Diary of Lisa Chan: Difference between revisions
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I got back to the house around noon and spent the afternoon studying. There is something odd about The Book of The Gates, now that I examine the lettering more closely. It almost looks to have been penned by two different hands, though the differences are so subtle, that it could just represent different periods in the same man's life. Most people retain the same strokes and stylistic leanings throughout their lives, but some people like to switch things up. In fact, I feel that learning about Persian calligraphy is somehow going to influence the way I do Chinese calligraphy. It is unavoidable that the things you learn in one area creep into everything you do, from kung-fu, to magic, to art. It is all interconnected. Sayed's life was a tremendous journey, so it would not surprise me if the things he learned guided his hand right down to stylistic lettering choices but, still, it <i>is</i> interesting that some of the lettering could have been done by a copycat. | I got back to the house around noon and spent the afternoon studying. There is something odd about The Book of The Gates, now that I examine the lettering more closely. It almost looks to have been penned by two different hands, though the differences are so subtle, that it could just represent different periods in the same man's life. Most people retain the same strokes and stylistic leanings throughout their lives, but some people like to switch things up. In fact, I feel that learning about Persian calligraphy is somehow going to influence the way I do Chinese calligraphy. It is unavoidable that the things you learn in one area creep into everything you do, from kung-fu, to magic, to art. It is all interconnected. Sayed's life was a tremendous journey, so it would not surprise me if the things he learned guided his hand right down to stylistic lettering choices but, still, it <i>is</i> interesting that some of the lettering could have been done by a copycat. | ||
[[File:ZoroastrianCalligraphy.jpg|center|Zoroastrian Calligraphy]] | |||
==See Also== | ==See Also== | ||
Revision as of 21:31, 2 December 2012
Thursday, December 31, 1964
I was invited to a so-called New Years Eve party at the estate of one Magdalena Carter in the Hollywood Hills. Mrs. Carter lives in the Alden House, a place built decades ago by the famous architect, Frank LLoyd Wright. The house is interesting, incorporating elements of Mesoamerican architecture, and quasi-occult symbology engraved into the reinforced concrete. I could tell soon after entering that the ambient mana in the place was unusual.
I was driven to the party by a man named Holmes. Along the way we picked up an actress, Kit, whose connection to Mrs. Carter and the Prometheans I still can't figure. She seems entirely mundane in nature, with no real interest or knowledge in the occult. We were the first to arrive at the party. The house was beautiful, with exquisite grounds and interior design, and an amazing view of Los Angeles. The next guest to arrive was a man named Kuranes.
Kuranes struck me as a bit of an eccentric, but I like eccentrics. I later came to find out that he was a truly talented magician, with a command of a wide variety of incantations. I think it is unusual for one so young to be so skilled. I believe he is a prodigy, an up-and-coming master of the arcane. I hope to be able to learn a few things from him. Ever since my days with Wei in San Francisco, I have been without anyone to study with or learn from.
The next guests to arrive were Elaine Baxter and Jonathan Angel. Much like Kuranes, they seemed eccentric and in many ways lost in their own worlds. We did not do much mingling, to be honest. They kept to themselves, engaged with their gadgets. Elaine had a few cameras, one of which appeared very unusual, and was photographing everything in sight. I got the impression that she was not interested in the architecture, either. Jonathan had some sort of scientific instrument that he was using to... well, I don't really know what it was for. It was some kind of electronic device. Both Elaine and Jonathan have some paranormal gifts, but I do not believe they are schooled in magic. Jonathan exhibited an ability to sense things in time, both past and present.
It was not long after Elaine and Jonathan arrived that we had found ourselves in trouble. Kit left with her husband, Steven, as soon as he arrived with the scientist. She was upset about him for something, and we did not see them again that night. What did happen, though, was that Elaine found an old radio from the 1920s and started messing with it. I don't know why she did that, but suffice it so say, if she gets an idea in her head she acts on it. She does not seem like the type to wait around. It turns out the radio was not as it seemed, and housed an elaborate magical device. When Elaine turned the knobs, a thunderous sound boomed out, and the chatter of a thousand voices in a thousand languages reached my ears. It was nonsense as far as I could tell. Shortly thereafter, a more sinister voice spoke out, announcing that at last it had escaped and at last we would serve it. The sinister voice and the situation with the radio caused us more than a little distress. Elaine pulled a gun and shot the thing. All this did was make a hole in the radio.
It was at this point that the final guest arrived with a ring at the door. I answered, and looked up at the largest Indian man I had ever seen. His name was Genda, and he was a quiet and reflective seeming fellow. I think he was about four times my size! He came inside and made immediately for the sandwiches at the bar (and kept going back for more).
Jonathan and Kuranes kept studying the radio. Through some means, Jonathan was able to discern a network of crystals embedded in the radio. Kuranes determined the crystals bore powerful enchantments, and after Kuranes and Jonathan studied the device further, they determined there was dangerous magic at work. Elaine ran outside for some reason and we heard another gunshot. We went to see what had happened, and found that the entire premises had been enclosed in a glowing purple dome, a magical barrier meant to prevent anything from passing. It was evidently bulletproof.
We went back in and set about finding a solution to our predicament. Kuranes analyzed the radio. Elaine worked on developing her photos, and I cooked some food for the seemingly insatiable Jinda (the various weapons hidden around the kitchen were an interesting decorating choice as well...). Kuranes determined the magic in the crystals was going to transport the entire house to another plane after about another hour or less. Elaine discovered via her photographs that there was a spirit housed in the painting of Calvin Alden that was watching us. Genda was able to use his psychic powers to communicate with the spirit. He indicated to us that the device had been constructed by Xavier Hellestromme, a powerful mage who had been banished sometime ago, whose fate was unknown. It is entirely conceivable that he had been inadvertently freed by Elaine when she manipulated the radio. Whatever the case, we knew we had to figure out a way to halt the ensorcellment that was upon us.
After some deliberation, we decided to pool our strength and try to counter the plane shifting spell on the crystal. We came together in a magical ritual, and through an exhausting effort, we were able to destroy the spell. The magical barrier outside dissolved soon after, and we were clear. Holmes, who had been spending his time operating the manastat to assist us in our magicking, told us that we had been selected to be the New Prometheans, to work as investigators, troubleshooters, and general problem solvers for the Promethean Foundation. We all gladly accepted, and some of us even moved into the guest houses on the grounds adjacent to the Alden House. I chose the house next to the one where Kuranes was already staying. I look forward to learning more about the foundation, its history and resources, and to some fruitful study of magic, and I think this bunch could all use some home cooked meals.
Friday, January 1st, 1965
I have lived in America for over 30 years, but I still do not consider January 1st the New Year. It makes this whole time of year seem surreal to me, the way I am out of step with everyone else when it comes to having that feeling of starting along the cycle again, with new goals and hopes. For me, it's just the middle of the winter, though that only means so much in Los Angeles.
I started the day with a bicycle ride to the park, and a training session. Today I worked on some of the forms of Luohan Quan, one of the components of Five Ancestors Fist. I will admit that Luohan Quan is probably my weakest area. I started decades ago by studying Fujian White Crane, and have added the other four styles over the years: Da mo, Taizu Changquan, Monkey Fist, and lastly Luohan Quan. I am still by far the most adept at the Fujian White Crane, but in time I believe I will master all of the Five Ancestors Fist, as long as I maintain my studies.
After my morning training session and some breakfast, I got in touch with Holmes, who was kind enough to help me move my things from my efficiency in West Hollywood to the guesthouse at the Alden House. On the way back, we managed to find a few stores that were open, and I got a new leather jacket. If I'm going to be a Private Investigator, I will need to have some new wardrobe options, and I think a leather jacket is a nice addition. My new place is far more spacious, and I am excited to work with the Promethean Foundation, to collaborate with and learn from the talented people they have selected. It is actually quite an honor to have been invited to join them. I was told from a very early age, first by my parents and then by Wei, that I had great potential, with a strong connection to the arcane. It will be nice to finally put this to the test.
After moving in, I spent several hours on thaumatological studies and work, followed by another training session in the early evening, again focusing on Luohan Quan. I can see myself getting into a nice routine of training and study.
So, all in all, today was a lot less eventful than yesterday.
Saturday, January 2nd, 1965
Today was exhausting. I woke up early and took a bicycle ride around the hills, to familiarize myself with my the area around my new home. I found a park with a beautiful view of the city, and I stopped for a couple of hours of Da mo training. Da mo is the component of Five Ancestors Fist that teaches breathing exercises. In some ways, this is the most difficult. It requires great attention to form, and total focus on the moment.
I returned to my new home at midmorning, had a quick breakfast, and spent the rest of the day at work practicing my incantations. I lost track of time, and when I at last stopped, the Sun had already set. My energy was drained from the study, but I went ahead and got a light workout in. I did some cardiovascular conditioning, and went through a few taolu for Luohan Quan. I am going to sleep well tonight.
Sunday, January 3rd, 1965
Today was another exhausting day of magical training. Prior to commencing, I practiced some Monkey Fist in the yard and had some breakfast. With the magical effort that lay ahead of me, I did not feel like I had any time for a bicycle ride, so I just stayed on the grounds of the estate to train. For the rest of the day, about eight or nine hours, I was doing nothing but practice the motions and incantations of magic, breaking intermittently to meditate and breathe. I felt that it was important that I take this opportunity to practice before my work with the Promethean Foundation begins. Who knows what is in store for us, or when we'll next have time for study and improvement? Following my day of theumatological practice, I went through two complete Luohan Quan taolu, three times apiece. Tomorrow, Magdalena Carter returns from wherever she has been, and I and the others will commence our work. Things should get interesting...
Monday, January 4th, 1965
I am busy getting started learning Persian, but I feel that it is important that I document today's events for posterity. Today was the greatest day of my life. It started with a training session then breakfast with Magdalena Carter and my fellow Prometheans. We learned about a mansion in Pasadena that warranted investigation by the Promethean Foundation. It had been owned by a magician named Jacob Jansen since the '20s when he moved in, until January, 1964, when he passed away. He was survived by his wife, who passed some months after him. There were others with some connection to the property whose lives ended mysteriously, but after my great discovery, all of that seems inconsequential.
Jacob Jansen was rumored to be in possession of a Persian magical text called The Book of The Gates, though Mrs. Carter and others were skeptical. I think they were incorrect to doubt this, for I found this very tome in our exploration of the house in Pasadena. My discovery of this book may, in fact, be the most important turn of events in human history. It is clear that the late Mr. Jansen attempted to make use of it, but perhaps he was too much of a dabbler or charlatan to be able to use it properly. In fact, the house was haunted by a spiritual entity that he had inadvertently summoned. While it is a crime that he held the book for so long then locked it away to sit in a safe, unused, for nearly a year, it is fortunate that I came upon it when I did. Not only will I be able to return this entity in the house to its place of origin and rid our world of its dangerous presence, but I will be able to do so much more.
From what I have gathered in my studies thus far, this book is the most important development in the history of our entire planet. It contains the deepest, most complex secrets of the most powerful, far-reaching magic known in this or any universe. With it, I will be able to right all of the wrongs that plague our civilization, and hasten us toward greatness. Unfortunately for me and the rest of humankind, it is written in Persian, so I must first gain fluency in this language. This is a small hurdle, but a hurdle nonetheless, and I must focus all of my effort on mastering Persian so that I can begin to unlock the infinite benevolences kept within The Book of Gates.
I feel that I must bear the burden of using this book alone. Perhaps in due time I can call upon other mages to assist me, but to allow others direct access to The Book of The Gates would be a mistake. It is clear that I was destined to be the one to take possession of this book. Too many coincidences had to fall into place for it to be otherwise: I had to come from China to America, I had to run afoul of the Hells Angels in Oakland to end up in Los Angeles, I had to meet a student working on a grant from the Promethean Foundation, and I had to be sent on my very first task by them to this very house in Pasadena where this book had been awaiting me, after it had made an even longer, more circuitous journey across time and continents. All that said, I believe the others have a sense of the gravity surrounding the book. Elaine offered to pay for a Persian tutor to speed my learning. Deep down, she knows this book is the answer, and she senses that I must undertake this task. She is ready to do whatever it takes to see this through, and for now that means helping me understand it. I think her commitment and loyalty will be greatly rewarded by the blessings this book will bestow upon us.
Kuranes must also know the book is as important as it is. He, too, saw it sitting in the safe at Mr. Jansen's house. He, too, must feel how powerful it is, but he also knows it was meant for me. He did not try to take the book when we found it, and he has made no attempt to get in my way since I took it. He must be patient and be ready to do whatever I need him to when the time comes for me to put the book to use. Like Elaine, he too will share in the infinite benisons the book has in store for us and the rest of humankind. Truly, this is the beginning of a great revolution. Let it be known that January 4th, 1965 was the day humankind began its ascension through the miracles held in The Book of The Gates.
It remains to be seen what role the others will play in my quest to make use of The Book of the Gates. Perhaps destiny has sent them to be my assistants, or perhaps they are the pawns of forces that would oppose the enlightenment of humankind that the book offers. I will be wary, but I honestly cannot spend much time thinking about them. Whatever they are meant to do, it is insignificant compared to me understanding the book itself, so that is where my efforts will lie. Tomorrow and for the foreseeable future, I will be learning Persian. It is the first of many steps, and I must not hesitate or falter. I have heard that Persian is a difficult language, but no easy journey was ever worth taking, and there could be no more important or worthy journey than understanding everything held within The Book of The Gates.
Tuesday, January 5th, 1965
Today was a long day. I worked on deciphering The Book of the Gates as soon as I woke up, but I was repeatedly interrupted, first by Holmes and then by Elaine. They were overly concerned with me eating breakfast and just would not let it go. Apparently the apple I had was insufficient. Shortly after the interruptions, I was pulled away from my studies to return with the other Prometheans to the Pasadena Mystery House. I thought it would be a good idea to look around Mr. Jansen's study for more information about the book, so I agreed to the excursion. When we finally got around to loading up for the trip, I met Ryan Keaton, a scientist who has had a long association with Mrs. Carter and the foundation. They have known each other since the 1920s, though Keaton does not look much older than 30. He is a scientist, but there is clearly something magical about him as well. From what I have heard, he has had many encounters with mages and the occult, though he has no actual magical ability of his own. I can only surmise that his relentless studies of the arcane have rubbed off on him in some way.
We arrived at the house in the early afternoon, our sluggishness in getting there thanks to a truly horrific batch of traffic. I went straight to Mr. Jansen's study and looked over his notes. Kuranes went to the library and was busy looking around for something there. I don't know what. The only item of interest I found was a receipt for The Book of The Gates for $895. It did not specify where the receipt was from, but I knew that Jonathan could figure that out. I went to find him with the others in the observatory, but I did not broach the subject of the receipt with him. I planned to wait until we were back at the Alden House to get him to investigate its origin. Regardless, I think the $895 price tag was an incredible bargain. Despite his chicanery and buffoonery, at least Mr. Jansen was able to identify a great deal when he saw it.
The others were busy wasting time in the observatory. They were insistent upon communicating with the entity there again. I did not see the point; we know that it wants to go home, and I know how to send it there, but they just would not listen. They were also doing some scientific analysis on the magical device the observatory housed, some sort of gate-opening telescope. I did notice some Persian inscriptions along the dials of the device, and I'm sure its design was a product of Mr. Jansen's study of The Book of The Gates. That said, such things are unnecessary to conduct magic for someone who has training, so the device was only of passing interest to me. Maybe it would be useful, and maybe not. After they had squandered the bulk of the afternoon tinkering about and needlessly brainstorming, I finally convinced them that the best course of action was for us to return to the Alden House and let me get started unlocking the secrets contained in the book. We headed back.
Just as I was about to take Jonathan aside to get him to examine the receipt, he realized that there had been a secret government agent watching the Mystery House. He suspected that a man he saw near the premises was with the Office of Scientific Intelligence. It was a little unsettling to hear that the OSI was interested in the house, because I just knew this was not going to end well. This agency may have been responsible for the disappearance of a previous team of Prometheans years ago, and Mrs. Carter considered them something of an adversary to the Promethean Foundation. We all mostly agreed that we should go back to the Mystery House and try to prevent them from ruining the place and taking everything there that might end up being of value. I also felt that the entity in the observatory would pose a serious threat to their lives. I do not know these OSI agents, but even gifted, well-trained people could easily be overcome by the Mind of the Mystery House. I wanted to prevent a fate worse than a few bruised ribs from happening to these people, if I could.
When we arrived, we snuck through the house and found an agent in the observatory. He used psychic powers to obfuscate himself from us, and to attack our minds. It seemed that we were in a dire fight, but after we subdued him we all realized he was actually a really good guy and did not pose a threat. I didn't think he posed a threat to the entity, either. I believed he and his team would find a way to do what's best for the entity and for the people of the United States. We still decided to take most of the paintings by Austin Osman Spare that Mr. Jansen had collected. They were made with magical paints, and could contain secrets or powers that we cannot yet discern. I doubt they are of any great importance or that they will be of any help in my study of The Book of The Gates, but it is possible that Mr. Jansen collected them for a good reason, and that the reason is related to the book.
We left and returned to the Alden House. I am not sure what to think about our encounter with this OSI agent. I think the agent himself is a good, well-meaning man, but I cannot be so sure about his bosses or colleagues. I have gotten mixed reports about the OSI, and Jonathan in particular seems to have little good to say about them. As long as they do not try to interfere with my study of The Book of The Gates, then I don't see what harm they pose.
Wednesday, January 6th,1965
I woke up with a strange impression of yesterday's events. I cannot quite put my finger on it, but something happened to us in our encounter with the OSI agent in the observatory at the Pasadena Mystery House, and now I am left feeling somewhat ambivalent toward him. I will be interested to see how he reacts to us if we run into him again.
Today I began my studies with Alexander Tophet. He is an accomplished magician in many areas, namely Gate magic, which is where my interests lie at present. He is a good teacher, patient and knowledgeable. He also has an intense intellectual interest in thaumatology and the occult; I can tell magic is a true passion of his, much like it was for my old teacher Wei in San Francisco. Our lesson today was limited to the basics of Gate theory, the interconnectedness of mana with space and time. I had not been exposed to Thaumatological Relativity before, and it is interesting to see the metaphysical equations that shape it. It even explains the more subtle aspects of some incantations of Movement magic. With luck, these lessons will help in my understanding of the diagrams in The Book of The Gates. Time will tell.
Following our lesson, I was exhausted. I decided to get in an hour of Da mo training, to help ease my mind. The breathing exercises helped me regain my focus, so I spent some time paging through The Book of The Gates. Even though I cannot yet read it, I enjoy looking at it. The text itself is beatiful, penned by a master's hand. I expect the words and incantations will be too. In fact, The Book was in my dreams last night. It is now clear to me that it will be integral to restoring magic to the way it is supposed to be, to the way it was.
Thursday, January 7th,1965
I woke up early today and trained for about two hours before breakfast. Today I went through a series of White Crane defensive routines, my favorite. I love the hard blocks of the White Crane. It never ceases being fully engaging for me to practice them. I was told this is because they can never be truly mastered, especially since clever opponents will always be thinking of new ways to slip past them. In fact, this is very much the style in American martial arts today, with the rising popularity of Jeet Kune Do. Local practitioners of martial arts are learning about quick thrusts aimed at bypassing defenses, generally timed so that attacks occur simultaneously with the opponent's attacks, the idea being to strike first and stop their attack. I find that if I thrust with extended fingers toward an opponent's neck or shoulder, I can quickly break off in a downward block. Or, if I am quick enough, I can strike, unbalance my opponent, and block down and transition to a wristlock. These defensive methods have proven effective at countering the modern stop-thrusts, but I can always stand to get better at them.
My morning workout was invigorating and prepared me for the long thaumatological lesson with Mr. Tophet that followed breakfast. Today we moved beyond theory and into the realm of incantations. The syllables of gate magic comprise three primary elements: temporal, spacial, and transdimensional. These are interwoven with syllables to shape mana to produce the desired result. Combining all three is arduous, and will remain outside my ability for a long time. In fact, this may not be within my ability until we have used The Book of The Gates to help undo the repression of mana that currently afflicts this world. Just combining two, say to move through space and time simultaneously, requires substantial power. Even a short trip is something I can barely muster under the best conditions. If I am ever going to be a competent user of gate magic, I will need to engage in more exercises to improve my mental energy and stamina. Fortunately, Five Ancestors already helps in this area.
I can feel my connection with The Book of The Gates growing as I learn these magics from Mr. Tophet. I looked over a few more pages tonight after another quick session of Da mo.
Friday, January 8th,1965
I started the day with a jog up through the hills to a park on Mulholland Drive, where I practiced Taizu changquan. There was an Indian man in the park doing yoga as well. This was a fun coincidence, as changquan techniques involve flexibilty and balance, and here is this Indian guy also improving his flexibilty and balance, albeit in completely different ways. Following my training, I ran back down the hill and had some rice porridge, fruit, and an egg for breakfast. I saw Holmes in the kitchen and we had a brief chat about cutlery, of all things, and we showed each other different methods for slicing fruit with a paring knife. There is something to be said for days that start on such a mundane note; they can be rather relaxing.
My magic lesson did not start until the afternoon today, so I spent the rest of the day reading about the Persian Empire of antiquity. I read some encyclopedia entries, but I found The Histories by Herodotus to be much more interesting and engaging. It occurs to me from reading it that there may be hidden occult messages within it, but I would need to be able to read it in the original Ionic Greek to know for sure. As far as I know, Herodotus was not a magician, but I suppose it would be easy enough for the only historian at the time to keep something like that out of the history books!
My session with Mr. Tophet was shorter than the previous two, and will be my last one for a while. As per my request, we focused on temporal manipulaion. This is the area of gate magic that interests me most. It is also among the most complex and will require patience to learn. I am happy to have been expsed to he basics, though. I doubt I will be making practical use of it anytime soon, but they say every journey begins with a single step. Indeed, when I first began to learn the White Crane, I could barely hit the broad side of a plank.
Saturday, January 9th,1965
We had breakfast with Mrs. Carter today, and I must say I found it a little odd. She kept asking me about Tibet and Tibetans. I don't know very much about them; I'm from Guangzhou, not exactly close to the Himalayas. Yet she would occasionally steer the conversation back to them. I thought for a minute she might be one of these Americans who thinks all Asians are the same, but I know she is more cultured than that.
Tibet is a mystical place, so perhaps she was just seeing what I knew about it that might interest the Prometheans.
Mrs. Carter was gracious enough to hire a Persian speaker that I could magically borrow the ability to read Persian from. The woman she hired, Laleh Salehi, was ostensibly hired to teach Holmes Persian cooking. I sat at a table in the room near the kitchen and read The Book of The Gates, at last beginning to comprehend it. It was quite taxing to read the book this way. I would read for fiifteen minute intervals, then rest for a half hour to recover. It was slightly distracting overhearing the cooking lesson going on in the kitchen as well, because I have developed a taste for Persian food since I moved to Los Angeles. This process went on for about eight hours.
The Book of The Gates is dense with information. I learned a bit about its origin. It was evidently penned by a man named Sayed Ali Muhammad Shirazi al-Djinn from the city of Hama. He describes the mathematics and astronomy he learned in Shiraz, presumably in the time of King Ardashir (2897 - 2914) of the Sassanid Persian Empire. This tells me that this man was a time traveler or that he led a long life and eventually changed his name, neither of which is unsurprising for someone so adept in gate magic that he could pen this book, because Muhammad was not born until 3243. In fact, the Muslims conquered the Sassanid Persian Empire in 3324, bringing an end to Persian dominance of the region. Within the first few pages I had uncovered a mystery!
The author went on to discuss Mazdaism that he learned under the mystic Kartir Hangirpe in Parsa. Kartir went to work for Ardashir's successor, King Shapur, and Sayed went on to study Zurvanism in Bakhtar. In due time I would like to visit these times and places, but I have so much work to do before I will be able to. I still have much to learn regarding gate magic before I can even begin to contemplate such journeys. Not to mention, I don't know how they're going to react to a Chinese woman there! Probably not well.
After reading through the book, I was mentally exhausted. It was the perfect opportunity to spend a couple of hours practicing Da mo, to recenter myself, because I have another session to look forward to tomorrow.
Sunday, January 10th,1965
I had strange dreams last night. I was in a forest, in another time, in another place. I had taken a look at the thaumatological equations of temporal mana conversion before bed, and I think they somehow crept into my dreams. The leaves on the trees were gray and rubbery, the bark scaly like a lizard's scales. Walking on the dirt felt like walking on piles of hay. There was a haze lingering in the air, blue-gray in color, obscuring my vision. I came to a stone retaining wall built along the base of a steep hillside. There were etchings on the wall. I think they were etchings in the Tongue Man Was Not Meant to Know - the Mythos Tongue - but I only thought that because of a vague sense of dread that crept through my mind when I looked upon them. The characters had unsettling lines and horrific curves, telling a story of desolation and despair. I could not read them, but I could feel them in my mind. I turned away from the wall and saw streams of light in the haze, spiraling from a hole in the fabric of reality. Where is this place my mind took me last night? It felt so real, the horror, yet it recedes from me even now just as all dreams do.
I got off to a slow start this morning. I jogged out to a copse of trees a little ways down the hill from the compound. I practiced hard strikes against the trees, using the strikes of the iron monkey. I moved through the steps, still in a mental fog, and only emerged back into the moment when I felt my knuckles throbbing. I looked and saw that I had beaten my hands raw against the trees. It's not the first time I have pushed my limits striking wood. I'll be fine tomorrow.
I started in on another session reading The Book of The Gates with the "help" of Mrs. Salehi. The menu today was fesenjan - one of my favorites. The smells coming from the kitchen were glorious. I learned from the book that Sayed had figured out a way to summon forth his "spirit twin" from another dimension. This entity taught him strange mathematics, I believe it was something like what we now think of as differential geometry, maybe topology. It is clear to me that I will have to work on my math skills prior to being able to comprehend the diagrams I have encountered in the book. This is not going to be easy, but I'm sure Wei will be happy to learn that I'm taking math more seriously, "like all good girls from Guangzhou should do." Numerous pages of the text remain a mystery to me, magical in nature and otherworldly in scope. I will not be able to unlock the secrets in The Book of The Gates this way; I will need to study Classical Persian and mathematics more seriously before I am able to understand it. I will also clearly need to become more competent at gate magic to ever be able to make use of it.
On that note, I have formulated an idea. I looked over some of my notes from the sessions with Mr. Tophet again today, upon the conclusion of Holmes's cooking lesson with Mrs. Salehi. I do believe understanding the book is a matter of time, a lot of time, but time is something a master gate magician has in abundance. I have decided I will focus my efforts first on the temporal aspects of gate magic, to buy myself some extra time to work on the book. With enough effort I may be able to go visit Sayed himself! Who better to learn from?
I finished the day with another session of Da mo to relax my mind. I seem to be doing that a lot lately, but I think it's good for me.
Monday, January 11th,1965
I had another odd encounter with Mrs. Carter at lunch today, again about Tibet and Tibetans. Basically, she wants me to be some sort of liaison between the Promethean Foundation and their Tibetan contacts. I'm fine with that. I don't speak Tibetan and Tibetans don't generally speak Cantonese, so we'll be communicating in English just like anyone from the Promethean Foundation would, but I guess me being Asian and being adept with chopsticks is worth something in terms of our cultures not seeming so alien to each other. I agreed to assist Mrs. Carter in what ways I am able regarding the Tibetans. I am actually curious about Tibetan mystical traditions, because I believe they share the same origins as Chinese traditions. Somewhere along the way they diverged, and I wonder why.
Mrs. Carter also informed me that the foundation had purchased subscriptions to Sing Tao Daily and China Times, the two most significant Cantonese newspapers in America. Sing Tao Daily originated out of Hong Kong and made its way to America in recent years, and is probably the most widely distributed Cantonese newspaper in the world (definitely in America, from what I have learned). China Times is actually older, founded in San Francisco, but has a much smaller circulation. Mrs. Carter has asked me to read them over on a regular basis and look for anything out of the ordinary - in a way that would be of interest to the Foundation. I presume this means unexplained phenomena, strange coincidences, and possibly even accounts of the supernatural. I guess it can't hurt to stay informed!
Before lunch was over, I asked Mrs. Carter to schedule two more sessions for me with Mr. Tophet. My first foray into The Book of The Gates has left me with some questions, and I think I could use some extra practice with gate magic. It's obviously important that I learn as much from Mr. Tophet as I can if I am ever going to make use of the book in my lifetime.
After lunch, I went through half a dozen White Crane taolu. That wore me out. I arrived back to my cottage this evening to find that Quin had left me a ring, with a note about it penned in Cantonese! The ring will help me recover my energy faster - a useful device when I am out in the field making heavy of magic. Sometimes there just isn't time to sit and engage in Da mo to recuperate, so this will be nice to have.
Tuesday, January 12th,1965
After an early session of White Crane, I took the bus down to Chinatown this morning to visit Weng Du's tea shop. I ran out of oolong, and I don't think it's possible to get good oolong anywhere close to the Alden House. I was fortunate; he had a fresh supply of Bai Ji Guan, one of my favorites. Weng was well today, but he talked me into helping his cousin. Apparently his cousin, recently in from Shenzen, is in need of interpretation help at the immigration office later this week. He is trying to relocate from China to America and is going through the citizenship process. Of course I agreed.
I returned in time for the afternoon lesson I had scheduled with Mr. Tophet. I informed him of my particular interest in temporal metaphysics, so we started there. I feel that I have an aptitude for it, though it is exhausting to learn. I learned about how transdimensional and temporal travel intermingle, how they can often be mistaken for each other. For instance, even something as simple as timeporting back a year then forward a year can land the traveler in an alternate universe, though he will never be any the wiser to what has happened. There are a lot of theories as to why this is, but if it weren't that way, perhaps the multiverse would be unsustainable, and the metaphysics have simply evolved this way. Another theory holds that in the realm of all existence, there are infinite parallel worlds, each less separated by precisely 5.39106 x 10^-44 seconds: the Planck time. Mana can lift someone from one such world and place her in another, and even alter the history and future of each stream to account for the traveler. One theory holds that timeporting is just an exercise of moving between these parallel worlds. So, while teleporting moves through three spatial dimensions, timeporting moves through the other dimensions, however many they may be, yet preserves spatial coordinates relative to the point of departure. It's all very fascinating stuff!
I was both energized and exhausted by today's lessons. The possibilites that lie before me seem limitless, especially when I consider how I will be able to use what I learn today to unlock the potential of The Book of The Gates in the coming years. I finished the day with some wall pushups. I can't do many, yet, but I am getting better. I have heard tales of Five Ancestors masters doing one-handed wall pushups, without a wall!
Wednesday, January 13th,1965
All of this gate magic business is giving me the weirdest dreams. I was walking on the seafloor. It was cold and dark, though there was a peculiar purple light emanating from nowhere in particular. My hair was floating above my head, and while I could not breathe, I did not need to breathe. I was climbing a sandy rise; strange, tentacled sea creatures drifted in the dark waters around me. The sandy rise gave way to bare rock, that curved upward to a cliff face awash in purple light. I could see shadows dancing along the top of the cliff face. They swayed and undulated, as if cast by great sea oats swaying in the breeze, but the source remained out of my view. I tried to scale the cliff face, but I kept slipping back down. I could not swim up. I was bound to the floor by gravity. I heard a low rumble behind me. I turned and peered into the dimness of the formless, watery void. Terrible thoughts plagued my mind, driving me down to my knees. I sobbed, my own salty tears streaming into the endless ocean that now oppressed me, forcing me down to my hands. I struggled not to lose consciousness, and looked up into the nothingness. For a mere instant before I awoke, I saw a great fish eye peering back at me from the black waters, as a macabre hymn in a perplexing tongue arose from the depths.
I was unsettled for hours after waking. Much as with the previous dream. I played some records to drive the twisted hymn from my mind. In time it was washed out by the more palatable tones of Etta James. I decided against training this morning, as I was too shaken up by my dream, and the last time I trained in that state I ended up with bloody knuckles. Those scabs are gone now, but I don't need fresh ones.
After a light breakfast of rice and bok choy, I met with Mr. Tophet for our final session. We picked up where we left off last time, the rough syllables for temporal mana infusion. We then sent a scrap of paper a minute into the future as practice. It was my first success in temporal magic, and it left me wiped out. If I had the vastness of Kuranes's mind, perhaps I could do this more than once at a time, but for now, I cannot. It is too taxing. Mr. Tophet assures me that with practice it will all come easier. I have no reason to doubt him, as that is the way with all things. This is just harder than anything I have done yet.
After my session I called Weng and set up a time to meet his cousin, Mr. Tsui, at the immigration office in tomorrow morning. Afterwards, I spent a couple of hours familiarizing myself with Old Persian script. I have been paging through a text on the subject off and on over the last week, trying to decide how to approach familiarizing myself with it. I've picked up a few things, but this is obviously going to take a long time.
Thursday, January 14th,1965
Tsui must be Weng's older cousin. He looked about 65, with a long gray beard, and bushy gray eyebrows. I greeted him outside the immigration office. It turned out that he just needed me to go over his forms and to look over some documents he had to sign. This was no trouble. Tsui himself seemed very unfriendly. He did not speak to me except when necessary, and he tended to ignore me. He is accustomed to the traditional ways, and I must seem like something very strange to him - an independent Chinese woman who is unmarried and has no children, who wears the clothes of a westerner. While he was unkind, there was a certain charisma about him, hidden beneath a sense of urgency to his immigration. I feel like he is fleeing something, and while I did not think to check his aura amidst the bustle and seemingly endless forms of the immigration office, I got the impression that he is no mundane old man. He has seen things, done things, and knows things, and some of that might be catching up to him. When we parted ways he asked me for directions on how to get a bus to Chinatown. Before I could tell him goodbye, he turned and left abruptly.
I returned to the guesthouse to find that Mr. Tophet had left me a folder with a few extra notes in it. Homework, of a sort, and what seemed like an evaluation. He told me where I was weakest, where I needed the most work in my manipulation of mana through gesture and syllables. That is helpful. I practiced some of the phrases he suggested and, before I knew it, the hour had grown late. I took an evening stroll down Glendower Ave, down into some of the neighborhoods of Los Feliz. Fog had started rolling in in the afternoon, and now it was heavy in the air. I made my way back up the hill. I heard coyotes yelping out in the hills as I arrived back.
I enjoyed a cup of tea over a few passages of Middle Persian script with annotations and instructions on reading it, then practiced some Da mo to close out the day.
Friday, January 15th,1965
After a session of luohan this morning, I ran across Kuranes outside his guesthouse. He informed me he would be joining me for some breathing exercises in the magical library tomorrow and the next day, for extended sessions. I made the offer last week to teach people what I knew, so I agreed. Even though he didn't actually phrase it that way. He's an odd one.
I went to the library today to look at what the Promethean Foundation had available on advanced mathematics and differential geometry. It has been a long time since I cracked a math book, so I will admit that the texts I found seemed daunting. I don't know if they have enough for me to get started working toward understanding The Book of The Gates. Perhaps when we get another break I'll get started on that. I also found some rudimentary texts on Middle Persian. I put the math books back on the shelves and instead got back working on understanding the Middle Persian script. Middle Persian is actually runic in the way it looks, kind of like Thai. I wondered when I was reading it if the script itself had a magical origin. Of course, the same has been said about Chinese, that mages helped devise the brushstrokes in ancient times. I don't know if there is any truth to that.
Just thinking about the magic inherent in script gave me a flashback to the dream from several nights ago where I saw that terrible writing inscribed on the wall in that weird, gray forest. I remember it so clearly when I think about it, almost as though the experience were real. Somewhere in the multiverse, at sometime in its existence, someone had those memories and they somehow found their way to me. Maybe they were my own, from another dimension. Maybe they were someone else's. Whatever the case, it's something that both terrifies and intrigues me. Part of me wishes I could un-remember it, but part of me wants to know more.
Saturday, January 16th,1965
Kuranes and I began our Da mo sessions this morning, working primarily on posture and relaxation. I find that when the posture is sorted out first, the breathing comes easier. Many people focus on the mechanics of the breathing first, but, in some ways, when you achieve good posture, the breathing takes care of itself. The session went smoothly. Kuranes was distant, as always, with little to say. Perhaps he was in the moment but just did not show it. It's hard to say with him, as his mind is vast and he lives within it.
The session lasted all day. I had time for little else, though I did read through some Middle Persian manuscripts. Mostly poetry, though there was also a boring account of grain allowances under Yazdegerd II. It was useful for practicing numbers. I also read up briefly on Persian history during the Sassanid period. I remember thinking how strange I would seem to them, but it turns out that assumption was wrong. The Silk Road flourished under the Sassanid kings from the time of the Jin dynasty to the Tang dynasty in China. There was some cultural exchange, and even military cooperation against the common enemy of the barbaric peoples in central Asia. Persians traveled to the Chinese court, and Chinese traveled to the Persian court. It's funny to think that, when all of this is said and done, I would be better at communicating with the Persians of that time than the Chinese.
Sunday, January 17th,1965
I rose early this morning, and I could swear I saw Quinn. I was just arriving at the main house, and I caught a glimpse of the sole of a shoe as someone went around the corner. It was definitely a man's shoe, and not any I had seen before. I rushed to catch up, but by the time I looked around the corner, he was gone. Maybe there is a way to get Elaine to snap a photo of this guy, but we might have to trick him out into the open to do that.
Kuranes is a quick study. His posture is already very good, and he picked up on proper inhalation and exhalation fast. I think he may have studied this before, perhaps in the context of meditation. Conscious breath control differs from traditional meditation in the way the mind is focused. Meditation starts by contemplating the breath, its regularity and immediacy. It's presence in the moment. But, as soon as the meditator is relaxed, her focus turns inward, to her mind. She goes on a journey of sorts. A "conscious breather" as it is called in Da mo (well, the translation isn't perfect) does not wander from the act of breathing. It is ironic in that it is a great effort in relaxation and recuperation. It seems paradoxical at first, but with practice I have learned a great deal. I just have to remain vigilant that I do not stray into the realm of meditation; that is the primary challenge, and impressing this upon Kuranes was today's primary instruction. He may be able to do both at the same time, though. He has demonstrated an aptitude for things like that, for dividing his focus without diminishing his efforts. I have heard of ancient masters who could do the same, but Kuranes would be the first person I have met who can simultaneously breath consciously and meditate through an entire cycle of each.
I perused my first copy of Sing Tao Daily today. So much of it was focused on the impending New Year celebrations. The newspaper was rife with recipes for traditional dishes and information about events around Los Angeles. I'm sure the porridge will be flowing any day now! The funniest part was the discussion of what numerical year this Year of the Snake will be. It's an amusing reminder that China can hardly be considered one cultural entity when you consider that people can't even agree on what year it is. According to my own family's tradition, the first year was in the western year of 2637 B.C.E., but you can probably get a different answer for when the calendar began in each province of China. I can think of a way to discover the truth, but my skills at temporal mana infusion are not up to the challenge yet.
Monday, January 18th,1965
I ran into Genda for the first time in a while. He told me he had been out on a movie shoot. With his size and charisma, maybe he has a shot at making it in the film business. He's definitely out of the ordinary. He, Elaine, and Kuranes were tasked by Mrs. Carter to look into some items that had been part of some man's estate, that had been auctioned off. It sounded interesting, but I had more pressing matters to attend today. Namely, getting further along in my studies.
I did some research on Sayed and The Book of The Gates in the occult archives. I get the impression from reading about it that the book I have is definitely the original, but it seems to be missing pages. Perhaps the part that is missing is just obscured somehow, but there are definitely sections discussed in the reference material that don't appear in the book itself. It's mildly alarming to discover this, but it doesn't change what I need to do right now. I need to press on with acquiring the tools essential to understanding the book. This meant more study of Middle Persian (I now know the book is really called Kitab al-Babi), and a several hour review of my notes from the sessions with Mr. Tophet.
I finished the day by cycling up Cahuenga to Mullholland, back down Laurel Canyon, and up the hill to the Stahl House, to see the beautiful view of the city there. I found a secluded spot nearby, ran through a few White Crane transitions, then headed back home. It was an exhausting day; I think I will sleep well tonight.
Tuesday, January 19th,1965
I read today's Sing Tao Daily over a breakfast of vegetable congee. I made a huge pot and left most of it in a container outside Genda's door. I hope he enjoys it. It seems that Bruce Lee's demonstration at last year's Long Beach International Karate Championships and rise to celebrity in general have created a large number of mimics, if the advertisements in Sing Tao Daily are any indication. Most of these are surely charlatans, but some may be real. I find it discouraging that so many of the advertisements focus on claims of being masters of Dim Mak; kung-fu is about the breath of life, not the touch of death. I feel that these so-called sifu who wish to capitalize on the sensationalism surrounding kung-fu by offering to teach such things do a disservice to the history of the art. Bruce Lee is often decried for teaching kung-fu to caucasians, but surely teaching white people in a responsible way is better than what these men are promoting in Chinese newspapers. My ancestors in China, if they heard of this sort of practice, would have traveled to the schools and challenged the masters. It was their way of discrediting charlatans and stopping the real masters from spreading dangerous techniques to hotheaded youth. With the rise of the Tongs and Triads and the violence they bring, these things are particularly deadly now. Some of these teachers recruit young people with a taste for violence for those organizations.
After breakfast, I cloistered myself in the library for more study. I practiced making some Persian calligraphy. I think it helps me remember, the way they say both singing and speaking can make you remember the same phrase in two different ways. I believe calligraphy does the same when it comes to learning a written script. I know it works that way for Chinese. It's not easy to memorize so many characters just by writing them down. You truly learn them when you understand the art inherent in the strokes, and only focused calligraphy can teach you that. At least, that's the best way I have found. I'm thankful to Wei for all of the countless hours he let me spend creating signs for him that could have been done in a matter of minutes.
Things have been quiet around the Alden House with the rest of the New Prometheans out on assignment. The quiet has let me get a lot of work done.
Wednesday, January 20th,1965
My foray into Persian calligraphy has led me to conclude that I do not have the appropriate tools for the trade. I can use my Chinese brushes and pens, but I guessed that there were better options. I took a quick bicycle ride down to an art supply store on Sunset Boulevard. The guy behind the counter there was not the greatest help, but I browsed the aisles and found what I was looking for. As I was paying at the register, I heard loud rumbling noises outside on the street. I looked out the window and saw what must have been twenty burly men on motorcycles ride by. I caught a glimpse of their patches as they cruised by, and I'm sure I saw the death's head of the Hells Angels. My bicycle was on the sidewalk out front, but I still went out the back door, despite the cashier's protests. I waited in the alley until the rumbling subsided, rushed to my bicycle, and rode off toward Hollywood Boulevard. I don't know if the chapters don't here in Southern California know about me, but I'm not taking any chances. I almost got shot the last time I ran across them. While I can protect myself against bullets, given enough time, twenty armed guys on motorcycles is not something I want to deal with, not now, and especially now while I'm carrying something as valuable as the Kitab al-Babi around.
I got back to the house around noon and spent the afternoon studying. There is something odd about The Book of The Gates, now that I examine the lettering more closely. It almost looks to have been penned by two different hands, though the differences are so subtle, that it could just represent different periods in the same man's life. Most people retain the same strokes and stylistic leanings throughout their lives, but some people like to switch things up. In fact, I feel that learning about Persian calligraphy is somehow going to influence the way I do Chinese calligraphy. It is unavoidable that the things you learn in one area creep into everything you do, from kung-fu, to magic, to art. It is all interconnected. Sayed's life was a tremendous journey, so it would not surprise me if the things he learned guided his hand right down to stylistic lettering choices but, still, it is interesting that some of the lettering could have been done by a copycat.
