The Abramelin Diaries. Ramsey Dukes

just read my first fortnight. Though not getting much done I am a little less shakeable and less inclined to be irritated by N's kitchen habits. Now in my meditation I am more often deliberately leaving in order to sacrifice my bliss rather than needing effort to maintain it.¹² The greenhouse is a big advance: now there is somewhere to put my seeds, which would otherwise be in danger of being blown over. The latest black cloud is the need to write letters. How about completing today's garden and “craft” jobs to leave tomorrow as letter-writing day?

      8 pm. No, there was an earlier black cloud: I had difficulty facing up to pricking out seedlings. Tried to analyse why. It was associated with earlier horrors of (a) jobs done half-heartedly and in a rush (b) without adequate seed boxes (c) causing a mess around the house, and (d) often with little outcome. I realised that these problems were largely due to my having to fit gardening between a nine-to-five schedule; so this time I could, and did, do it properly.

      This week's test seems to be about coping with my sociability. In fact, CF did not come this afternoon, but as I was making supper there was a surprise visit from D and A. N made the tea (for a change!), leaving me to get on with the supper without being too rude. I tell people about sunrise and sunset meditation; I think this is necessary in order to limit “visiting hours”. Was a bit “malignant” about N in the kitchen.

       Tuesday 26 April

      Woke early—and hungry—after dreams of roast beef, so the timing this morning was better, but still not ideal.

      After an hour of Pernety, I was out weeding alongside the path. Tried a small bit in order to experiment with severe methods, e.g. sieving all the topsoil. What a job! Couch grass thunderer! Despairingly detailed work, so two hours saw about one square yard done. I made an analogy with rooting out unnecessary thoughts or, if you like, “sin”. Every tiny piece of couch grass root could start a whole new plant, and even sieving let some pieces through. But that does not entirely negate the work for there is a big difference between a thriving colony of weed, and scattered fragments when it comes to later maintenance. Without continuing vigilance it is true that a big effort at eradicating thoughts or weeds over a limited time produces no long-term improvement. But such an effort is well worth it if a little everyday maintenance can follow it. Also; where do you stop? Do you, like N, dig around plants and leave colonies of couch grass in their roots? No, I am prepared to make sacrifices so I dug up, separated, and replanted all garden plants. But I was not prepared to really shift my ground (the paving stones). I could see some roots going under, but felt they could be ignored as dead ends; until I lifted one stone! It was a mat of roots beneath, all raring to leap out. My heart sank, but turned to joy as I resolved to accept this new challenge. For, under paving stones roots, do not go deep but skim the surface seeking outlets. So I had an orgy of couch bashing.

      Couch grass root tea is said to be so strengthening. Lovely sympathetic magic. I need the virtues of couch (persistence, strength, vigour, purposefulness) so much that I'd do better to drink couch tea than lazy old lion's blood! I noted the difference between couch and bindweed under the paving: couch wasted no time and went in straight lines, bindweed squiggled and struggled in all directions forever trying to bud. (However, the predictability of couch grass in this circumstance made it more vulnerable.)

      Sermons under stones.

      2.30 pm, and alas it is pouring. So the awful job that became a crusade must be postponed.

      Wrote one letter…a beginning! Personal discipline bad this afternoon. This tends to happen when my plans are inadequate and get messed up. (I'd not allowed for rain.)

       Wednesday 27 April

      Dream: a party at the M household. A asks RM if she can take C away for a fuck. RM says yes, but later says she couldn't stand the “tomato sauce” way A asked! For some reason A expects me to come too. I am wistful for it is clear she has no intention of being fucked by me as well, so I reckon it's a bit insensitive of her.

      C shows me an item from his booklist, an original documentation of the veracity of the Jekyll and Hyde story! I see my childish signature on it and recognise it as an old family possession. It is kept in a beautiful wooden scythe, but C wants to chuck that away as it is no good for a “book” list. Excited at this relic of my past I try to show M, and she recalls it (I think). My father appears and I try to get him interested. He's a bit offhand, but shows me some old photos. I'm interested to compare him and me, but am embarrassed by their bad taste…Fancy making a tree wear a g-string, even if it is a rather humanoid shape.

      Puzzling over this dream delayed me a bit. Alas, I reached oratory with thoughts buzzing. I'd gazed at Saturn as I went to sleep (I think it is important to me in this operation).

      Did quite a bit today; completed the strip alongside the path, cut the lawn, washed lots at launderette, sowed brassicas, etc. But it was not a day of well-made plans. Cold, but with quite a lot of sun (just able to sunbathe). Very cold morning. I'd slept with window open for the first time in ages.

       Thursday 28 April

      Cold, wet day. Bloatered to St Albans after late start and spent the morning there visiting Mrs. L. It rained from noon onwards so I stayed indoors. Very dozy reading, skipped most of Chronicles—a boring rehash. Braved the bedroom shambles and tidied up a bit after tea. Read papers after supper.

       Friday 29 April

      Another cold day, but the sun tempted me to sunbathe after lunch. Visited K early and did lots of small seed planting and potting jobs, but did none of the big jobs, e.g. cleaning, weeding or letters, so now (8.05 pm) I feel a bit unsatisfied. Was not very “good” today. The operation slipped my mind quite a lot. I was either caught up in feelings of exultation that made me want to rush about, or dominated by thoughts that were a bit hysterical. The morning meditation was disturbed by many thoughts. Recently I've found that centering in the belly reduces verbal thoughts, but I had less success with this today. Efficiency has improved a bit with less time wasted on unnecessary journeys. Made a little temporary censer.

      There was a curious difference in the style of the evening oration; it was more torrential and humble. It also felt as though someone else was doing it, but it merged into the meditation without clear distinction. Cold. For first time my room did not smell nice when I entered it.

       Saturday 30 April

      Worst ever lateness. I woke up in the night, hungry and worrying about crocodile suitcases(!). My mind was in slight fizz about work that I had to do, but the little censer was fine. I have a new routine that works much better: a.m., I clean out the oratory after the oration, and p.m., I do the chamber and take a bath before the evening oration.

      Efficient morning: read for two hours, did kitchen, swept the old bedroom floor and beat the carpets, and removed the double-glazing. That was really foul. I also did some digging in the sun. I was in a slight dither this p.m. as I know I am going out with N to the Flamstead craft show.

      Very late evening oration, late bathing, etc., so it was almost dusk. Felt exposed, burning my lamp in the semi-dark, and imagined people smelling the incense and thinking there was a fire. I was also afraid that N would come to ask where the matches were (must get another box). Such humdrum demons are sufficient to make me waver. As I came away I realised that my meditations were very calming and clearing; Taoist, but not awesome and terrifying—i.e. magical. First days were a little terrifying (my fear of the dark). I realise that N's presence has protected me from awe, as has Redbourn itself to a much lesser extent. I only have to go back to the cottage and there are food smells, music and all is mundane and everyday. Without N, a THING would build up.

      Yet Abramelin does not insist on this THING. Why else would he have allowed his wife to live with him?

      Perhaps it's the Christian influence in my life that makes me feel this ought to be more difficult in a purely blood and thunder sense. There was I, nearly ten minutes late—so why did not hellfire consume me? Answer: in order to encourage me to feel that ten minutes late does not matter—nor twenty minutes, nor one hour, nor doing it every day…

       Sunday 1 May