THE RITES OF ELEUSIS 
 
“ We are the poets !  We are the children of wood and stream, of 
mist and mountain, of sun and wind !  We are the Greeks ! and to us 
the rites of Eleusis should open the doors of Heaven, and we shall 
enter in and see God face to face . . . 
Under the stars will I go forth, my brothers, and drink of that 
lustral dew :  I will return, my brothers, when I have seen God face 
to face and read within those eternal eyes the secret that shall make 
you free. 
Then will I choose you and test you and instruct you in the Mysteries 
of Eleusis, oh ye brave hearts, and cool eyes, and trembling lips ! I will 
put a live coal upon your lips, and flowers upon your eyes, and a sword 
in your hearts, and ye also shall see God face to face. 
Thus shall we give back its youth to the world, for like tongues of 
triple flame we shall look upon the Great Deep—Hail unto the Lords 
of the Groves of Eleusis ! ” 
ALEISTER CROWLEY in “ Eleusis.” 
 
ALEISTER CROWLEY is one of those men who can never remain 
satisfied.  His ambitions are insatiable.  He desires the unattain-
able with the fervour of a fanatic.  Whether he is climbing volcanoes 
in Mexico or traversing the vast snowfields of Kinchinjunga, edit-
ing a paper or playing golf, he proceeds on his way with swiftness 
and passion.  In Ceylon he was a Buddhist.  In Paris he was the 
beloved of Rodin.  Wherever he may be he must lead the way.  
Whilst Maeterlinck was delicately suggesting that there was more 
in magic than most of us imagined, Crowley was saturating himself 
in all the mystical works of the middle ages.  He learnt Magic as 
certainly no living man has ever learnt it. 
 
Eighteen months ago he started a periodical called “ The 
Equinox, ” brilliant from first page to last.  Some of it is pure 
literature ; some semi-magical :  the greater portion intended for the 
study of those who see a serious side to Ceremonial Magic.  The 
Equinox has been a great success.  Even those who have never 
heard of the Taro or read Eliphas Levi buy the THE EQUINOX. 
 
Aleister Crowley is a poet ; no minor bard twittering in gentle 
verse the praises of his mistress’s eyelash, but a virile singer, robust