The ongoings with Mr. Yeats were not to be a singular misadventure. The arrived on my doorstep again, Mathers in his company. This visitation, I confess, was not the most welcomed. I had hoped to go about my affairs for a day or two without traipsing amongst the hedgerows of phantasmagoria. These side long jaunts into the darkened lane ways of the city do not sit well with my temperament.
Mathers did feel fit to illuminate the events of my past missive. Most generally speaking Crowley is a seeker of the profane. Hoping for enlightenment in the darkest corners of the immortal soul. The ingestion of distillates and chemicals appear as side roads to enlightenment. Depraved acts with animals have also factored into his scheme. Even the gross fluids of carcasses play some evil part.
Here though misters Yeats and Mathers pressed upon me the importance of the mundane. In our previous escapades with Crowley and his servant Yeats paid careful attention to the list of goods required by Crowley. To my untrained ears he seemed to lay out a shopping list perhaps for bakery. Mathers applied a deeper reading into these items. Calling out the name Moonchild as though I was to grasp the meaning, Mathers was staggered by my ignorance.
Their explanations were bewildering! A child or entity ethereal born or cast into this world. Crowley directing this child's progression. A powerful thing, one would suppose if they are fanning understanding. I am unsure of my part in Crowleys plan perhaps seed or vessel. I only hope to remain myself. Take caution should the Kant of my letters change, I may not be my own.
Yours very truly