Sex Is The Sacred Song Of The

If You Examine The Highest Poetry In The Light Of Common Sense, You Can Only Say That It Is Rubbish; And In Actual Fact You Cannot So Examine It At All, Because There Is Something In Poetry Which Is Not In The Words Themselves, Which Is Not In The Images Suggested By The Words 'o Windy Star Blown Sideways Up The Sky!' True Poetry Is Itself A Magic Spell Which Is A Key To The Ineffable.

The Affiliation Clause In Our Constitution Is A Privilege: A Courtesy To A Sympathetic Body. Were You Not A Mason, Or Co-mason, You Would Have To Be Proposed And Seconded, And Then Examined By Savage Inquisitors, And Then-probably-thrown Out On The Garbage Heap. Well, No, It's Not As Bad As That; But We Certainly Don't Want Anybody Who Chooses To Apply. Would You Do It Yourself, If You Were On The Committee Of A Club? The O.t.o. Is A Serious Body, Engaged On A Work Of Cosmic Scope. You Should Question Yourself: What Can I Contribute?

This Complaining Rambling Rubbish Is The Substitute Which Has Taken The Place Of Love.

It Is A Terrible Error To Let Any Natural Impulse, Physical Or Mental, Stagnate. Crush It Out, If You Will, And Be Done With It; Or Fulfil It, And Get It Out Of The System; But Do Not Allow It To Remain There And Putrefy. The Suppression Of The Normal Sex Instinct, For Example, Is Responsible For A Thousand Ills. In Puritan Countries One Inevitably Finds A Morbid Preoccupation With Sex Coupled With Every Form Of Perversion And Degeneracy.

Magick Is The Art Of Life Itself.