upon thy brow;
I am the queen, enraptured and possessed,
Hide thee sweet river, welcome to thee, sea

Ocean of love that shall encompass thee
Life, death, love, hatred, light, darkness return to me—

To me!

(from Tannhauser by A. Crowley)

Art of Michael Newberry


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