Tuesday, 29 March 2016

The Aftermath of Magic Part IV: Concerning Doors

The following is the transcript of an audio tape, transferred to MP3, given to Project Praeterlimina. The speaker is apparently Jack Londinium, and our source wishes to remain anonymous. If any of our readers can shed light on this odd encounter, they’re invited to contact us.
‘…I’d been talking about this for five fucking minutes before I realised that I hadn't hit the record button.
Take-fucking-two then.
April 5th, 1987.
I've been experimenting with something, ideas I pieced together from some Dion Fortune. I painted a doorway on the wall of my study. I made the borders magic-looking, like the title page of a Crowley book. The interior space I left blank, and then I filled it in black.
Once I was happy with it, I performed appropriate energising operations, charging it with orgone or vril or whatever the hell it is. Once the door was activated, I’d sit before it and try to push myself through it in a trance state, or to let something else through.
Stupid idea. Stupid idea. I’d deliberately not taken a huge number of precautions. I just wanted to see what happened if I made a doorway into…
The only wards were on the outside of my study, just to try and keep stuff from spreading into the rest of the flat. I’d decided against chemical aids. I wanted to be sure that whatever I encountered was…real, I guess.
It worked, of course. It always bloody works.
Today…yesterday, actually, was the third operation I’d attempted. I used a mantra I’d designed for astral projection, loosening things up a bit and letting me block the shit out. After about an hour, I started seeing grey shapes moving beyond the doorway. Like clouds or smoke, moving slowly, swirling. They looked like they were pulsating. They started to coalesce. They looked gelatinous, and I realised I was looking at a single entity, not a multitude.
It looked like quivering mucous, with faint lights shining in it.
The lights grew brighter. They looked like eyes.
I hadn't expected much to happen, really. The whole business was more a whim than anything else. I certainly wasn't expecting something so vivid. The borders around the doorway started becoming indistinct. It was…it was like static on a television, almost. Insubstantial. Broken. The grey mucous was coming into the world, towards me. It reached out for me. It enveloped me and drew me inside it. I could feel my body breaking down, my consciousness separating from it and it was blissful.
There were others swimming around me, other minds moving through it, around me. I could hear them, feel them. I could taste them, even, and…
I could feel aspects of my personality blurring into aspects of theirs. Swapping memories, sharing them. All of us melting together and separating out again into different forms and it was beautiful.
I didn't want to leave but I could feel that some of the other presences there did. I then started to realise how alien and old they were. I could…I remember that when my identity overlapped with theirs, their memories made perfect sense, I could absolutely understand them, but when I try and remember them now it’s…it’s like a Dali painting.
One, it was…it was like…no. No, I can’t explain it. Other than, in its memories, was an image of…the sun. I think. But…it was…
No. I can’t.
I think they realised I was new. That there was still a partially intact link back to the door, to my body that they could exploit. They started to converge on me. They could push each other back, block one another off, and they tried to invade my mind more forcefully than any of the sharing of memory and identity had been before. Some of the personalities penetrating mine were recognisably human. Others…
How some of them could even have handled a human body is beyond me…
I tried to retreat. I had still been uttering the mantra in my mind all throughout, and I reversed it. The grey mucous of that space began to thin out, the lights grew dim and the other minds disappeared.
I was looking at the doorway on the wall. It was black again, nothing beyond it. My body was cramped, sweaty. I’d pissed and shat myself at some point. I’d been there for over a day.
Before anything else, even cleaning myself up, I painted a warding sigil over the door way. I’d kept a tin of white paint handy, just in case.
I've washed and sorted myself out now. I've checked on the doorway and there’s no motion there now, the sigil is holding. I’ll go out and get some paint thinner or something to get the whole fucking thing off.
I've got some wood and a hammer and some nails somewhere. I might board the room up before I head out.’
‘April 7th, 1987.
I've been trying to figure out what happened.
I can’t find any reference to a zone like that in any of my books. I'm worried about bringing it to anyone else’s attention too soon.
I think I fell into a gap between worlds. An insubstantial area, where the worlds and planes sit upon, or are held within. I somehow pushed into it.
I realise that it was, ultimately, easy for me to get out by reversing the mantra, which leads me to wonder why the other presences, who wished to escape, hadn't done so. Perhaps they’d been there too long and had lost contact with their origin. Or they’d fallen in by accident, and simply couldn't escape again.
What a frightening idea. Disappearing into that…substance. Without even knowing what it is. I don’t think they could even die.
A Sorcerers Progress, anonymous satirical
pamphlet c. 1610 
I've destroyed the doorway. I've performed several banishing rites now. I'm considering getting an exorcist I know to come and give it a good purge but that might be overkill. I'm certainly moving out though. Perhaps put my stuff in storage and visit that Buddhist monastery in Scotland, get my head together again a little.’
‘April 12th, 1987.
I've a name to investigate: Arthur Hazyard. Although he might not have been talking about strictly speaking the same thing, it’s a better lead than anything else. But that will wait for later.
I can’t stop dreaming about it, and I need to settle down a little before I think about it too heavily again.’
This may mark the beginning of Jack Londinium’s encounter with Hazyard’s work. This is 4 years before date on the letter that another source (or possibly the same source) sent us regarding Londinium’s interest in Hazyard’s cosmology. What we may have here is a description of something not dissimilar to the Terra Praeterlimina, or some other otherworldly boundary region.
The significance of this is not to be dismissed.



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