The Black Pilgrimage (Book Review #99)

The Black Pilgrimage
David Beth
Theion Press

Preface

Reading books, the study of poetry, esoterica, philosophy and even to some extent religion, is as much a part of the praxis of those on the path as herbalism, genealogy, music, art, expeditions/pilgrimages etc. The intake of knowledge forms us, widens our scope. Though it could be seen as a passive pursuit;- i.e. that we absorb rather than engage, all knowledge pokes the cerebral into action, it conditions and nurtures.
I write these “Reviews” not as someone to recommend or dismiss but because it IS, part of my praxis.
To reiterate, writing a review of the book is akin to writing down a dream after sleep, it instils in the mind the message of the theme, it is my personal summary, I remember, rather than discard. I do not include these ‘reviews’ in my own ‘book of shadows’, and chose to upload them with other articles and poetry and miscellanea that I also do not write in that book of my own hand. I don’t sit down with a view to write a review, as reviews should be written, I just write, like a diary. I’m not a critic or influencer.

I began the book- the Black Pilgrimage, but the Easter holiday happened, two weeks of cleaning out the shed, the garden, re-carpetting the stairs, and so it was snippets here and there. It doesn’t bode well to read this book in little bite sized pieces. It’s Easter, spring awakens, Pallingenesis~ Rebirth after destruction. Resurrection.
The first thing that struck me was the smell ( of the book ! Not my shed ). A beautiful rich ‘book’ smell, i’d love to see how this smells in 50 years time, my sister has a thing for old book smells, weirdo. Anyway, it’s a smell I can describe as being like a mixture of Byredo’s Bibliothèque (itself designed to smell like books) and also a splash of it’s newer parfum ~ Desert Dawn…. it evokes…. wonder.

David Beth is as I understand a co-founder of Theion publishing whose works include ‘She of the Night’ and ‘Underworld’ two books I loved, so the omens were favourable.
He describes the Kosmic Gnosis. with a K, is this a nod to Crowley terming Magic, Magick. I get slightly fidgety when authors, presenting their own paths of gnosis fiddle with words, be it to differentiate, fair enough, or to impress, oh fuck off. I don’t think Beth falls in that latter category. He describes at the outset , Kosmic Gnosis in terms of The Abyss, Chaos, (why not Kaos) and Mater (Matter?) I like his style of writing, it is almost Orphic bordering on full blown poetic imagery and many are the euphemisms and symbology of anything he is alluding to. He doesn’t cut a long story short, in fact he stitches onto a long story, an even longer one. Some might not like that style, preferring the short path, a summary, but we’re not going down that path.
I don’t mind the long drawn out meander, though admittedly at times I fidgeted as I read sentence after sentence of his descriptions of what I would call an Animist outlook, though he doesn’t use that term, ….he did drop it into a quote somewhat some 60 pages in, matter of factly.
So where is it going? Abyss, Chaos, MAter …..,~~
My first logical step is to assume he is describing Ain Soph, Va DA’th and thus the manifest (From qabalist philosophy ), but Beth’s style is to nudge you, trip you up, make you think you’re going in the same direction before adding a slight curve ball.
What is, What isn’t. How deep does this well go.
AH! -I reason and project my own imagery ~So The Abyss is like sound without frequency , and Chaos the totality, absolute of every sound– white Noise, and ‘mater’? Then surely a distinct and particular, the differentiated is mater be it a scale or a note, a chime or a saw tooth buzzing trumpet sound in the back of my skull?
This is how its playing out with me, trying to assimilate and create my own interpretation, my own reasoning, sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t, and then the hardest part, inevitabibilty….
Submit.
Ok Beth, lead me astray, asway, asunder. I’ll shut up, honest.

I was reminded of how I felt when first reading Dion Fortune’s ~ the Cosmic Doctrine (With a C). Admittedly I was young, but that’s no excuse as still to this day I hardly have a clue what she was wittering on about, symbolically yes, perhaps in a dreamy wonderland. She said they were images the mind should not try to comprehend.
That always struck me as a bit of a cop out.
Don’t think.
Listen.
Don’t question.
The Tyler in my mind at the door however said no entry to the guru who spoke in flowery metaphors, that same Tyler raised its sword and said “say the password or your objectives clearly or turn swiftly from this threshold”.
I’ve squinted at metaphors, and naysayed the cryptic riddles.
Then as I became more isolated and staunch in my pride and unwavering ego, I resigned. Go with the flow.

Do I take a leap of faith? Nay ! Let faith be for the crutch of dull minds, I dare to venture forth ! Even to the spiralling madness shall I court folly. So, lead on Mr.Beth, aye,
astray, asway, asunder.
“Depth of the world~Chaos curving into the mater. The mater flowering into the Kosmos, Kosmos inhabited by DAemons, each carrying a meonic reserve, earth sky dead and gods intersect....
depth of the soul, …. ”
These are images that Beth will define throughout, sometimes literal, mostly in symbol speak and images arising. Abyss, chaos, mater, kosmos, daemon, meon, wound> and I want to change them to other words, to harmonize with my way of thinking, but its Babel for me to tinker, it’s a pointless exercise, im powder puffing my own ego trying to nod to an invisible audience that I understand.

Ingredi

Abyss → Da’at (דעת) The bosom of Nyx emerging and never revealing, Abzu; Chaos → Tohu (תהו); Matter (mater) → Malkhut (מלכות), the Keys, the Ki; Kosmos → Tiferet (תפארת) And, An, Anki; Daemon → Malakh (מלאך) Igi, all has face, all is a percievable being; Meon (non-being) → Ain (אין) (or Ain Sof אין סוף for deeper sense) Even before Nyx stirred, before the primordial sought to become aware of its being/.; Wound → Shevirah (שבירה)

Agredi

David Beth uses the term ~Abyssus abyssum invocat as the pilgrims motto and it is repeated often for us, viz;-Psalms 42:7,;-
Abyssus abyssum invocat, in voce cataractarum tuarum;omnia excelsa tua et fluctus tui super me transierunt.
(Deep calls to deep at the sound of your waterfalls;
all your heights and your waves have passed over me.)
But we are offered the quote as a motto finale~
Abyssus abyssum invoca ~
that the deeper we go the deeper to endure and follow, we cannot ascertain the abyss as… that is its nature. …
But I’m uncertain.
Why am I trying to analyse this, why am I trying to be the bratty kid at school forever raising its hand to question the teacher.
I arrive at the conclusion there is non-being to consider, there are the animate faces upon all things to disregard, and then ….to view them again.
I think Beth is fucking with my head.
What is clear is that I’m absorbed by this work, I’m sure with an objective mind I would have grasped it first hand. It’s Easter, I’m nibbling here and there, when I should isolate myself to the study. Without focus, the mind wanders….,
I’m old, I’m scarred by weal’s and woes from years by, the thing is, I understand what he’s getting at, I understand the Princeps, the primordial foundation of his path.
It is almost like speaking with someone from another language, post-Babel indeed, another path, and the analogous and resonant paths we both walk. So similar, so ‘different.’. Indeed as I would say the familiar and the peculiar in harmony, the world of Fae. Beth I’m sure would disagree. “Bloody Toad Bone Witches. ” he’d decry. I wonder if I hadn’t been distracted by a fortnights holiday over Easter and read the whole thing in a continuous stream, rather than bit here, bit there, lost my page, start again… whether id either champion or condemn?
I read Jack Grayles Hekateaon, picking holes in it and reading with one scratching finger at my lip to half mock and half acknowledge curiosity, even though it wasn’t really my ‘thing’ it was an engaging book, that I actually really loved, and likewise I find myself here, frowning and also astounded.
I wonder where Beth derived this gnosis, this path, what aspects of what.
Why am I being that occultist looking for the foundation behind the crown, the symbols in the sand before the written word,

abyss chaos mater kosmos daemon meon wound
abyssus abyssum invocat….

Things were now looking up as Beth takes the mind further to visualise the ‘pilgrim’ on the journey,
And then,…. ” wait to hear the voice of the Master ” (! )
Say what ?
“Wait for the Master to come, he knows….”

So I have thus far, assimilated into my psyche the aspect of the Abyss, the notion of becoming and unbecoming, of the anima/spirit inherent within every object and every environment and that manifested existence is but a shard of chaos, and now…. like the lone fucking ranger galloping over the hills we await the super hero to show us the light.

At this point I went to squash some lily beetles on my blossoming plants and tend to the Saturninan fledgling shoots popping out of the soil.
Under my breath I am cussing.
The Discovery of Witchcraft by Reginald whatshisname uses the word Cozening, to Cozen, and that pissed me off, that’s my mums maiden name. I’ve never heard her cuss before.
But cussing/cozening I am, so where does evolution inherent from the previous end and maverick energy and difference begin? …what has riled me?
“Master? !Fucking master?” I cussed like Gollum.
The sacred inner brotherhood, the knights herald, the veiled ascendents, the obsidian synod, The primordial fucking council of the first fucking breathe, The Cunting lords of the Shitting Black Miridian. Sitting in their Golden towers Aum’ing away indifferent to the struggle, like ol’ Jove ignoring the billions of deaths in ‘his’ name and the eradication of cultures whilst he has a nice long sleep, and now, I’m supposed to accept, the master ? A Select and honoured Eidolon of the Infinite Gate. A speck of dust in infinity, or more a speck of glitter in a huge white painted spotless clean auditorium.

It was at this point I stopped.

What is wrong with me. Petulant child.

Reading a book I assimilate, I view it with my experience, and sometimes it works and other times it rattles the cage, I rattle back. So there are masters to consider, to call upon. What is a master even if in my ego I can say it’s my higher self, an older self, possibly not wiser in my case but certainly enamoured with experience.
I cast my eye back on the book, I’ve calmed down.
Ok, Beth talks now of the pilgrim as she, and the master as a he, (in my path those roles are reversed. )-Let it pass. Walk on.
Perhaps the master is an archetypal euphemism for the all encompassing conduit of wisdom who cares not whether I acknowledge them, they exist, the master is present,
he
she
it
them.
Beth then addresses all my angst, reasoning, the master delivers its venom, yes as he describes disorientating- ‘a profound estrangement from the familiar,’ as the pilgrim descends the ‘darkness’~Katabasis, and again, in a striking and poignant sentence I see my beloved Maat~ she of the universal axis, holding order in the manifest~ she (the pilgrim) senses the master not as superior, but as a still point amid ceaseless rotation.

David Beth describes the journey of the pilgrim, it goes beyond initiation and rejuvenation, akin more to Anatta of the Buddhist, annihilation of the ‘self, the disorientation and destruction observed and experienced by Vipassana, and to Nirvana, merging and becoming and knowing, the ego shattered backwards as creation itself rained its shards of consciousness into the shells of matter in the first instant, and now, we’re going home.

At times Beth describes the journey like a gripping tale, but it is more than ‘edge of the seat’ stuff, symbology, mythopoetical, allegorical for they all entwine to give a picture and experience that the reader parallels in mind.
Sometimes when we read a book that agitates us, annoys us, it’s not because we accuse, or object to the manner it has been written, it’s because it holds up a mirror to us. We don’t like that.
I cast my mind back to when I first opened this book, my prejudice begun, because this could be labelled as a persons personal work of gnosis, with sigils never explained in construction, with poetry born from AI and pretention, with silly artwork of contrived demons, and long long long the dull and boring repetition of God awful rites and rituals.
This isn’t that book, really I should erase this review and start again from the perspective of the naïve wayfarer in uncharted waters.
I won’t, failings and mistakes are as much a part of the journey and the resulting review would be fake, contrived.
I’ve written this in the way the book was revealed to me, with my angst and ready to be chided and laughed at, stupid white man (Chief Dan George ~ Little Big Man).
If you dont want to go on a journey of oblivion, to kindle a fire you may not be able to control, to set in motion a host of mockers ready to rip into your personality then obviously dont read this book, after all Mr E.A. Koetting is waiting to show you how to be a god and he’s waiting for you to part with your cash.

If the co-founder of the publishing house writes this sort of book, it says so much for that publishing house.

Part two of the book, the practical work, if you choose, means and methods of praxis, the whole. With regards to the first part of the book, Part Two is like bonus material.
At the outset Beth says, some has been edited, and i can feel the stirring of angst awaken, but it is quickly silenced, I’ve read after all a beautiful work, imagined to the extent of living the journey of the pilgrim, It is far more poignant than a freemason laying in a coffin box to be raised by his brothers, far more than to have your head dunked under cold water by that monotone priest with halitosis.
This ‘piece of work’ is more masterpiece than another addition to a hallway of repro, printed identity-signalling trinkets.
I wonder if my biorhythms are on a crest, I wonder if the planets have aligned and humbled me.
I need to find another book, one to take the piss out of..If I laugh at others, does the world laugh louder back at me. …but after reading The Black Pilgrim I am silenced for a while. Blissfully.