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

Haunted Mesa

The terms we use for what is considered supernatural are woefully inadequate. Beyond such terms as ghost, spectre, poltergeist, angel, devil, or spirit, might there not be something more our purposeful blindness has prevented us from understanding?

We accept the fact that there may be other worlds out in space, but might there not be other worlds here? Other worlds, in other dimensions, coexistent with this? If there are other worlds parallel to ours, are all the doors closed? Or does one, here or there, stand ajar?

Louis L’Amour
The Haunted Mesa

Ghosts…

August 16, 2016

Ghost

“Ghosts don’t haunt us. That’s not how it works. They’re present among us because we won’t let go of them.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” I said, faintly.

“Some people can’t see the colour red. That doesn’t mean it isn’t there,” she replied.”

Sue Grafton
M is for Malice

toilet

The ghosts in the upstairs lav
saw the light-bulb as a cousin
so stayed all year round.

Nan didn’t mind; it was cool
in summer and in winter it
saved on buying a freezer.

Uncle Billy didn’t. ‘If they look
who cares. With my arse
I should be so lucky’.

Besides, they’d left home,
not like those in the garden
lav with its newspaper squares.

Those ghosts made the dark
into fingers that pulled hair
and broke knicker elastic.

At Christmas, holiday
relatives never believed us
until after the Queen’s speech.

John Alwyine-Mosley

The fairy world…

June 16, 2016

John Anster Fitzgerald - The captive robin

Scottish folklore is populated with a whole host of fairies, demons, ghosts, green ladies, and other manifestations. It is hard, perhaps impossible, to separate these into distinct entities, for the stories and beliefs that relate to them are closely intertwined. For example, the fairy and the ghost were much the same according to certain traditions. Some fairies were not so much perceived as ‘little people,’ but rather as spirits of people long dead, either imprisoned on earth or left on earth after having been denied entrance to either heaven or hell. Some fairies were believed to be evildoers and mischief makers, abducting women and children. Others were less malevolent, granting wishes and effecting changes for the better in the lives of the mortals who crossed their paths.

Human interaction with the fairy world was fraught with problems. There was always the danger that if you crossed a fairy, the consequences could be unpleasant in the extreme. Thus, there are stories of people who have discovered a magic salve that, if rubbed on their eyes, helps them to see fairies. When this facility is discovered by someone in the fairy kingdom, the mortal concerned at the very least has the facility taken away, but more often will have the offending eye or eyes put out.

There are countless tales of people who have seen into the world, or kingdom, of the fairies, whether through gift, by chance, through the use of a magic salve, or in a dream. Stories of people who have had such access to or sight of the world of the fairies often tell how a living person has looked into the fairy world and recognized relatives, friends, or acquaintances who have died and are now living in the fairy realm. Tales such as these reinforce the idea of a link between the ghost or spirit of the dead and the fairy.

The fairy world, much like the world of the spirits, has its own time, which bears no relation to real time. This uniqueness of time, or perhaps timelessness, which is associated with fairyland, is illustrated by one particular story that comes from Inverness.

The story tells how two fiddlers were visiting Inverness, looking for places to perform, when they met an old man who asked them if they would play at a dance for him. This they agreed to, and they followed the old man to a place called Tomnahurich. They reached Tomnahurich, a small hill outside Inverness, towards nightfall. They entered an opening in the side of the hill, and found themselves in a richly-decorated hall, where scenes of great merriment were taking place. A party was well under way, with food and wine laid on in astonishing quality and abundance. The fiddlers found themselves in the company of many beautiful but very small and fine-boned women. The men were allowed to eat and drink their fill at the feast before the dancing began. When they took up their fiddles to play, the party got into full swing. The fiddlers played their hearts out, but did so with great pleasure, as the music was enlivening and uplifting, and the dancing ladies were a joy to behold. Time passed, and they hardly seemed to notice it.

At last, when it seemed that morning had come, the dancing came to a halt, and the fiddlers packed up, ready to leave. The old man who had hired them paid them generously with a bag of silver, and the fiddlers from the hillock in fine spirits. It had been a great night and a most profitable one. They wandered back towards Inverness, and it was here that things seemed to take a strange turn. Everything was different. The town itself had changed so much that they hardly recognized it as the same place. New buildings had sprung up, as if from nowhere. The people had changed too. They all wore very different clothes, and laughed when they saw what the fiddlers were wearing, calling their attire ‘strange’ and ‘old-fashioned’.

The fiddlers could not work out what was wrong, and decided to return to their own home town. Here, they found that the situation was much the same. It was as if several tens of years had passed in the real world while the fiddlers had been away playing at the dance at Tomnahurich.

Finally, the two men tried to take refuge in religion, and went to their local church. Their appearance caused quite a stir, but the congregation were silenced when the minister started to speak. Then, at the first mention of the name of God, the two fiddlers crumbled to dust in front of all those present.

The fact that the men were said to crumble to dust when the name of God was mentioned bears out another widespread belief about fairies – that their existence is somehow at odds with God and God’s world; that they were, in fact, more associated with things demonic. Other stories about fairies often relate how the little creatures disappear at the mention of God.

Lily Seafield
Scottish Ghosts