Lon Milo DuQuette - The Chicken Qabalah of Rabbi Lamed Ben Clifford: Dilettante’s Guide to What You Do and Do Not Need to Know to Become a Qabalist

THE

CHICKEN

QABALAH

OF

RABBI LAMED BEN CLIFFORD

A Dilettante's Guide to
What You Do and Do Not Need to Know
to Become a Qabalist

LON MILO DUQUETTE

First published in 2001 by
WEISER BOOKS
P. 0. Box 612
York Beach, ME 03910-0612
www.weiserbooks.com

Copyright 2001 Lon Milo DuQuette
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from Weiser Books.
Reviewers may quote brief passages.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

DuQuette, Lon Milo.

Chicken Qabalah of Rabbi Lamed Ben Clifford / Lon Milo
DuQuette.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 1-57863-215-3 (pbk.)

I. Cabala. 2. Tarot. 3. Tree of life. 4. Gematria. 5. CabalaHumor.
I. Title.

BF1611 .D869 2001

135'.47dc21

2001017612

Typeset in 11/14 Adobe Garamond
Text design by Kathryn Sky-Peck
Back cover photo by Paul Martens

Printed in the United States of America

VG

08 07 06 05 04 03 02 01
8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences-Permanence of Paper for Printed library Materials Z39.48-1992 (R1997).

A
NEW
IMPROVED
QABALISTIC TEXT
OF GREAT CYNICISM AND WISDOM WRITTEN
EXPRESSLY FOR DILETTANTES WITH
REALLY SHORT ATTENTION SPANS
WHO PRETENTIOUSLY CONSIDER
THEMSELVES HERMETIC QABALISTS
BUT WHO ARE NONETHELESS SERIOUS
ABOUT UTILIZING A TINY PORTION OF THE
HEBREW QABALAH
FOR SPIRITUAL
ENLIGHTENMENT.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author wishes to thank the following individuals who contributed to the manifestation of this work in the world of Assiah:

Constance Jean DuQuette, whose love and sense of humor has almost overcome her detestation of the Qabalah;

Rodney Orpheus, who interrupted his decadent life as rock star, recording artist, and globe-hopper to pen the Foreword;

Rabbi Gizmo Ben Lamed, who graciously opened his heart and his archives;

Ida Pengala, of Augury Today, and Dr. Terrence Stool of Gomer magazine;

Ms. Carolyn Tillie, who four years ago promised to reward me with a ten-course Qabalistic dinner if I were ever to write a book on the Qabalah.

CONTENTS

LIST OF FIGURES

MY LIFE WITH THE RABBI

By Rodney Orpheus

L et me begin by saying that no matter what Mr. DuQuette may be obliged to say in his introductory words, Rabbi Lamed Ben Clifford is (was) real. I, perhaps more than anyone else on Earth, understand the author's reasons for choosing to infer that the text represents a pseudepigraphic effort of his own. To men and women of integrity, a spiritual oath of secrecy is a serious and burdensome commitment, and Mr. DuQuette, by means of this elaborate literary charade, has obviously fulfilled his obligations admirably. I, on the other hand, am bound by no such covenants, and because I, too, am compiling a record of the events of my life with the Master, I am grateful to Mr. DuQuette for allowing me to share some of my memories.

It was a wet and stormy night when first I met the Rabbi Lamed Ben Clifford. I was a young chela of an occult Order then attending initiations in A.., a beautiful old German town. I remember the moment distinctly. I was standing on a stack of chairs wielding a huge Japanese katana, swinging it round with ease to impress the assembled neophytes with my skill in the oriental arts, when I was approached by a rotund figure, his beard wafting in the breeze from my blade.

Little Brother! he commanded me in a loud voice, You have been meddling with the Qabalah!

The throng around me seemed to shrink away at his imperious, if somewhat squeaky, voice. I stood transfixed by his gaze, the sword held high above my head. For a long second, there was no sound.

No I haven't, I stated calmly, But I don't mind having it meddle with me.

He looked at me quizzically, seeming to examine my face intently, then turned on his heel and walked away. In my mind I had a sudden flash of insight. I leapt down from my post and ran after him, throwing myself at his feet.

Master! I exclaimed, for 1 now knew I was in the presence of a member of that mystical, mythical Great White Brotherhood I had sought for so long, Take me as your pupilplease!

I can't do that, he said, The Qabalah is not for charismatic rock stars such as yourself. It can only be mastered by one who has already lived a full life. You must be married and have accumulated more wealth before you can study as a true Rabbi of the Lord.

But Master, there must be a wayI'll be your secretary, clean your house, shine your shoes, anything! But I must learn the true knowledge behind the meaninglessness of Number and Symbol that is my only learning up until this moment.

Well, pop by the house the next time you are in the States, we'll see what we have for you! His eyes twinkled. I knew I'd been given a challenge. Did I have the dedication to throw away my life for this man, and become his servant in the Holy Wisdom of the Qabalah? Sure I did!

So it was, and months later I stepped off a plane in New York City, all my belongings packed in a small bag over my shoulder, in search of enlightenment. I had heard that the Rabbi ran a small community in Montauk, composed of only those true initiates that he had personally selected. However, try as I might, I knew of no one who knew the identity of even one of those initiates, so secretive was the Order to which they belonged. Over the next years I was to find out why.

The Order (I won't give its true name here) was descended from an ancient sect of Essenes who had begun the study of Qabalah after the fall of the biblical Tower of Babel. Their belief was, and is, that any who study the Holy Wisdom share the danger of those unwise Master Builders of old, whose pride led Jehovah to punish them for daring to come before His Countenance. Thus the Order members vow themselves to complete anonymity on their initiation, so that the Lord cannot find and punish them for their spiritual hubris. Now I understood why the Rabbi, although versed in the wisdom of the Holy Qabalah like no man in this century, had published nothing; indeed his name was unknown even in the occult circles in which I had previously moved.

I was to become one of the lucky few intimates of the Rabbi during my stay. As his secretary, I had access to many of his communicationsboth material and spiritual. For the former, I was amazed at his contacts around the world. One would never know who he'd be talking to from one day to the nextfrom a bum in the street in Seattle (one of the greatest magi currently alive, according to the Rabbi) to a leading politician in Europe (well, he tries hard, spoken with a deep sigh).

His spiritual communications were no less intriguinghe spoke frequently to Goetic spirits and Enochian angels, often over afternoon tea (Earl Grey seemed especially efficacious for this purpose). I rapidly became proficient in shorthand, and always kept a pencil and pad handyand an eraser, for, as the Rabbi put it: Those guys can often benefit from a bit of judicious editing.

There were many sunny afternoons when we sat together in the garden over a huge pot of steaming tea while the Rabbi pontificated and argued with his Invisible Superiors over the future direction of the Order's work. The notes I took filled several boxes, and I was amazingly grateful for the invention of the Apple Macintosh computer which allowed me to finally dump the Rabbi's ancient Burroughs typing machine.