From the Caliph
by Frater Hymenaeus Alpha 777 (Grady Louis McMurtry)

The following article appeared in
The Magickal Link, Vol. III, No.6 June 1983e.v.

The 1st time I damn near got myself killed on Normandy Beachead (sic) we were still on the sand going in.  We exited the LST in convoy formation rolling on cat eye’s only wrecker=heaviest vehicle in front to set speed of convoy & interval of vehicles guiding on the twin white-light batons of the MP under the dark bluff ahead telling us which way to go to get shot at…it was the closest I’ve ever seen an MP to combat…the British anti-aircraft rockets on our left being fired in silver streaks going up right to left & sparkling like silver fireflies against the German bombers we could hear revving their engines upstairs…the great purple square mouth of the ship behind us with starlight sprinkling the dark tides rolling in…we turned right.  St. Mere Eglise was just over the rise but we wouldn’t see the bullet riddled parachutes of 101 ABN or the broken & twisted gliders until the sun rose.  Right now we had to negotiate the beach.  My orders to my driver were, “Follow the truck in front of you.  Don’t break convoy discipline by guiding right because the Engineers haven’t cleared all the mines & beach obstacles yet…& for god’s sake don’t break formation left as there will be oncoming traffic.”  But he was a young kid & scared…it was the 1st time I had hit the beach too, but I damn sure knew where I was.  I had better.  I was the Company Commander.  So when his fear of the mines overcame his caution & he started fudging left I reached up to tap him on the left shoulder when all of a sudden like a destroyer breasting a sand roller at flank speed this DUKH…an iron boat w/a sloping bow as big as a deuce-&-a-half on wheels & twice as long came blasting out of the night & Holy Horus!  2 ft. to the left & my ¾ ton Command Vehicle would have been smashed like a tin can.  Dust & sand all over us.  That was close.  It’s a little hard to see on a moonless night but we were so stoned on the adrenal rush everything was crystal clear.  In the Haight we called this night vision “the chartreuse universe” due to it’s peculiar yellow characteristic.  0200 hours D+11 Beach Blue the Templars are home.  Check.

The 2nd time was much more scientific.  One day the EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) Sergeant fell by & said, “Hey Lt., want to help me get rid of this 500 lber?” that had blown low order on the field.  The one yellow ring on it’s (sic) butt means TNT.  (HE = High Explosive; GP = General Purpose)  Death is indiscriminate.  By now I was Ammo Supply for a squadron of P-47 fighter bombers, the hot rock “Panzer Dusters”  (2 500 lb bombs & 8 .50 calibers apiece), flying off Strip 3, Normandy.  The bombing of St. Lo had already happened.  I have never seen so many planes in the air at one time.  It reminded me of the ‘30s flick THINGS TO COME the way their formation just kept coming out of the fantastic roar of their engines.  At St. Mere Eglise we were too far away to hear the explosions but we could feel the earth shivering from St. Lo to the sea thru the soles of our combat boots as the rolling concusion (sic) of the bombardment pulverized the place into the red brick rubble I would pull the 1st Bomb Supply convoy thru on the Breakout swinging wide on an end run heading east for Orleans of sainted memory & then breaking North skirting the Falaise Pocket on the road to Chartres in the Drive on the Seine pushing it, foot in the boot, me standing up hanging on to the .50 caliber gun ring scouting for clear traffic past that row of broached American tanks on the left with funny colored orange turrets.  But we Americans don’t paint our turrets orange.  We were rolling about 30 in heavy military traffic in a misting rain & were almost past them when it hit me.  Holy Crowley omyGod ono (sic).  That’s why we were in a hurry.  To cut off the retreat of the German army some buttoned-down American tank commander had ordered a “Left wheel YO!” thru his throat mike & the whole squadron had left wheeled line-a-breast straight into a line of Panzergrenaderan gut down in their belly trenches “mit kalte blut (sic)” & steady fingers forming the armored corridor for the escape of Kluge’s VIIth Army from Falaise without a prayer of passing the word to the next in line that they had hit a pakfront.  At least 15 American tank crews had gone up in flaming agony 1-2-3 left to right down the line.  The reason the turrets were orange was the heat from the Panzerfausts hitting their soft under-armor as they topped the shoulder of the road after they turned off the pavement had melted the green paint on the turrets & they were still oxidizing in the rain that had cooled them.  What I had felt as we were barreling thru was all that Death still quivering on the astral.  Those guys were still in there.  We hadn’t even cleaned out all the D-Day tanks yet.  Too dangerous.  I know.  I found myself standing on a rack of white ribs one day when I prowled one.

But that was later.  Right now I grabbed a camera with some idiot idea of taking a picture, never trust a grinning Sgt., & we hustled that grey pig right down to the beach yisiree (sic) ye bob.  There was half a German pillbox Organization Todt (sic) had built right on the sand with an embrasure about belly gun height, 2 D-Day tanks still on the beach, beach obstacles, ships in the Channel, etc., & the biggest bomb crater in the sand I have ever seen.  The sun was a bright gold shield in a beautiful blue French sky.  Great day for a 4th of July picnic on the beach.  So we broached that bomb service trailer right there on the edge of that fantastic cater & with the greatest aplomb slid that great whore of death right down to the bottom.  I stood there for a moment idly looking on like the big dumb kid from those Oklahoma hills I was as the Sgt. Picked up a hand of mud and plaster sealed the pull-fuze (sic) he had embedded in it’s (sic) butt & then nonchalantly walked back to the bunker & stood at the embrasure camera in hand tourist style waiting for something to happen.  When all of a sudden that Sgt. Came springing out of that hole like Fat Freddie of the Furry Freak Brothers that time he copped oregano & charged that pillbox helmet down both legs driving arms pumping with a look of absolute strain on his face, grabbed the lip of that embrasure with both hands…I was reminded of it when Eugene came over the counter in Edmonton…vaulting over in true Olympic/combat obstacle course style, slapped both hands over his ears & went skidding helmet 1st into the left hand corner of the bunker.  At that point I realized something drastic was about to happen, slapped both hands over my own ears & dived helmet into the right hand corner.  At that point there was this fantastic WHUMP! & that pillbox bounced like it had been hit by an incoming salvo from the U.S.S. Missouri.  It was enough to shake your chakras.  In fact it did.  I was never so blown away in the Haight.  Like the 1st time it felt like you had been hit in the head with a rock & you knew you were stoned.  Paralyzed.  At moment of impact my butt was no more than 25 paces from the exact center of a molecular disruption that gave it a thump usually reserved for the initiatory practices of certain cults such as the Templars had run into during the time of their contact w/the Saracen during the Middle Ages.  I looked at that embrasure & what I saw was a wall of sand going straight up so solid you could have danced on it if you had angel feet like the MAGUS.  Which I don’t.  I picked up my helmet, shook out the sand, got up, slapped both hands against my head to find out if I still had ear drums, knocked of some of the sand & dust, turned to the Sgt. & said, “What the hell happened?”  And he said, “I cut the fuze (sic) too short.”  That is when I learned a very important lesson.  Never place your life in the hands of an idiot.  After that when I prowled those death laden bunkers along the WestWall (sic) just for the hell of it I did it alone.  No amateurs allowed.  Take a picture?  Holy Sweet Tits of Babalon, I had come within an Ace of committing involuntary suicide.  That is also when I learned about the brisance effect.

The brisance effect.  Well now that is a technical term you may not have run into unless you have chased your ass thru the Army’s Ordnance Courses at Aberdeen Proving Grounds, but to those involved in Explosive Ordnance there are 2 explosions to every explosion.  Yep, that’s right folks.  2 bangs = a great big zero hole in the ground.  The way it works is this.  The explosion you see, feel & hear…that concusion (sic)–blast-bang-smoke-dust-eruption-force that we think of as the explosion is merely the after effect, just as the Queen Scale of Color (777 revised) is merely reflection (Spectra).  “Above the abyss there is no separation into colour,” p. 71, Queen Scale Suggesting there is no “spectrum” in the Atziluthic world (p. 67, King Scale) which causes it to begin with, the root of color being transparent “light” from the Atziluthic world of primal creation which effects not only the King Scale but also your psychic body corresponding to Cols. II, VI, XIV & XV.  So when that bomb went off I was exposed, if only for a nanosecond, to the light “energy” from a crushed universe.  Sort of like experiencing the sun as a neutron star as the kiss of Mars (Pè card) let loose the lightning of Venus (Netzach = negative universe…all sepheroth are) across to Hod (left brain) awakening Sag (Alchemy card) that being the kundalini (Svadithan (sic)-Muladhara chakras).  It happened to a lot of us combat veterans.  Incoming shellfire.  A mortar round too close.  Plus of course the adrenal rush to send it “straight up” (3 of swords, THOTH deck).  It sure made your head ring.  Sometimes it resulted in that “2000 yard stare” & you just wandered off & wound up in a nice shrink ward.  After all your psychic body is coincident with your physical body so what affects one effects the other.  I thought of that the other day when I received a notice that my Medi-Cal had been cut off but that Vietnamese emigrants would continue to receive free Medical benefits.  A curious way to reward the veteran.  For just as there is a rupture of atoms in an atomic explosion, so molecules also take up “space” & occupy “ground”.  The 1st “explosion” is the detonation.  That is the moment of brisance when the structure of the molecules at the center of the bomb actually crumble in a moment of ultimate disruption = brisance fr. brisel (ME brysell OE bysan = to crush, break) (THE COMPACT EDITION OF THE OXFORD ENGLISH DICTIONARY).  This brisance effect also accounts for the Quantity Distance Factor.  Those who have seen my Korean War slides will remember how precise those rows of artillery rounds are & how far apart.  That is in case one goes it won’t, thru disruption of the brisance, hit a quantity within a distance where it can be disrupted too & have your whole Ammo Supply point go up in one fantastic flash.  That’s what killed Jack Parsons.  When he dropped that can of mercury fulminate, which is what we use in the fuze (sic) to set off the detonation, the “explosion” knocked him momentarily unconscious & mangled him rather badly, but he recovered consciousness & might have lived but the flash of the brisance so close to him effected his constitution so badly he lapsed into unconsciousness & died of shock.  The same thing would have happened to me had I not stepped behind a blast shield a moment before the explosion.  For that pill-box was sitting on sand, & that makes a difference.  Sand is penetrable.  It lets light thru.  And it makes excellent glass.  If that Sgt. had not made it in his death dash for the bunker he would have been caught in the light-flash of a molecular sun for a moment shining thru that sand & every cell of his body would have been penetrated by a solid wall-spray-lance-jet of sand and instant molten glass & fire.  The importance of having a blast shield between you & your experience is vividly illustrated by Crowley in the Virgo card, THOTH deck.  Here you will find a thin line bisecting the card “right in ze middle” horizontally thru that lamp-sun-fire-yod-phallus-hand-spermatozoon-logos-virgin w/3 headed Cerebus guarding “the crust over Hades” formed by the HERMIT (p. 89, BOOK OF THOTH) that opens in the Pè card (see your Yoga Psychic Body Chakra Chart for Dragon opening a Mouth of Flame pointing left (Netzach to Hod) at the Svadisthana Chakra level).  This motif of a horizontal line dividing THAT WHICH IS ABOVE from THAT WHICH IS BELOW is also demonstrated in the FOOL, MAGUS, Cups 1-2-3-6-8-Queen & Disks 6 & 9.  Notice same horizontal line in center of projecting creative “Bulb of 7 spheres” of the Ajna Chakra on same Yoga Occult Body Chakra Chart.  In any case that Triangular psychic body of the Achad Tree configuration does not seem to account for this, but by reversing the firing sequence for getting your Boat of Ra space borne leaves your feet kicking at Heaven & your head in Hell (HAMLET Act 3, Sc 3).  Looks like propelling charge for an artillery round to me, you know, with all those hollow stove pipes it looks like powder grains for fast burning.  Now the Achad Tree is advertised as endlessly creating universes from it’s (sic) Tiphereth center.  But will it creat (sic) endless universes of imploding-selfcreating-selfdestructing-uncontrolled-unstoppable-unspeakable horror?  7 being unstable & it being psychically very dangerous for your Angel to descend as low as Netzach-Venus on the Tree (p. 182, BOOK OF THOTH)?  Remember there is no limit to the compressibility of a point.  Angels have no surface so they do not occupy space.  Occam’s Razor.  Looks like an excellent grade of cordite to me.

May you find the ki to it all.

Blessed Beast.
             H.A.  777

Inspired by my visit to Sekhet Chapter in Columbus
where they brought in a cubic yard of clean Georgia river sand
for the floor of Mighty Saladin’s Tent.  Believe me, sand makes a difference.

To be continued… [Click HERE]

I wish to thank Frater Petros of Leaping Laughter Clerk House
for making this page possible.