I spent the better part of fifteen years in a small ceremonial lodge. I learned the daily rite, the grades, the patience, and in the end the politics, which is what drove me out. I left the lodge and kept the morning.

When I first read Liber Null I recognised a good deal of it from the temple floor, rather more than its admirers seemed to know. I say so with affection. Compressed practice travels well.

I still banish every morning before the kettle. I keep my old notebooks, and I no longer keep my grade.

Mini-blog

Recent takes