Carl Ellis August 1928 - Diary

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Note: additional information for clarification has been added in italicized ( )

Wednesday, 1 August; 11:00 AM

I sealed Miss Crawford’s (note - Megan Crawford) letter this morning. It is sitting down there now, ready to post. I have a bad feeling about the whole thing. Her letter has disturbed me, as such things often do; but not this time, because she has raised questions which I am unable to answer. No, this time the source of my unease is within myself. Something in her pleas and arguments has reached inside of me; twisted a valve and let out a storm of rancorous emotion and outright anger at her; and for no better reason that that she has not the beliefs I do. I do not like this! I do not enjoy becoming irritated at such petty issues; it bothers me to experience pleasure in my own snappish railleries; and most of all I am chastened to realize that I myself so easily succumb to such selfish immaturity. It worries me.

Meagan has always done this to me, particularly in letters. There is simply something between us that makes us mutually incomprehensible on some quiet inner level.

So, I shall send the letter, despite everything. I fear it will forever drive a gulf between us, though I hope that does not happen. I pray that she will find wisdom inside at least some of my thoughts, and that we shall proceed passed the pettiness into a truer understanding. Certainly I shall owe her an apology, which I shall tender when she replies!

But none of this post-hoc thought changes the fact that I was angered and let it out. Now I am pensive, as I wonder what she will read into my words. Her world and mine are immensely different; this has been shown before. What strange ideas will be born of my ungraceful cries?

I will send it anyway. There is too much truth in it to hold me back.

Last night I had a dream. It began pleasantly, as such things often do; but changed gradually into a convoluted thing of dark majesty and intricate symbols. What strange things was my unconscious trying to say? Peasants and lords; and butterflies delicate in the sun! and the deadly spiral battle through time. Dark and light, father and son, and myself heart-stopped between. Why? It changes things – but how much of it is Truth?

And why do both of the Kings wear my face?

We shall continue our dreaming later today. Perhaps, this time, we shall discover something; but then, perhaps not...! With Julian, it is always such a temptation to let go, and merely play.

I have a vague sense of unrest within me nowadays. I am not at peace. Yet it is not painful or distressing, merely restless … like an alarm clock waiting to ring. It is time to act, to do something … but what? I find myself snappish and short – surely something is about to pop. As yet, I can imagine no outlet for this thing, but it cannot keep increasing without limit! The only times I do not feel it are during the stillness of my exercises and for a short time thereafter. And even those period of peace are growing briefer, I think.

The Same Day, 8 PM

More revelations, but I am no more at peace.

Today we journeyed far, my Lady (note - Julian) and I; and I find that I am not only a loyal foe to Him, but a rival suitor, as well.

Suitor? Is that correct? Impossible to say; but we have relived the day of her arrival at Eveling; and it holds uncomfortable revelations.

The images are fragmentary; she cannot be more than three or four years old. An office, an interview with a stranger vaguely seen, whose face I shall try to remember but who is little more than an impression (young; dark hair, bright eyes, sharp, angular, loud. Cigars and leather). A glimpse of the complex (we dislike it, hot and noisy as it is) and an interlude in the new Home with the one who brought us here.

He is not Marklin. (note - Frederick Marklin) He is the Dark Man.

Again he is fascinating – brightly enigmatic in stark black & white. She has been with him forever, in their haven of silence and ritual – and in his own way he loves her. This may be an error – but to me it seems very clear.

His chest is crossed by a huge ragged scar.

He knows Pierre; he knows Elyssa; he must, it is in his voice, between the words. What does he want of her, my Julian? It is so strong, like everything he does – a fierce gentleness; a disciplined devotion to a thing yet to become? I do not know.

He must be Islie. He has laid claim to her. Is it who she is or what she is that matters? Who can say? Whichever – he has lost her now, for she is mine, and nothing will change that!

Oh, but I felt with him so strongly! How I yearn with him, wish to admire him – this, despite all the rest that he is and does.

Oh, but I feel so alone! So bereft of something I cannot pin down. Dearest my own, ou are not alone in sorrow tonight! I need you so; do you feel it too?

Oh my love, but I so need your gentle touch! Something has set me adrift, and you are my only anchor.

And yet……

And yet……

I saw a curious thing tonight, while drifting within with my Julian. A flicker of white sparkle, shining in the darkness around us. It reached us, whatever it was… and could not – quite – touch but vanished when it came near. I thought at first it was some hint of – But not; whatever else the sparkles were, they were alien; exotic, bright, and somehow exciting. Julian could not seem to notice them, not even when we were WE. Is it because they are somehow “aligned” toward me and not her? Or is it something in my growing awareness of the Patterns that is and will remain mine alone? Time will tell – but it is significant I think; and quite a thing to ponder later.


I followed them; tried to turn myself out and truly SEE between the cracks, between the shapes that are apparent into the weft of the thing itself as I have always felt would be so very rewarding ->>>

I SAW! My dear God, what I saw! There are no words to describe it; I cannot articulate the immensity; even now so much of it has faded from my poor mind; memories of a thing that is too large for me to encompass being forced from my life by my own mortal status.

Never have I been so exalted. Never have I been so afraid.

Is this what Meagan saw, when she attempted to LOOK AT the Cosmos?

Is that what the Others see? The Outside ones? Have I been vouchsafed a glimpse of the Truth?

How simple, how homey my binding with Julian now seems! Like an old friend, cared-for, well-known in all its heady strangeness. Like flying, like breathing; so very right and natural – so very human?

But this new thing – this BRILLIANCE - !

Like possession, like a vision of the Pattern; only MORE; and I the merest speck, a conduit, a cropping of clay before a torrent of light and power that strips away all before it. I the channel that is followed; a puppet overwhelmed, locked into place like the closing of an incredible circuit!

WHAT WAS IT? What was it that stripped myself from me, tore me from Julian and THRUST me back – deaf, dumb, helpless, and blind in my impotency?? What?

Not for men. Too great a thing for a man to bear.

And yet …. “There is a depth of vision….” “Patterns and circles repeat themselves….” “…dispel it with the Light…”

Is THAT PLACE the Light – the true reality behind the dream? If so, I am deeply afraid; for I might not go back there and live…. Too much, too much… but no no no.

Echoes of pattern (ripples?) touching, touching; I forgot that there, there can be no simple observation. Idiot me; To SEE, one must be SEEN! I have been SEEN – and the SIGHT nearly destroyed me.

No. I cannot go back there. I cannot.

And Julian truly saw nothing? While I was etched away from my … humanity … by that? If that is ‘pure’, in the sense of ‘dear, pure woman’ , dare we ever even meet?

Even Miriam’s dog might have told me.

It was afraid. Why?

What were they? Those lovely crystal forms – what? Like the house… like the wellspring house? One did not SEE Miriam’s – not like the walls of THIS newer manse.

Containments, then. Shapes and forms that can – what? Sustain? Nurture? That incredible strength and brilliance. They move; and
shifting butterfly angels, murmur behind Maddy’s (note Madeline Matson) growing light and gather at the edges of THERE. No, not the edges; everywhere! They are in the light, of the light, they are the light, too! The ponic ecosphere?

Lord, lord. Too much; too much to see and know.

I am a walker in the shadows, banned by the purity of the sun. It is too huge, too great and bright for me, frail as I am; for to see the face of God one must be the face of God.

And yet – and yet –

I saw; and thus was seen; for an instant; and it took nearly all of my vitality and power to keep me whole in that time.

Everything that saw me knows me now, carries something of me with it inside, no matter that my own perception is so poor. In a way I am THERE even now. How odd.

To die – to be dissolved thus…. Would it be so horrible? Would it?

I have so much to live for! So much!

But it was so … so clean …, beautiful in a way.

Would it truly be death, to be swept up in that flow of – of being and sensation? Would it? To touch and be touched by everything? To spread-share across all of creation?

Is that truly death? Is that where they have gone?

It sounds more like apotheosis. Rebirth into a higher freedom.

Life and free will and power. Oh! Oh! So much – and so little – ALMOST it makes sense! But no; like the flickerings of the riplets in the LIGHT, I catch a glimpse of motion, but the thing is gone.

Enough. I go to bed. Enough raving for tonight.

2:30 AM, I think:

Pierre was unable to use his power, though he could certainly SEE! Is this why? Was he dissolved in the Light? Is THAT the end of his road? Oh my, oh…. How cruel.

Thursday, 2 August 1928: 9 AM

Miriam’s letter by the door. Am I being too brash? Too Tony-ish? (note - Antonio Grimaldi) These days it seems as if my letters are not my own, but things blown around out of my control by that uncontrolled inner force I mentioned a day or two ago. Something inside me – still it builds. Connected to what happened last night? Perhaps.

The world seems normal again this morning, no lasting deafness or sensitivity to mark that incredible sojourn. Yet it has marked me, I think. I am no more or less aware than before; but, in an odd way, I feel more aware of what I am aware of; does that make sense? At the moment it does.

Letter reread – yes – it is fine, more elegant than I recalled, earnest but not too pushy. Let it stand

Stirrings upstairs. The kids are up. Strange, that look he gave me last night…as though, at last, he has truly seen me – and does not know what he has seen.

Good kids, the both of them.

Have to go to town to buy some supplies for the lab later. If I am to begin alloying, I shall need an assortment of crucibles, etc. Lord. Not since college…. Well, they always did say those course in Chemistry would be useful!

I worry about what is happening. It seems as though I am developing greater and greater awareness of the dancers in the unity Dance; but if what feels true is true then that same development is driving one towards THAT; and with THAT comes dissolution, or at least Blindness and a loss of more than what was gained. It seems contradictory; obviously I am missing something somewhere!

Here they come – breakfast time! Have to ask Adam what he stayed up to hear last night.

Friday, 3 August 1928, 9:30 AM

Yesterday was lovely and relaxing (at least for all of us but Adam! He is in a snit again); and last night Julian taught me a fascinating little game, which she learned as a child from The Man.

Played with a bridge deck, it is a solitaire game in which the object seems to be to stalemate oneself. The rules seem simple at first, (a balancing of the draw within and between three stacks), but when fully grasped they become an exquisite abstraction of the Fight, as seen from a particularly interesting viewpoint.

Could it actually be his understanding that is presented? His viewpoint? Or another? I wonder what I might learn from study of the game; and from trying play from other viewpoints than the one Children learned.

I see his mark in it, very strongly, whatever else may be true. And the players are familiar as well: The Kings who have the knowledge but no power, and who move the others from place to place; the Queens who are the supporters, the generals, who add to others’ energy but have none of their own; the Jacks who are the Weak Men, who have power, but not too much, and who may corrupt or be corrupted by others if they are not cared for; the Aces who are the Soldiers, most powerful but most expendable as well; and of course the rest of the deck, the numbers that are the Energy that is guarded or used up – but are also the Innocents who must not be harmed.

And the object is =Balance, stalemate on all levels … and the elimination of a single card.


I continue to be concerned about what is happening to me (and to Julian, for that matter!) I do not speak in the mystical sense here – but purely in the emotional, the personal sense.

For the past week or two I have been victim of mysterious tension, unease, a twitchy sort of restlessness and a sense of something brewing deep inside me. It feels as if I am being enormously frustrated – but I cannot determine the source or the reason for the upset.

Last night something snapped. It all bubbled out of me, just for an instant; like a rush of cooling fire, a wild thing, heady and exhilarating. So powerful I felt, then, so FREE!; but there was nothing warm about I, nothing gentle.

I do not think I like that kind of freedom.

Also…. There is the matter of Julian.

More and more there are subliminal signs that the Lady (note - The Island Lady) is once again waking inside of her. She herself if or the most part unaware, but in small ways, words, deeds, and desires, I see it. Perhaps, when I was blinded and not present the Lady regained her foothold in my girl; or perhaps this is merely a growth that neither of us may stop or ignore.

But that wild freedom I felt – it was, in that moment, mirrored in her eyes. And from her it is familiar: It has the Lady’s feel to it.

Am I being influenced by Her, as well?

I have neither ability nor right to inhibit Julian’s growth. What right have I even to try to channel it? Truly, I am not convinced that what is happening to me is at all related to her transformation; but at this hour they do seem of a piece.

Saturday, 4 August 1928; 9 PM

I learned a lot about my girl yesterday, mostly regarding what it is to be a General. I am impressed, deeply so; it is one thing to know intellectually that she must be extremely talented and effective at her calling, but quite another to see it for myself, adroitly cool and supremely competent against the odds. Sobering! I shall forever see her differently in my mind’s eye. A new pride, of a different kind indeed!

We discussed the Fatal Vision a bit, and I tried my hand at showing her a memory or two. It is not as easy as it seems! Julian feels that the FV is somehow a picture of the Ponic universe directly; and that is as good a hypothesis as any I have come up with; and better than most. That is, in effect, what I was trying to do after all. But – precisely WHAT did I see? Where was I looking from? Is it true that this turning-inward that we do to commune actually places us “somewhere else” in the ponic continuum? Certainly the house was not visible around me as it was during the vision of the 7th. Layers within layers… is she right? What an interesting view of things, I wonder what it means.

A look into the Circle ABOVE my own??? Hmmm…!

Today I installed a lot of the new stuff in the lab. The slate table and the tanks push aside the poor old vibrometer; poor thing, I had such hopes for it and now it is out to pasture…!

New letter from Emerson (note - Carl Emerson) today; just a polite little note to thank us for our hospitality. Imagine! He and the other left only a week ago! Such a short time – and so very, very long it seems!

We were surprised this afternoon by the arrival of Dani Rose; Mrs. Danielle Friedman now it seems, though the two have for the most part parted company.

I am deeply disturbed by her. Deeply. I cannot explain it, articulate it, defend it; but she has filled me with a sense of loneliness, neglect, callow callousness; a glimpse of a lost soul who does not know she is lost; and I am not empowered to tell her. Oh, I could say something – but not the thing that is needed, not one that will make the difference.

So I say nothing. And feel guilty.

Perhaps it will change; I do not know how long she will stay, or what else we may talk about.

I think we cannot afford to alienate her – or her husband – or any experienced and loyal Fighter. So I will ask her help, give and take the information necessary – but I shall not discuss the new things, the dreams and visions of discovery which I now pursue. I shall not; I cannot.

I pray I have not erred.

Sunday, 5 August 1928, 4 PM

Danielle has vanished. She went “into town“ this morning and has not returned. No sign of foul play – I have no way of knowing what happened, but I suspect she is in control. She will return, as her note said, “soon” – or in whatever fashion she wishes. For now, she has gone on alone.

Adam has built for me three window-sized planter boxes. We have filled them with moist earth, and I have given some flower seeds to Adam – and the responsibility for growing them to Rachel.

How proud he is, to have made something that lasts! I see him now, with his hammer in his belt; he has not put it down since I handed it to him this morning. And his work is good. Solid – not artistic but very competent – the more so since I really doubt he has ever worked with wood before.

He is excited. And so am I; I have not seen him so interested in anything before. This will be a truly interesting time for all of us. So the boxes are in the windows … and soon the plants will begin to grow for the Children. If those shoots can hold Rachel’s interest, as the boxes have taken Adam’s – THEN I think we can reach them and bring the world back to them.

Monday, 6 August 1928; 7:30 PM

Burned my hand a bit today, playing around with the wire drawer. Silly me! It seems that this skill must be learned by doing! I shall be more careful next time.

Telegram from Clay (note - Clay Morrison) today, from London. He asks about Maddie’s Crossing – and I have nothing to answer. How is she, I wonder? Must write her and find out.

Today I had a chance to watch the Circle of Man in town. Fascinating! And worrisome.

The Circle is … vibrant. Charged! Full of energy and potential! But we are blind! Like dancers in a Dance who cannot see, we are blind. We move randomly, fighting ignorantly against the patterns of the Unity. We are unaware; the Circle itself is unaware, fragmented, barely cohesive.

Is that the answer to our need? To save the Garden, need we only dance the Dance?

And what, then, of the Soldiers? Do they then dance the Dance in our stead?


Tuesday, 7 August 1928; 5:00 PM

Another Vision, and new truths. Today I have seen a glimpse of another Circle of the Dance. Today I have TOUCHED the perceptions and existence of another being! Merely a dog – but how very different it is! All things – ALL – except for us, are in time with their Dance! Plants, beasts, everything draws on the Unity and is nurtured by it. Communion – I was right – but not for us. Not for man. Not yet.

What can I

The previous entry ends abruptly. There is no entry for August 8th.

Thursday, 9 August 1928; 4:30 PM

Alone. Dear God, how far and how alone! And beautiful they are, dear little ones! Like angels – shadows – ghosts. They play in the sun like butterflies; sea nymphs in the tide! The tide flows around them, THROUGH them – smoke and silver, oh! How wonderful to play so, bright and glorious joy innocent in the light!

How I wish! Oh, Julian my love, how precious you are now! My golden, Golden One.

Julian! I love you! Do you forgive me this isolation? Never to join -- never to fully be a part -- I cannot! O o o o how cruel, how collossally cruel.

How I wish to weep.

The price of vision is isolation. Do you see? To see, to touch all of the Dance, I am denied the joining of the Dance!

Thus is Power turned within me.

All the wonder, all of the glory and fellowship, all to be forever denited me! Pierre’s price – so high!

Goodbye, my dream. Goodbye, my joy.

I shall never be the same. God! I cannot even weep!

And I cannot bear to watch them any more.

I no longer belong. Anywhere.

Success! So bitter, this drink! And I cannot put it down.

10 August 1928; on the train

Black Man! Is this why you turned? To be denied communion, was that your price as well? How bitter you must have been; how angry and how powerless! Is it any wonder you have turned to Others for a place, a belonging? To accept the only fellowship left to you?

The tactics of despair. How simple! Who are you, my dear, dark brother? Who is it that knows what I know – has glimpsed the gulf?

Is this why you turned? Why the game you teach has only stalemate at its end? What use an allegiance to a thing you cannot touch?

What, then, do you serve? Not the thing you fight for, surely! NO! That is as empty as the other! Is it merely Balance, as in the Cards? CAN it be? The Active Principle, as SG (note - Steven Gravemaster) is the Passive?

How easy to make, that decision; and how short-sighted!

Do not be fooled, distant brother! I feel your heart alongside mine; but know that others have travelled different paths, and my end shall not be yours.

How I long to turn aside – to give up my burden and my Vision and join the angles in the sun! Oh, how very much I wish that I might do so … But I am who and what I am; and have come to this pass by following the path that is truest to me. How can I turn aside now? How? All I have lost is a dream.

Dearest dream! Oh, how I weep!

But there is a still a future to be won.

I cannot turn aside. Must not. To do so would be to betray myself – myself; and all of those who struggle against a blinded Dance; and all of my friend who need me.

Someone mus see; to point the way where I cannot go.

Heavy. So heavy. Where is the glory?

Where is the joy?

Is it forever lost, along with my innocence?

All the struggles – the worries … Poor Meagan. Poor Dani. How petty it all seems now.

I shall go on. Because I must. There is still a cause to be won. There is still happiness to share, with my beloved, if not with my people. It will be enough.

It must be.

Dear God.

Monday, 13 August. Stockton, California

The crisis is over. I shall recover. The dreadful discoveries of last week are placed in perspective now, I think. It is a much subdued Ellis who resumes his place here; but an Ellis who is much more at peace than he who left.

Adam has taken good care while we have been gone. The responsibility has changed him for the better; and he has assimilated far more out of my textbooks than I might have expected in so short a time. He is going to help me in the lab; and I shall fix up the old toolshed as a workplace for him. With his help, of course.

Some seedlings in the flower boxes. I am told they appeared yesterday. Rachel is quietly excited as well as Adam – they spend a lot of time watching. Waiting for something to move.

Julian and I were wed yesterday. At last we are legally man and wife. My beloved can no longer be snatched away by Marklin on a legal pretext. Thank God!

Julian Foundry Ellis. Hmm.

The weekend has been good for me. So many things have changed! Some have become clearer; others are murkier now, or forgotten. But I have come to grips with my new knowledge. I shall go on. And I shall not turn aside.

So much of what I wrote before seems incoherent now. So many meaning lost … the ideas come and go too quickly in my fevered brain, I suppose. They are forgotten even as I am changed.

I wonder if Adam sees the difference in me. Does he know me that well? We have known one another only for two weeks.

This week I shall complete my Chase Symbol, the Exotic Detector. I shall begin tonight with the alloying. Adam can help me draw wire tomorrow or the next day.

And, of course, my exercises continue.

The Reno research was of mixed utility. There does appear to have been a small company there making ponic devices. But they have all vanished, along with the company of officers, since last December. I have names – but names mean so little these days. And the goods were all shipped to San Francisco, according to an ex-employee; but no one knows quite where.

I must get my wife (note - Julian) a passport.

Wednesday, 15 August 1928; 8:30 PM

Back to business as usual. More letters to read, and to answer; and continued development in the lab.

Despite some cautious probings, I remain unable to divine the true purpose of the Jar. It holds ponic energy like a capacitor, but is rather more complicated than that task requires. Why so big and convoluted? And what are the other two posts on the top for? It must have some function other than merely storage – the whole thing will only hold about 7 or 8 rands – but I cannot imagine what.

Meanwhile Adam continues to putter around the house and yard, “fixing” things. Remarkably industrious young man! Quick, too. He is good in the lab and a diligent study of things that interest him. We have opened up and cleaned out the toolshed; moved one of my workshelves in there for him to use, and a footlocker to store his things. Tomorrow a new latch for the door. Perhaps next week I’ll wire the shed for electricity. That will be fun, I think.; I wonder if Adam would get a thrill out of a telegraph set? House to lab to shed. Could be fun, and I have not messed around with them myself in quite some time. Hm.

All the flowerboxes are sprouting now, except for one which started roiling with ants so we replanted it yesterday.

I had forgotten how much fun seedlings can be.

My first success in the lab yesterday … my very own home-grown “bauble”. One of Chases’s Exotics – and it works fine. Unfortunately, the only thing to test it on here is Julian. (Unnerving, that!) Would have done it sooner, but it is very difficult to play “pitch and catch” with one’s own energy in a useful fashion. I tried to cure one Monday, but the sensation was so unnerving that I failed utterly to keep control, and ended up merely with a headache and fatigue. Yesterday morning, therefore, I cannibalized the ponic transmitters and made a “curing lathe”. Very flashy when in operation! And rather “splashy”, too – so I am forced to operate it within the cage, then sweep the area afterwards. Nonetheless, in an hour I can turn out an amulet, rather than having to try and try again for days.

To date I have made three. Exotics of varying sizes, one Elder Symbol, and three variants of the Islie Sigil, none of which seem to do anything. At all. Either I have badly misguessed the required materials and design (which is possible!) or some other step is needed in the construction.

IDEA: What would happen if: one took three separate spheres and hinged them concentrically together into a single spherical container: The inner sphere of silver, the middle of a diponic such as wood or stone, the outer of a phopic like iron. One could charge up the interior to high level and close the thing, making a “battery in a box”. How fast would it discharge? Hmm.

Is it possible to “cure” iron? Interesting.

Thursday, 16 August 1928; 5:00 PM

Visitors! Andrew Scott is here (or was; he just left to return to San Francisco) and Alex Chase is due tomorrow. Andrew looks good; and apparently he is travelling in the company of a young lady, so it is little wonder he was so anxious to get back! We have made plans to meet in the City on Monday.

He filled us in on the rest of the Pembrook affair and I showed him what we are up to here. It was a bit odd, in a way … after all this time I should think we would have more to say to each other. We do, in fact, I think; but events seem to have overrun us so that they are all buried (or perhaps it is we who are buried; does that make sense?) and bringing it all to the surface is a daunting and avoidable task. There are so many things I want to share and to explain; but what are they? Just now I cannot remember. Why? Bewildering!!

Monday, 20 August 1928; Mark Hopkins hotel, San Francisco

What a cavalcade of days! And such a busy time. Andrew on Thursday, Chase on Friday (and a letter from Lazlo), Friedman on Saturday (and a letter from Meagan; hmph!), lots of business on Sunday, and then this morning we all bundled up and headed for the Big City. F,W, and I met with Byron this noon; and I spent all afternoon with Maddy. She is well; happy; and rather concerned for her future and ours.

This evening we had a long and mildly depressing conversation and planning session with respect to China and Stone. I do not know what to do; they seem to wish to insist on making me TELL them what to do, give the orders to them; and that is not my place, nor do I wish to fill it.

“You are the Quarterback, Ellis!” says F. Feh.

Tomorrow Andrew and I travel to Stanford to poke under a few rocks around Mr. Redman. Hmm.

Wednesday, 22 August 1928; still in San Francisco

Another bust. Mister Redman is no longer attached to Stanford … but he still lives in town and travels frequently. Comes and goes all the time, and has several woman friends who visit often. One sounds like K;(note - Katyana Rasmul) the others (a sultry Italian brunette, a tall ash blonde) are unknown to me. No further information yet. Yet. Andrew has hired a man to find out more. So we shall see what we see ……!

Tomorrow I am going home, I think. Chase and co. do not need me further; dear me, they’re better off on their own! Maddy says she will come to visit us over Labor Day.

I want to go home. Soon I will be leaving again for a long time. For now I wish to surround myself with the things I have made.

I wonder who will return? Mm.

Andrew has taught me some things, and I have traded with him. Spells. Huh. I distrust the things, indeed! But they are weapons in the arsenal. I will transcribe them, keep them for the others.

What is it? What? I am distracted; nervous; it is happening again, that sense of the Impending. Pressure. Potential. Again I feel it – something is happening, or is about to happen, beyond my current vision.

What is it!! It is soon – but what?


(Later) I thought that I had passed through that, put it aside. That the weird unease was merely the unconscious alarm – the knowledge of prices … and loneliness ……

Once I knew, I thought it was over; that the moods would stop. And so they did.

But now, again, I am chilled by unfelt winds.

Why now?

What new bubble is about to burst?

It is an uneasy thing, waiting.

Thursday, 23 August 1928; 7:30 PM Stockton, California

Home. How nice. The house is the same; Peanut (note - a cat bought for Rachael) is the same; the kids seem the same; the flowers have shot up remarkably, it seems. I have been given an earnest, though choppy, account of all the new leaves in the window boxes, and the improvements to Adam’s workshed, and how many times we had iced tea, and how far from the house we have been lately. Ah, me, children! Your enthusiasms are wonderful. Why do we not see more of them?

Time enough for now to stretch out and relax. Maddy will be out in a week; and then nothing but unalloyed time for correspondence and study; O luxury!

Friday, 24 August 1928; 6:00 PM

Not much time to write before dinner, but then I have little to say either. Today was murderously hot; perhaps the worst day yet, or perhaps I am merely spoiled by a week of cooler air. In any case, I could not stand to be in the lab for too long – merely let the machines churn away while I drank tea on the back porch. I felt like a plantation owner somehow. Hmm.

Amusing scene for the day. Peanut “trying” to chase the birds. He cleverly “hides” himself in the middle of an open lawn and waits for the hopeless victim to approach. Whenever a bird walks within ten feet or so, he starts clawing the grass and waving his hindquarters around exuberantly in a manner guaranteed to telegraph his intentions to all and sundry. On the very rare occasions when the would-be victims do not cotton to this sly ploy, he galumphs triumphantly forward about four feet …. And skids to a halt and looks confused as they all fly away.

Almost, I could swear the birds were sneering.

A call from Carl this afternoon! Not much new to say, just keeping current. We discussed Maddie, and the kids, and Franklin and the rest who were at the Meeting. Apparently Lazlo got hold of everyone a few days ago and told them all to wait until now to come down. So; the plunge begins. Good luck, all of you. Be careful. My prayers go with you.

Off to dinner now. Tonight, a treat: grilled hamburgers and sausages on the back patio. Hope they like it; I intend to have fun.

Sunday, 26 August 1928; 10:30 AM

Yesterday just before dinner the gates of Hell opened into my life once again.

It starts in the kitchen. Friedman, in my head. *Ellis* he says. *The Goddess is getting free! Get Zigfried on your front lawn, in five minutes. Go!!*

Well, of course he knows what he is doing – so Julian runs to France and comes back with Zigfried. We three are on our way up the stairs when there is a ripping noise and a woman starts to scream. In the driveway is a glowing doorway, a woman on the ground, and DAF (note - David Friedman). “Ellis! Get your guns; Julian! Link – NOW!” Yelling and waving his arms.

What the devil is a gun going to do? Especially if Willows (note - Shub-Niggarath) is loose! I send Rachel to safety and bring Adam with me; this is his kind of fight! Everyone is arguing, screaming – such a mess! And why? Confusion – my Lord! – and nothing getting done.

Through the door. Wind, fire, rock; and around the corner, IT. Do not look! Eyes to the wall, sit down, and join with us to the Plain of Battles. We arrive – just start to see the Light of the Goddess far away, so bright! – and the universe shatters. The godforsaken ledge gives way.

We tumble down the hillside. There is nothing we can do. It doesn’t even notice us as it strides away! Adam down, Julian hurt. For nothing.

Home again. DAF yells at Zigfried. Hits him! Threatens me! WHY?

God damn the man! What RIGHT has he to wound us, insult us all that way? And now he squats in my house with that arrogant smile, disturbing the Children and eating my food. I feel as though my home has been taken over by a gangster or bandit, and I am powerless to tell him to go!

I feel as though I demean myself by my inaction! Yet I cannot merely tell him, “Darken my door no more!,” for we need him, need them ALL, too much to risk the enmity.

No! No!

What a bitter cup is this.

I will work. And say nothing. Care for the children. And say nothing. Prepare my gifts and the Gathering. And say nothing. And wait.


But oh, what a bitter gall!

Monday, 27 August 1928; 4:00 PM

How I must hurt my love with this fury! I see her, oh yes, large of eye and mute, waiting to heal my soul once more with touch and flowing gold. Oh, Julian! How much I need you now, when I am most silent! This grim despair, these silent screams … only your touch eases the acid of self-recrimination within me.

Do you wonder why I hold so tightly to you as I do, trembling and desperate?

I have been thinking about what went wrong. Chase, Hunter,(note - James Hunter aka Dale Parsons) Hutton missing; DAF says they are dead but that I cannot take so simply.

What happened?

Too many cooks, I think; and none. Let that be a lesson for the Family.

One: Know your resources. They did not. All members of an expeditions must know what the can rely on from all others. This includes strengths, weaknesses, powers, tools, and information pertinent to the mission. Vital! Secrets between team members can do nothing but harm us all.

Two: Know your limits. We must all be aware of the sorts of things we cannot do. This is somewhat harder than One, particularly in the case of the arcane, since so much of it is new or untested. But we must try. It is quite clear to Julian, and I suppose to me as well, that no such number of fighters as we could bring There would have a hope of fighting something like Shub-Niggarath. Or even, I suppose, tricking it; though I could hope. By the time those doors were open it was useless to try to stop Her. All that followed was foolishness.

Three: Know your mission. If we spend all of our strength reacting to everything that moves we will never advance, never catch up. In this case, the mission was not even assigned, but undertaken; and it was to kill Stone and keep the Temple closed, nothing more. Once that had failed survival was the important thing, for all of them. Throwing more of us into the Goddess’ path was not only stupid, it was criminal. My fault as much as any.

Four: Know your mandate. When you go on a mission, you go with whatever is available or as much as you think you will need. And you do your best. You do not blame others because it wasn’t enough! If you need more, and there is more, you may ask for it; but never must we weaken the salient at a crucial moment to grub for resources that may not be forthcoming. Also, if a crisis is at hand, and there are several ways of accomplishing a task, use the best one! Short of lives lost, there is little we cannot spare.

Five: Know your foe. This is an obvious one, and one that (nowadays) is usually followed.

So much of what happened wen on because there was no (I shudder to say it) chain of command. But can I get the others to understand the necessity? And especially to follow such orders, when everything they love is threatened? It will never work with these, unless the situation is fully known to every man!

Ye Gods and little fishes .... what an army.

I shall write all this up and send it to the others, along with the devices I want to make. It is work for my mind, for my hands; it will keep me busy until I am once again at peace.

Poor Adam. He seems recovered, but … it was cruel and improper to take him in unprepared.

Wednesday, 29 August 1928; 10 AM

News. The missing three are all alive, though Hutton is badly hurt. They are in Georgia now. The others, including DAF, have left at last. At last; it will be a while before things settle again. My house is … abused … soiled; it too needs cleaning of more than just the furniture; but it is ours again, for now.

Ziegfried has returned to France. Funny; once again I spend days with the man and say hardly a word to him, when there is so much we need to speak of. I am uncertain whether he even got to meet the Children; except for Adam, of course, at the height of confusion.

Young Mary has taken the morning train for the Coast, bound for Boston to meet Mr. Hunter. Curious woman. No one seems to understand quite why she was here.

And HE … he is gone too. Dedicated, I must admit – he has returned to China to follow the Goddess.

Julian and I had an interesting talk last night. Interesting – but I am not sure I understood it all.

There as something about my not deserving to be on that battlefield. That it was an honor that belonged solely to those who walked and suffered to get there. But then is that not true of all of us then, her as well? What was she trying to tell me? And were we not summoned, invited into battle? I do not make out her meaning.

And there was something about the two different roles of leadership, the healer of souls and the general (NOT General!) and how I could not be both and was not yet either, since I did (and do) not see why that was so. Dear gentle adamant Julian, she sees so clearly sometimes! I have come to earnestly believe in her intuition. But I do not always understand it. There is so much for me to learn. Is she steering me? Grooming me for leadership, as I am doing with her to bring her fully into the world? How funny; if true. Each of us molding the other.

And as I sat in the darkness, fuming with frustrated rage at myself and at Daf, she looked at me with those lovely eyes and gave me peace with a few words. Healed me.

“But do you absolve him, Carl?”

Do I? And I though; and I saw that I could, and that I must; and the rage ran out of me like water. So simply, she brings me back to my humanity. Back to peace.

How dearly I adore you, dear heart!

But there is still much I do not understand.

Thursday, 30 Aug 1928; 8:00 PM

Julian is restless … The China thing, however disastrous, was our first taste of real action in a very long time. She feels it, it shows, irritation, tension, jumpiness. Poor dear, it was not so obvious before … but I ought to have known. She has no such work as I do to fill her days – and, born to action as she is, all these idle times in the garden and with the Children do not satisfy. She needs to DO.

How rare and wonderful these gentle days can be … and how quickly they are gone. I am saddened.

But we spoke at length about China; and about roles, and leadership, and what must come to be. Generals and Healers; Kings and Princes. Pierre was everything to his people; is that possible anymore? Should I, can I, may I, will I try to do the same? How many people truly trust me so far? How many would follow my lead?

A burden, once lifted, that cannot be put down.

To teach, to grow, to share … these things are a great joy to me – I will follow that road gladly, even though parts of it sometimes pain me. Bu the rest: CAN I do it? Am I, gentle soul that I am, truly capable of asking my friends and loved ones to walk away and die?

Can I? How can I not?

So much waits for Gathering. Organization, decisions, hierarchy, and planning …. Gawd. And how does it all fit together? I showed my journal entry with the suggestions in it to Julian. She had only one thing to say: “Do not mail it out – speak to them all at Gathering.” I am torn. I need feedback; and feedback is best when there is time to consider before speaking. But I see her point as well.

More and more I am eagerly looking toward my trip, and points east. I want to go! You see, I am just as bad as Julian in my own way. Tomorrow the two of us go up to Stockton to get passports for her and for us. Should be interesting.

Taking the Children along involves extra plans and difficulties. We have to prepare as much as possible beforehand; and they, naturally, are not at all pleased at the thought of leaving this refuge.

Bank balance yesterday says $13,660,28. Enough to retire on – or to get married on. Heh heh.

So – Rail to Billings, Mt. 2 days. Put the others up in a hotel there? Could … but it looks funny. Find another way if possible. If Mr. Outt (note - Ceryous Outt) is willing to put us up, perhaps that is an answer; but there remains the question of getting out to his place, and even if he drives, the ride will be anything but sedate!! Poor Rachel. Explore options. A day in Outtheim? Two? Then onwards.

Rail to Chicago, then to Lafayette. Settle in, spend a day there poking around. Julian and the kids may stay here while I go on.

Evening trip to Evansville, Ind., night in a hotel there; then in the morning hire a car to Madisonville and SG. (note - Steven Gravemaster) A 2-3 hour tip each way, but plenty of light for the trip if I start early.

Back to Newhaven for breakfast. Holiday.

Now J&I to Chicago, kids stay here. See Miss Durrell (note - Alexandria Durrell) in the afternoon, maybe – and dinner. Get together with Meagan next morning; but I have to leave to visit NJ while J stays to do bridesmaid things.

From NJ, north on the night train to see Lucius (note - Lucius Cavendish) and his lady. I wish J could come; but even if she did, L would not let her in his home. Sigh. Then the night train back to Chicago.

Say ‘bye to Meagan until November, and back to Newhaven to get the kids.

Newhaven to Boston; a long rail!; and settle into Arc’s place. I hope he is there, I need to speak to him.

On the 6th or 7th, get together with Emerson, and arrange to bring the Children together. They have not seen each other for quite a while. And Lazlo. And Tony. How are they all?

Evening 7th, get the kids settled in France. J, anyway. She’ll come back afternoon 8th, and we move to NYC.

Morning 9, head for Charot to see LH.

Morning 10, set sail! Arrive London the evening of the fifteenth.

Visit Miriam. Visit TMF. Visit Andrew?

Into Paris, on to Chalon. J says that at this point there will be a huge fuss and ballyhoo, over precisely what is unclear. “You know.” Shrug.

Talk to Zigfried and Theo (note - Theo Weiss) – and hopefully, at some point, get to the house in Lyon. If I can find it. No telling what is there!

Homeward bound! On a French liner for a change of pace, what say?

After this, the schedule is open. It depends on other folk: Theo, Tony, Zigfried, the kids, et cetera. I expect to be in Chicago by the 6th or 7th, wedding the 11th, and Gathering the 15th.

We are not going to make it home in time for Thanksgiving – unless we go via France. Hmm.

Holidays. Holiday. Hm – our anniversary meeting is coming soon, too!

… When oh when should I tell my family about my “wedding plans”? Soon?

Dear me.

Friday, 31 August 1928; 8:30 AM

Off for the Customs Office in a while; the adventure begins! My kind of adventure: lots of time to relax and enjoy, with interesting parts between.

Lab harvest so far: Fourteen Elder Symbols, three Alien Detectors, and three Shifters, one of which I wear. Also a few amulets of various types that do not seem to work. I must have done something wrong, or perhaps missed a spot.

Still not certain that I like the Shifters – rather like wearing orthopedic shoes to change one’s walk – I feel certain that there must be longer-term effects from extensive use.

The Children are not very enthusiastic about a long series of trips; but that is no surprise. And they do not argue; but that is no surprise either. I feel cruel, and heartless, to uproot them so; but what else can I do?

Oh, if only I had another six months to be idle and watch them grow! But if wishes were horses … It is too late, too late for gentle growth and the butterflies of spring. Harden your heart, Carl Ellis; open the gates, and sound the horns! We are marching to war! O yes, harden your heart – but do not cease to love. Hard, hard road, to open to the burden and still hold my hands to others -! But I am not a martyr, never that. I will do as I must, and as I can. The Dreamer is waking to a long, long day; but the Dream itself continues.

I want to draw Rachel out, get her to talk to me a bit … but how? Perhaps we shall play The Game – perhaps she can debrief me. At least it is an opening.

The odd hints and moments of distortion continue. They mean something, I know; or they should at any rate; but it all continues to elude me. My curiosity is ready to kill (poor Peanut!); but I will wait; and it will come.

Peanut! What will we do with him this time? Poor lazy fellow … we cannot exactly turn him out, can we? And I cannot just hand him off to someone now, either. I know. Adam and I, brilliant handmen that we are, will build a feeding machine! No steak and potatoes for fatso here; but it will serve. And a “cat door” in the kitchen, so he can come in out of the rain.

Lots of work. Good, now, to have a task for my hands – it keeps my thoughts from turning to the terror and the sorrow. Dear God, why tears, why now? I have been happy; let it not let it not let it not end!!

7:00 PM, same day

Home again. Business out of the way, and we wait for delivery and Arc’s (note - Arcturus Rand) place. This is dangerous, this public documentation; but we all know that, however revealing paper trails can be, something as huge as the national government cannot be closely watched by any one man or small group. Besides, they must know what they look for, mustn’t they?

Meagan’s letter of yesterday is fascinating. All of her philosophies are so different! It is nearly as bewildering as the first time I read Pierre. Questions have been running intermittently through my brain ever since.

Upon consideration I have decided to write my little tirade as I had planned – but to send it only to a few folks: Lazlo, Carl, Tony, Andrew. Then we shall speak further in November.

November. Brrr! Why the sudden shiver of dread?

So: all these people to meet, and what to ask?

Ceryous and Rachael (note - Rachael Covet): Everything. They are unplumbed. Impressions of Pierre and the Old Guard; anecdotes; threats and promises; everything. A certain old book about the Island. These two go back a ways and have been in the thick of it. Be careful. Try not to tread on too many toes – there must be scars.

Newhaven: Examine. Documents? Talk to “Straight”; though if he is as tough to talk to as I hear Bent is, that may be no easy task. History.

Gravemaster: Everything. The man fascinates. Talk to him about Eisly. About his own history and condition. About my ideas of how to deal with the Island. Mustn’t forget fruit!

Meagan: Wedding stuff and philosophy. Dangers of someone identifying Julian; of assembling us in this public place; and how all this might affect the THREE of us. Wedding gift?

King: Jobs. The Fight. Knorri. Columbo. The Disease. Arimius and Avila. Cairo. Riswold.

Alexandria: Allertons. Knorri. Gatherings. Hope. NJ?

Colbert: Memories? Attitudes? What he fought? His son?

Lucius: Willow, China, FoxLady. Singing Chimes. The Island. Unity. Nature, his own Goddess. Wettsprings. The Earth soul. Pierre. More anecdotes.

Lisel: Pierre again. The Old Guard, the good days and the bad. Gatherings. DeGaspard. Riswold. 1884. THERE?

Miriam: Gossip, mostly. Depends on SG’s statements.

TMF: Properties, resources, safe boxes, etc. Riswold?

ZVH: Light. Power. Pierre. Theo. Knorri. Unity. Eisly.

So much to say and to do! I have written to most of these, requesting interview. Now we merely wait for replies.