Obviously Aleister has a reputation, and it does seem like some of his books are a little dicey: I wouldn’t do hard drugs, irresponsible drugs, you know—or really anything that’s illegal, as people view illegal drug taking as being like Naziism squared and it’s so not worth it. But as far as de-stigmatizing things that are different from the whole gossip girl reputation that they have (God I love that show: but I digress), I want to give you a slightly edited passage—slightly simplified; it is what I call fancy occultism; it came from the generation of guys who were very labyrinthine in their writings, although there are reasons hidden down there somewhere—and you can decide for yourself if everything he wrote promotes cocaine (Coca-Cola, lol) and “devil worship” (non-Church of Dickens, lol), etc.

After all, the “proper” Crowley/Crawley in those days was Matthew, and you know—come on. Come on, right. Grow up, eek.

Ok:

“[triad #1]
[1] Nothing is
[2] Nothing Becomes
[3] Nothing is not
[triad #2]
[4] GOD the Father and Mother is concealed in Generation
[5] GOD is concealed in the whirling energy of Nature.
[6] GOD is manifest in gathering: harmony: consideration: the Mirror of the Sun and the Heart
[triad #3]
[7] Bearing: preparing
[8] Wavering: flowering: flashing
[9] Stability: begetting
THE TENTH EMANATION
[10] The world”

And if that’s not numerology for the Minor Arcana, I’m a writer for “Downton Abbey”, you know.

…. It’s notable how it’s a sort of non-stereotypical, non-Christ-o-form Buddhism…. “Lies” could be read to mean, “statements not to get attached to”, you know.

…. Of course, it’s not really about Tarot, exactly—Tarot is just one thing—but it’s just such nice philosophy, you know. Philosophy not made out of stone….

…. It’s a bit like Castaneda, but not really. Castaneda is like shamanic philosophy, the man from the beginning of time reasoning it out about life; Crowley is fancy occultism’s philosophy, the riddle-man telling you all about life…. If only you knew. 😉

…. He’s like a ‘bad’ Buddhist. Not totally unknown in the Mahayana countries, that sort of thing, if not exactly how Buddhism gets packaged to the skittish post-Christians and the bored-by-the-Hollywood-scene, shock-me-with-a-little-asceticism crowd, you know.

…. I guess Aleisty IS the ultimate shock to the system to the England normies, you know. (Don’t feel! Don’t think! Don’t embarrass yourself! Don’t embarrass US, dammit!) I can think; I can see beyond the veil of the apparent…. And I can feel; I can be courageous. And you don’t like it, but: were you under the impression that I cared? Would anybody ever REALLY, ~like~ that, really? And what would they be like, if they did?

I remember when I was small they had the village cops come to tell us about ‘drugs’—just say no; just be normal. But there are so many ‘drugs’, so many substances; many are legal, and more should be so, and this idiot perfectionism just sets people up for failure, you know. And there are so many bad-drugs, and instances of substances taken irresponsibly, you know: and there will be more of both, inevitably. And you need so much more to manage any incorrect desires in that situation than, ‘Your parents sent the village cops to teach you idiot perfectionism’, you know…. No one knows everything, or even all that much, really, and plenty of emotionally okay people might have to ask questions that seem a little basic to the cool kids and the specialists and the (god damn) journalists, you know…. But it’s hard to have an open heart, a healthy heart, with a closed mind, and that’s the traditional teaching of the Christian village, you know—huddled round the church.

…. “If I really knew what I wanted, I could give up Laylah, or give up everything for Laylah.”

But I don’t, so I’m normal, you know.

Apollo, that’s profound.

…. “Some men look into their minds and into their memories, and find naught but pain and shame.”

The Morrigan’s a rough girl, but then, I’ve been issued a red card in my day, too. Sometimes better to foul the fucker and make him go to the line and earn it again, (to change the metaphor), than just…. You know, Ah no! Another field goal! You guys are good! Way better than my team! ~you know

~ Although incidentally, things like soccer used to be illegal because theoretically everyone was either working (farming, mostly), “praying” (I just hope things will be alright! I hope Charlie has to get married raise some kids before they realize they’re a para-alcoholic!), doing military training (to protect us from our brother Christians, who are not to be trusted), or maybe yeah, raising about ten kids. But soccer? Whom does that help you control?

…. He really resists stereotypes, it’s great. Not to be a priest who kills poets, or a poet that lies and doesn’t work so that you have to work for him, right: but a priest-poet. Body and soul.

…. What is is part of what isn’t, and what isn’t, is; there’s no dividing them, separating them, or being ‘careful’—so long as you don’t lie to yourself.

I love this book. Meant to be taken in small doses, it's the best and worst of Uncle Al, with jokes, puns and outright snarkiness on so many levels. Many of it is inside jokes, so if you don't have a background in Western Hermetic Qabalah and/or general Crowley, it wont be as much fun. I'd always recommend his Autohagiography first ( )

Not giving this one a rating because I really don't know what to think. Some passages of real beauty intermingled with things I don't understand at all. Will have to reflect on this text and see if it offers up more meaning with time.

INTRO:

Fascinating, often humorous, and mostly perplexing. Crowley was a modern-day mystic/pagan/occultist/Freemason, but mostly he seems to have enjoyed crafting paradoxes for the credulous.

The book consists of 91 paradoxes or little sayings. The spirt (but not letter) of which is meant to be koan-like. Kind of. Each of the 91 paradoxes has a commentary written by Crowley (who also calls himself Frater Perdurabo, Latin for Father Endurance).

Here's an example that will suffice for all:

LIE #16: THE STAG-BEETLE

Death implies change and individuality; if thou be
THAT which hath no person, which is beyond the
changing, even beyond changelessness, what hast
thou to do with death?

The birth of individuality is ecstasy; so also is its death.

In love the individuality is slain; who loves not love?
Love death therefore, and long eagerly for it.
Die Daily.

16A: COMMENTARY BY CROWLEY

This seems a comment on the previous chapter [i.e., Lie #15, The Gun Barrel:]; the Stag-Beetle is a reference to Keph-ra, the Egyptian God of Midnight, who bears the Sun through the Underworld; but it is called the Stag-Beetle to emphasise [sic; British variant spelling:] his horns. Horns are the universal hieroglyph of energy, particularly of Phallic energy.

The 16th key of the Tarot is "The Blasted Tower". In this chapter death is regarded as a form of marriage. Modern Greek peasants, in many cases, cling to Pagan belief, and suppose that in death they are united to the Deity which they have cultivated during life. This is "a consummation devoutly to be wished" (Shakespeare).

In the last paragraph the Master urges his pupils to practise [again, sic:] Samadhi every day.

16B: MY COMMENTARY

Samadhi: In HINDUISM is: a state of deep concentration resulting in union with or absorption into ultimate reality. In BUDDHISM is: the meditative concentration that is the final step of the Eightfold Path. in JAINISM is: spiritual self-fulfillment. Enlightenment.

Ecstasy: This comes from the Greek word "ekstasis," which itself comes from "existanai," which refers to a coming out of (a) place or to come out of. In its most literal sense, then, ecstasy refers to a kind of joyous transcendence of self.

CONCLUSION:
Great fun and interesting if you're into this kind of thing. (Which I guess I obviously kind of am.) Also: learn a great new vocab word to describe the rumbling sound of gas in the intestinal tract: borborygmus. Say it to yourself a few times (or ten) and you'll understand where the word came from! ( )

Reading Crowley is a little like talking philosophy with a four-year-old: you feel simultaneously like you're wasting your time and you're out of your depth, and every once in a while he comes out with a perfect truth that just sings. (Funnily enough, it's a different bit that hits me that way every time I read it.) He's still an egomaniac, though, and hasn't bothered to escape the profound misogyny of his traditions.