Through the darkness of future past

blacklodge25 years ago today, the 8th of April, saw the premiere of Mark Frost and David Lynch’s surreal murder mystery, Twin Peaks.

111 years ago today, the 8th of April, Aleister Crowley began dictating Liber AL vel Legis, sub figura CCXX, as delivered by XCIII=418 unto DCLXVI, better known as The Book of the Law.

Twin Peaks began in the year 1990. Crowley’s preternatural avocation took place in 1904.

86 years separated these two events.

Gematriacally speaking, the number 86 = Black Magic = Lodge.

My Twin Peaks adventure didn’t begin until 1991, stumbling upon the show quite by accident during its second season. I was living in a house just off campus, on Washington Street, having returned to Ball State University following a three year stint as a factory worker and a far too brief excursion into the desert southwest.

I was, as they say, a lost soul. I was, in a very real sense, in pieces. I was seven years into a drug and alcohol fueled quest to uncover the meaning behind birth, death, and all points in between. I was seeking communion with my Holy Guardian Angel. I was stumbling.


And then there was Twin Peaks, which entered seamlessly into this chaos of psychedelics and psychopomps. After a single viewing, I was… intrigued. I had to know what came before, and luckily enough, my roommate’s brother was a fan and his fraternity had been recording all the episodes. We borrowed the tapes and binge-watched the first season in one psilocybin-enhanced weekend.

Twin Peaks became an intrinsic cog in my personal deus ex machina, in perfect harmony with my obsession that year with the writings of Aleister Crowley, Robert Anton Wilson, and my love affair with Umberto Eco’s Foucault’s Pendulum.

Some might call it all some kind of perverse coincidence, but it was, in every sense of the word, a divine revelation, it was synchronicity in action.

Twin Peaks was the final ingredient necessary to complete my unraveling, to see me completely undone, unmade, and yes, ultimately destroyed so that I could be born again anew.

The battle between the forces of good and evil, between the White Lodge and the Black, mirrored in Crowley’s Moonchild as well, was little more than a reflection of the inner conflict I faced.

Twin Peaks was the catalyst to revealing the Bob inside me. Truth is, we’ve all a little Bob inside us. Once we get a handle on that part of the equation, then we can get past the dying and get on with the living.

Through the darkness of future’s past,
The magician longs to see.
One chants out between two worlds…
“Fire… walk with me.”
We lived among the people.
I think you say, convenience store.
We lived above it.
I mean it like it is… like it sounds.
I too have been touched by the devilish one.
Tattoo on the left shoulder…
Oh, but when I saw the face of God, I was changed.
I took the entire arm off.
My name is MIKE.
His name is BOB.



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