Quiet Lineage: Aleister Crowley
This piece explains why Crowley and other spiritual teachers appear in my music, how I work with ritual and symbolic language,
and why this work is rooted in consent and non-harm.
A Note Before You Read Further
I want to name something gently before anything else.
Parts of this album reference the work of Aleister Crowley, and sharing that brings up real nervousness for me. We’re living in a moment where more ritual abuse is being exposed, and symbolic language can easily be misunderstood.
When I use words like ritual or occult, I’m naming inner, consent-based practices — not harm, secrecy, or control over others.
I am a parent, a trauma survivor, and a person deeply committed to consent, care, and harm-avoidance. I live this commitment materially. I am vegan. I center gentleness. I orient toward listening and self-repair.
Crowley appears here for the same reason scripture appears in many people’s lives: as text. I study symbolic writing the way we also study the Bible, Psalms, or myth — as charged language that reflects the human psyche and helps name inner experience. These texts hold meaning for me without holding authority over me. They inform reflection rather than dictate behavior.
This BYRDS album holds grief, appetite, voice, attention, and hope through my body. It carries inner work, symbolic language, and meaning-making. It carries personal responsibility rather than belief or instruction.
Why This Appears Here, In BYRDS
BYRDS arrived without planning. I wrote ten of the songs in four days.
Three had already been written and released before the album revealed itself to me.
Certain lines from The Book of the Law appeared in my head while writing specific birds. The same happened with language from Louise Hay and Abraham Hicks. None of this began as a concept.
The album showed itself first.
Recognition came later.
Because BYRDS carries visible fragments of that source language, this felt like the honest place to speak plainly about where I stand.
Clarity matters here.
Where My Name Comes From
Loui Crow reflects my inner world. It’s my artist name. My real name is Joy.
Louise Hay shaped how I speak to myself, gave me permission to get angry and taught about mind-body connection.
Crowley used language that shook things loose and asked people to listen inwardly.
Abraham Hicks shows up in how I practice focus — choosing what I want to move toward rather than looking at what I’m lacking.
Softness and severity.
Affirmation and confrontation.
Gentleness and will.
I borrow language from each of them that helps me notice where I tighten or self-betray.
My Ethics, Clearly Stated
Every person holds the right to live in alignment with their own truth — and carries zero authority over another person’s will.
I oppose harm in all forms.
I oppose coercion in all forms.
I oppose abuse in all forms.
Black magick, across traditions, describes interference with another’s will. That stands opposite to how I live, practice, and create.
My work centers personal alignment, consent, and responsibility.
This is mirror work, not mind control.
Why This Brings Up Nervousness for Me
I want to name why I’m even talking about this right now.
The cultural temperature runs high.
We’re living in a moment where a lot of real harm is coming into the light. People are speaking out about ritual abuse. About things that should never happen to anyone. I’m grateful people are speaking out more. I want truth exposed. I want harm stopped.
At the same time, words like occult, ritual, and magick are getting tangled up with stories of real crimes, even when they point to very different things. Everything starts to blur together. Symbol becomes accusation. Language becomes threat.
For me, the line stays very clear.
Anything that interferes with another person’s free will, body, or agency is harm. That is black magick. That is abuse. That is something I stand firmly against.
My work lives on the opposite side of that line. It stays rooted in consent, self-responsibility, and inner attention. I work on myself. I leave other people’s will alone.
Crowley’s name sits right in the middle of this fear.
He used extreme language. He leaned into shock. He lived loudly and did not try to make himself comfortable to others. That made him easy to turn into a villain.
I feel the weight of that when I mention him.
I’m bringing this up here because this album quotes some of his writing, and because this cultural moment makes it easy to misunderstand what I’m actually doing. I work with texts the same way many people work with scripture, poetry, or myth — as language that helps me look inward and tell the truth inside my body. I hold what I can, and leave the rest.
What “Do What Thou Wilt” Means
Will points toward alignment, self-knowledge, and self-discipline.
Force fractures alignment.
Coercion violates will.
Even Crowley himself wrote will as responsibility toward one’s own nature, never as control over others. That distinction matters deeply to me.
Alignment protects autonomy.
Alignment excludes domination.
How I Actually Came To This Work
My husband studied magick quietly for more than a decade. He practiced privately, aware of the stigma that follows this kind of work. He never shared his practice with anyone. When he eventually let me see that inner life, it felt like a real risk taken in trust. I felt honored that he trusted me enough to let me in.
That is part of why I share at all — in case someone else feels curious and alone.
When he first showed me the LBRP, something in me lit up. I wanted to learn it. I wanted to understand what steadied him. Crowley was part of that lineage, woven into the material my husband had been studying.
What moved me was how he wasn’t performing. It was sincerity. Discipline. Quiet repetition. Humility. This was something my husband had done alone all this time.
I still understand very little. I chew on lines, not whole books. I work with fragments. I stay slow.
This remains a process of listening rather than mastery.
Gratitude For A Human Translator
Lon Milo DuQuette deserves explicit thanks here.
His writing made Crowley’s work readable, humorous, and grounded. The Chicken Qabalah remains my personal suggested entry point for anyone curious about symbolic language and magick. His voice constantly repeats what matters most:
Take what feeds you. Leave the rest.
That ethic mirrors my own.
About Harm, Abuse, and Speaking Now
Real harm exists.
Ritual abuse deserves exposure and justice.
People speaking out matters deeply.
Symbolic language should never blur accountability for real crimes. I grieve alongside survivors. I structure my life around minimizing harm wherever possible.
This moment calls for clarity rather than silence.
How I Hold This
I engage texts symbolically, never literally.
I read for resonance, not obedience.
I filter everything through lived ethics.
I remain critical, cautious, and incomplete in understanding. Certainty has softened over time. Curiosity has grown.
I share as a peer, never a guide.
Whatever current touched this album passed through:
a mother’s body
harm-avoidance
consent
gentleness
nervous-system awareness
Currents take the shape of the vessel.
What emerged here carries:
witnessing without spectacle
appetite without theft
voice without domination
hope without bypass
endings with closure
reciprocity
About This Being A Series
This blog reflection forms one part of a three-part series naming my primary influences:
Aleister Crowley
Each will receive its own space, its own care, its own unpacking. BYRDS felt like the honest place to begin because the source material already lives here.
A Closing Word
I remain a normal mom unpacking her inner life in public.
I remain grateful for language that helps me survive and thrive.
I share breadcrumbs.
Take what feeds you.
Leave the rest for the birds.
🪶
If you stayed, may your inner sky feel wider.
May your bones remember their shape.
Crow knows the way back.
