Schrodinger's cat trilogy - By Robert Anton Wilson Page 0,103

the power of any human brain or even of any known computer….”

The nineteen fragments of Enochian, translated by Norma in the same trance in which the fragments arrived, became the nineteen chapters of The Aquarian Gospel. Crane wrote in the introduction:

“It is impossible to doubt that these are the communications of a superior intelligence. If the reader is, as I am [thank God!], an atheist, the identity of that intelligence will pose severe mysteries. Is it interplanetary—or interstellar? A being leaping across Time from some more advanced future, or past [Atlantis]? Does it come from dimensions tangent to, but not identical with, our own? I propose no answer to these questions, but I am sure that this intelligence, or others like it, sent the messages which founded the great religions of the past, and that such communications are the foundation of the belief in beings called ‘gods.’ …”

Norma was killed in an automobile accident the day the book was published. “What further proof do we need,” a prominent clergyman wrote in his syndicated newspaper column, “that this foul and obscene ‘revelation’ comes from a source not divine, but diabolical?”

Crane’s first—and only—failure to escape from a challenge box occurred one month later.

The eye operation came later that year. “I can save one,” the doctor told him, “but not both.”

“A blind magician is worse off than a deaf musician, and I’m not Beethoven,” Crane said simply. “Do the best you can.”

He retained the sight of one eye.

“Much as we are inclined to sympathize,” the New York Daily News editorialized, “we do admit to a strong feeling that there is divine retribution in the tragedies befalling drug-cultist Cagliostro ‘the Great.’”

The Aquarian Gospel was burned by a citizens’ group in Cicero, Illinois, that week.

“These powers, whoever and whatever they are,” Crane wrote—in unpublished notes which John Disk read years later, weeping—“are determined that I abandon all else and become no more than the servant who carries their message. To this end, they are taking away from me, one by one, all the things I love. Or, perhaps, I am merely in the terminal stages of a long-brewing paranoid psychosis?”

Hugh Crane celebrated his fourteenth birthday in 1938 by climbing into the bed of the family’s black maid, Sophie Hagé, who introduced him to Voudon.

The group in Harlem at that time actually combined elements of Voudon and Masonry. Since Voudon was already a blend of European witchcraft and African magic, and Masonry is a mixture of elements from Rosicrucian mysticism and French revolutionary free thought, there were actually four traditions involved, and the Rite of Initiation was unique. Borrowed from the third degree of Masonry, it replaced Jubela, Jubelo, and Jubelum with the Grand Zombi, and, since marijuana was involved, the ordeal became as real as in those days when candidates knew they would be killed if they failed.

In a dark cellar on 110th Street, the Grand Zombi demanded, “Reveal the Secret Word or I will kill you. Reveal the Secret Word and give up your quest for Truth and Power.”

Hugh, repeating the formula taught him, replied, “Kill me if you must, but I will search again for Truth and Power as soon as I am reborn.”

The Grand Zombi, black face above a black robe, raised his sword. “Do you fear me now, mortal?” he screamed.

“I have eternity to work in,” Hugh replied, according to rote. “Why should I fear?”

“Then die!” screamed the Zombi—the part of the Rite which had not been explained to the candidate in advance—and Hugh felt the sword cross his neck and saw the blood spurting.

He also saw the bulb which the Zombi squeezed to make the blood spurt out of the end of the sword.

And he understood the manufacture of reality and power completely.

TRANSFORMATION

DECEMBER 24, 1983:

Marvin Gardens was awake again; the downers hadn’t fully taken the edge off the coke excitation.

He had turned the radio on, but the only thing worth listening to was Handel’s Messiah—the fourth time he had caught parts of it this week—and they were in the middle of “He was a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.” Not quite what he needed at this hour, with the early morning Manhattan permeation of suicides and accidental overdoses skulking in the shadows. He wished they would get on to the Hallelujah Chorus.

Marvin found a book he’d never finished—The Autobiography of Cagliostro the Great. He opened at random and started reading:

“Get a a job,” my father said. Turning back, I saw the beggar falling to the ground, obviously fainting