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The poets (must be mad)



Plato banished the poets from his Republic—and the Republic constituted an attempt at a rational utopia, among the earliest. We have only continued to follow Plato’s example in the West—the poets are regarded with suspicion as “fabricators” or “inventors”, as Plato saw it (and most rationalists do today too).


In fact, there is hardly any place for poets in the world today—their message being drowned out by mass entertainment and other distractions. To have poets, you need to be able to see the stars (the immortal stars)—and we cannot.


As Miguel Serrano noted, “My message is not wholly understood; only poets understand it.” This is because only poets speak to and see the gods—just as Mohammad was a great poet who denied he was so (looking for his golden words to be hung up at the Ka’ba forever).


You can tell this is so if you think about Aleister Crowley’s career—he starts as a poet, an occupation he mixes with the occult (just like his fellow poet, his superior poet, WB Yeats—who was in the Golden Dawn with Crowley and fell out with him).


Crowley goes to the Great Pyramid and spends the night there with his wife—in a pitch-black chamber, lights manifest (it must have happened, I’ve seen similar things myself). After that, Crowley began to dictate his gospel—the gospel according to “Aiwass” that spoke through him and knew things he never knew and otherwise never could.


And that was where his religion came from—and that’s where all religions come from (it’s the divine madness, it’s to be ecstatic—to go out of your mind and insane). The thing is that in order to speak to the gods you have to create things that are fabrication in part—but also say other things that are total truth; and you have to use paradoxes and riddles and rhythms—you have to use images and symbols.


To straightforward reason, these are either irrational and constitute illogical nonsense—or are just “pleasant images” for the rubes. Generally, skeptics have no poetry in them—and so they never get religion. They might, begrudgingly, admit that these stories contain some metaphorical truth, a moral truth—and that might be good to keep the masses in line.


And they might grant these rhythms and symbols can be beautiful and can mobilise the psyche—but they can never get that these things allow you to enter another realm literally (and to see supernatural entities). “How can I believe that?” But it’s not a belief, it’s a recitation.


(222, 333, 44, ****)




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