Low Magick by Lon DuQuette (little red riding hood read aloud TXT) 📗

I told a few of the cast members how hot they looked in their Egyptian wigs and costumes, but I didn’t get a chance to tell many more lies before the ceremony started. At the party that followed, however, I again became fully possessed by my lord Mercury. The lies dripped like quicksilver from my lips.

I started by announcing that our landlord had discovered that our house was contaminated with radon and that we had been forced to move to Garden Grove, where we now rented a large house owned by General Ky, the former prime minister of South Vietnam. I said it had a big backyard where we would be able to do initiations and produce the Rites of Eleusis—and that there was a rifle range in the basement. Everyone believed me!

You know, it’s hard to keep up a constant stream of lies, even for me. In fact, I was starting to realize that it’s impossible not to drag some element of truth into a lie. Actually I was starting to realize the inconstant and relative nature of reality itself—how there is no absolute truth, no absolute lies.

Was this the Mercurial revelation—the Mercurial trance of sorrow?

Try as I might to remain in character, the strain of all the lies eventually began to show. As the evening wore on (and it couldn’t end fast enough for Constance) people began to suspect something was wrong with Lon’s behavior. Our closest circle of friends became genuinely concerned. They cornered me in the kitchen just as I was reaching into the freezer for the bottle of gin.

“Lon, is there anything wrong? You’re acting sort of strange tonight.”

I looked at each of their sweet faces and it suddenly seemed the burden of the universe was about to be lifted from my shoulders. Every cheap movie confession cliché echoed now in my brain with Shakespearian gravitas … “I can’t go on living a lie!”

This was a surprise payoff—a moment of unexpected spiritual bliss; a breathless moment when the feather of Maat quivers on tiptoe upon the scale-pan of judgment; the moment my answer would free me from the Mercurial hell that Constance knew I would create for myself with this stupid, harebrained idea. These people loved me. These people cared. I had toyed shamelessly with their feelings. I was ashamed, and so overwhelmed that I didn’t know whether I’d be able to answer without choking up. I put down the bottle of gin, and looked each of them in the eye and confessed …

“My doctor told me I have a brain tumor.”

Everyone gawked at me in stunned silence. People near the kitchen overheard and soon everyone at the party “knew” why I had been saying such outrageous things all night.

When Constance heard this last whopper, she could stay silent no longer. “He does NOT have a brain tumor! He’s been telling lies all night because Mercury is the god of liars. Nothing he’s said is true. I told him it was a stupid idea.”

When the shock wore off, everyone else thought it was a stupid idea, too. Nobody, it seems, recognized the pure magical genius of my invocation of Mercury—nobody but me, of course. For a while I chalked it up to that Curse of the Magus71 thing. Then I just realized pranks such as this are not what invocation is all about.

[contents]

68 Showboat. Act I, Scene I.

69 The Rites of Eleusis are a series of seven ceremonies, each centered on one of the seven classical planets of antiquity, constructed by Aleister Crowley to be performed in public. They were first dramatically performed by Crowley, Victor Neuburg (who danced), and Leila Waddell (who played violin) in October and November 1910 at Caxton Hall, London. The Equinox I (6). London, Fall 1911. Reprint. (York Beach, ME: Weiser Books, 1992). Supplement.

70 Traditions based on the mythological escapades of Mercury (the Greek Hermes) do indeed award to the wing-footed messenger of the gods the dubious distinction of being the god of liars, thieves, and lawyers.

71 I, of course, am being facetious. “Magus” is the title of the initiatory level corresponding to Chokmah, the second Sephirah of the Tree of Life, and representative of the second-highest level of human consciousness attainable. Among many other obligations, the Magus is vowed to “… interpret every phenomenon as a particular dealing of God with my Soul.”

ten

… And That’s What

Invocation Is All About!

There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved.

George Sand

Now that we know what invocation is not about, let’s turn our attention to what it is about. In chapter 1, I mentioned the importance of invocation and the magician’s personal relationship with the supreme intelligence (or the Great G). In this chapter and the one to follow, I’m going to share with you not only my thoughts on the matter, but also a ritual that has now become an integral part of all my formal magical operations. For many years, however, I missed the point of invocation entirely. For me, invocation was a cold and intellectual exercise—a necessary formality like doffing one’s hat when entering a house of worship. I’m certain my attitude stemmed from the bad taste that lingered in my mouth from all the “invocations” I choked down as a lad growing up Protestant in 1950s Nebraska—a time when every service club barbecue, stock-car race, Cub Scout meeting, school72 convocation, and football game was kicked off with something like …

Heavenly Father, we call on thee to be with us here today as we gather ourselves on this athletic field of combat. Bless these boys,73 their families, faculty, and friends who are here to witness the strength, courage, and determination of our proud Screaming Eagles and the godly man who coaches them. Bless our team and give them your strength as they battle for victory for the glory of your son. This we pray in his victorious Holy Name, Jesus Christ. Amen!

Please know that I am not ridiculing the concept