It is not given to flesh and blood, till they be seven times purged, purged through and through, to dwell in the sanctuary of the Heart of the Master. My fervour is exhausted; my faith fails; I fall from the rapture of passion that pours through the abyss of space. All things feel It; all things live by It; yet nothing that knows itself knows It as It is.
Triumph, Templars, that are sworn To that vengeance sinister, Vigilant from murk to morn By our rifled sepulchre. Death to superstition, swear! Death to tyranny, respond! By the martyred Master, dare Death, and what may lie beyond!
When this supreme love once comes into the heart of man, his mind will continuously think of God and remember nothing else. He will give no room in himself to thoughts other than those of God, and his soul will be unconquerably pure and will alone break all the bonds of mind and matter and become serenely free....
„By the midnight of madness: -
The lone-lying sea,
The swoon of the moon,
Your swoon into me,
The sentinel sadness
Of cliff-clinging pine,
That night of delight
You were mine, you were mine!“
― Pan To Artemis, Aleister Crowley
It is the level-headed man, the calm man, of good judgment and cool nerves, of great sympathy and love, who does good work and so does good to himself.
This subtle fire, this secret flame,
Flashes between us as she goes
Beyond the night, beyond the Name,
Back to her unsubstantial snows;
Cold, glittering, intense, the same
Now, yesterday, for aye! she glows
No woman of my mystic bed;
A star, far off, forgotten, dead.
Абраксас се појавува како суштество со човечко тело, глава на петел, во едната рака држејќи меч, а во другата штит. Место нозе тој стои на две змии...
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