In her novel The Sea Priestess, Dione Fortune stated that any true temple demands a sacrifice. In this story the sacrifice was the retarded son of one of the workman constructing the edifice. In Kate's life, this was her cat "Soji" who died the week before she opened her shop A Different Path. Earlier this evening, Kathleen and I buried Smudge, out beloved cat, a Siamese/Calico mix, just to the west of the circle in our back yard. Tomorrow, my 43rd birthday, I will take out my Minerval initiation into the O.T.O..
All of my life, since puberty(?!?), the number 43 has dogged me - not always nipping at my heels, but waiting for the moment that I would barely forget it, then rising up and giving me a friendly bite on the ass, thus restoring its small place in my psyche: Scout Troop 43, route 43 for the Daily Herald (my first job), numbers assigned to me in school and such. I had intended to take my Minerval at least a year earlier, but things conspired against me. First there was stuff with Kathleen (such as nursing he when she hurt her shoulder, time spent out of the country, etc.), then trying to set it up with Bill and having that fall apart. Then things turned around when I found out about Mass at Pam’s (which was actually intended to be a members only event). I got the papers there (as recounted above) and everything just fell into place for the 8th. Shazam.
The one thing that bothers me in this script - the one thing I can't quantify, figure out, and place a measure to - is the fact that it wasn’t my cat that was the sacrifice, but Kathleen’s, or better still Shannon’s. Why would some one else sacrifice for my temple? But then, in the novel, it was the son of the workman, not of the priestess, that was let go.