John St. John

12.55. 1.13. 6.23. 6.5!. THE EQUINOX the daily march and its strife with heat, thirst, fatigue, cure all the ills of the soul, so does Pranayama clear away the phantoms that Mayan, dread maker of Illu- sion, hath cumbered it withal. Io Breath-Cycles; calm, perfect, without the least effort; enough to go to sleep upon. He will read through the Ritual once, and then sleep. (The Pranayama precipitated a short attack of diarrhoea, started by the chill of the Ceremony.) He slept from 1.45 (approximately) till now. The mom is cold and damp; rain has fallen. John St. John is horribly tired; the “ control ” is worn to a thread. He takes‘five minutes to make up his mind to go through with it, five more to wash and write this up. And he has a million excuses for not doing Pranayama. 15 Breath-cycles, steady and easy enough. The brain is cool and lucid; but no energy is in it. At least no Sammavayamo, And at present the Superscription on John St. John’s Cross is FAILURE. Marvellous and manifold as are his results, he hath re- nounced them and esteemeth them as dross. . . . This is right, John St. Johnl yet how is it that there is place for the great hunchbacked devil to whisper in thine ear the doubt: Is there in truth any mystic path at all? Is it all disappointmentand illusion ? And the “Poor Thing " John St. John moves off