Moon Magic

by Dion Fortune

I was startled. There had been no opening invocation, but Malcolm was through onto his contacts. The use of the actual woman as the goddess is high Tantric magic, and rare, but I could not deny it to him.

  “Work in the mirror,” was all I said. Our eyes met again.

  “You are She, and I know it. Even if you deny it, I know it. You are not a woman to me at all, you are a goddess, and I worship you, I adore you, as I am free to do. I ask of you one thing—understanding. Give me that, and I will supply the strength.”

  He lay silent, staring into my eyes in the mirror.

  Then he began again.

  “I want to know how it all came about. I want to understand it. Why am I in bondage? Is it my fault?”

  He lay watching me in the mirror, and I saw with utter insight right down into his soul.

  “The priests are men set apart,” I heard my own voice saying. “You had to be segregated or you could not function. This way of segregating you was as good as any other.”

  “Will I ever have paid my debt to my wife and be free?”

  “Nothing is owing now. In these last days you have paid it.”

  “But that does not mean I am free to take the law into my own hands?”

  “No, it does not mean that. Wait. You will see presently. But the priests are never free. You are in bondage to Isis. You will exchange one duty for another.”

  “I would ask nothing better!” I could hear the sudden leap-up of life in Malcolm's voice. I saw something moving in the mirror, and knew that the Goddess was formulating. A light haze began to spread over its surface. I have to conceive of the Goddess as behind me when She formulates, so I left my chair and went round and stood at Malcolm's feet with my back to the mirror.

  “You are She,” he said, staring into my eyes. “I am She,” I replied, and lifting my hands, sent the power at him. He lifted his hands from his breast to receive it. We were like that for some time, palm opposite palm, six feet apart, with the power standing rigid between us like a solid rod. It was clearly visible, even to the physical eyes.

  I spoke. “Is it your will to make the unreserved dedication?”

  “It is,” came the unhesitating reply.

  “Will you let me take you and use you, asking nothing in return?”

  “I will.”

  “It is well.”

  The power slowly began to work up for the greater magic. Hitherto I had used Malcolm as a source of energy, drawing magnetism from him in order that I myself might function with power; but now, this being accomplished, I began to give magnetism to the Goddess and Her form built up as I visualised it, and then power began to come through into it—power from that for which Isis stands; power from the moon and the moon-side of things, and the thing for which the moon stands. The image became alive in its own right. Then, strangest form of obsession, it slowly superimposed itself upon me, and, already fortified by the accession of Malcolm's magnetism, I received it, so that I became Isis for the time being (this is the old temple-working, not generally known), and Malcolm found him-self face to face with the Goddess who both was and was not me.

  My consciousness seemed to be in abeyance in the background, somewhere behind the form of the Goddess, and yet I was She, and shared Her consciousness. All earth seemed mine, and all the starry heavens the sphere in which I moved.

  I saw by the look on Malcolm's face that he had perceived the change. He slowly rose to a sitting position on the couch.

  “You are She,” he said in a low voice, “I have always known it.”

  “I am She!” replied a voice that was not mine. “Ask! I will answer.”

  Malcolm sat rigid, staring at the form before him. He had had no experience of such manifestations, and did not know how to deal with them, but the directness and integrity of his nature guided him.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “I am Isis the Moon,” came the answer.

  “What does that imply?” Malcolm was no longer awed into bewilderment; his mind was functioning, and he was pinning down Isis and vivisecting Her.

  “I am the negative potency of the universe, represented thus to you by the work of magic.”

  “Are you real as I see you?”

  “Is anything real as you see it?”

  “No, of course it isn't. I understand. The psychology of sight is applicable to the vision—and then the psychology of dream, is that right?”

  “It is.”

  “I understand.”

  “Then take me and use me. What is it you want?”

  “I want understanding.”

  “That comes with the working. What else do you want?”

  “I want—” Malcolm stirred uneasily and hesitated—“I want what every normal man wants. Do I ask You for that?”

  “You do. It is I who bestow it, for I am All-Women ... Receive the blessing of Isis!” A blinding silver light filled the room and faded. When it had gone the Goddess was no longer there, but I was there—in power—as Her priestess. My human personality had utterly disappeared, and I was my higher self and a priestess—the priestess—the great high priestess, and as such I too blessed Malcolm.

  “You have sacrificed, and you have served—the Goddess will not forget. She will repay.”

  “How will She repay? Lilith—how will She repay?” cried Malcolm the man suddenly.

  “In Her own time. In Her own way. Through the channels She shall choose; but rest assured—She will repay.” I held on to the magic with all my strength, refusing to allow it to slip to the personal level. Malcolm steadied and recovered his self-control. He bowed his head.

  “I am in Her hands,” he said. “Take what you want. I ask nothing.”

  Then, stepping down the power another grade, I stood before him in my own person, yet as all women, for by virtue of my womanhood I am a part of Isis, as are all women; and I blessed him as all women could bless their men if they only knew how, bringing through to them the moon-power by virtue of their womanhood.

  I was the archetypal woman with my Goddess behind me; and before me was he, the archetypal man, who needed me, and I sang to him the Song of the Compassion of Isis. It is a strange song, begotten of magic; it is very old, and only priestesses can sing it.

  Persephone, O Moon of men's desire,

  Thy lambent light illumines with cold moon-fire!

  Persephone, Persephone,

  Moon of the night, we long for thee,

  In outer space the springs of being rise;

  With tidal sweep life streams across the skies,

  And in men's hearts awake the slumbering fires -

  Thou art the Queen of dreams and desires.

  Persephone, Persephone,

  Moon of the night, we come to thee!

  The passion in the chant was working up, and I could feel Malcolm vibrating to it. Then the motif changed—the power was being brought through to earth now.

  The moon is riding high and clear,

  O lovely one, draw near, draw near;

  To lonely men on lonely ways

  Come down in dream of silver haze.

  Persephone, Persephone,

  All in the end shall come to thee.

  I heard a sound like a sob from Malcolm and he held out his arms to me. I came to him, for something human had to be given that man if he were not to break. He took hold of me and crushed me to him in a kind of agony. It was terrible. I could feel every muscle in him rigid with strain. Presently he dropped back, exhausted, panting and sweating, and I took my soft chiffon handkerchief and wiped his face. He lay quietly with his eyes shut, and then a hand came out, feeling for me like a child's. I put mine in it, and sat down on the edge of the couch beside him.

  And so the vigil of the temple sleep began. The great throne was no use to me, I had to endure it upright, unsupported, in a kind of crucifixion of muscular strain. It was the Asana* of vicarious sacrifice. After a time the muscles lock and become rigid and the worst is over—until one has to move at the conclusion. I have always
found that these curious, locked positions are necessary to the bringing through of power, and that the power brought through is in proportion to the pain the postures cause. I am very supple, and very strong, and can endure more than most, being inured to such things, but they are real Calvaries.

  At first I could not concentrate because I was trembling with the

  strain of the posture, but presently the muscles became locked and my mind was free.

  Malcolm was sleeping peacefully as a child, his storms over for the time being. His face was lined and weary, but nevertheless it was at peace. I sat and looked at him.

  I thought of the complete uselessness, and wastefulness, and folly of the sacrifice that had been demanded of him by conventional morality. It did no one any good that this man should sacrifice his manhood at an empty shrine, and the injury to him was cruel, for the love side of life is not an ideal, but a function. I thought of the castration of the priests of Attis; the foot-binding of the Chinese women; the head-boards of the Red Indian babies, and all the needless, purposeless, long drawn out torture inflicted by the superstitions and conventions of mankind, of which our orthodox morality is one of the worst, and with the power of the magic that was upon me at that moment I cursed our modern Moloch to its face and struck at its feet of clay; and what I did then because Malcolm's suffering had moved me, I did magically for all men placed as he, in their varying degrees of frustration and starvation, for thus is magic wrought. That which I did then, in those hours of intense power and emotion, up there in the darkness of the moon-temple with the river in flood outside, went into the group mind of the race to work like leaven, as I knew it would when I called Malcolm to the rite. There is freedom in the world today because of what I did that night, for it opened the first tiny rift in the great barrier and the forces began to move channelling and eroding as they flowed, till presently the strength of waters came flooding through like the bursting of a dam and all resistance melted away.

  So the night went by, and the Goddess visited me as She had visited him, and I once again renewed my vision of Her. When Malcolm said I was She, he was both right and wrong. All women are Isis, and Isis is all women in that Her power manifests through them according to their degree. Some bring through more, and some bring through less, but none, unless they deliberately inhibit, are without it. A trained priestess like myself brings it through in all its plenitude of power. Not all men can stand it; I need strong men about me, like Malcolm, to enable it to come through in its strength. It is a great and glorious thing, and brings health to the soul. The Greeks made a god of it and called it Dionysos; but after the ecstasy comes tranquillity, which is the blessing of Isis. I do not know how any can argue that that is wrong which brings so profound a peace.

  * Asana: meditation postures used in Yoga.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  What Malcolm thought when he awoke in the morning to find himself in the temple with me beside him, I do not know, for I, too, was asleep, muscle-locked in my Asana, bolt upright and unsupported. The first thing I knew was that he was sitting up and staring at me.

  It was practically impossible for me to move without assistance, and Malcolm had to support me and help me while I got my cramped limbs unlocked. His gentleness was a marvel to me, and his knowledge saved me the worst of the pain that comes from disentangling an Asana. Muscle by muscle, he rubbed and kneaded the stiffness out of my numbed limbs; finally, when I could once more move freely, I stood up and took him by the shoulders and said:

  “Well, how are you? How did you fare?”

  “My dear,” he said, “I fared well. I have been blessed, and you know it, for you know who blessed me,” and he lifted my hand from his shoulder and kissed it.

  Malcolm, a middle-aged married man, with greying hair, thickset, stocky and rough-mannered, might not be considered a figure of romance by many, but to me, as he stood there before me and thanked me in his taciturn way, there was a beauty and nobility about him that shone like a great light in a dark place.

  I led him over to the western wall and drew back a curtain revealing a shuttered window I had had made for ventilation. We threw back the shutters, and there before us shone the river in the morning light. Malcolm chuckled and pointed to the far façade across the water, where two lighted windows shone incongruously in the grey of the morning.

  “I left my lights on,” he said. “I shall get a scolding when I get back.”

  The sun was just coming up in a clear sky and the water began to glitter. It was ebb-tide now, but we saw by the state of the street that flood water had come to the very door during the night while we kept the temple vigil. There is a curious affinity between the moon-powers and water; I have never yet known moon-magic to be worked without water coming into it in some way or other.

  Then we set out to go downstairs. Malcolm went first to give me a hand, for I was still very stiff; but soon wearying of this laborious progress, he picked me up without a by-your-leave and carried me the rest of the way. When he laid me down on the big sofa at the end of the fireplace he leant over me for so long that I thought he meant to kiss me, but instead he suddenly straightened his back and stood staring at the fire for several minutes. Then he walked off to the bathroom without a word reappearing presently, dressed and shaved and impassive to come face to face with Meatyard, who favoured him with a wink. Malcolm turned scarlet, and I thought for a moment he was going to strike him; but Meatyard, oblivious of his danger, was placidly laying the table for two. Malcolm pulled himself together and came over to me and looked at me with anguish in his eyes, only to find that I was smiling; then he smiled too, but wryly. Poor fellow, he was as innocent of all offense as an unborn child, but, as he had himself remarked, appearances always went against him.

  I insisted that he should claim a holiday from the hospital; goodness knows, it owed him one; and for the next fortnight he spent his days with me, worked with me every evening, and slept on the big sofa in the hall. Meanwhile, also at my behest, his rooms were completely redecorated and refurbished. All the dreadful old lumber with which they were garnished was disposed of, and new furniture, chosen by me, was sent in; needless to say, I never showed myself within range of vision of Malcolm's landlady, though I presume she suspected my presence. Men of Malcolm's type do not suddenly re-equip themselves along aesthetic lines without some kind of external influence being brought to bear on them. However, Malcolm was very much more comfortable, with a good bed and a modern grate, and properly shaded lights, and began to take quite a pleasure in his belongings.

  Then, night after night, we worked together, and I taught him magic. Concentration presented no difficulty to Malcolm, for his was a trained mind; visualisation, too, was easy because of his habit of making diagrams for his students: neither had he any nervousness about giving himself up to the forces; but he could not, dared not, let himself go with me. It was the most difficult thing in the world to get him to separate the woman from the priestess. As the twig is bent, the tree will grow, and Malcolm had been bent with a vengeance. Again and again I tried to get him to see that he must deal with me as he would deal with a patient, and that I would do the same by him, but it was no use. Malcolm was afraid of emotion; he could not realise that one could keep the forces on the astral, and handle them there. He reminded me of a horse that fears to cross a creaking bridge lest it will not bear him. He could not realise the strength, certainty and accuracy of the astral workings in skilled hands. The terrible Puritan conscience, the most ignorant thing on God's earth, had made a deformity of his mind, and it was spiritual orthopedics to bring him back to naturalness.

  Only after infinite patience and plain speaking did he come round to the view that sex and sin are not synonymous terms. It was, I think, only his scientific training that made him see that sex is a physiological function with psychological results. Then, and, then only, did he dare to turn a critical eye on the code to which he had been chained as a child. Once he got to the point of examining it, however,
things moved rapidly, for Malcolm's mind was innately scientific and despite himself he could not help looking facts in the face.

  “Do you think my loyalty has been a waste of time?” he said to me one day, for he was nothing if not whole-hearted.

  “I think it has probably taught you a great deal,” I replied.

  “You would not be working with me today if you had not been through that hard discipline; but I do not think it has conferred the slightest benefit on your wife.”

  “No, I don't suppose it has. I could have had half a dozen mistresses, and she would have been none the wiser and none the worse off. Do you think me a fool, Lilith?”

  “Do you remember the story of the Athenian who erected an altar to the Unknown God? You have worshiped the ideal; you have sacrificed to it and kept back no part of the price; that cannot go for nothing on the inner planes. It must have generated power. I think you have been blind, my friend, as you would not be blind in any other matter; blind because your mind was put in blinkers when you were a child. Now the blinkers are off and it will remain to be seen whether you have the courage to act.”

  “Lack of courage has never been one of the many weaknesses I am credited with.”

  “All the same, you lack courage in this matter, I fancy.”

  He thought for a minute. “Yes, I believe I do. It is the one thing in my life I have hesitated to grip. I ought to have faced up to it years ago and been fair to myself as well as Eva. If I had made a clean cut, it would have healed.”

  He thought for a while. At length he spoke, as if to himself. “Who is to be the judge in these matters? Is one ever justified in taking the law into one's own hands?”

  “There lies the difficulty,” said I. “It is easy enough to legislate for a perfect world, but we have to live in this imperfection. If we all took the law into our own hands whenever we felt like it, there would soon be no law left. While it is the law, we have got to keep it, and wait for other heights in other lives—that is where we who believe in reincarnation have the advantage. But though we may keep a foolish law, there is no reason why we should respect it; though we may bow the neck to force majeure, there is no reason why we should bow the mind. The Queen's writ does not run on the inner planes, we are free there.”