Low Magick: It's All In Your Head ... You Just Have No Idea How Big Your Head Is - Lon Milo DuQuette 2010
My Planetary Talismans
This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune—often the surfeit of our own behavior—we make guilty of our disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains by necessity; fools by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion of whoremaster man, to lay his goatish disposition to the charge of a star!
SHAKESPEARE, KING LEAR
As a magician for last thirty-five years or so, I have, by means both conventional and forbidden, endeavored to cause changes to occur in my life in conformity with what I have perceived to be my Will. I say “perceived to be my Will” because it is not until one has developed a significant level of illumination that one can with any degree of certainty know what one’s Will really is.
Please don’t assume that just because I have practiced magick for such a long time that I possess an unclouded vision of my true Will or that I consider myself an illuminated master. I do not. What I do possess, after all this time, is a great deal of magical experience; and experience is (or at least can be) the breeding ground of wisdom. Naturally, that potentiality disintegrates if I can’t accurately recall and evaluate these experiences so that I might apply their lessons to the present state of my magical development. For this reason, I believe it is vitally important for magicians to keep a written record of their exploits. As I mentioned earlier, in order to write this book, I have dug deep into dusty boxes and storage bins to extract and organize the buried chronicles of my magical adventures and misadventures.
For me, reviewing old magical diaries is never a pleasant experience. Every time I open and read one of my ancient journals, I am paralyzed by a combination of nauseating embarrassment and amazement. I grit my teeth and squirm as I relive the events, the thoughts, delusions, and presumptions that occupied that shallow, self-centered, naïve, ego-blinded young fool who gawked back at me from the mirrors of yesterday. My singular consolation is the fact that I’ve survived to rejoice, “Thank God I’m not like that any longer!”
Painful as the experience is, reviewing my magical records affords me the opportunity to chart the general trajectory of my spiritual evolution. I have even been able, in several instances, to pinpoint the exact minute my magical efforts (high or low) have actually caused change to occur in conformity with my Will—times that have dramatically altered the course of my life, and the lives of others. In fact, at this very moment, you are reading the words on this page as the result of a magical operation I set in motion thirty-five years ago.
About a year before my traumatic evocation of the demon Orobas,30 I was enmeshed in what I will politely describe as a crisis in my life. I was twenty-six years old, married, with a two-year-old son. I was desperately trying to wean myself from a very unhealthy career as a musician/recording artist, and struggling to bring some semblance of stability and direction to my life. Several years prior to this, to address an intense spiritual hunger, I entered the initiatory world of the Western mysteries—specifically the degree work of the Rosicrucian Order, AMORC, The Traditional Martinist Order (TMO), and the Builders of the Adytum (B.O.T.A.).
As fascinating as my studies were, they were just that—studies. My life needed changing. I didn’t want to merely study magick; I wanted to perform magick. But what kind of magick? I had heard some pretty scary things about the evils of magick, so I was desperate to find a safe place to start.
Early in January 1975, in an old and stuffy little occult bookstore in North Long Beach, I purchased How to Make and Use Talismans31 by Israel Regardie.32 I trusted Regardie, having read several of his classic magical texts. This little book, however, was different. It was actually a how-to book of practical magick. Regardie’s sane and straightforward explanation of the fundamentals of talismanic magick instantly dispelled my superstitious doubts. His generous offering of charts, diagrams, and illustrations (which I promptly copied and pasted into my magical diary) made it a treasure-trove of easy-to-use information. I couldn’t wait to graduate from student to practitioner. After reading it through several times, I knew exactly where I needed to begin.
Regardie suggests that planetary talismans33 can be helpful in overcoming unfavorable aspects that might be afflicting one’s astrological chart. That really drew my attention. I knew I had difficult aspects in my natal chart, so I contacted my brother, Marc34 (the astrologer), to see which planet could use a little extra help. “All of them,” he coldly informed me. But, because it rules my chart, he suggested I first try to make better friends with the Moon.
With Regardie’s little book as my guide, I started gathering symbols for a Lunar talisman on January 23. At midnight on January 27, after anointing it with drops of dew that had formed in the moonlight falling on my 1952 Chrysler, I consecrated it with as much ceremony as I was capable of devising.
My Moon talisman was the most beautiful thing I had ever made with my own two hands. It was a double-circle model made of card stock. I extracted the sigils of the Lunar spirit and intelligence from the moon kamea35 in the book and carefully drew them in silver paint against a field of deep violet36 drawing ink on the front and back of one of the circles. On the other circle, I painted a silver image of the elephant-headed Hindu god Ganesha37 (to whom the Moon is sacred) on one side, and on the other side painted the appropriate planetary and geomantic symbols. Around one perimeter, I wrote in Hebrew the divine and angelic names, and on the reverse side part of the Psalm 72 “… abundance of peace so long as the moon endureth.” When it was finished, I lovingly slipped it inside a linen bag I had sewn with violet thread. On the flap I embroidered a silver crescent moon.
I was very proud of myself, but I still didn’t feel like much of a magician. I did carry it around for a few days and felt curiously empowered—but empowered to do what, I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure what I should do next. The answer came (as so many important answers do) while I was taking a shower. I should make all seven of the planetary talismans!
For the next four months, with the help of Regardie’s little book, and using my ever-improving artistic and magical skills, I created and consecrated a full set of seven planetary talismans. Each one was more beautiful and worshipful than its predecessor. The order in which I created them was dictated by the severity of the planetary afflictions in my natal chart. I consecrated the Mars talisman on February 6. By then I had taught myself the Supreme Invoking Ritual of the Pentagram and Hexagram, which from then on became an integral part of my talisman consecration rituals.
Jupiter was next on February 27 (Constance’s birthday), followed by Venus exactly one month later. The Venus talisman evoked the most remarkable reactions. My dreams were filled with vividly erotic encounters, the likes of which I had not experienced since adolescence. They continued until April 4, when I consecrated my talisman of Mercury, when my dreams turned anxious and confusing. (Oh well!)
I started the Saturn talisman on May 10 and consecrated it at midnight on the thirteenth. The next day, I started to collect the symbols for my seventh and last planetary talisman. Sol took ten days to complete. I consecrated it during a lunar eclipse38 that took place on May 24. My arsenal of planetary talismans was finally complete.
Throughout this entire talisman-making period and the months that followed, life at the DuQuette house continued to be a litany of chaos, frustration, and despair. In an attempt to make money doing something other than singing in saloons, I accepted a house-painting job and we moved to the San Gabriel Valley. As it turned out, I would never be paid for my (admittedly inept) labor and we found ourselves stranded in La Verne, the smoggiest town in Southern California, with no job and no money.
July 11 dawned with the prospect of the worst birthday of my life. About 11:15 in the morning, I shut myself in my bedroom temple. I lit a candle and put it on my altar top. I halfheartedly performed the Banishing Rituals of the Pentagram and Hexagram and sat down and tried to meditate. I couldn’t. To cheer myself, I removed my cherished talismans from their bags and lingered on every detail of their splendor. As I turned them in my fingers, I whispered the words of power and the names of the gods, angels, and spirits inscribed on each one of them. Finally, as if to bring order to my otherwise unordered universe, I placed the Sun talisman in the center of the altar top and surrounded it with the six remaining planets in their proper hexagram positions.39 They were so beautiful—so perfect.
For a moment, I didn’t know how to feel. I was alternately depressed and elated; depressed that these talismans were the only things perfect in my life, and elated that at least something was perfect in my life. I looked at the clock. It was almost noon and time to rejoin Constance and little Jean-Paul for birthday cake. They were both giggling in the kitchen. Their laughter made me giggle too. And then, in a clichéd moment—an epiphany worthy of a Frank Capra film—I realized that there were lots of perfect things in my life. In fact, at that moment I was the luckiest man on earth.
My melancholy lifted. I credited the talismans for my change of mood. As I gazed at them there on the altar top, I realized that they would never be more beautiful or meaningful to me than they were at that moment. In just a few weeks, their colors would start to fade, the inks would crack, the edges wear. In a few years, I would probably lose some of them, and those that remained would shrivel into crumbling bits of brittle card stock. I wished I could preserve them forever just like this—at the zenith of their strength—in an eternal environment where their beauty would never be effaced—a place where their power could never diminish.
These talismans were no good to me sitting on my altar top or tucked away in their sterile little bags. I needed them to literally become part of me. No! More than that—I must use their magick to make me someone else—someone new. I must reabsorb my precious planetary children and plant them in the womb of my own soul. I must impregnate myself with their magical potency and, by doing so, beget upon myself a new self.
One by one, I joyously plunged the seven talismans into the sacred fire of the altar candle flame. I inhaled their light and heat as the frail husks of paper and ink were reduced to a clean white ash.
It was noon, July 11, 1975—the first moment of my life as a magician.
[contents]
29 Partially excerpted from my foreword to the third revised limited edition of Israel Regardie’s The Complete Golden Dawn System of Magic (Reno, NV: New Falcon Publications, 2008), 37—41.
30 See chapter 1.
31 Originally published by Sangreal. Most recent revised edition by Thorsons Publishers, 1983.
32 Israel Regardie (1907—1985), born Francis Israel Regudy, was personal secretary to occultist Aleister Crowley in the 1920s. He was arguably one of the twentieth century’s most influential voices perpetuating the legacies of Aleister Crowley and the rituals and teachings of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. We eventually met in the late 1970s and became friends.
33 Sometimes called amulets, talismans are small objects often bearing magical symbols and/or words created with magical intent and charged with a specific spiritual force. Talismans have traditionally been created and carried on one’s person in order to ward off evil, attract good luck, or for other magical purpose.
34 Marc E. DuQuette. b. 1942. Author of Orange Sunshine—How I Almost Survived America’s Cultural Revolution (Los Angeles, CA: Self-published, 2008).
35 A kamea, or normal, magick square consists of the distinct positive integers 1, 2, … n2, such that the sum of the n numbers in any horizontal, vertical, or main diagonal line is always the same. A kamea of Luna is a square 9 × 9 (Luna being attributed to the ninth planetary sphere or Sephirah on the Tree of Life). Kameas for the other planets are: Saturn, 3 × 3; Jupiter, 4 × 4; Mars, 5 × 5; Sol, 6 × 6; Venus, 7 × 7; and Mercury, 8 × 8. The Hebrew letter or letters numerically equivalent to the numbers that occupy each kamea’s squares can then be used to spell out any word or name.
36 Silver and violet are both colors sacred to the Moon.
37 See chapter 11.
38 I thought it would be “heavy” and magical to do a magical operation during a lunar eclipse. I later would learn this is usually not the best time to work. Still, I lived through it.
39 Sun in the center, Saturn the top point, Jupiter upper right, Mars upper left, Venus lower right, Mercury lower left, and Luna at the bottom point.