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 “Such little fruit, then, as I may have culled from her autumnal breast (mere unripe berries, I confess!) I hasten to offer to my friends.”
“And lest the austerity of such a goddess be profaned by the least vestige of adornment I make haste to divest myself of whatever gold or jewellery of speech I may possess, to advance, my left breast bare, without timidity or rashness, into her temple, my hoped reward the lamb's skin of a clean heart, the badge of simple truthfulness and the apron of Innocence.”
       ALEISTER CROWLEY
 

It occured to me once, that music had something weird going on. It impressed me they way it possessed people. Then came a big serpent, shoke me down, ate every litle piece of me and made me up somewere else. Now here i am, having this strange thought again... awkward...
 Well, i now know some things, and i might have something to say. For long have i tried to aquire mistical progression by stilling my mind, but, for much pain that i have endured, all my attainments have been achieved in burning ecstasy at the empty stimulus of sound. Not that i had fallen in the dry desert of meditation, i just noticed i had left to my adventure without that bottle of Isis. At some misty point, my question turned its face to my secret guide: is the tiphereth man Father of the Rushing Serpent?
 The answer is so obvious, it doesn’t  deserve further remarks.
 I might have work ahead, for now, i will advance some bright ideas: those of the litle seed in the winters ice.

 My study of Crowleys ideas about Yoga and meditation gave me great advance though. I am fully convinced his work is perfectly adaptable for the correct progression in this mirror like way. Some of you may be thinking i am speacking with the wonder of a child of a subject as old and known as the Sun... it is true.
 Still, for the ones following my flute, there is a whole universe unbraved before us, and let me present a first riddle. We search for an inner musicality, our inner harmony and spiritual trance, but at least to a great extent of our tread, we will be provided with outter sources of harmony. This fact opens to a thousand anwers, i mean, questions.
 For those who can ear music in nature and in the city, i will not speack for lack of knowledge. I will solely speack of those relying on artists, and for this short article, point out some axiomatic borders for the work of the true adept.
This outter source will have, in a concrete sense, other men behind. First. The practise itself stimulates our Vedana* beeing, so that we might easily be dragged to emotional dimensions, not at all favorable to our goal (Sammadhi**). Second. It might hold karmic influence on us. Third.

As to the first, i will begin by stating that it does not represent a problem in itself, only if the strict restrainment in the following two points has not been the main concern in our windy minds. The more power the music charges us the better, and to the matter this will be enought. I must warn you though, of perilous luring tempters, they hide everiwere there is a voice. Apophis dressed in gold.

There is a single thought in the trance, and a single act. Our matter is not Silence, but Joy. Distilled Joy, with no slight impression tainting its brilliant Fire. We ear not a particular music, but a flow of energy in the everlasting silence of Nut, the voice of Dionisos pulsing, breacking space and time altoghether like a Whirlwind Divine.
Any litle tone in this white vibration is enought to be led astray in the long run.

Third, be aware. No more will be needed to add for the regular thelemite; for the lasy ones like myself, it is usefull to remind here of the banishing rituals, if you chose the fast way, you better fasten your sitbelt.
Please, do not mistake fast for short.

The debate continues: Cerimonial Magic and Trance. Here there are to many rays for a clear insight. As usual, peculiar powers and clarvoyance are raining along golden paths, keep hold on your greedy hand.
I hope to develop this subject in further releases of this project.

“with my feet upon the ground i lose myself
beteen the sounds and open wide to suck it in,
i feel it move across my skin.
I’m reaching up and reaching out,
I’m reaching for the random or whatever will bewilder me.
And following our will and wind we may just go where no one’s been
We’ll ride the spiral to the end and may just go where no one’s been”

“spiral out. Keep going, going...”

     -MAYNARD JAMES KEENAN