Summer and still

What shall I say about today? It is another beautiful late Summer day, warm enough to have the fan on, pulling up the dead lavender to make room for the good, repotting the rosemary. I never quite get how people can’t see late Summer as Summer rather than Autumn/Fall, it goes on in that perpetual present moment that is the essence of Summer for me – but different strokes for different folks.

I have started making notes on the second half of The Satanic Bible, the parts dealing with magic and invocation, as I want to finish that little project, but my heart is actually far more with looking further into “demonolatry”, and realizing that gives me a deeper sense of life and freedom, though I am aware of how important LaVey’s work has been for modern Satanism as a whole. I still in fact consider Crowley and Thelema to be the immediate antecedents to modern Satanism, though I am unsure how much is a matter of common influences for both, and how much is direct Thelemic influence, but it would be simpler and thus more persuasive (in some ways) if the concentrated and available work of Crowley had a direct influence, being more contemporary, and already flagged up by his infamy.

I’m rather pleased that Jupiter and the Sun moved into Virgo together, as it has a nice feel to it. There’s minor health maintenance work to be done, but that is good, you have to do these things, and earth to order to repot the eucalyptus. I also today read an interesting article about the influence of a volcanic eruption in 1815. The resultant high atmospheric dust led to a global cool down in 1816, icy conditions, gloomy weather, crop failure, famine and disease and bloody sunsets. It can be seen in the work of Constable and Turner, and come June in Switzerland, led to a literary group including Mary and Percy Shelley, Lord Byron and John Polidori being holed up together, telling ghost stories in the gloom around a fire. In this atmosphere Mary Shelley is meant to have formulated her story of Dr Frankenstein and his monster, and Polidori (not Byron) formulated the first modern vampire story. Maybe there is something there about the quality of “gothic” art (I’d never thought of Turner that way, but he does kinda fit). Beauty, horror and wonder are the real signatures of “Nature”, disease and suffering a good many of the notes on its squeeze box, and nothing is diminished by the juxtaposition. Imagination and desire a perennial, fantastic fortress against both reality, and the counterfeits sold by religion, politics, society, so-called necessity. If anyone really thought that Nature was a benign, God-given picnic presided over by a fairy godmother, it would not take the sound of duelling banjos to disabuse them of the notion. Just a few parasites, a plague, a volcano. The real Nature lover would have to love monsters, and self esteem has never actually been pretty.

For real life you have not so much to be good (though in real terms you ultimately are, as much as anything else is), as just good at it.

First you look in the mirror and you see a human being. Then you look in the mirror and you see a monster. Then you look in the mirror and you see a human being again.

Nature is the parent of aberration and beauty.

Petworth Park by J. M. W. Turner [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

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