Darkness

Darkness

This may seem strange and confusing - as darkness often is - and it might also seem empty and pointless if not approached with faith and hope. The darkness is also a place where fear resides.

I had not always been conscious of God’s presence, although I toyed with the question of whether a deity really existed throughout my youth. Before I knew what it meant to be part of the generation of love I had experienced 'spirituality' on different levels, but knew nothing of the way forces of energy worked. What I did know is that I was somehow susceptible to various types and degrees of psychic attack, probably because I had a nervous disposition. These attacks culminated in a terrifying attempt at possession during my 21st year. The effect of this attack should explain in part why I so fervently desired a light presence in my life and was more than willing to fully embrace what I only knew and know as God.

I had lived in fear since the time of my second earliest living memory. The bad memory was of being very small and in the spare bedroom with my mother, who was ironing. Without any form of warning, between my mother and I, there had suddenly appeared a terrifying apparition, which caused me to hide underneath the piano stool in mortal fear. The memory is no more than an image, a few seconds followed by blindness, but it stayed with me forever, and every single dream I had in that house until I left home, aged 16, was of the gleaming, malevolent entity.

Its appearance was almost exactly like that of a nasty snowman: white with a big round body, smaller round head, pin-prick black eyes set far apart, nostrils but no nose, and a very wide narrow mouth that bore a sickening smile and displayed two small fangs at either side. The horrid old thing also had pointed ears, great big feet that were webbed like a birds, but no legs, and a long tail with an arrow shaped end. It was a child’s demon.

Given its evident rotundity and the fact that it looked ridiculous, if also terrible, I named it the ‘Funny Balloon’. This thing appeared to haunt me incessantly, in various child-freaking guises, most of which involved all the other people on earth disappearing whilst the terror hunted me personally. Towards the end of its appearances, the Balloon assumed a slightly less terrifying aspect by being transformed into a multitude of orange marching aliens, which conquered the world but thankfully passed me by, though I watched them with mortal dread. The demonic presence/s it filled every single night of my childhood with fear and I loathed to spend any time at home alone, or to go to sleep at all.

A man much older than me, offered me the opportunity to get out of the haunted house and move in with him, which then seemed like an ideal solution to my immediate problem, but rapidly showed itself to be a tremendous mistake. This man (an ancient 29 to my sweet 16) was, furthermore, a self-styled witch. He led me blindfolded to the dark side, perhaps knowingly, maybe unwittingly. How typical that I, from all the eligible young men on Earth, should have chosen that particular one as my guide.

This difficult man informed me of more superstitions than I wanted or needed to know. I was considerably more down to earth then than I am now and not inclined to believe his insane ramblings verbatim, preferring instead to take them with a hefty dose of salt. This did not prevent him from instructing me in the trivial principles of black art, however, the practice of which effectively drew me into the darkness and equipped me with the means to travel within it. I must here admit to having borne a morbid fascination with the occult (I was gothic in adolescence, even though I had long been a bona fide raver by the time I met him) and was drawn to his malign influence.

Exactly how he went about this dubious instruction was haphazard and unhealthy but also rather effective. One of the first subjects entered into was that of 'astral projection' (see later chapter on the subject) and altered states of consciousness generally, although he was an angry person, unable to make full sense of his own (considerable) experience or to present it as a way of light. He did possess a certain sort of wisdom or insight and some of the things he told me only became clear many years later.

One small thing that he spoke of and which I always remembered, was a special stone, apparently in the possession of man, but that he was unwilling or unable to show me himself. I was always quite annoyed that he declined to show me his own version of this supposed stone but, when the love of my life (Peter, who followed John) opened up a package more than a decade later, and put into my hands a solid object which fitted into the cup of my palm perfectly, I saw in it a fulfillment of past promises.

It was an ovoid rock crystal split perfectly in two: a dull grey on the outside which opened up along jagged edges to reveal inside a wondrous sparkling array of light-reflecting colour. It was (and is) extremely beautiful and I was very pleased and gratified to see it, more than relieved to draw a line under at least one bizarre chapter of my history. It made me think of the philosopher’s stone, and perhaps it is true that the owner of this thing had the power to transform the dust of my heart to gold, once again. I repayed his kindness in spirit by giving him my marbles almost a year later. One of them was pure white and all of them were pretty.

About the astral projection (which I believe we are all quite capable of doing) I was told about different planes of perception, being, colour, sound, time, knowledge, understanding, death and maybe others as well that I no longer recall. These distinctions are still apparent to me on occasion, often vaguely, but I would not recommend anyone to proceed with the aim of separating out the parts from the whole, except as a form of meditation which would see each part in its aspect of the whole.

A holistic and unifying perspective - a peaceful and open view of spirituality - provides the best approach, I find. It happened to me, nevertheless, that I should also encounter drastic separation within myself and all other things, the experience of which provided the evidence I needed that a divided existence leads to illicit pleasure and indescribable terror.

		Darkness This may seem strange and confusing - as darkness often is - and it might also seem empty and pointless if not approached with faith and hope. The darkness is also a place where fear resides. I had not always been conscious of God’s presence, although I toyed with the question of whether a deity really existed throughout my youth. Before I knew what it meant to be part of the generation of love I had experienced 'spirituality' on different levels, but knew nothing of the way forces of energy worked. What I did know is that I was somehow susceptible to various types and degrees of psychic attack, probably because I had a nervous disposition. These attacks culminated in a terrifying attempt at possession during my 21st year. The effect of this attack should explain in part why I so fervently desired a light presence in my life and was more than willing to fully embrace what I only knew and know as God. I had lived in fear since the time of my second earliest living memory. The bad memory was of being very small and in the spare bedroom with my mother, who was ironing. Without any form of warning, between my mother and I, there had suddenly appeared a terrifying apparition, which caused me to hide underneath the piano stool in mortal fear. The memory is no more than an image, a few seconds followed by blindness, but it stayed with me forever, and every single dream I had in that house until I left home, aged 16, was of the gleaming, malevolent entity. Its appearance was almost exactly like that of a nasty snowman: white with a big round body, smaller round head, pin-prick black eyes set far apart, nostrils but no nose, and a very wide narrow mouth that bore a sickening smile and displayed two small fangs at either side. The horrid old thing also had pointed ears, great big feet that were webbed like a birds, but no legs, and a long tail with an arrow shaped end. It was a child’s demon. Given its evident rotundity and the fact that it looked ridiculous, if also terrible, I named it the ‘Funny Balloon’. This thing appeared to haunt me incessantly, in various child-freaking guises, most of which involved all the other people on earth disappearing whilst the terror hunted me personally. Towards the end of its appearances, the Balloon assumed a slightly less terrifying aspect by being transformed into a multitude of orange marching aliens, which conquered the world but thankfully passed me by, though I watched them with mortal dread. The demonic presence/s it filled every single night of my childhood with fear and I loathed to spend any time at home alone, or to go to sleep at all. A man much older than me, offered me the opportunity to get out of the haunted house and move in with him, which then seemed like an ideal solution to my immediate problem, but rapidly showed itself to be a tremendous mistake. This man (an ancient 29 to my sweet 16) was, furthermore, a self-styled witch. He led me blindfolded to the dark side, perhaps knowingly, maybe unwittingly. How typical that I, from all the eligible young men on Earth, should have chosen that particular one as my guide. This difficult man informed me of more superstitions than I wanted or needed to know. I was considerably more down to earth then than I am now and not inclined to believe his insane ramblings verbatim, preferring instead to take them with a hefty dose of salt. This did not prevent him from instructing me in the trivial principles of black art, however, the practice of which effectively drew me into the darkness and equipped me with the means to travel within it. I must here admit to having borne a morbid fascination with the occult (I was gothic in adolescence, even though I had long been a bona fide raver by the time I met him) and was drawn to his malign influence. Exactly how he went about this dubious instruction was haphazard and unhealthy but also rather effective. One of the first subjects entered into was that of 'astral projection' (see later chapter on the subject) and altered states of consciousness generally, although he was an angry person, unable to make full sense of his own (considerable) experience or to present it as a way of light. He did possess a certain sort of wisdom or insight and some of the things he told me only became clear many years later. One small thing that he spoke of and which I always remembered, was a special stone, apparently in the possession of man, but that he was unwilling or unable to show me himself. I was always quite annoyed that he declined to show me his own version of this supposed stone but, when the love of my life (Peter, who followed John) opened up a package more than a decade later, and put into my hands a solid object which fitted into the cup of my palm perfectly, I saw in it a fulfillment of past promises. It was an ovoid rock crystal split perfectly in two: a dull grey on the outside which opened up along jagged edges to reveal inside a wondrous sparkling array of light-reflecting colour. It was (and is) extremely beautiful and I was very pleased and gratified to see it, more than relieved to draw a line under at least one bizarre chapter of my history. It made me think of the philosopher’s stone, and perhaps it is true that the owner of this thing had the power to transform the dust of my heart to gold, once again. I repayed his kindness in spirit by giving him my marbles almost a year later. One of them was pure white and all of them were pretty. About the astral projection (which I believe we are all quite capable of doing) I was told about different planes of perception, being, colour, sound, time, knowledge, understanding, death and maybe others as well that I no longer recall. These distinctions are still apparent to me on occasion, often vaguely, but I would not recommend anyone to proceed with the aim of separating out the parts from the whole, except as a form of meditation which would see each part in its aspect of the whole. A holistic and unifying perspective - a peaceful and open view of spirituality - provides the best approach, I find. It happened to me, nevertheless, that I should also encounter drastic separation within myself and all other things, the experience of which provided the evidence I needed that a divided existence leads to illicit pleasure and indescribable terror.