John St. John

Now the day being gloriously broken, I awoke with some weariness, not feeling clean and happy, not burning with love unto my Lord Adonai, though ashamed indeed for that thrice of four times in the night I had been awakened by this loyal body, urging me to rise and meditate — and my weak will bade it be at ease and take its rest — oh, wretched man! slave of the hour and of the worm!

Fifteen cycles of Prana Yama put me right mentally and physically: otherwise they had little apparent success.

Have breakfasted — a pear and two Garibaldis. (These by the way are the small size, half the big squares.)

Have smoked a pipe to show that I'm not in a hurry.

Hanged Man with mantra in Visuddhi. Thought I had been much longer. At one point the Spirit began to move — how the devil else can I express it? The consciousness seemed to flow, instead of pattering. Is that clear?

One should here note that there may perhaps be some essential difference in the operation of the Moslem and Hindu mantrams. The latter boom; the former ripple. I have never tried the former at all seriously until now.

Même jeu[1] — no good at all. Think I'll get up and have a Turker.

Am up, having read my letters. Continuing mantra all the time in a more or less conscious way.

Wrote my letters and started out.

Have reached the Cafe de la Paix, walking slowly with my mantra. I am beginning to forget it occasionally, mispronouncing some of the words. A good sign! Now and then I tried sending it up and down my spine, with good effect.

I will drink a cup of coffee and then proceed to the Hammam. This may ease my limbs, and afford an opportunity for a real go-for-the-gloves effort to concentrate.

It cannot be too clearly understood that nearly all the work hitherto has been preliminary; the intention is to get the Chittam (thought-stuff) flowing evenly in one direction. Also one practises detaching it from the Virttis (impressions). One looks at everything without seeing it.

O coffee! By the mighty Name of Power do I invoke thee, consecrating thee to the Service of the Magic of Light. Let the pulsations of my heart be strong and regular and slow! Let my brain be wakeful and active in its supreme task of self-control! That my desired end may be effected through Thy strength, Adonai, unto Whom be the Glory for ever! Amen without lie, and Amen, and Amen of Amen.

I now proceed to the Hammam.

The Bath is over. I continued the mantra throughout, which much alleviated the torture of massage. But I could not get steady and easy in my Asana or even in the Hanged Man or Shavasana, the "corpse-position." I think the heat is exciting, and makes me restless. I continue in the cooling-room lying down.

I have ordered 12 oysters and coffee and bread and butter.

O oysters! be ye unto me strength that I formulate the 12 rays of the Crown of Hva! I conjure ye, and very potently command.

Even by Him who ruleth Life from the Throne of Tahuti unto the Abyss of Amennti, even by Ptah the swathed one, that unwrappeth the mortal from the immortal, even by Amoun the giver of Life, and by Khem the mighty, whose Phallus is like the Pillar in Karnak! Even by myself and my male power do I conjure ye. Amen.

I was getting sleepy when the oysters came. I now eat them in a Yogin and ceremonial manner.

I have eaten my oysters, chewing them every one; also some bread and butter in the same manner, giving praise to Priapus the Lord of the oyster, to Demeter the Lady of corn, and to Isis the Queen of the Cow. Further, I pray symbolically in this meal for Virtue, and Strength, and Gladness; as is appropriate to these symbols. But I find it very difficult to keep the mantra going, even in tune with the jaws; perhaps it is that this peculiar method of eating (25 minutes for what could be done normally in 3) demands the whole attention.

Drifted into a nap. Well! we shall try what Brother Body really wants.

My attempt to go to sleep has made me supernaturally wakeful.

I am — as often before — in the state described by Paul (not my masseur; the other Paul!) in his Epistle to the Romans, cap. vii. v. 19.[2]

I shall rise and go forth.

I have a good mind to try violent excitement of the Muladhara Cakkrâm; for the whole Sushumna seems dead. This at the risk of being labelled a Black Magician — by clergymen, Christian Scientists, and the "self-reliant" classes in general.

Arrived (partly by cab) at the Place. Certain curious phenomena which I have noticed at odd times — e.g., on Thursday night — but did not think proper to record must be investigated. It seems quite certain that meditation-practices profoundly affect the sexual process: how and why I do not yet certainly know.

Rubbish! everything perfectly normal.

Difficult, though, to keep mantram going.

Am sitting on the brink of the big fountain in the Luxembourg. This deadness of the whole system continues.

To explain. Normally, if the thought be energetically directed to almost any point in the body, that point is felt to pulse and even to ache. Especially this is the case if one vibrates a mantra or Magical name in a nerve-centre. At present I cannot do this at all. The Prana seems equilibrated in the whole organism: I am very peaceful — just as a corpse is.

It is terribly annoying, in a sense, because this condition is just the opposite of Dharana; yet one knows that it is a stage on the way to Samadhi.

So I rise and give confidently the Sign of Apophis and Typhon, and will then regard the reflection of the sweet October Sun in the kissing waters of the fountain. (P.S. — I now remember that I forgot to rise and give the Sign.)

In vain do I regard the Sun, broken up by the lips of the water into countless glittering stars — abounding, revolving, whirling forth, crying aloud — for He whom my soul seeketh is not in these. Nor is He in the fountain, eternally as it jets and falls in brilliance of dew; for I desire the Dew Supernal. Nor is He in the still depths of the water; their lips do not meet His. Nor — O my soul! — is He anywhere to be found in thy secret caverns, unluminous, formless, and void, where I wander seeking Him — or seeking rest from that Search! O my soul! — lift thyself up; play the man, be strong; harden thyself against thy bitter Fate; for at the End thou shalt find Him; and ye shall enter in together into the Secret Palace of the King; even unto the Garden of Lilies; and ye shall be One for evermore. So mote it be!

Yet now — ah now! — I am but a dead man. Within me and without still stirs that life of sense that is not life, but is as the worms that feast upon my corpse…. Adonai! Adonai! my Lord Adonai! indeed, Thou hast forsaken me. Nay! thou liest, O weak soul! Abide in the meditation; unite all thy symbols into the form of a Lion, and be lord of thy jungle, travelling through the servile Universe even as Mau the Lion very lordly, the Sun in His strength that travelleth over the heaven of Nu in His bark in the mid-career of Day.

For all these thoughts are vain; there is but One thought, though that thought be not yet born — He only is God, and there is none other God than He!

Walking home with mantra; suddenly a spasm of weeping took me as I cried through the mantra — "My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?" — and I have to stop and put it down!

A good thing; for it calms me.

At the Dôme, master of myself. The Mantra goes just 30 times a minute, 1800 times an hour, 43,200 times a day. To say it a million times would take longer than Mrs. Glyn's heroine did to conceive. Yet I will get the result if I have to say it a hundred and eleven million times. But oh! fertilise my Akasic egg today!

This remark, one should notice, is truly characteristic of the man John St. John. I see how funny it is; but I'm quite serious withal. Ye dull dogs![3]

N.B. — Mantras might with advantage be palindromes.

I try to construct a magic square from the mantra. No good. But the mantra is going much better, quite mechanically and "without attachment" (i.e., without conscious ulterior design. "Art for Art's sake" as it were).

I drink a "citron pressé."

Alas! here comes Maryt (with a sad tale of X. It appears that she fainted and spent some hours at the hospital. I should have insisted on her st ying with me; the symptoms began immediately on her drinking some coffee. I have noticed with myself, that eating has started the action).

An hour of mingled nap and mantra.

I now feel alive again. It was very strange how calm and balanced I was: yet now I am again energised; may it be to the point of Enthusiasm!

People will most assuredly smile at this exalted mystic; his life seems made up of sleep and love-making. Indeed, to-day I have been shockingly under the power of Tamas, the dark sphere. But that is clearly a fatigue-effect from having worked so hard.

Oh Lord, how long?

The Mantra still ripples on. I am so far from the Path that I have a real good mind to get Maryt to let me perform the Black Mass on her at midnight. I would just love to bring up Typhon, and curse Osiris and burn his bones and his blood!

At least, I now solemnly express a pious wish that the Crocodile of the West may eat up the Sun once and for all, that Set may defile the Holy Place, that the supreme Blasphemy may be spoken by Python in the ears of Isis.

I want trouble. I want to say Indra's mantram till his throne gets red-hot and burns his lotus-buttocks; I want to pinch little Harpocrates till he fairly yells … and I will too! Somehow!

I have now got into a sort of smug content, grinning all over like some sleepy Chinese god. No reason for it, Lord knows!

I can't make up my mind whether to starve or sandwich or gorge the beast St. John. He's not the least bit hungry, though he's had nothing to call a Meal since Thursday lunch. The Hatha-Yoga feeding game is certainly marvellous.

I should like to work marching and breathing with this mantra as I did of old with Aum Tat Sat Aum. Perhaps two steps to a mantra, and 4-8-16 steps to a breath-cycle? This would mean 28 seconds for a breath-cycle; quite enough for a marching man. We might try 4-8-8 to start; or even 8-8-8 (for the Chariot, wherein the Geburah of me rises to Binah — Strength winning the Wings of Understanding).[4]

I shall now ceremonially defile the Beyt Allah with Pig, to express in some small measure my utter disgust and indignation with Allah for not doing His job properly. I say in vain "Labbaik!" [I am here. — Ed.] He answers, "But I'm not here, old boy — another leg-pull!" He little knows His man, though, if He thinks He can insult me with impunity. Andre, un sandwich![5]

I shall stop mantra while I eat, so as to concentrate (a) on the chewing, (b) on defiling the House of God. Not so easy! the damned thing runs on like a prairie fire. Important then to stop it absolutely at will: even the Work itself may become an obsession.

11 hours with no real break — not bad.

The bad part of to-day seems the Asana, and the deadness. Or, perhaps worse, I fail to apprehend the true magical purport of my work: hence all sort of aimless formulae, leading — naturally enough — to no result.

It just strikes me — it may be this Isis Apophis Osiris IAO formula that I have preached so often. Certainly the first two days were Isis — natural, pleasant, easy events. Most certainly too to-day has been Apophis! Think of the wild cursing and black magic, etc. … we must hope for the Osiris section to-morrow or next day. Birth, death, resurrection! IAO!

The Sandwich duly chewed, and two Coffees drunk, I resume the mystic Mantra. Why? Because I dam well choose to.

'Tis a rash thing to say, and I burn incense to the Infernal Gods that the Omen may be averted; but I seem to have conquered the real Dweller of the Threshold once and for all. For nowadays my blackest despair is tempered by the certainty of coming through it sooner or later, and that with flying colours.

The last ¾-hour I wasted talking to Dr. R—, that most interesting man. I don't mean talking; I mean listening. You are a bad, idle good-for-nothing fellow, O.M.! Why not stick to that mantra?

Have drunk two citrons pressés and gone to my room to work a mighty spell of magick Art.

Having got rid of Maryt (who, by the way, is Quite mad), and thereby (one might hope) of Apophis and Typhon, I perform the Great Ritual DCLXXI with good results magically; i.e., I formulated things very easily and forcibly; even at one time I got a hint of the Glory of Adonai. But I made the absurd mistake of going through the Ritual as if I was rehearsing it, instead of staying at the Reception of the Candidate and insisting upon being really received.

I will therefore now (11.50) sit down again and invoke really hard on these same lines, while the Perfume and the Vision are yet formulated, though insensibly, about me. And thus shall end the Third day of my retirement.