Writer's Block: In a Former Life
Feb. 16th, 2009 03:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wytchcroft[Error: unknown template qotd]Whilst Wytchcroft is on honeymoon, they have kindly allowed me to present to this forum an update regarding my investigations into the paranormal and the ongoing research I am attempting to document.
Briefly, my latest area of study has been in the quasi-mystic field of ‘past life’ regression or contact.
To this end I can profess some measure of success, in that I have witnessed and recorded events that cannot easily be rationally explained away.
For example, gathered round the table at Mrs Crintock’s last weekend I was fortunate to be allowed into an over 60s séance and bingo session with that grand madam and a few of her select circle. Mrs Crintock (whose first name is Bob) is justly famous for the quality of her readings, to be allowed to witness such an event was an honour indeed.
That Marvellous Medium Mrs Crintock
The Crintock estate is of moderate size and well kept, large windows with heavy drapes allow visitors a sight of rolling lawn and well tended hedges – in the distance the eerie call of peacocks and pheasants swirl in with the dusk. Since my last expedition, if you recall, ended rather badly - with the failed exorcism of D’KyyLakarr lesser demon of the Vonty, resulting in an interesting (and vocal) ornamental addition to the walls of that lugubrious laundrette which was the sorry location for the events – I felt keen to succeed and very pleased to have found a task that did not involve talking to a haunted washing machine.
Briefly, the session went like this. As the shadows fell with twilight’s gloaming we clustered around the long table, sipping wine from a carafe presented by the butler Hugo. Hugo had already surprised us by cracking his frosty exterior to get down like a funk-ass when Moby came on the ornate stereo.
We dance - photo taken with Spirit Camera.
As soft candles were lit we waited in the heavy silence, punctuated only by the stertorious breathing of the wizened medium as she slowly went into a trance state. Her hands trembled with unseen energy and she pointed at each one of us in turn – despite the closure of her eyelids.
Soon she began to speak – preliminary heralding at first – but gradually short answers, followed by longer pronouncements, a song, a cold buffet as supper, a swift round of bingo and back to short answers again.
Somehow in the excitement and heat of the session I had managed to scribble in shorthand the following extraordinary exchanges – without conscious effort, and I leave it to you, gentle reader, to ascribe a paranormal or not explanation for these transcripts.
Briefly, thus:
Crintock: “I have flowed like a wave from the centre of the earth, up from the very bowel of Atlantis, and despite the traffic I seem to be on time!”
Assembled witnesses: “That is so.”
Crintock: My name is Albert Ocifer. Who wishes to see what has been in the era of your lives before? I will show you, I will be your guide around the seventeen circles of the inner ages, and if you ask nicely I’ll buy you an ice-cream.”
Here one of my fellow guests spoke up breathlessly, “I have seen in dreams – myself, directing vast teams of workers as I sat upon a bejewelled throne shaped from solid rock, tell me is this truth?”
Crintock/Ocifer: “Yes. I recognise you. I call to you now by your name of old; Pharaoh Insolestep!”
Guest: “I knew it – I have felt greatness in me since birth!”
Ocifer: “Your legend is large, your reign was long and fruitful.”
Guest: “I built pyramids!”
Ocifer: “Yes! And the Sphinx, and Cleopatra’s needle – and also a quite nifty patio for the palace.”
Guest: “Praise me!”
Ocifer: “Praise you.”
At which point we were interrupted by another guest.
Guest2: “Not so! False, I cry!”
And they did, before carrying on again.
Guest2: “I know because I was there! I was there I tell you, in MY former life – and twice if you count my stint as an Archaeologist at the B-have site in the Valley of the kings. Yes, and you were NOT the Pharaoh. It was I! You were the slave T’pioka P’dding and a crap slave at that!”
“LIAR!”
Well, gosh – things were really on the point of deteriorating when a third guest imposed themselves.
Guest3: “Ocifer – tell me of my past, I was a Viking chieftain I believe of much renown.”
Ocifer: “Ah tis true – I see you clear, Erik BluntAxe who discovered England and subjugated the blue monkey of that northern hell-hole.”
Guest3: “I knew it!”
Ocifer: “Praise you. Let the conquered cy out your name and despair!”
Guest3: “And what else?”
Ocifer: “Many lives have you lead, not the least of which as Alfredo Gargle friend and patron of artists and the true hand behind the brush that gave birth to the Mona Lisa. I still have her number by the way.”
The air by now was heady with an incense-like aroma of cigar smoke, fried aether and something unmentionable. I could contain my self no longer!
“And I?” I beseeched the spirit Ocifer – what of I?”
Ocifer: “You were pretty useless then – and you’re bloody useless now. You’ve left the cat out again, your car keys are locked in your car, your socks are not matching- but tonight at least you will have learned to appreciate the full import, power and wisdom of my words… even as you wait for the AA to come and open your car.”
And do you know?
They were wrong.
And as I stand here in the drizzle, trying to read the number on my mobile to contact the AA, I can swear you to you, in all honesty, that I don’t appreciate those words at all.
So my tale ends, but join me again my friends for another Mystickally reclined adventure in the mystery of the murky supernatural. That adventure will thrill and delight, I promise! To give you a measure of its power, I shall preview some details.
I shall be brief. W-
Briefly, my latest area of study has been in the quasi-mystic field of ‘past life’ regression or contact.
To this end I can profess some measure of success, in that I have witnessed and recorded events that cannot easily be rationally explained away.
For example, gathered round the table at Mrs Crintock’s last weekend I was fortunate to be allowed into an over 60s séance and bingo session with that grand madam and a few of her select circle. Mrs Crintock (whose first name is Bob) is justly famous for the quality of her readings, to be allowed to witness such an event was an honour indeed.
That Marvellous Medium Mrs Crintock
The Crintock estate is of moderate size and well kept, large windows with heavy drapes allow visitors a sight of rolling lawn and well tended hedges – in the distance the eerie call of peacocks and pheasants swirl in with the dusk. Since my last expedition, if you recall, ended rather badly - with the failed exorcism of D’KyyLakarr lesser demon of the Vonty, resulting in an interesting (and vocal) ornamental addition to the walls of that lugubrious laundrette which was the sorry location for the events – I felt keen to succeed and very pleased to have found a task that did not involve talking to a haunted washing machine.
Briefly, the session went like this. As the shadows fell with twilight’s gloaming we clustered around the long table, sipping wine from a carafe presented by the butler Hugo. Hugo had already surprised us by cracking his frosty exterior to get down like a funk-ass when Moby came on the ornate stereo.
We dance - photo taken with Spirit Camera.
As soft candles were lit we waited in the heavy silence, punctuated only by the stertorious breathing of the wizened medium as she slowly went into a trance state. Her hands trembled with unseen energy and she pointed at each one of us in turn – despite the closure of her eyelids.
Soon she began to speak – preliminary heralding at first – but gradually short answers, followed by longer pronouncements, a song, a cold buffet as supper, a swift round of bingo and back to short answers again.
Somehow in the excitement and heat of the session I had managed to scribble in shorthand the following extraordinary exchanges – without conscious effort, and I leave it to you, gentle reader, to ascribe a paranormal or not explanation for these transcripts.
Briefly, thus:
Crintock: “I have flowed like a wave from the centre of the earth, up from the very bowel of Atlantis, and despite the traffic I seem to be on time!”
Assembled witnesses: “That is so.”
Crintock: My name is Albert Ocifer. Who wishes to see what has been in the era of your lives before? I will show you, I will be your guide around the seventeen circles of the inner ages, and if you ask nicely I’ll buy you an ice-cream.”
Here one of my fellow guests spoke up breathlessly, “I have seen in dreams – myself, directing vast teams of workers as I sat upon a bejewelled throne shaped from solid rock, tell me is this truth?”
Crintock/Ocifer: “Yes. I recognise you. I call to you now by your name of old; Pharaoh Insolestep!”
Guest: “I knew it – I have felt greatness in me since birth!”
Ocifer: “Your legend is large, your reign was long and fruitful.”
Guest: “I built pyramids!”
Ocifer: “Yes! And the Sphinx, and Cleopatra’s needle – and also a quite nifty patio for the palace.”
Guest: “Praise me!”
Ocifer: “Praise you.”
At which point we were interrupted by another guest.
Guest2: “Not so! False, I cry!”
And they did, before carrying on again.
Guest2: “I know because I was there! I was there I tell you, in MY former life – and twice if you count my stint as an Archaeologist at the B-have site in the Valley of the kings. Yes, and you were NOT the Pharaoh. It was I! You were the slave T’pioka P’dding and a crap slave at that!”
“LIAR!”
Well, gosh – things were really on the point of deteriorating when a third guest imposed themselves.
Guest3: “Ocifer – tell me of my past, I was a Viking chieftain I believe of much renown.”
Ocifer: “Ah tis true – I see you clear, Erik BluntAxe who discovered England and subjugated the blue monkey of that northern hell-hole.”
Guest3: “I knew it!”
Ocifer: “Praise you. Let the conquered cy out your name and despair!”
Guest3: “And what else?”
Ocifer: “Many lives have you lead, not the least of which as Alfredo Gargle friend and patron of artists and the true hand behind the brush that gave birth to the Mona Lisa. I still have her number by the way.”
The air by now was heady with an incense-like aroma of cigar smoke, fried aether and something unmentionable. I could contain my self no longer!
“And I?” I beseeched the spirit Ocifer – what of I?”
Ocifer: “You were pretty useless then – and you’re bloody useless now. You’ve left the cat out again, your car keys are locked in your car, your socks are not matching- but tonight at least you will have learned to appreciate the full import, power and wisdom of my words… even as you wait for the AA to come and open your car.”
And do you know?
They were wrong.
And as I stand here in the drizzle, trying to read the number on my mobile to contact the AA, I can swear you to you, in all honesty, that I don’t appreciate those words at all.
So my tale ends, but join me again my friends for another Mystickally reclined adventure in the mystery of the murky supernatural. That adventure will thrill and delight, I promise! To give you a measure of its power, I shall preview some details.
I shall be brief. W-
