---

So far we have been discussing the different manifestations of the O.T.O. from the Reuss/Kellner/Crowley period forward. I would like to assume the dog-godform of Mister Peabody now and turn the WABAC Machine back to the latter 1800s, and shed some light on perhaps the most important influence on the genesis of O.T.O. sexual magick as we know it. (Young Sherman really needs to hear this, he is such a gullible lad...)
Karl Kellner claimed to have received his initiation and instruction in sex magick from the usual "three mysterious Asian teachers" that were all the rage in those days. In his case they were "the Sufi Soliman ben Aifa and the Hindu tantrikas Bhima Sena Pratapa and Mahatma Agamya Paramahamsa." To the best of my knowledge there is no proof or documentation that these teachers even existed or transmitted any diksha... any chain of initiation... certainly no charters or documents. Yet this secret wisdom from hidden Oriental Masters is what the founders of the Ordo Templi Orientis used as justification for their reason to be, the reason they appeared so cool. They had the SECRET. The reason one would join up and pay the dues to trudge through the degrees for the Ultimate Payoff, after many years and ceremonial initiations and certificates and such.
"Sound good, Sherman?" Mister Peabody asks.
"Hell yeah, Mister Peabody! Where do I sign up? This fiver is burning a hole in my pocket!", Sherman responds.
"Down, boy" Peabody says. "The truth is a little less exotic, but is still interesting".
It is well documented now that the most likely origin of the sex magick teachings (the Secret) of the original O.T.O. were derived from The Brotherhood of Eulis, a Hermetic order founded by Paschal Beverly Randolph, a mixed race man born in New York City on October 8, 1825 and raised in poverty by his single black mother. Kellner is believed to have been the recipient of Randolph's sex magick teachings via the Hermetic Brotherhood of Luxor, which Randolph established in England, France and the United States around 1870.
Randolph's sexual magick teachings and methods seem to have been circulated as inner teachings by many of the esoteric orders of the late 1800s. Not only that, but the use of "flashing colors" in the meditational diagrams of the Golden Dawn, and the use of fluid condensors, magic mirrors for scrying, and the use of hashish to open to the doors of spirit vision all seem to derive from the work of this one man. For a trump card -- Randolph emphasized the establishment of psychic rapport with the "Inner Council", which we see mirrored in the "Secret Chiefs" of the Golden Dawn.
"Golly, Mister Peabody!" Sherman interjects, "Sounds like it is worth at least ten dollars to join up with the Official Templar Order!"
"Take a deep breath, Sherman", Peabody sighs. "You should hear the rest of this".
Earlier I referred to Karl Kellner's "Asian teachers", the names of which all sound like masculine names. That seems to be par for the course with these mysterious Eastern teachers who are alleged to have transmitted the secrets of sex magick to Western students. Randolph's account of his reception of the secret is a bit more juicy...
It was a sultry night near Jerusalem when he made love to: "...a dusky maiden of Arabic blood. I of her and that experience learned... the fundamental principal of the White Magic of Love..." This was followed by further teachings by dervishes and fakirs and "I became practically... a mystic and in time chief of the lofty brethren... discovering the ELIXIR OF LIFE, the Universal Solvent... and the philosopher's stone".
Randolph's approach to sexual magick, perhaps because of his initiation by a Priestess, really does seem to be notably different than the tradition embodied in the "official" O.T.O. lineage of today. This paragraph from Catherine Yronwode's bio of PBR from the Lucky Mojo site sums it up:
"The major difference between Randolph's sex magic on the one hand, and that of Reuss and Crowley on the other, is that the former was working from a standpoint of gender parity and the latter were male-centered exclusively. In practical terms, this means that Randolph sought to produce spiritual and magical effects through prayers or invocations agreed upon prior to the mutual orgasm of both partners ("the nuptive moment"), while Reuss and Crowley believed that women were little more than passive vehicles for male spiritual attainment and that male orgasm, followed by the male's ingestion of his own sperm (mingled with his partner's vaginal juices or feces) was the golden secret to (male) spiritual mastery. Further, Crowley often employed prostitutes as his magical sex-partners, while Randolph believed that this practice invariably prevented the possibility of completing a successful magical act."
Per Randolph, it was perfectly acceptable for a woman to be the initiator of the intent of a sex magick rite. It was not always the Priest determining the intention and merely using the Priestess as a "vessel" for his will. Randolph was a champion of women's rights during a time when it was hardly popular, and his writings are suffused with an appreciation for the magick of a woman's body and her true power -- including the magickal potential of menstrual blood.
Paschal Beverly Randolph's teachings on sexual magick were where it started in Western esoteric orders. And they really seem to be reflected most accurately in Kenneth Grant's oft-maligned writings. The "official", copyright-holding O.T.O. seems hell-bent on the spermo-gnostic orientation.
"So, Sherman," Mister Peabody asks, scratching at a flea bite behind his ear. "Do you still want to spend that money on a membership card"?
"Well, I guess no, Mister Peabody", Sherman says. "I'm gonna buy that red-haired girl Suzy some candy and see what she will teach me!"
"Good idea, boy", says Peabody. "If you have any money left over, I could sure use a triple mocha latte and a flea dip..."
(fade to black)

Whew! I'm back now but seem to have developed a mysterious itch behind my left ear...
Sources:
Magia Sexualis by Hugh Urban -- should be required reading for anyone interested in the development of sexual magick in the West. If you can't afford to buy it, run to your library and read it.
Sexual Magic by Paschal Beverly Randolph, translated from the French by Robert North
The Hermetic Brotherhood of Luxor by Godwin, Chanel and Deveney
PBR bio at http://www.luckymojo.com/tkpbrandolph.html
 

There is a thread running on a forum I'm a member of with the topic "Graduation in Thelema and other paths". There was a post a week ago today from another member that really kicked my ass, not because it was a thought new to me, but one I've wondered about for a few years now.

"I'd like to think 'graduation' is achieved the instant such things don't seem to mean anything anymore. But that would be too convenient. Perhaps once the line between 'my skin' and 'the stars' becomes so blurred the difference is eradicated, but some might say that's just alzheimers. Speaking of which, was always interested to hear of the total detonation in some cases of alzheimer's of spatial temporal reasoning which is purely neurologically speaking equivical to certain stages of successful meditation. Which surely makes some sufferers of alzheimers instant graduates in some mystical systems. Albeit it very undisciplined ones." 

My father was a victim of Alzheimer's. He went all the way with it -- to the point where his organs failed because his brain had lost the capacity to communicate with them and sustain any sort of balance or function. He could not eat or drink because he lost the ability to swallow, and he had signed a Living Will years before, so it was his will that if keeping him alive meant a feeding tube or other extreme measures, he just wanted to Go Away. Thankfully his last days were spent in hospice and his pain and confusion were, I hope, soothed by Mother Morphia. 

The whole story of these days and short weeks are just too painful and personal to write down in a public forum. They were intertwined with my mother (his 24/7/365 caregiver) going into surgery at the same time for removal of a breast cancer. She survived, and is still alive. 

So, was my father an Ipsissimus? Did he "graduate" from the human condition as a result of successful meditation? 

No. He was completely and utterly mad -- I saw this in his eyes when I arrived at my parents' house during the last days. He was totally "here" and "now", but not in a conscious sense. But, thankfully, he never became violent or mean at any time during his illness -- he was always the kind and gentle soul I knew from childhood. He was a very good father. We should all have one like him. 

In the Qabalistic model, when one crosses the Abyss between the human and divine, one becomes a Babe. If one manages to make that crossing and still be able to function in "the real world", he or she is one Lucky Baby, according to my personal mythos. Victims of organic disease, like Alzheimer's patients, might experience some of the same insights and revelations -- but not of their choosing. And there is nothing pleasant or liberating about it. It is a fucking horrorshow. They return to the baby-state, true, but somewhere in there is the awareness that... they aren't babies any more. It just isn't right. It's embarrassing to them, on some level, because they know that they are not infants, physically or metaphorically. They should know better, but can't do anything about it. They are helpless, but know they shouldn't be. 

Divine Madness is one thing. In the Qabalistic model, one might achieve this and still be able to function and even be a teacher. Having plaque accumulate in the brain until it chokes it into clay is quite another. 

nick the reflective

 I post fairly frequently to a small occult forum hosted by two British psychic investigators.  It's a very nice forum -- the topics are interesting, the people are intelligent and well-spoken, and the vitriol I've experienced on other sites is totally absent.  Most of the members are from the UK, it seems.

Birthdays are acknowledged when a member's comes up.  Last night I noticed one of the host's birthday had been announced, so, feeling in a jovial mood, I invited the group to join in a traditional American "birthday spanking" for him, offering to be the first in line to "whack his fanny".

The British members responded with, um, puzzlement and giggles.

Turns out, "fanny" means something quite different in British slang.  These definitions from the website "The American's Guide to Speaking British":

"Fanny - This is the word for a woman's front bits! One doesn't normally talk about anyone's fanny as it is a bit rude. You certainly don't have a fanny pack, or smack people on their fannys - you would get arrested for that! Careful use of this word in the UK is advised! "

At least I didn't say "excuse me" or "pardon me" when I acknowledged my gaff:

"Excuse me - This is a great one! It's what kids are taught to say when they belch in public. We are also taught to say "pardon me" if we fart out loud. Unfortunately in American "excuse me" means you are encroaching in someone's personal space and you say "pardon me" when you don't hear someone properly. Imagine our surprise when we discovered that actually Americans are not belching and farting all the time."

And I'll have to remember, if I'm ever in an English pub, to say "I would like a large order" or something rather than "make it a biggie".

"Biggie - This is unusual. A biggie is what a child calls his poo! Hence the reason Wendy's Hamburgers has never really taken off in England - who would buy "biggie fries"? Yuck - I'm sure you wouldn't buy poo fries! The other meaning of Biggie is erection. It just gets worse!"

And this would be an important one to remember for our cousins from across the pond when visiting the States:

"Blow me - When an English colleague of mine exclaimed "Blow Me" in front of a large American audience, he brought the house down. It is simply an exclamation of surprise, short for "Blow me down", meaning something like I am so surprised you could knock me over just by blowing. Similar to "Well knock me down with a feather". It is not a request for services to be performed."

Cultural misunderstandings start with the slang, and just get worse from there...

 

 Lassiter posted a link on his LJ to a blip.tv promo video for a new DVD, Ralph Nader and Patti Smith: Awake From Your Slumber.  Here is the link: http://blip.tv/file/667973/

One phrase that really hit home for me in the description was "the corporate takeover of our democracy".  This is certainly nothing new, it's been going on for decades, but has really become entrenched during the Dubbya Dynasty.

The DVD was produced by the Independent Media Center, "a global network of collectively run media outlets for the creation of radical, accurate, and passionate tellings of truth. We are motivated by a love and inspiration for people who work for a better world despite corporate media's distortions and unwillingness to cover efforts to develop an egalitarian and sustainable society. We address issues the mainstream media neglects and we do not conceal our politics behind false objectivity. We empower people to "become the media" by providing democratic access to available technologies and information.a global network of collectively run media outlets for the creation of radical, accurate, and passionate tellings of truth. We are motivated by a love and inspiration for people who work for a better world despite corporate media's distortions and unwillingness to cover efforts to develop an egalitarian and sustainable society. We address issues the mainstream media neglects and we do not conceal our politics behind false objectivity. We empower people to "become the media" by providing democratic access to available technologies and information."

I have a confession to make.  I am an enabler for the Evil Media, although I have not been part of the editorial process for some time.

My degrees from college are for Journalism and Religious Studies.  My true loves are magick, mysticism and religion, but I didn't see a way after graduation of making a living in religious studies, so opted for the easier route -- working for small newspapers as a reporter and editor.  It didn't take me long to see which side the bread was buttered on -- newspapers are a business, and it's all about the money, whether the owner is a corporation or family-run business.  

I entered the newspaper biz, fresh out of J-school, with a real feeling of optimism.  It was 1980, only 6 years after the investigative reporting of Woodward and Bernstein had resulted in the resignation of a President.  I really thought that newspapers were really for the people first, a check-and-balance in the democratic system, unsullied by politics and a counter to the status quo.  I found out, very quickly, that I was wrong.

As an editor I was expected to write editorials for the small-town newspaper.  In that capacity, I was expected to reflect the "community standards" where I lived -- and that community was basically blue-collar rednecks.  I could write a convincing conservative editorial, but it was like choosing a side in a debate you didn't personally believe in.  The people who cover the news and write the opinion pieces for establishment media might not even believe what they are writing, but they are expected to tow the line, or they are out of work.

After a few years of living this hypocrisy, it was too much to bear and I quit, and moved back to my hometown.  I vowed I would never work for a newspaper again.  But, after some time out of work, and then a year as a typesetter on the nightshift for an advertising agency, I applied for a production job at the local newspaper.  I've been there ever since, almost 18 years.  I'm not in the newsroom, so I have avoided being put in the position of saying things in print I do not believe, but still I suppose I am an enabler (but so is everyone who buys the product of mainstream media!)

My personal politics have always been radical.  In my teens I was a Yippie (remember them? -- Do It!, Revolution for the Hell of It, Steal This Book -- Abbie and Jerry?)  Radical politics went hand-in-hand with my spiritual transformation from Catholic Boy to Thelemite at age 12.  I was expelled from the public school system when I was 16 for a personal protest against the Vietnam War in my school.  So, the status quo is never where I have been coming from, although I have allowed myself to make a living off it for most of my life.

This is all coming to a head, way late, I guess, in my late-midlife-crisis.

Every day I see the human toll that GREED inflicts on good people.  I have become re-radicalized.  When I was a teenager, I thought "revolution for the hell of it" sounded like a good idea just because it was liberating.  Now I know that this is serious business.  I'm not talking about violence -- just taking back what is rightfully ours.  There are far more of US than there are of THEM.

2008 is going to be a year of change for me, whether I like it or not.  And, maybe, for the whole world.

We simply cannot allow the Evil to stand.  It is crushing all of us.

nick




 

 I've never really been a bird person.  My daemons and familiars have generally been in the cat family.  I remember my brother having a pet cockatiel years ago that he just loved, but I didn't understand the attraction.  I've only recently begun to appreciate just how cool and wise birds can be, in part thanks to an experience I had in Florida last week during vacation.

There's this snow-white egret that has made an appearance, several times in a week, on the canal by my mother's house in Florida.  I'll call her "she", because she's just too pretty and elegant to be a male.  Very slinky and poised, and moves with grace, slowly.  About three feet tall, all white but with yellow eyes and beak.  She is vain, and pretty fearless -- she has been known to knock on the door demanding her tribute -- white bread will do.

I've been collecting feathers since rededicating myself to HML ritual this year.  I'd been looking for a pure white feather, but hadn't found one yet.  Vain Egret landed on the dock one morning, and I asked her nicely out loud if she would give me one of her feathers.  She looked at me contemptuously with that yellow eye as if to say "No, you may not have part of my lovely wardrobe.  Go get me some bread, vassal".  And then she flew off.

Later that day I went out to the dock and she was back, in the neighbor's yard with two friends.  They were both tall waterfowl like her, neither one an egret, but both of them mostly white.  Vain Egret stayed well back, but all three started to walk toward me.  The one closest to me came very close -- his body was mostly white but his head was featherless and dark and gnarled like a turkey's head.  I discovered later that this was a Wood Stork, an endangered species.  I noticed right away that he had a dislodged feather on his back, sticking out at a 45-degree angle, obviously ready to fall at any time.  I asked him politely if he would give me the feather, and he gave me the usual "bird look", but then turned around and ran back into the neighbor's yard, dislodging the feather, which fell to the ground, and I snatched it up.

I don't consider myself a superstitious person, but I recognize the give-and-take of the Universe when it happens.  I wanted a white feather, Vain Egret didn't want to give hers up, but she brought to me a buddy bird who gave me one of his.  I now have the feather back home to use in the HML work.  So, it's all good, baby.

I didn't make the connection myself, but one of the wisest fellow-travellers I know pointed out that the donor bird was a STORK, and we all know that they deliver Babies -- Lucky ones at that!

Another perfect backyard synchro on the trip -- I was planning a visit to the ocean for a ceremony to Yemaya.  I knew that in Brazil, the practice is to place her offerings in a little boat and launch them into the sea.  If Yemaya accepted the offering, the contents of the boat would be swallowed up by the ocean and not spit back out onto the shore.  I didn't really have a boat for that.  But I walked out back a day before my beach excursion to find that a large banana flower petal had fallen from a neighbor's yard into my mother's yard -- a perfect and organic little ship for my offerings.  I used it, and it was accepted.

So, things are good for me at the moment.  Despite the many troubles, I talk to the Universe, and she talks back, and every day is another step forward on the Path.

Namaste.

nick