(I wrote this post almost a year ago and it somehow got lost in my drafts folder. So here it is.)
You know, I keep thinking about that point a couple of years ago, when I got rid of a lot of my books and music in order to ‘purge’ myself of this part of my life. The fact that I keep returning to it (and write about it here) must have some kind of therapeutic reason… I have to say that getting back into this material does feel like a ‘coming home’ in a sense and there is a lot of psychic movement in my brain at the moment, mostly triggered through the work that I’m doing, but also for other reasons that I have trouble pinpointing — almost like a psychological (or psychonautical) growth spurt.
Back then I had a whole bunch of Aleister Crowley’s books (the Confessions, Magick in Theory and Practice, Book 4 (Liber Aba), The Book of Lies, etc.) and Phil Hine‘s Condensed Chaos, among others — and I sold them all! I think I wasn’t even able to sell most of them, so I gave them to the library (talk about ‘paying it forward’). I have to add though that, while my English was passable, I still had problems really grasping the content of those books, partly linguistically, partly conceptually. Maybe it was a little too early.
And now I’m really kicking myself that I didn’t just put at least some of those books in storage.
Looking at it now, years later, it’s seems obvious that I wasn’t at a good place at the time. I think I was emotionally and psychologically pretty disconnected from myself and I was also in a relationship that wasn’t really healthy.
Sometimes you have to take a step backward to move forward, I guess. But talk about wasted years…