You will be amazed by the fact that writing about a particular act changes the very act itself. This discovery is especially important for both the Probationer and the Neophyte, and it will sustain the Aspirant to the farthest reaches of the Golden Dawn. Even Adeptus Minor does not find an objection to this claim. Both the Diary and the Superior play the precisely same function, except in the opposite manner of acting. The most feasible way is to look at the Diary as your inner Superior.
There are two types of diaries. The first type, which, for many, serves as a reminder. And another, which for a few serves as a testimony. The former is a gift of the most precious kind, making the Aspirant see that every record in the Diary is one and the same dialogue between him and his God; each entry is a description of always the same thing but in countless other languages, as each event is actually just one of the infinite numbers of anagrams of the name of his Angel. And out of all the things that happen to you, or at least that you think happened, and which you write down so zealously in your records, you always, in fact, think about only one thing. Let each Student stumble in this place, thinking about that one single thing which surrounds all of his efforts, all of his energy and enthusiasm, that which is familiar to all Students, Aspirants and Adepts, the circumstance that is the same for each living organism in this and all other universes.
It can be said that each Grade cherishes a specific relationship with the Diary, that there is a special thread that binds the Diary with a certain Grade, and that this thread has a different nature on each occasion. Writing a Diary has such unique, sublime boredom that is independent of our own will. Sometimes it can occur, sometimes not, sometimes months can pass or even years of zealous writing, but then simply come to a halt which cannot be overcome by even thousands of insights and advancements in the Grade until the thing moves by itself. Sometimes this pause in writing is only a consequence of certain processes that are induced by the Grade itself; sometimes it is a new temptation that needs to be assimilated. Each Grade possesses mechanisms which can be manifested in every Aspirant, although it cannot be said with certainty for whom, and to what extent.
The Diary is not a record of your practice, but a record of your living soul, it is not a reminder of what it was, nor what it will be, but always and only what is. Every record in your Diary is like a lottery card. Each record and every practice is just one of the combinations, only one combination out of all others can be a winning combination, and only Great Work will give meaning to everything that is written. Play with the Diary; it must breathe, it must live. The Probationer must be the bridegroom, his Diary must be his bride.