Tag Archives: Magic

space cow

a frosty romance
a night time dance
one of us is human
the other a mask

crying tears of blood
speaking words of flesh
a lover from the flood
a pearl born in the sea

eating rusty children
spitting out flaming pips
quantum time is leaping past
the word puckers her lips

now would you nuke your Mamma
you know how she hates the cold
just you watch your grammar
your muscles are my hold

you breath my pelvic thrusts
you sleep within my darkness
I’ll eat you if I must
and pass you in my waters

my poor old nipples are glowing
you kick me in disgust
I’m teeming with life and meaning
astronomers dismiss me as fat

I’ve slept with famous poets
posed for painters nude
I’ve got It and I show It
I’m blamed for being a prude

I am your sewerage system
the machinery of your dreams
your life is a living stem
my magic makes things seem

I am a boat in a harbour
I am the consuming storm
I am the tree –  the door
the clothes your spirit forms

knitting jungles and forests
a veil to bring me warmth
the body of the flower
the womb of the source

so shape me — break me
I’m as wet as raw clay
I emerge as a spiders web.
as dew crystallizes the day

words are cut away now
the snake has shot down his hole
we’re left with a pantomime cow
which Jack has foolishly sold.

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Real Magic

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Though sceptical about many ideas and beliefs, the evidence of my experience has persuaded me that there are some human faculties that are best described as magical. Obviously an online blog does not give sufficient space to argue such an unlikely idea, so all I can give is a summary of some of the salient points. Maybe in later blogs and elsewhere, I can expand on them.
With magic, as with many controversial concepts, our first problem is with semantics and definitions. Do we share any common understanding of the terms we use? Credible and applicable definitions have included:
1) Technology that is misunderstood by the ignorant. For example a television would have seemed magical not so long ago.
2) The art of causing changes in consciousness.
It is this second definition that interests me. And now for the let down: the best magic is pure imagination. So real magicians may be less like Harry Potter and more like J.K.Rowling.  They would also include scientists like Einstein and Tesla, architects and visionaries. In fact anyone who has had a dream that has become a reality. On this score, self proclaimed magicians like Aleister Crowley score poorly. As his magickal diaries demonstrate, most of his magick failed. But he was influential, he put a devastating boot into Victorian hypocrisy, opened many cans of worms and was a visionary. So he cannot be entirely discounted as a fraud. He also was one of the modern pioneers of pyschedlia and altered states of consciousness, in this area at least, his credentials are impeccable.
I will now change track and describe my unusual experiences. As a teenager I experienced, without hallucinogenics, “out of body experiences”, but know these to be hallucinations, like dreams. The evidence proves that nothing (no spirit, astral body, etheric body etc) actually leaves the body. I remain open minded to  the concept of ones personal microcosm reflecting the objective macrocosm; maybe nothing needs to leave the body and we contain everything within (like shards of a hologram). It is also possible that not all aspects of consciousness have a definable location. This experience may have been triggered by trauma and a need to escape ones violated body. But it opened the doors to other stranger experiences that are less easy to explain.
I have always been a little psychic. Or if you prefer, and perhaps more accurately, empathic. I tend to know, without using caller id who is ringing. I often anticipate what song will come up next on the radio or random play. With these little party tricks I used to enjoy freaking out my sister. Most people since have been less impressed, but their theories as to how it is done are less likely than our first definition of magic.
I also have a vivid awareness of what Walt Whitman described as the Body Electric. I have used this in self healing and can change the current in those around me as others have testified. It can be done remotely, but when combined with making love (tantra) it can be epic.
The most easy to prove magic is via our pack instinct. Have you ever known someone was watching you, then turned to make immediate eye contact? I guess we all have, it is not so rare. But this connection can be taken much further. If you empathetically enter someone’s space, adopt their step and posture and then introduce a random element, say scratch your nose, they will too. And the truly magical aspect of this, is they don’t need to see you. You can do it behind their back, it will still work. If one uses this technology on the dance floor and enter the space of a “slave to the rhythm” they can be moved at will. A friend and I used to play what we described as pinball with dancers. Sitting at the bar, mentally entering their “feel”, we had great fun. But it was, I regret, highly unethical. A charismatic singer, like say David Bowie, has this power in buckets.
It is, I would suggest, this issue of empathy that makes magic almost impossible to prove in a strictly scientific environment. Although science is, at least in theory, a methodology to objectively test the real, it is also a reaction against subjective and superstitious world views. But magic is powered by empathy, so to test it under scientific restrictions and to prevent empathy or suggestion obscuring the results, is akin to testing a semiconductor without electricity. Under such conditions even a microprocessor’s miraculous properties would appear to be unlikely.
In describing these faculties I have broken the rule of silence. There are many good reasons to keep this knowledge secret. Mostly it is to protect ones integrity as a credible human. I have now publicly labeled myself as a crank. And you are right to be dubious of my claims. Most of the magical tradition is full of deceit. From Hermes Trimegestrous through to the Rosicrucians we see a history of fraud, or to be kind, idiots who let their imagination run away with them. We see outrageous, easily disprovable claims in books on the tarot and kabbalah. This is the problem with the mythic realm.
The only way you can know is to try it yourself. You may be surprised. If you are sensible you will probably choose not to. But as I hope I have proved, I am not sensible.

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Related blogs
1) Be careful what you wish for, fate likes to bite you on the bottom Can Prayers Kill?
2) Who are we? And who is the true self? We’re the same thing in different skin
3) Practical Initiation for Kamikaze Pilots Why particle disintegration is good for you
4) How is magic even possible? The Spectrum of Consciousness

Can prayers kill?

As a small child I was not just a believer, I knew that God was real. He was behind the curtains in Catholic Mass and I was scared that if the priest was careless and the curtain slipped we would all be incinerated by the all seeing eye.
The film Song of Bernadette particularly disturbed me, more than any horror movie has since. I lay in bed at night feeling that the Madonna (that is the Mother of God, not the pop star) was outside my bedroom door, waiting to burst in with accompanying choirs of angels and ruin my life. She would doom me, as she had Bernadette, to a life of suffering. With special effects better than any Hollywood block buster, her light came in rays through the cracks. So I pulled the covers over my head praying in a repetitive mantra that she stay outside. “I’ll be good,” I prayed, “Just don’t ask me to be a Saint.”
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Then as now I had an inner voice, or daemon, that saw through my more ridiculous antics. When my mind was still, just before sleep, or in times of heightened awareness it spoke to me with a voice of wisdom I instinctively knew as the truth. It pitied my fear and prayers but assured me that what will be, will be, if fate marks you out as a fall guy you’d best make the most of it. But this was something I did not want to know or hear, so I disregarded it.
I displayed other bipolar/lunatic symptoms. About the age of five I flew down the stairs. It wasn’t just flight, it was the ecstasy of weightlessness and absolute freedom. Though it only lasted seconds it was the best I had ever felt and probably set me on the path of hedonism. I remember running into the kitchen and telling my Mother that I could fly. I can’t remember her reaction. She has since suggested that probably my father had lifted me and run with me down the stairs, but I know this is not true. Having experienced altered states since, I believe that a temporary chemical imbalance in my neurotransmitters had set me briefly tripping.
So for me, at least, the age of miracles had never ended. But if we fast forward to the age of nine, the magic was much thinner and the world more solid. And belief in the divine was now more of a habit than a constant presence.
I can’t remember exactly what I was in trouble for, possibly a lack of effort in my school work, or just playing the fool (which I still do). But to me the situation was epic. It was a Friday afternoon, a time a child is supposed to be happy, but I was outside the headmaster’s office awaiting final judgement.
When the bell ended the school day I hoped I was off the hook. But Mr Harris appeared at the door and told me to be back before nine on Monday morning. He looked grim and I feared the worst; expulsion or execution.
As a child I was a worrier (a habit I have fortunately managed to kick) and that weekend was terrible. I felt like I would never be happy again. So I prayed furiously and fanatically for deliverance. Anything, I prayed, just don’t let it happen. I even considered running away from home.  But mostly the weekend was spent in manic, mechanical mantra, “Please don’t let it happen” over and and over again.
But Monday, as it always does, duly arrived. I went to school like a condemned boy. But as soon as I got through the gates I knew that something had changed. Outside the Head’s office, Mr Johnson, the deputy head, was looking quite unlike his usual self and told me to go straight to assembly where an announcement would be made to the whole school.
Mr Harris, we were told, had died of a massive heart attack. A wave of shock passed through everyone, some children cried. But I was paralysed by guilt, I knew that my prayers had been answered and that I had, to all intents and purposes, killed him.
Obviously just a coincidence, of course I had no responsibility.  But even now I cannot be a hundred percent sure. Indeed if we switch religious paradigms to an Eastern perspective, one could see karma at work. It was Mr Harris’ death and the consequent changes of staff that lead to the employment of Mr R, the deputy head who went onto groom and sexually abuse me. So, at least as far as the superstitious parts of my psyche were concerned, I got my payback.
When I grew up, I gave up on religion but (much to my rational minds disgust) retained a mythological outlook, at least in my imagination.
But Mary and my daemon, despite their semifictional status, were right, I was condemned to a life of suffering. But that has been not so bad, it allowed me areas of personal growth and breakthroughs of awareness denied to most. And I’ve had some amazing thrills on the way. But at least one more prayer was answered: I am not and never will be a Saint.

Confessions of a refugee, a back story.

As far as we know we evolved much like you on Earth. We have witnessed the pattern repeating itself many times. But unlike you, it took us much longer to arrive at this common random configuration. We were in flux throughout the life span of our Universe and only at its end looked exactly like us.
We have our science, mythologies and seed like memories but we cannot be sure that we are the first. We recognise this is a common misapprehension for our type.
But beyond our space time event it is as if we are a habit of nature everywhere. This basic bipedal model hatched from an egg. Though on other planets in different universes and by different ways you arrive here quicker.
It’s not that we are nature’s chosen pattern, or an end result, the processes that got us here were random natural selections. But it was while it was us that nature learnt a new trick.
We believe we were the first species to consciously meld with DNA. We could fashion our upgrades by thought alone. We became immortal, the perfected embodiment of our ambitions. It was as if we had become angels.
Just by picturing possibilities we could manipulate the flow of time. By thought alone could create doorways, hacking the space time continuum.
With enlightenment came vertigo. looking down on eternity, ennui in the gut and the feeling of falling forever.
So instead of a sequential journey through every event of our endless lives we chose to withdraw from time. In so doing we became more real, discovering our true selves. As if up till then we had been sleepwalking and dreaming our lives.
My true self lives in an eternal present where everything happens simultaneously in a single endless instance. The me you see moving through time is a projection reflected in each random configuration.
In order to prioritise many facts are filtered. Or for us, filed. We build in realms that you touch in your imagination. What you would describe as virtual engineering is the basis of our technology. We are extended in cyberspace, but our main frames are the living universes. And we have hacked many.
Sometimes we project ourselves into avatar bodies in time and space to experience what it’s like to be one of our descendants. To make the experience truthful, we temporarily forget who we are and only have the same capabilities as those around us. When I first awoke from the coma, I wondered if that was what had happened to me. But now I know that my individual DNA is projected here because I had to leave our worlds. I had become a threat to our continued existence. I was predetermined to remember how to open doorways in time. Others had charted the quantum probabilities of this catastrophic event. I, too, knew it was inevitable, the pattern consciously unravelling, spreading like a shock wave through every universe. Voiding everything. Some thought the event would be beautiful, others terrifying. But even I agreed that its probability of happening must be reduced to zero. I made clear my plan to cease existing.
But mathematicians predicted that if instead I chose to carry on living my likelihood of being good and useful directly increases the further I am away from home. My loved ones and past lives must be excluded from my thoughts less I open a doorway, return and fulfill my destiny and destroy everything.
This is why it is not safe for me to remember too much, or share it with you. As you comprehend the likelihood of our annihilation increases exponentially . So like me, choose not to remember. Forget.

If this back story/confession were explained to his partner or the reader, the story would make much more sense but be a lot sillier.

Telepathic Pets

Many pet owners will confirm that they share some kind of low level telepathic field with their animals.
It may or may not be true, but that’s how it feels.
In my job as a house sitter I frequently find myself in strange houses and don’t know where things like kitchen scales or candles are kept. I have spent too long looking for things, sometimes getting frustrated and giving up. But I’ve learnt a magickal trick that bizarrely enough often works. I look the house pet in the eye and visualize what I’m looking for. In the last case it was a jug, (so I could pour vodka into a hip flask without spilling). I looked at Chabal and thought of a jug mentally asking where he might have seen it. Immediately, as if remembered, I “saw” a glass measuring jug at the back of the saucepan cupboard next to the sink. So I opened the door and there it was, exactly where I knew it would be. Thank you Chabal, you’re a very clever dog.
Now for an alternative rational explanation. At some earlier point I must have seen exactly where it was, but it was only unconsciously noticed and the data was filed at a subliminal level. My Magic Dog Trick only served by freeing my imagination to access what it already knew.
But damn the rational explanation. I prefer the crazy.

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Chabal meditating .

Magic By Button

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Today I published Magic By Button.
I’ve had real problems writing the blurb prospective buyers will see. My first effort got everything, even the story, wrong – they are not faced by “impossible odds”, all they really have to do is follow the path of least resistance and be themselves.
Without retelling the whole story including spoilers, all descriptions seem to miss the point.
Anyway, this is my current attempt at snappy book selling blurb:

Joe’s growing obsession with Button feels like madness. But their road trip out west through ancient landscapes awakens a connection older than time. 
For Button, a charismatic, but damaged survivor of horrendous childhood sexual abuse, it is the beginning of the journey to redemption. 
Magic by Button is a romantic comedy laced with psychedelics.

I hope this story will awaken in the reader a sense of magic; how we are all deeply connected to each other and to the land.

You can buy it or download a short sample from Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com.

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Publish and be Damned

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A while back I gave my reasons for not publishing Magic by Button in my blog Pearls for Trolls.
While there were a few sighs of relief that the world was going to be spared another tawdry tale, there was mostly indifference. I had a few urging me to publish, but mostly my decision was respected.
My resolve certainly helped to overcome my fears and finish the story to my own satisfaction, but it has not helped my self-image in the least. The inner voices have mocked the fragility of my ego and labelled me a coward.
It’s not going to set the world on fire, or redefine me to those who consider me talentless or worse. It’s not great literature. It’s riddled with flaws. But it is a unique and honest expression of my own inner truth and it is, I believe, entertaining.
In it I share revelations that have literally blown my mind. I honestly believe that the narrative does sneak past the rational mind and share observations that we are normally oblivious to. Like how all life and consciousness is connected, a part of the planet. And how cataclysms and disasters are part of the growth cycle. It also begins to address how magic and a functional mythology are essential to our well being, without resorting to superstitious nonsense.
I believe writing has helped heal what was broken in me. If there is even the slightest chance these revelations might help others, I feel obliged to publish.
In the back of my mind I accuse myself of game playing. As if I planned to publish all along. It’s true, part of me did. But if it was game playing, it was necessary to get past my inner conflict.  I needed to finish the story unhindered by worries of how the trolls would use it to attack.
So sorry for wasting your time with my insecurities. And when I publish, don’t feel obliged to handle me with kid gloves. If you want to pull my story apart, do so.
I hope some will see the good in it.