Delta T and Delta C
One of the challenges of being involved in the study of occultism is to find people with similar interests. The pool of occultists interested in studying magick is even smaller. The pool of magickal students who want to practice magick is smaller still.
It is true that today you can find people on the internet who are practicing magicians…at least they claim to be practicing magicians. However, the truth is the so-called "social media" is antithetical to actual socialization. Besides, the time I'm talking about in this True Tale was pre-WWW, so other than through the use of "snail mail" and telephones, the only way to be part of a group was to actually meet
Here are five short stories, my retelling of events that happened to me I'm calling "True Tales." They illustrate magickal concepts in a way I think is much more interesting than simply describing those concepts.
The Gods May Have Plans for You
that You Don't Expect
I was living in a house in the city of Encinitas in the North County area of San Diego. I was sharing the house with a man, Michael, and his son, Joe. Michael had been working as an engineer in a company that made amplifiers for people who wanted to boost the transmission power of their amateur radios. People who did this referred to themselves as HAM radio operators.
Michael had also studied acupressure and
It was about fifteen years after the events in True Tale 1 when I returned to Las Vegas. This is how the experience came to be.
I had been studying music since before I was in grammar school. By the time I reached high school, I was pretty good at playing rock organ. To my disappointment, all of the rock bands from my high school were really, really bad. A friend of mine since junior high school, Ricky R., played quarterback on the football team. I was left guard. He played organ in a band. He used a small, "chord" organ, which, beside standard keys, had neatly-labled button where pressing one would play chords of several notes. I never saw him play using more than two fingers.
When I was about five, my father had a massive heart attack died. My mother, without a job and left on her own to manage a home and two young children, couldn't cope and had a nervous breakdown. My brother and I were sent from our home in Los Angeles to live with relatives in Chicago. My mother, with the help of a psychiatrist, began to recover.
One evening, my brother and I, desperately missing our mother, sneaked downstairs and called her on the house's only phone. In tears we begged to come back. The call had a startling effect on my mother, shocking her into reality and, with the help of her psychiatrist, began a quick road to vast improvement. Soon, she had a job as an