Liber Amprodias
Frater Soror

"Love begins a magician, and ends a sorcerer." -Eliphas Levi


It is in exhaustion that I set these words down now.  My occult studies
are leaving me more and more befuddled.  The further I look, the more
deeply I read, the more that escapes me.  An endless series or progression
of cyclical arguments, self-referential rants, and deeply concealed
expressions of cynicism coupled with sexual desire, repression, and
obsession surround me on all sides.  It would appear that that which I
seek will ever elude me. 

I started almost twelve years ago. It seems to me that my abilities were
much more strong and pure then than now. It is almost as if the
wind-blown and yellowing sheets of a hundred grimoires are flapping
noisily in my ears, deafening me to the sound of the Outside.  Even so, I
hesitate to forsake the scars and kisses of the little knowledge that I
have managed to accumulate.  Perhaps the time of study is at an end. 
Perhaps the time has come for boldness and action, spontaneous cause and
unexpected effect.  For surely the source of magick is in the mind, soul,
and body-- and who can speak of the trinity of my own identity with more
clarity and authority than I? 

Thus the Books are sealed in Chaos, and the eyes opened once more to the
world of thought, aspiration, and immortality. I leave the ruins of those
who were and stride into the wilderness, there to build my mansion of only
the finest and most rare of materials: my own desires. 

A few items I will bring with me, these few principles that I have
managed to glean despite the best attempts of the finest occultists to
obscure them even while propagating them.

Most important to me is that principle which states 'As above, so below'; 
or, more properly, 'As within, so without.' I have understood this to be the
essence of the duad Microprosopus and Macroprosopus, the reflection and
the reflected, the Lesser and Greater Countenances. This expression
fuses the bond between all paired opposites and makes of them a third, a
triplicity, within which hides the essential One. There is the world of
phenomenon, father of all sensation, to which our seven or more senses
have attached themselves, as conduits from the outer to the inner world. 
Of the world of phenomenon, much can be said but nothing determined; for
we have only the evidence of our own senses, hopelessly subjective, from
which to speculate about this ineffable envelope th at seems to surround
and nurture/torture our collective existences. 

The interior world equally defies explanation, as it appears to be its own
sense-organ, a self-contained and terribly intertwined duality of the
observer and the observed, subject and object.  In dreams, thoughts, and
visions we wander the paths of this splendid wilderness, searching its
reflecting pools and shadowy groves for glimmers of truth about ourselves
or the exterior world.  The more diverse and intense the sensations
apprehended by our sense-conduits from the outside world, the more lush
and tangled become the forests of our own personal worlds.  The
reflection can only be as rich as that which is reflected. 

But there exist also a separate set of sense-conduits, which carry
sensations from the interior world and transmit them to the world beyond
the borders of our skulls.  These conduits transform thought into movement
or vibrations, outward expressions of o ur inner universe; thereby speech,
music, movement, literature, conversation, et al leave the mental womb and
radiate throughout the reality envelope that surrounds us.  Even as the
vibrations and movements of the exterior world resonate to create, transform, 
and destroy the diverse districts of our mental world-models, so may
our thoughts create, transform, and destroy aspects of the outer reality;
and thus also may the interior worlds of our peers be effected, as subtle
changes in the outer reality spread like ripples across the shared vacuum
in which we live and dwell. 

To my own self, to my own gods, till they be one, I am dedicated.