chapter 23 Mr. Crowley’s Honeymoon #2
Keeping the wand erect, the he touches his right shoulder. The light follows as before.
“and Power . . .”
He touches his left shoulder. The light follows across his body.
“and Mercy . . .”
He interlaces the fingers of both hands around the wand and presses it firmly against his breast. The light concentrates there, grows bright for a moment, then slowly fades.
The light does not go out completely but turns blood red and begins to undulate like a beating heart.
For a moment all is silent. Crowley draws his breath in with a huge inhalation.
Then he begins to speak, slowly at first, in a reverent whisper whose echoes sound as if they come from another dimension.
He closes his eyes as if in prayer. As he proceeds, his words become louder and his delivery faster and more intense.
“Spirit of life before whom the life of all beings is but a vapor which passes away . . .”
He takes in another deep breath.
“Thou who mounts upon the clouds and who walks upon the wings of the wind; thou who breathes forth, and endless space is peopled. Thou who draws in thy breath, and all that comes from thee returns unto thee . . . be thou . . . eternally . . . blessed!”
After a moment of complete silence. He thrusts the wand forward and aims it above and to the side of Rose’s left shoulder.
He then sweeps it violently to his right until the point of the wand is aimed just over her right shoulder.
As he does so, he creates a brilliant line of blue light that flames in the space between him and Rose.
He then continues moving the wand until he has created a huge pentagram star that flames suspended between them. She is stunned speechless.
He draws both hands to the side of his head, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath, then thrusts his upper body (hands, arms, and wand) in the Sign of the Enterer and violently pushes the blazing star away. As he does so, he bellows the word . . . “Exarp!”
The star blasts violently through Rose like a mighty wind. She is knocked down on her behind and blown back several feet. She remains seated.
The star now blazes in place upon the eastern wall of the chamber.
Without lowering the wand, Crowley quickly turns to his right and repeats the procedure to create another star in on the south wall; then on the west wall; and finally the north wall of the chamber.
Only when he has returned the tip of the wand to the east to close the circle where he started does he lower his arm.
The King’s Chamber is now filled with flaming blue light from the four pentagrams on the walls. Crowley stands in the center of the room. Rose is still stunned and seated on the floor in front of him. He raises both arms to make the sign of the Egyptian god, Shu . . . the god of the air.
“O Shaddai El Chai! I praise thee, and I bless thee in the changing empire of light, reflections, and images.”
As he speaks, the walls of the chamber become completely obscured by the flaming stars. Crowley and Rose seem to be the infinite center of a brilliant sunlit sky.
“Raphael! Let the ray of thine intelligence and love penetrate me; then the shadow shall be a body, the spirit of air shall be a soul . . . and dream shall be a thought!”
The flaming stars now begin to generate white wisps of tiny comma-shaped clouds composed of the same white liquid light. The tiny clouds spin rapidly, their tails elongating and thrown out like gossamer hair into all directions. Crowley is now shouting.
“Ariel! By the rushing power of Chassan! I hold the bridles of the winged steeds of dawn; I direct the course of the evening breeze. Paralda! Paralda! Paralda!”
As he repeats the word “Paralda,” the air fills with what at first appear to be swirling snowflakes formed from the wisps of comma-shaped clouds, but as he reaches the climax of the conjuration, they become thousands of winged sylphs darting to and fro at incredible speed.
Several of them hover like humming birds directly in front of Rose’s nose, and she gets a good look at one.
It is an androgynous humanlike creature of ethereal beauty.
It is entirely transparent, but every feature of its body and diaphanous gown is outlined in brilliant white-blue lines that themselves emanate wisps of fine waving hair clouds.
Everything about the tiny creature is in motion.
Its wings beat so fast that they are nearly invisible—its long hair flows wildly in streams of liquid air.
Rose opens her mouth and gasps in stunned wonder.
As she does, she actually inhales one of the sylphs into her own mouth and lungs.
She immediately lets out a pinched squeak of panic.
The squeak expels the creature, who tumbles from her mouth in a swirling pinwheel of luminous air.
It hovers for instant before darting away. Rose faints.
The room is a riot of sylphs, who crowd every inch of space in the King’s Chamber. Behind and above Crowley, the form of his own Holy Guardian Angel manifests and spreads its sylphlike wings protectively over Crowley’s body, before merging completely with him.
Crowley is oblivious to the fact that Rose is unconscious. He now screams the conjuration ecstatically at the top of his lungs.
“Paralda! Paralda! O spirit of spirits, O eternal soul of souls, O breath of life, O mouth which breathes forth and withdraws the life of all beings!”
Like millions of tiny fluttering bats of light, sylphs start to escape through the main entrance of the chamber. Others crowd toward the two small air shafts.
Outside, the Arab guides are awakened by their camels, who have risen in panic at the sight of the intense beams of light created by millions of escaping sylphs radiating into the predawn sky. The light rays generate gusts of wind. The guides try to calm the camels as they, too, stare in awe.
Directly behind the Arabs, standing unseen high at the crest of a sand dune, Mr. Redway views the spectacle with all three of his eyes. He speaks over his shoulder to a companion. “Yes, he is a bit of a loose cannon. But I think he’ll do fine. What do you think, Babar?”
Babar chuckles most Frenchly. “Ah, oui. The world is probably not ready for him. Perhaps that makes him perfect. What say you, Monsieur Dinky?”
Dinky flashes a toothy smile and winks his third eye. “Oh, indeed, yes. I’ve urged him up for years. If anyone can shake up the cosmos, it is my Alice. And what do you think, my dear?”
Mrs. Horatio laughs as she secures a huge hat to her head and lifts it slightly in front to reveal her very lovely third eye. “Oh, yes. I think the twentieth century is in for quite a ride.”
The four stand quietly together and enjoy the predawn view of the Giza Complex. As two diagonal rays of glowing sylph-light beam into the sky from the north and south sides of the Great Pyramid, a shooting star blazes across the sky.
Mr. Redway turns to his companions. “Come along. I think a toast is in order.”
They turn and together make their way down the other side of the dune. The scene before them is an oasis paradise; ancient towering date palms ring a large, irregularly shaped pool of rippling water. It reflects twinkling stars and the bright band of the Milky Way.
To the right of the pool, sheltered by palm and rose trees, stands a large, richly appointed tent, illuminated from within.
An old man stands at the door of the tent.
He is rather short. His long grey beard is immaculately braided in seven braids.
His robe is wondrously belted with a bright-green living serpent.
“Welcome, my friends. Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.”
They answer in unison. “Love is the law, love under will.”
The End
“There you have it, Brother Harland. I won’t ask what you think of it because I already know. You hate it, and you think I’m a doddering old fool.”
“Not at all, Sir Francis. I absolutely love it. But, honestly, it was nothing like I expected or, indeed, what I would have come up with myself. Frankly, it doesn’t begin to tell Crowley’s story.”
“Scholarly documentaries must come later, Milo. This work must first crack open the door. That’s all either of us are required to do at this point—crack open the door to the creative imagination of the public.
Crowley told me so, and I agree. I’ll join you later, and we’ll pick up the project at a later date and see it through. ”
“Then you aren’t planning on dying this Friday.”
“I most certainly am! Sir Francis Bendick will be dead as a doornail by this time Friday. And I was in deadly earnest when I told you that Milo Harland will not live long enough to see this film made.”
“I don’t understand, Sir Francis. You’re being as inscrutable as one of the Secret Masters in your fairy tale.”
The old man smiled with particular delight at my words. “Thank you for your work dear boy—and for your friendship. I think I need to lie down now. I’ll see you and your good wife in July. Do try to be good parents, won’t you? I’ll be counting on you.”