The Abramelin Diaries. Ramsey Dukes

fair lady”, as my House Master used to insist when setting us a challenging geometry problem. But I also have Capricorn rising, so my head tells me that I should always look before I leap.

      What, therefore, do I advise? Simply to bear in mind that one of the worst mistakes one can make with Abramelin is to break the vow and not complete the operation in the specified place and time. So consider carefully before you make the vow, and make sure it is a genuine promise about something that you really can keep to.

       Location. Location. Location.

      The book says: “Although the best counsel that I can give is that a man should go into retirement in some desert or solitude…as the Ancients used to do; nevertheless now this is hardly possible; and we must accommodate ourselves unto the era in which we live”. What he says is even more true now.

      Abraham the Jew performed his operation in a remote desert location, against the backdrop of a culture where it was understood that some people chose to be hermits on religious grounds and just wanted to be left alone. These conditions are even harder to replicate since the twentieth century. Remote deserts are now far-better mapped, and most land is “owned” by someone or some institution; surveillance is widespread; and choosing to be a hermit would now be considered “weird”, and sufficient reason to be identified, filmed, and posted on social media.

      There is also society's suspicion that anyone “lying low” might be doing so because they are up to no good, or on the run from authority. This suspicion has probably always existed, but in Abraham's time would be more likely to be sorted out directly by personal contact with the hermit, whereas now one would be more likely to be reported to the police, or the press, or security. The consequences could be highly invasive and demand a lot of explanation.

      As a rural person born and bred, my instinct was to retire to deep country, find a lonely cottage and work in isolation—but I chose instead the relatively suburban setting of a cottage on a home counties village green. This was partly because I did not have time or money to find a perfect location, but also because I realised that in Britain nowadays it is easier to be anonymous in an urban setting. Redbourn in Hertfordshire was where I had been living for a few years, so people had seen me around and I would not stand out as a newcomer. Only a few close friends needed to know that I was doing something peculiar, otherwise I could get on with my vegetable garden and high street shopping apparently as normal.

      The Book of Abramelin does give instructions for performing the operation in a country location, but it also advises on how to perform it in a city apartment. When I thought more about the social impact, I could see the sense of doing it in a city, but I still feel the magic would be more powerful when the aspirant is isolated. The downside of doing the operation in a familiar setting is that this has a definite normalising effect.

      If I ever had the opportunity to perform the operation a second time, then I would choose somewhere isolated, because I believe that would lead to more dramatic—even scary—results. I discuss this matter more fully in my final chapter of commentary: the way that everyday normality tends to tame the paranormal.

      This is actually a very profound question that the aspirant must ask when planning the operation. “Am I doing Abramelin in order to make weird things happen and so prove to myself that magic exists? Or do I already accept that magic can exist, and so am performing this operation to invoke such magic into my life?” Myself, I only saw the true significance of this dilemma many years later.

       The fourth dimension of location

      There is another aspect of location that has not changed over all these centuries. It is the time of sunrise and sunset at a chosen place. Bearing in mind the instruction that the practitioner should not sleep during the day, it becomes necessary to ensure enough sleep during the night.

      The location I chose meant that for a month at the heart of the operation the official time of sunrise was about 4:40 am and sunset was about 9:20 pm. If, as instructed, I was to enter the oratory at a quarter of an hour before sunrise, then I would need to get up around 4:15 am or earlier to allow time for the necessary washing, dressing and going from the chamber to the oratory. Even if I limited my oration to one hour in length, I would be lucky to get to sleep before 11 pm—leaving me no more than five and a quarter hours sleep. In my case that was not enough—as a consequence, my diary reads like a long record of failure.

      It was a failure because I was being too strict in intention—using the astronomical definition of sunrise as the time when the sun appears over a level horizon. In Abraham's time that figure would not generally be available, and sunrise would more likely be judged by the actual appearance of the sun. I never recorded when that actually happened, because I was usually deep in my oration at that time.

      So, this is a further consideration: are you someone who really needs seven or eight hours sleep, or are you one of those who can survive on much less? Bear in mind that most people who do sleep shorter hours can only do this because they are able to compensate with brief catnaps during the day. That is not permitted by Abramelin.

      If you cannot find a location close enough to the equator to give you a reasonable schedule, then make a conscious decision to mark the rising and setting of the sun by its appearance at the location, and see whether that allows enough sleep. If not, you will need to work around this problem.

       Something borrowed, something made…

      There is a powerful magical tradition that everything used in a magical operation should be manufactured for the purpose by the practitioner. I seem to recall Crowley saying something along these lines: that the ideal would be to dig up the iron ore and smelt the iron, to grow the tree used for the wood, and so on. It is true that there is special power in a magical object that is consciously constructed from raw materials with the specific magical purpose constantly in mind.

      But there is another magical tradition about the four magical implements that says something along the lines that the Cup should be given to the magician, the Dagger (or the Disk) should be bought by the magician, the Wand should be found by and the Disk (or the Dagger) made by the magician. This is also interesting, because it opens up the creative process to embrace many more valid forms of interaction. You could, for example, argue that it is impossible to mine that iron without first finding it, in which case it would be a gift from Mother Earth.

      My recommendation when preparing for this, or any other magical operation, is not so much to be bound by a set of rules but, rather to expand one's awareness of the preparation to a more holistic appreciation of the provenance of everything that will be used. Buying a robe, instead of making it, need not be a passive act: for some people, buying things is a lazy option, for others it is a hunting activity that involves investigating, assessing, budgeting and many other skills.

      In whatever manner you obtain your magical paraphernalia, do so consciously and all the time explore the symbolism of its provenance. If someone breaks one of the cardinal rules of magic and gives you their old robe to wear, should you refuse it? Or might it be more appropriate to first cleanse and deconsecrate it, and then use it in the spirit of a gift imbued with goodwill and kindness?

      What I am implying is that each item in the ritual should not just be an object that fits certain specifications, but also something that has come into your life in a significant and appropriate manner.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      Notes towards a better understanding of my diary

       A Thelemite's approach to a Judeo-Christian retirement

      One big attraction of the Abramelin operation is that the book allows one to adapt the practice according to one's own religious beliefs—Christian, Jewish or pagan. And when it comes to prayer the text advises: “let each one speak his own language”, followed by some very sensible advice about not reading from a rigid script but rather praying from one's heart with conscious intention.

      That looks pretty simple until one gets down to detail. There are plenty