Ghosts in my soul

May 14, 2017

14th May

Long days, followed by candle lit evenings and laughter. Rain slanting at the windows last night, followed by a misty moist morning full of ghosts. Sometimes just to sit and watch the rain brings a strange sense of calm to me. Thunder and lightning, on the other hand, sets a fire in my soul…

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Last summer, walking the coastal path south from Portreath. Took the narrow path down to the sea, all elbow turns and screaming gulls. Deadman’s Cove below. Cold here, despite the intense heat of the day. The beach is all pebbles and black rocks. At low tide the wreck of a ship sunk back in 1978 becomes partially visible.

Here the sea is still and black, brooding under rocky shadows; no surfing or swimming – too cold and dark and dangerous. The Cove is a haunted place. A ghost regularly appears before visitors, only to fade away when directly addressed. Or so they say.

One of the most perilous stretches of coast imaginable. Many ships sunk over the years, the bodies inevitably washing up in Deadman’s Cove. Uneasy atmosphere to the place, giving an intense and inexplicable sense of foreboding to many of the coves visitors…

Ghostly screams of drowning men frequently heard here in the night…

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Strange things do happen. In August 1894 some parts of Bath were covered by thousands of small Jelly fish that fell from the sky!

Personal Darkness

May 5, 2017

5th May

Imbibing alcohol can make fools of us all, but it can also make us more candid than we’d otherwise have been…

Dee, slightly intoxicated last night, explaining that as a young girl she offered a kiss to a boy, a neighbour, if he’d take down trousers and underwear then sit in a patch of nettles. Surprisingly, the boy complied. Dee told him he must ‘wriggle’ on the nettles. Again he complied. But shortly afterwards, he began to cry. She encouraged him to stand and kissed him several times on the mouth in an attempt to stop his tears. She was eight years old; the boy nine.

At home later that same day the boy’s mother created holly hell with Dee’s parents. His bottom and testicles were covered in little white blisters from the nettles; he could not sit still, and had been liberally bathed in calamine lotion. Dee’s mother, furious, sent Dee up to bed without supper. Both her mother and father said they were disgusted by her behaviour.

Dee remembers mainly the boy’s penis being very stiff when he sat in the nettles and when she kissed him.

In confessional mood, Gabriella told of her mother’s coldness towards her as a young child. Her mother had really wanted a boy, but ended up with a girl. There was no intimacy between the pair, no closeness and cuddles.

And when Gabby’s brother was born, he became the apple of mum’s eye: nothing was too much for him. Gabriella felt more isolated than ever. Hers was a childhood of loneliness and confusion. She needed love, but was haunted by a sense of inadequacy. Alone in the vast world of childhood, she made the place inhabitable by complete and total submission to the will of her mother, who she saw as the dominant force in her life. A force that must be appeased at any cost. Then, and only then, love would follow.

At age fourteen, one sunfilled summer afternoon, Gabriella and a school friend, a slightly older girl, played a game of ‘strip poker’ in Gabby’s bedroom. They were alone in the house: Gabby’s mother was at a carboot sale in a neighbouring town; her father was at work, and her brother at a friend’s house. Inevitably both girls became naked, but they continued to play – only for ‘dares’ now. There were intimate touches, caresses. An element of mutual masturbation. Finally Gabriella was ‘dared’ to go down on the other girl – and she did, without a moment’s hesitation…

It was at that moment her mother walked into the bedroom! She’d returned early with a splitting headache.

There followed a highly charged and emotional scene. Gabby’s mother called her ‘Ugly and unnatural’. She ordered the other girl to dress and get out of the house. Her final comment, ‘You’re both a pair of dirty lesbians…’ broke Gabriella’s heart.

Dee grew up with a conviction that in human relationships, there were only two possible positions: one of rapacious domination; the other of docile submission. Dee would never play the role of submissive. She could not, would not struggle against the duality in her nature. Gabriella on the other hand, always sought love, intimacy, acceptance: to obtain these, she submitted to others thoughtlessly, flitted from one sex to the other, always humble and eager to please, but sexually avid.

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It’s always best kissing the middle of a sentence, long languorous kisses to melt the words…

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Ghosts?

I once encountered a ghost. A terrible apparition, it was, too. The following morning I woke believing the encounter to have been a nightmare, a simple bad dream in which I stood powerless and screaming at the spectre of one recently dead.

It was some days later Ailsa told me she had hurried to me after hearing my cries in the night. That part at least had been no dream. She saw no ‘ghost’ but I was standing in the centre of a locked room in an almost hysterical state.

How had the room become unlocked?

Neither of us could say; it was a mystery.

So, was it dream, hallucination or horrifying reality? I’m still not certain.

Diary 3rd May

The first of May it rained all day. We didn’t much care. Once at home we battened down the hatches and watched DVDs; in the evening we played “Cards against Humanity”, great fun.

Tuesday, App and Wal visited us in the evening. Mild bondage games with lots of laughter, an amateur porno movie, and mutual teasing during the hour and a half duration of the film. I’m still a little sore from our Beltane eve celebrations.

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Thoughts of the Reverend John Ruddle. The year is 1665 and Ruddle the incumbent of St Mary Magdalene, Launceston, is called to the home of the Bligh family resident near South Petherwin; they tell him of their young son, who claims he is regularly accosted by a ghostly apparition on his way to school.

Ruddle interviews the boy who recounts a most convincing story. The apparition, a woman, dressed in flowing robes, keeps gliding towards him as if to speak – but the boy can’t understand what it is she says. The boy is obviously very scared by these unpleasant experiences.

The Reverend arranges to accompany the boy and his father the following morning on his normal route to school. He records the following:

“We went into the field, and had not gone a third part before the spectrum, in the shape of a woman, with all the circumstances he had described the day before, so far as the suddenness of its appearance and transition would permit me to discover, passed by. I was a little surprised at it, and though I had taken up a firm resolution to speak to it, I had not the power, nor durst I look back; yet I took care not to show any fear to my pupil and guide.”

Convinced the ghost is a disturbed spirit, Ruddle visits his Bishop who agrees an exorcism. The Reverend duly arms himself with bell, book and candle and proceeds to again confront the specter. His account continues:

“Soon after five I stepped over the stile into the haunted field, and had not gone above thirty or forty paces before the ghost appeared at the further stile. I spoke to it in some short sentences with a loud voice; whereupon it approached me, but slowly, and when I came near it moved not. I spoke again, and it answered in a voice neither audible nor very intelligible. I was not in the least terrified, and therefore persisted until it spoke again and gave me satisfaction; but the work could not be finished at this time. Whereupon the same evening, an hour after sunset, it met me again near the same place, and after a few words on each side it quietly vanished, and neither doth appear now, nor hath appeared since, nor ever will more to any man’s disturbance…

“These things are true and I know them to be so, with as much certainty as eyes and ears can give me.”

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The local hunt were out on Monday. Were they ‘accidentally’ killing foxes or have they found new quarry to pursue?

Ghost dance for one

April 29, 2017

28th / 29th April

Warm night. Our normal Ménagerie de trois became a Ménagerie de quatre for a time. Having resisted the temptations of the drinks cabinet all week, I had red wine with my evening meal and brandy and water before bed (to fortify me, you understand). I eat roasted red & yellow peppers with vine tomatoes instead of the fruit that had been daily diet since Monday. Such is life.

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Ghosts abound. They are everywhere. Do you know there are more reported sightings of ghosts in the UK today than in any other country round the world?

It’s not a new phenomena, either.

There are countless references throughout the Middle Ages to ghosts or the spirits of the dead wandering the land of the living. Obviously, as supernatural phenomena, they were to be feared. However, from contemporaneous accounts, it seems that generally speaking these medieval spectres were haunting the living because they needed help. In the year 1457, for example, as one chronicler gleefully relates, a ghost appeared and demanded that his nephew depart immediately on pilgrimage to Compostella; once there a mass must be said to free the soul of the dead uncle from Purgatory. The ghost wanted release.

These medieval visitants were (generally speaking) not ghosts in the modern sense of the word but walking corpses. The fast decaying dead returned. William of Newburgh was in no doubt that to combat these gruesome revenants holy water and various holy relics were very necessary.

To show how widespread the belief in ghosts, during the twelfth century many oaths were taken over a dead person’s tomb. This was to ensure that ghosts took revenge for any perjury or that they acted as a supernatural witness to that oath. Oath + ghost = binding contract (or else!).

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Our preparations for Beltane proceed apace. We hope for good weather, but…? Whatever, it’ll be a good night. And I will Lèche la chatte until my jaw aches like hell!

DEMONS

April 17, 2017

Alright. So I’m surprised this hasn’t been addressed for the witchy/occulty community on here yet. So I’m gonna lay down some common misconceptions about demons, because I want all my witchy babes to be well informed.

1. “Don’t do ____, or you’ll ‘accidentally’ summon a demon!”

Oh honey, no. It takes so much more to summon demons than that. You can’t ‘accidently’ summon a demon with a Ouija/spirit board, or by just simply drawing a sigil, or doing some kind of baneful magic. It takes extensive rituals to even spark the interest of a demon. I can promise you, if a demon was a result of a session with a spirit or Ouija board, chances are that it’s been around for a lot longer than that. Demons can be incredibly powerful entities. They don’t just sit up one day and suddenly decide they’re going to go fuck with some teenager with a Ouija board. They have to be intentionally summoned, or they hang around heavily negative areas. Like, heavily negative. All you may get from a spirit or Ouija board is a douchebag poltergeist. Even then, that’s pretty rare.

2. “Weird things are happening in my house, must be a demonic haunting!”

Believe me, you’ll fucking know when you’re dealing with a demon. They don’t fuck around. It’s go big or go home with them. Chances are, you’re just dealing with a poltergeist, which usually aren’t violent. Poltergeists just want you to know that they’re there and to pay a little attention to them. Big red flags for demonic hauntings are:

Immense harm

o I don’t just mean little scratches or the occasional pinching or pulling hair. Demons get nasty. I’ve been to the E.R. twice because of a bout with one. I’ve got about 3 or 4, 4 inch scars because of one that gouged me. They will leave deep cuts, push you down stairs, throw shit at you, whatever they can do to entice fear. It’s what they feed off of.

Nasty Smells

o This includes the smell of sulphur, rotting eggs, rotting meat. It’ll make you fucking gag, it’s nasty as hell. It is legitimately the smell of death.

Growling/other very terrifying noises

o Now, I’m not talking about little creaking noises or the occasional whispers. This is very audible, very sinister growling. It will sound like a canine’s, though they can sound however they like. Scratching, slams, whatever they wanna do to scare the shit out of you. Demons are incredibly deceptive, they’re masters of mimicking voices or taking on different shapes. They like to take on shapes of someone you care about.

Shadows

o Again, I’m not talking about just normal little shadows moving. They will be incredibly intense shadows, literally the epitome of darkness. Think of the darkest thing possible. It’s darker than that. You will very rarely be able to see through these shadows.

3. “So and so got possessed by a demon and they didn’t do anything to get possessed!”

Fun fact: Demons have to be invited into a body. Similar to a vampire being invited to a home. They can’t just take over a body, they’ll have to wait until that person says okay. Now what they like to do, is to wear the person down, both emotionally and physically, until that person’s will has crumbled. When it gets to be too much for a person, they’ll often give in and just let the demon take over. Then you’ll have to do an exorcism which is a very tiring and lengthy process that may not even work. Exorcisms can take hours to days to weeks. And sometimes it just doesn’t work. Sometimes the person has just completely given up or the demon is just a total jackass set on this person’s death or soul.

Last bit of advice: Don’t get involved with shit you can’t handle.

Believe me, I know how interesting demons are, and the allure to it. But these are not entities to take lightly. Getting involved with these guys without knowing how to protect yourself or fight them could legitimately get you killed. Do not make deals or pacts or whatever unless you are 100% sure you know what you’re doing. I’ve been studying for about four years now, and I wouldn’t even think about summoning one. Because I know how malicious these guys are. They don’t fuck around. Do not fuck with shit you don’t know how to handle. Even if you think you can, I guarantee you still don’t have enough experience. Just don’t fucking do it. Best case scenario, you’re haunted for the rest of your life. Worst case? You’re fucking dead. They are beings compared to gods, do not treat them like little nasty spirits, because they are not.

Source HERE

(Peedeel says: Ouija boards are not toys, Boys and Girls. Don’t mess with them. They ARE a doorway, and unless you have experience of dealing with the spirit world, you have no idea who or what is communicating with you. You’ve opened a door, and called to them. Which is a little like playing Russian roulette with an automatic pistol).

Diary 14th April

In ‘Crowds of Power’, Elias Canetti gives us an example of inter-tribal warfare in South America. A Taulipang tribal warrior tells how they wiped out a neighbouring tribe, the Pishauko. According to Canetti, the Taulipang launched a surprise night attack on their enemies village. Apparently the Pishauko witch doctor sensed their approach from the ‘spirit dimension’ and warned everyone of danger, but the villagers ignored him. The Taulipang warriors dully appeared and began clubbing the Pishauko to death. They set fire to the huts and tossed all the Pishauko children into the flames.

How did the Pishauko witch doctor ‘sense’ the impending attack?

We know that Neanderthal man buried his dead with some sort of ritual (seeds of brightly coloured flowers were interred with the corpse – probably, they were woven into somekind of shroud). Chunks of manganese dioxide have been found in their caves worn down on one side as if used as crayons. Ritual art is a strong possibility. Undoubtedly, Neanderthal man and woman had religion (indicated also by the stone spheres representative of the Sun and Moon found in their habitations), and religion is obviously the outcome of thinking about the Universe.

200,000 years ago at Pech de l’Aze in the Dordogne, homo erectus took time out to engrave the rib bone of an ox – the engraving, the earliest we know of, is of three arc-like patterns overlapping. Is this, too, a representation of symbolic (religious?) significance?

175,000 years ago Cro-Magnon man was busy painting the walls of caves – in the deepest, darkest, remotest parts of caves. Vivid paintings of bison, deer, wild boar and wild horses. It was Salomon Reinach in 1903 who suggested the probable magical significance of these paintings; magic ritual to lure the animals to Cro-Magnon traps; lure the food to the table.

Alexander Marshack in his book ‘The Roots of Civilization’ suggests the Cro-Magnons were far less primitive than previously thought: they recorded a basic calendar on animal bones to anticipate the seasonal migration of animals, their food supply. In effect they invented a simple form of writing!

It is speculative, but a strong possibility, that religious art extended far back in time beyond the highly developed art of the Cro-Magnon people. It is probable that homo erectus, over 200,000 years ago, with their much enlarged brain capacity, used ritual magic in an attempt to control nature, to control their food supply.

So, you might ask, what has this to do with that Pishauko witch doctor?

Well, ancient man had no need to ask questions about the forces of nature; he FELT them around him, as a fish feels every change in water pressure through nerves in its sides. The result was most likely a curious sense of unity with the earth and heavens that homo sapiens – us, in other words – generally lost a long time ago. Ancient mans religion, his rituals, weren’t an attempt to ‘explain’ his world – it was a natural response to its forces.

In much the same way, the Pishauko witch-doctor was able to FEEL the approach of his enemies. All shamans, witch-doctors, magicians, witches and sacred priests, throughout human history, have claimed they derive their powers from ‘spirits’, often those of the dead. Sure we can dismiss this as primitive superstition – but we’ll be missing the point if we consider it an attempt to explain ‘life’ after death. Shamans do NOT believe in ‘spirits’; they EXPERIENCE them first hand – or at least, experience something they accept as the ‘spirit world’. Thus, boys and girls, I’d suggest it unlikely Neanderthal man performed burial rites because he ‘believed’ in life after death. He performed them because he took it for granted that he was surrounded by ‘spirits’, and these included the ‘spirits’ of the dead and the spirits of nature – otherwise known to us as ‘elementals’. Our Pishauko witch doctor, engaging in a ‘magic’ ritual to help a sick tribe member, and communicating with his ‘spirit guides’ was promptly alerted to the impending danger of attack.

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What will happen on Beltane?

We’ll take part in the Great Rite, of course – experience the type of sex where we are so deeply entwined, so far in to each other’s darknesses and each other’s souls that we will be as one. Passionate, lustful, almost savage fucking. That’s what will happen.

For Beltane is a time for love. A time for merging with the goddess; for seeing the world through each other’s eyes. It is a time for bonfires and dancing. It is a time to be joined by spirits, in celebration of the Earth’s great fecundity. See their ghost shapes, milky white, dancing beside you in the trailing smoke from the bonfire. Eat, drink, love…

evening-scene-on-vauxhall-bridge

Spiritualism and mediums

In the turbulent, revolutionary year of 1848, a new religious movement emerged from the melting pot of upstate New York. The young Fox sisters had claimed to have come into contact with the unquiet spirit of a murdered man in their house, who communicated with them by loud knocks on wood. This very local sensation (later shown to be a fraud) was the origin point for the Spiritualist movement, which elaborated a method of communicating with the dead in séances through mediums. Mediums were often women because they were deemed to have more delicate, sensitive nervous systems than men. Men who were mediums – such as the famous D D Home who so enraged Robert Browning that he was the source for his poem ‘Mr Sludge’ – were often abjected and despised. Although communication with spirits was strictly forbidden in the Bible, this became a popular form of dissenting belief, a ‘proof’ of the survival of bodily death in an era that demanded empirical testing and experiment. The spirits would exchange banal but comforting messages with loved ones; some would elaborate extensively on the social and political institutions of the afterlife, called Summerland by some.

In 1852, the American medium Mrs Hayden came to London to conduct séances with many of the great and good of London society: this was one of the bridge-heads for the spread of Spiritualism to England. It found particular favour in the industrial north of England, where dissenting religion was already strong. Importantly, Spiritualism contested doctrines of eternal damnation for a much more liberal conception of the afterlife. Many men of science were also converts, most famously the evolutionary theorist Alfred Russel Wallace, partly because Spiritualism was consistently figured in terms of new magical technologies like the telegraph or telephone.

The Victorian supernatural
Roger Luckhurst

a-room-the-damned

It was a sound and a movement that brought me back into myself. The great clock at the farther end of the room just then struck the hour of three. That was the sound. And the movement – ? I was aware that a figure was passing across the distant centre of the floor. Instantly I dropped back into the arena of my little human terror. My hand again clutched stupidly at the pistol butt. I drew back into the folds of the heavy curtain. And the figure advanced.

I remember every detail. At first it seemed to me enormous – this advancing shadow – far beyond human scale; but as it came nearer, I measured it, though not consciously, by the organ pipes that gleamed in faint colours, just above its gradual soft approach. It passed them, already halfway across the great room. I saw then that its stature was that of ordinary men. The prolonged booming of the clock died away. I heard the footfall, shuffling upon the polished boards. I heard another sound – a voice, low and monotonous, droning as in prayer. The figure was speaking. It was a woman. And she carried in both hands before her a small object that faintly shimmered – a glass of water. And then I recognized her.

There was still an instant’s time before she reached me, and I made use of it. I shrank back, flattening myself against the wall. Her voice ceased a moment, as she turned and carefully drew the curtains together behind her, closing them with one hand. Oblivious of my presence, though she actually touched my dressing gown with the hand that pulled the cords, she resumed her dreadful, solemn march, disappearing at length down the long vista of the corridor like a shadow.

But as she passed me, her voice began again, so that I heard each word distinctly as she uttered it, her head aloft, her figure upright, as though she moved at the head of a procession:

“A drop of cold water, given in His name, shall moisten their burning tongues.”

It was repeated monotonously over and over again, droning down into the distance as she went, until at length both voice and figure faded into the shadows at the farther end.

For a time, I have no means of measuring precisely, I stood in that dark corner, pressing my back against the wall, and would have drawn the curtains down to hide me had I dared to stretch an arm out. The dread that presently the woman would return passed gradually away. I realized that the air had emptied, the crowd her presence had stirred into activity had retreated; I was alone in the gloomy under-space of the odious building…. Then I remembered suddenly again the terrified women waiting for me on that upper landing; and realized that my skin was wet and freezing cold after a profuse perspiration. I prepared to retrace my steps. I remember the effort it cost me to leave the support of the wall and covering darkness of my corner, and step out into the grey light of the corridor. At first I sidled, then, finding this mode of walking impossible, turned my face boldly and walked quickly, regardless that my dressing gown set the precious objects shaking as I passed. A wind that sighed mournfully against the high, small windows seemed to have got inside the corridor as well; it felt so cold; and every moment I dreaded to see the outline of the woman’s figure as she waited in recess or angle against the wall for me to pass.

Was there another thing I dreaded even more? I cannot say. I only know that the first baize doors had swung to behind me, and the second ones were close at hand, when the great dim thunder caught me, pouring up with prodigious volume so that it, seemed to roll out from another world. It shook the very bowels of the building. I was closer to it than that other time, when it had followed me from the goblin garden. There was strength and hardness in it, as of metal reverberation. Some touch of numbness, almost of paralysis, must surely have been upon me that I felt no actual terror, for I remember even turning and standing still to hear it better. “That is the Noise,” my thought ran stupidly, and I think I whispered it aloud; “the Doors are closing.” The wind outside against the windows was audible, so it cannot have been really loud, yet to me it was the biggest, deepest sound I have ever heard, but so far away, with such awful remoteness in it, that I had to doubt my own ears at the same time. It seemed underground – the rumbling of earthquake gates that shut remorselessly within the rocky Earth -stupendous ultimate thunder. They were shut off from help again. The doors had closed.

THE DAMNED
Algernon Blackwood

THE GHOSTS’ MOONSHINE

September 16, 2016

a-ghosts-moonshine

It is midnight, my wedded;
Let us lie under
The tempest bright undreaded,
In the warm thunder:
(Tremble and weep not! What can you fear?)
My heart’s best wish is thine, –
That thou wert white, and bedded
On the softest bier,
In the ghost’s moonshine.
Is that the wind? No, no;
Only two devils, that blow
Through the murderer’s ribs to and fro,
In the ghosts’ moonshine.

Who is there, she said afraid, yet
Stirring and awaking
The poor old dead? His spade, it
Is only making, –
(Tremble and weep not! What do you crave?)
Where yonder grasses twine,
A pleasant bed, my maid, that
Children call a grave,
In the cold moonshine.
Is that the wind? No, no;
Only two devils, that blow
Through the murderer’s ribs to and fro,
In the ghosts’ moonshine.

What doest thou strain above her
Lovely throat’s whiteness?
A silken Chain, to cover
Her bosom’s brightness?
(Tremble and weep not: what dost thou fear?)
– My blood is spilt like wine,
Thou hast strangled and slain me, lover,
Thou hast stabbed me dear,
In the ghosts’ moonshine.
Is that the wind? No, no;
Only her goblin doth blow
Through the murderer’s ribs to and fro,
In its own moonshine.

Thomas Lovell Beddoes

Ghosts

August 17, 2016

night vision

Take shape under moonlight,
materialize in dreams.
Shadows. Silhouettes
of what is no more. But

ghosts don’t

bother me. The day brings
bigger things to worry about
than flimsy remains of
yesterday. No, spooks don’t

scare me.

Gauzy apparitions might
prank your psyche or
agitate your nightmares,
but lacking

flesh and blood

they are powerless
to hurt you-cannot hope
to inflict the kind of damage
that real, live

people do.

Ellen Hopkins