Memorable Ghosts of the Past

Uncannily my family has an incredibly long and bizarre legacy on all sides, of being jealously reproached by every kind of conspiring little fascist known to human history, thus there never was any question of the need for revenge. As my paternal grandfather always said, "If you can't get mad, at least try to get even". To give you an idea to what state of the art this hereditary talent has been nurtured over the generations, let me tell you this story of what my father did when his captain refused to give him a lousy 25 dollars for a ton of gravel to finish paving a back access road into the camp reserve:It was in Quebec, in the rural outskirts of St. Thérèse de Blainville, the middle of January. Quebec was always detestable for such incredible amounts of snowfall that your average bungalow was easily buried from sight. The futility of having to shovel your way out of the house for hours only for some massive snowblower to bury it again in a single passing...and that's not to mention icicles the size of airstrip pylons that required hacking off with a heavy spade, lest the damn things knock you dead when the sunlight hits that black asphalt shingle roof. Well, as far as that captain was concerned, there was no need to spend the taxpayers money when the camp had a gravel quarry of its' own. It didn't matter to him that the damn thing was frozen solid. "That's your problem, not mine" he said. He should have known better when my father broke into the biggest grin and headed straight to the munitions school, to collect any explosives that had passed their expirey date and needed disposal. There he found a whole case of aminol beginning to leak nitroglycerin, that the instructor was only too glad to have off of his hands. Loading it all into a sizeable dumptruck with one of his workmates, they then headed off to the quarry. Once there, he strategically placed the charges in that frozen mountain of gravel, while his mate backed the truck up against the embankment on the other side of it. Although the first attempt to set it off failed, my father dilligently reset the primers and gave it another go. Needless to say the terrific explosion was heard clear across the camp, as a huge lump of gravel sailed straight up into the air then landed perfectly in the dumpster. His mate, who all this time was huddled behind my father- scared utterly shitless, peered over with amazement at the well-aimed huge lump still rocking under the impact. No sooner the rocking stopped they headed off in the truck to complete the job. As they approached that back gate however, they were met by a whole entourage of emergency vehicles- whose authorities stopped them to ask where the explosion had possibly come from. "Explosion? Nah, I didn't hear anything- did you?" he asked his mate with a casual smile. "Nope" replied his mate, with a smirk, "musta bin a sonic boom or something..." Of course, once the posse buggered off in quest of the mystery disaster, my father unceremoniously dumped the great frozen lump in front of the gate. Needless to say when he returned and the captain asked if the matter had been sorted, my father replied cheesily, "Yes, and we left it right there where you wanted it" knowing full well the chaos that would unfold...that aside the fact that it was useless to the road crew until the spring thaw. Weeks later, when they all finally connected the dots on whodunnit, that captain was discretely advised to readily comply to any of my father's construction requirements, lest he wish to be held personally accountable for the hazards involved.

Living the Lie

While I can accept that there may be such a thing as traditional British witchcraft, the more it involves pseudo-masonic orders, the more it loses its cultural origins in pure esoteric myth. The epitome of arrogance is the insistence that theirs be the one and only true path, privy to their initiates. Well, unless they're Jewish, they can shove that bogus Babylonian lineage where no light shines, especially looking at the most recent DNA studies

Of course your wonderful collection of new agey books isn’t gonna tell you where they're really coming from- rather only so much as to allure you into paying every penny even for the sake of argument. These days, they seem to descend on forums en masse, making all kinds of enigmatic claims, which they avidly defend with every double-talking tactic of a snake oil merchant. However, they are nowhere near as dangerous as the ones who acquired their credentials through outright  treachery and intimidation.

While I am sure there are some genuine chapters that humbly abide by charitable means, the unfortunate fact is that some just can't resist the urge to let any degree of secret authority completely go to their heads. Indeed, this has been my experience with a certain English chapter in Strasbourg. Fortunately the French are real sticklers when it comes to the code of ethics, and disbanded the lot for "dubious practices". A particular orangeman from Dublin playing both sides against the middle to assume the role of civilian secret police in the Canadian military community. All the incredible lies told to avert attention from his own very dark past, namely developing the atomic bomb for South Africa. Oh, how they all wanted to believe this was untrue, but even that admonishing article in the local paper could not conceal the fact. "Researching radio isotopes in the world's largest dynamite factory". How he loved to wave those special gov't security passes in our faces, and especially the quaint little info card on the policies of apartheid to be upheld...but as the story goes, you can't fool all of the people all of the time. The moment of truth came when he aspired a feather in cap by giving the French Grand Master a guided tour of his secret empire. A police friend and I took the liberty of informing our mutual friend, the chief of the regional French customs office. Needless to say, the tour came to a most unexpected halt at the border as the gendarmerie tore the fool's car apart...and so began his rapid decent into the quagmire of suspicion. In the end, his office was searched and 34 dirt files recovered that he'd been keeping on us Locally Engaged Employees- with every intent of having us ostracized by those German authorities within the influencial allegiances of his brotherhood. Although it may take years to clean up the mess he made of our lives, at least I stirred enough flack that the parties in question will always remain under suspicion by a much higher authority.

The Ultimatum

Well, I had a good look at the “damning evidence”. Man, talk about spin doctoring. Reduced down to a few suggestive keywords- as if we didn’t see the strings and where they really lead. No, not just those pentacle waving syncophants they call their friends...or the cat and mouse gestalt games. Makes no difference what gospel they preach- ring the bell and get the peanut. The wannabe gurus of a New World Order. Honour? Sounds more like a misnomer for blind obedience. Read my lips. A lie for a lie.

Wanna hear a good conspiracy theory? Some may call it social reintegration therapy. I call it just plain brainwashing. Anything to make paganism look like just another rebellious fashion statement.

A proving ground for all kinds of experiments in behaviour modification?

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Be careful what you wish for.

Hereditary Witches

So you reckon your granny taught ya? A true aficionado of ye anciente crafte? Well lemme tell you something about Victorian times. A good domestic meant a very well versed knowledge in herbal medicine, because in those days it’s not like you could dial 911, let alone trust any of the doctors or their medical facilities. Indeed, the average household cookbook read much like a medical handbook. As for social entertainment- despite all grand expectations of perfect demeanor, these were megalomanic times, aspiring some of the wildest dreams of avarice. It was not enough to entertain your guests with the most elaborately planned exquisite dinners. Social clubs were full of profligate braggarts, spinning the most fantastic yarns of exotically dangerous places and superhuman feats in the most extraordinary circumstances. Anything that tickled any sense of awe over the great unknown was highly fashionable. As women were expected to serve little other role than household management, this rather limited their means of entertaining the enigma, to that of the occult, and no doubt where the term "parlor tricks" came from. Any truly entertaining parlour came equipped with at least a tarot deck and a Ouija board. Of course reading the grounds in the cup was a must after every tea ritual. Mind you, that doesn’t mean the men were exempt from the esoterica scene. Rather, they had their secret societies of illuminati, which with the reconstruction of Stonehenge, gave rise to a whole host of "druidic" practices within the higher orders of their OTO. It was out of these the Golden Dawn, and subsequently Wicca was quintessentially born. Some would like to think being privy to these "secrets", will grant them some kind of special magical powers of omnipotence. Face it, if that’s what you want to believe, you're obviously barking up the wrong tree. The big difference between you, DaVinci, Fucanelli and especially Tesla. As has been said countless times before, the term "witch" can’t even begin to define true adepthood. Even tapping the bone à la 1734 isn’t gonna wing it. There was someone who could have told you, as not all the cryptic rantings of madmen are necessarily deluded. Too bad you couldn’t tell the difference and drove him away- and that for all the paperback fantasies of your hero in a shiny tin suit. You and all your self-assuming masters of "it is written". That’s all what it really amounts to. Elitist social role play and an anal fixation on a few scribbled recipes of medieval hermetic hocum. The sleeper will never awaken.

Pointing the Finger

Received a most interesting message yesterday from a site making accusations that I am imparted to a "Heathen Conspiracy". Ooo, now this could prove intriguing! This allegation was made on the basis of a discussion mainly between myself and two friends in their chatroom. While I am aware those chatroom logs can be read by the admin, that’s fine by me. It had always been a place where members could vent their anger, rather than get into a flaming contest on the boards, so I’m sure the evidence of that is plenty. I’m also sure plenty of nasty things about me were said there, but I’m not inclined to regard that as a real threat. As I said a thousand times before, I’m just not into popularity contests, nor does my kind of ego need to rely on them. I admire myself way too much to let others agrandizations dictate my attitudes LOL. Although my adolescence had an earful of morality from the so-called pillars of the Christian community. The irony is, I wasn't baptized so I got ostracized anyway. While I am sure some are not so pious, the moral of the story is that any old ideology can be used for the "holier than thou". It serves to confuse the issue by deliniating any interpretation of "good and bad" into lobbies of us and them- but that’s only if you believe in it. I don’t...but I have a few of my own impressions of what they are trying to convey:

1) Human nature is flawed and should be humilated such that it accepts the wishes of others as first and foresmost. One’s own wishes are "selfish" thereby null and void. Of course if you are determined to make the ultimate sacrifice in order "to fit in", there are numerous institutions that can accomodate you:
a) The military
b) Mental Institution
c) Prison
d) Ghetto
e) Gov’t or corporate reseach labs.

2) Those superior are those who put on the most illustrious and impeccable fascade, regardless of what their actual human condition. Under no circumstances must you reveal any flaws in your condition unless it serves inspire the charitable commitments of your peers/minions to make compensations.

3) In order to fully qualify as superior your popularity must beguile the rewards that ennable you to conform to the "elite" of that class of society you wish to impress. Of course to maintain this status, you must partake in the competitions and give offerings of entertainment according to the customary rituals of ettiquette of that class.

4) If you wish to particularly achieve superior political or religious status you must strictly conform to the "double standard". That means that those under you must be regularly and rhetorically reminded of all the above mentioned, and justified with whatever moral or ideological excuses serve your cause at the appropriate time. Should anyone disagree then these justifications can be used to question their integrity. If they resist, put them under surveillance and hounding until they revolt. Should they suspect any instigation of this, "denial" further serves to make their integrity all the more questionable and suspect of complicity. Remember the golden rule: "If yer not fer us, yer aginst us" (sic).

Frankly I could go on and on, but that pretty well says it...and now the truth. Yes I am a heathen. What is a heathen? A mere mortal fetch with the ancestral pride and courage to accept natural order for what it is. Alot of interactive forces we can define both scientifically and culturally. The Asir and Vanir we identify with their character and behaviour is dynamic in that way- and like all things in the continuum; the many different integral parts of a very multifarious whole. There is no one-size-fits-all. The same goes for our view of each other. While outward appearances can beguile, it what’s underneath that fascinates the desire to explore. Life is a challenge, the great experiment of possibilities. More a question of tolerance than morality. Each responsible for their own actions. In our world, not even the gods are expected to be perfect. Rather, it’s the ability to make a difference where all else fails- that’s what’s important above all. Without it there would be no evolution.

Path of the Omnispirits

From the age of two, mine was a world of spirits, that my parents took some getting used to. At first they took mistook it for some kind of fantasy and tried to entertain it with story books- but only those of folklore interested me at all. My Prussian grandfather, being the clever one, knew what this meant. Thus, every time he came to stay with us, he brought me the loveliest old Prussian children's classics. Indeed he was a man after my own heart, and I still cherish them in my keeping after all these years.

Although my parents were absolute crap at family life, let alone their own domestic affairs; at least their atheistic attitudes spared me from any religious oppression of my psychic abilities. Ironically, their stalwarthy skeptism had no doubts about the paranormal, provided it didn't involve some self-proclaimed expert of the hocum. My father's parents were well known throughout the Niagara district for their own phenomenal skills. My paternal grandfather was an immigration inspector who could read people like a book. Of course he also put this to practical use in card games and checkers. I remember their livingroom was full of trophies as such. My paternal gran was typically old Welsh of Phoenician origin. Her view of causality was full of its ancient superstitions. She was an orphan of some lord's secret liaison, educated as Victorian domestic for the upper classes, particularly specialized in herbal medicine.

This was her job in the Marquis of Salisbury's household where my grandad got to know her. His father was the illegitimate son of James Gascoyne-Cecil, 2nd Marquess of Salisbury, employed on the Hatfield estate to train their racing dogs. He owned a pub just off of the estate, where he gained the name "Gentleman Jack" but was given to such drinking and gambling that my grandparents didn't see much of a future. So, they married young and emmigrated to Canada around 1899. In the Niagara district my gran prospered a great deal of acclaim for her healing and domestic skills. My father, however, being an adventurous sort, left home early and spent his teenage years in a mining camp up in northern Quebec. Growing up in some pretty remote places myself, this became second nature. The desire to pioneer on the liminal, forever exploring the unknown realms. On full moon nights my communion with the dreamspirits would be in the form of resonant humming. Indeed there are many things I knew from before the beginning, seeking to expound the limits of my young mind. Of the few children I ever associated with, they were usually those society had written off as "wild ones", mostly métis and cajuns who didn't fit in either. In the wilds we were free to explore the true essence of our being, away from the god-fearing paranoias of evangelist society.

It wasn't until I came to Germany and met heathens like myself that I was finally able to realize my own ancestral paths. Ironically, it was through a Hopi friend there, interconnectedness came to me in a profound vision of awakening at the age of 15, mind you, there never was a question of my sense of direction. This has been my path for the last 54 years because I've always sided with what comes to me naturally- namely instinct. That is the nature of my communion. In essense it requires no devices other than the multifarious integrity of my own being. Spirit magic, the channeling of will in that borderline state between causality and consciousness. Discover the continuum in your own interaction. It comes from within.

More Dream Spirits

Nature occasionally speaks to me in some very curious dreams. Like in "Dreams, Schemes and Propellor Things", there are always the most unusual symbologies, yet simple wisdoms, often in the form of unique verse, always insightful on some integral law of continuity. I remember a most dramatic setting of the street where I used to live in Darthmouth, Nova Scotia. One of the oldest streets, full of Colonial Victorian houses, I always found it to breath some very strange spirits of that period. It brings to mind the perpetual rantings of the long deceased Mr. Johnston. It was his house where I lived. In his time he was the premier of Nova Scotia, when Canada first became a nation. A notorious eccentric into Rosicrucian "enlightenment" in hopes of finding some higher spiritual plane of immortal existence. I am not keen to lose myself in philosophical questions of spiritual planes, especially the way Johnston literally did. I have always understood the seemingly paradoxical as the mechanical rudiments of a far more complex dynamical system. He had this strange idea he had escaped oblivion by transcending into the omnipresent but it was really just a dilation in local causality. It could only interact with those immediately aware of it. Thus his relentless pacing throughout the night, trying to figure out where he missed the big picture, only inclined to annoy me. Fortunately in this dream, his presence had long since faded into those distant echoes of the past. The house stood abandoned and partially visible through what little space between those massive trees. I turned to find the rest of the neighbourhood in much the same state. Deserted as if humanity had simply up and vanished very long ago. Trees had always lined the streets and predominated this part of town, but looking at the house across the street they had taken over its empty shell. It was at that point the breezy voice versed something softly about these trees- I sorely wish I could remember. The verse was so eerily beautiful. It was something to the effect of trees representing a timelessness in which human existence can only seem a brief interlude. Indeed I find it disturbing how much humanity takes its own existence so for granted.

Dreams, Schemes, and Propellor Things

A while back I had the most peculiar dream. The setting was one of those stifling midsummer days and I was wandering a dirt road through a rolling pastureland. The air was filled with the chirring of insects which I stopped to indulge while admiring the lofty cumulus drifting in the slight breeze. As the wind stopped, the sound of the insects became subdued and a heavy stillness filled the air. I heard a rumbling overhead, and quickly turned to see a magnificent nimbus formation towering over the hill. Suddenly to my amazement, little objects began to rain down. As they landed, I leaned over the cow fence for a closer inspection. Picking one up, I came to realize these were small incredibly light metal cups that had been fashioned with a peculiar wing on the side, to come floating down rather like a maple seed. Little paper cards also came floating down. These had instructions on how to work these curious little devices. As I stood there in an awe of fascination, a breezy voice spoke up in my mind. "Nature rewards those who truly understand her ways"- indeed I had spent much of the night pondering on nature’s designs before going to bed. Then my reflections became distracted by a distinct sense of presence. I turned again to see a gaggle of people approach from over the hill. They were people of different skilled trades, (from farmer to mechanic) come to see what was going on. They were just as taken by curiosity over these strange gifts, except for a tall man in their midst- who not only seemed quite out of place with the rest, but kept staring at me with obvious contempt. It was then I noticed his vicar’s collar and as I expected he came out with the remark "you don’t deserve it". "Heh, who died and made you god?" I thought, but the words never passed my lips. The fact was that he had obviously missed the point, namely that evolution is all about learning.

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned

This is definitely not a story for the faint hearted. Its about a girl I knew who was raised by the two most dangerously superficial women one could ever encounter. This was her mother and grandmother, who both married diplomats, for every opportunity to invoke their own secret dominion. By the time I got to know them, the old ambassador had long since retired, and truly fed up with their games of manipulation, had taken to locking himself away in his attic retreat. On the rare occasion that we were able to communicate, I found him quite forthright and unpretentious. He despaired over the ruthless guile of these two women, and was sure the granddaughter was beyond any hope salvation from their persistent misguidance. Indeed he warned me they were not to be trusted in any way or form. He had confidence, however, in my strong independence of mind, hoping possibly, it might teach them that long needed lesson in respect...but they were even beyond that. These women were totally Machiavellian, with that sickly sweet allure of a Venus fly trap. The grandmother was one of those arrogant divas from the Berlin theatrical scene. Indeed, their idea of friendship was pure theatrical manipulation- with the kind of imposing cordiality I'm sure inspired such writers as Stephen King and John Carpenter. Of course if you tried to say anything contrary, this was cunningly intercepted by "would you like a coffee? a piece of cake, a cookie?"...and no matter how often I said "no thank you" they persisted in this tactic throughout the entire discussion. "Are you sure you don't want one? Oh but you must try one". They just couldn't take no for an answer and no matter how blatantly I refused, they still could not resist the surreptitious urge. Fortunately for all their single mindedness they didn't have a clue about me, so any attempt to beguile my friends only made them leery.

Typically, diplomatic families, for all their incessant social calls, tend to lose any sense in the need for a balanced diet. It usually ends up with them living solely off hors d'oeuvres, believing they can avert any subsequent malnutrition through the compulsive intake of multivitamin concentrates. Needless to say, this girl not only grew up anorexic but so biochemically screwed up that she became psychotic. To make matters worse, those two women had completely spoiled and indoctrinated her with the pathos that men should have no other purpose than prove their love through complete subservience. Of course wherever this failed, she inclined to ever more violent tantrums. Uncannily she had much the same expectations of anyone she assumed to be her "friend". Inevitably this reduced her popularity down to a hand full of fools, who themselves were just as misguided. Of them, one particular sucker for punishment became her mate- who despite the increasing frequency of her violent attacks, would not listen to reason. Like his friends, it was always the same denials- "But you don't understand, she's just so beautiful and talented". "Oh yeah?" I declined, "Just keep on fooling yourselves, and inevitably people are gonna get killed". To make a long story short, that is exactly what happened about five years later. It was hard times, with everyone losing their jobs for all the businesses folding after the Canadian forces pulled out of the area. The last I saw of her was at the employment office, trying to apply for benefits to support their two children. No one is sure what exactly happened, but it is clear they couldn’t make ends meet anymore. By all accounts, after a heated argument with her two matriarchs, she took a spade that night, struck down her husband and assuming he was dead, proceeded to hack up her two children. By the time he regained consciousness, it was already too late. All he could do was barricade himself in the bathroom. It was at that point in her blind rage, that she resolved to stab herself to death with a butcher knife. A friend of mine had the unpleasant task of cleaning up the mess after the investigation. He could only describe the scene as resembling that of an abbatoire. Another friend whose cousin was the chief investigator of the case was equally horrified. This was more than just domestic violence gone amok. The sheer brutality of it spoke whole volumes of a vengeance for everything not being as she insisted. Don’t ask me what the moral of the story is. I do not believe in a perfect world, but what could be more futile than give life only to take it all away with such remorseless brutality? I can only blame it on the delusions of "ideal society" trying reduce human behaviour into something so affectatious, the consequences should be no surprise. What more can I say?

Spoonfed Humanity

Yup, I've come to that horrid realization of just how misguided the greater part of humanity is. When they start using academic institutions as the scale by which to measure intelligence, no surprise that nothing ever gets resolved. Its always the same recurrent problems that through perpetual reformulation, get further and further away from the truth, until that final catastrophy sends them all fleeing. The fatal flaw begins when they start assuming that someone who actually likes to use their brain must have a wall full of PhDs. The flaw ends with something akin to the fate of Ur. Indeed Ur is a classical example of sociological entropy. In the beginning it was an engineering wonder, that provided all the domestic comforts early civilization basically needed. Regulated water systems to supply its many households, and flush away their waste. In the course of prosperity, people started getting too wasteful, while particularly those who administrated the wealth started keeping ever more of the dividends for their own purposes. Of course when supply could no longer meet demand, the administration took this as justification for them to enforce their authority. Of course rather than cut their own expenses, they chose to cut back on the technical people in their employ. As it all boiled down to one man having to maintain the entire water works, this was certainly too much for him to handle. When the sewage seriously started backing up, he immediately fled. A few thousand years later, the horrid smell was the first thing that hit the archeologists when they dug out this city. Need I say more?

Thoughts on Socially Ideosyncratic Gender

Frankly, I think all sociological precepts about gender are nothing other than that. Even though I personally am heterosexual, I really couldn't give a damn about what the "popular concensus" seeks to iconize as infant, child, boy, girl, man, woman, hermaphrodite, gay, transvestite, or whatever. When left to its own designs, causality on the individual level will resolve with whatever survival requires. Often around the arctic circle, where survival depends highly on the most meticulous resource management, it is the women who are the natural organizers, while the men further their natural skills as hunter-gatherers. No doubt this was the way of the world some 10,000 years ago when agrarian culture gave rise to the first major centers of trade. This is not to say that all women or men fall into these categories, as there will always be those of unique talent regardless of gender. Bottom line: necessity is the mother of invention.

My brother has always had a problem with gender "identity" though he himself has always been heterosexual. I suspect that has alot to do with the mockeries of childhood where the kids used to call him "princess"...that was until he cleared out a whole school bus in a fit of rage. These people really must learn that this family comes from a long line of berzerkers. Indeed, I have had my own delightful experiences with those who were always trying to be so "Vogue", but any effort to taunt my "unladylikeness" was usually met by a very short blunt slap across the head while standing on their freshly nail-polished toes. There was however once, I threw them all into the gym shower, to make my point perfectly clear. Each to their own, I say!

Resisting the Forces of Entropy

Pretty well all my life, I've had to be the master of DIY. Most people around me didn't even have the brains enough to realize that this was not one of their talents. As such was especially the case with my parents, as well as my brother (who they thought was such a genius), I found myself living in the most phenomenal conditions of utter futility. There wasn't an appliance or fixture in the house they didn't find some way of hopelessly screwing up. Thus I would wait until they were away somewhere, before venturing to put things right. Whenever they'd start looking for some kind of tool, that's when I'd take off, as far away as I could get until that dark cloud of cosmological disasters was out of sight. I remember one day, my brother, insisting on advancing his driving lessons, got in a row with my father over using the car. Well not only was this car a disaster on wheels (as one would expect of those "lunch-box" Fiats), but with those two wanting to play crash test dummy, heaven forbid! I was quietly redeeming the miss-wiring of a lamp when I overheard the argument. My father was telling him that the battery had to be changed first. This seized me with an ironic grin upon realizing the inevitable consequences, as it was my brother (despite taking an electronic engineering course) had already toasted various appliances of his own. Needless to say, after much calamity of cursing and tools being thrown about, I heard a brief "clack" followed by a louder "PAFF!" I peered out the window, in time to see the smoke seep out from under the hood. Quickly I dropped everything I was doing, and fled for the back door as the words errupted-"You idiot, I don't fucking believe it! How could you do that?!...that's totally impossible!". Don't ask me how, but my brother got the poles of the battery reversed. Upon hearing this, I almost fell off my bike laughing...although I knew damn well I'd have to chip in a couple of thousand for a new wreck.

Realizing Nature Spirits

Its a curious thing that these newage shamanizers haven't a clue of what nature spirits are really about. It certainly doesn't come in a can labelled "shake well before use". It seems this is where most wannabe adepts go terribly wrong when it comes to connecting the dots. Nature Spirits are not just hiding in the forest or in some dilapidated temple or ancient ruin. The bottom line is that its not only in everything but maintains the integrity of existence through shear determinism of realizing local universality. In this respect, the idea of invocation can only seem utterly absurd. You don't invoke it, you simply realize the fact of its part in who and what you are. Expound upon that, into the higher dimensions, and you can not only hear a pin drop, but perceive the whole causality of it dropping. At that level, things take on a fractal symmetry where you can actually see the nodes of causality. When that reactor in Chernobyl went critical, I could practically feel the quantum shockwave pass through me. I jumped up from my drawing board and immediately phoned my brother. I told him of the experience and that judging from the direction and intensity, it could well have been in Russia. Nothing was heard on the news, but in the days to follow, panic started breaking out in the headquarters, as it was some of the guys were second generation Ukranians. By the time the incident finally hit the news media, some of these people had already snuck across the borders to rescue family. One of the senior personnel officers came running into my office, all in a panic to issue a special order that people stay put. All flights as well as field exercises were put on hold. I told my family to stay away from mushrooms and green stuff until such a time as tests presented clear picture of the hazard. Fortunately for us, a huge thundershower neutralized much of the radioactivity. In fact it was quite spectacular. Rain poured down in an absolute flood while massive pink bolts of lightning came crashing all around about every 3 seconds. I remember my family standing at the door to watch this spectacle and me warning them to stay away from the rain. They gave me a leery look and nodded, closing the door again. I remember one fool aquaintance who ventured out, soon developed a growth on his forehead where the water streamed together. In the months to follow, huge toadstools could be seen in the fields everywhere. At least this was a healthy sign as it is these things quickly break down radiation in the soil. This I was able to confirm with a few of those NATO dosimeters of standard issue. As for the size of the toadstools, I measured the biggest one at 35 cm, with a cap 18 cm across!

Ah yes, the Mormons

After returning to Germany, it took us a couple of years to find something we could call our own patch. In the interim we moved from a huge earthquake plagued apartment block, to the ground floor of an old villa in Lahr/Schwarzwald. The landlady was what the neighbours unceremoniously described as another "Geldgeier"  aspiring for the inner circle of the secret hand-shake. Yes, Lahr has been a Freemason town since 1750. Of course the old glory days of the South Baden region faring as the summer paradise for famous artists and philosophers came to an ugly end with Hitler's efforts to reclaim the Alsace under the Third Reich. With the fall of the Sigfried Line, Lahr simply dwindled into another Tobacco and Wine town like any other under the French occupation. When DeGaulle decided France had no further need of NATO, their bases were turned over to the Canadian Forces, and in the course of Trudeau's regime, Lahr became the centre of Canadian Forces Europe. Given the exchange rate of the Canadian dollar and the benefits of "living out allowance" Lahr prospered immensely, soon becoming a haven for ill-repute rather like the towns of the old gold rush days. This, of course, soon caught the undivided attention of various religious fanatics just itching for a wealthy congregation.

Needless to say, anyone living in Lahr with an English name, soon found these loonies knocking at their door- as by all accounts some dirty bastard in the personnel administration office sold them the information. Living on a main street of that town, we were practically bombarded, so I took the liberty of using this to hone my skills in psychological warfare. The Jehovas were a piece of cake because of their inanely singular focus on doomsday. The Mormons, however, had to be the greatest string of outright confabulation I ever heard in my life. Very well, I thought, two can play that game, so I conjured up some quasi-Dänikenesque alien conspiracy cult mythos with revelationist undertones.

Amazingly, the theory was so good, it almost had them convinced, which of course, caused quite a ruckus amongst their Elders. Somewhere down the line, they saw need to send in their head hauncho, as if they had run into the devil herself. He made airs about being some senator's son from Washington D.C, with connections to the NSA. Well, while I tried to stop the sardonic smirk from creeping across my face, I told him he might as well throw in the towel, because the Canadian security council have always been into quite different occult practices since the days of MacKenzie King; and they would certainly not be impressed by some Mormon political heinie encroaching on their territory here. There was also this fact of Joseph Smith violating Native American burial mounds, and no surprise he had to move to Utah to flee the curse. Aside from that, I expressed my discontent with the fact that the Mormon idea of polygamy was just too one sided for my taste, as I wouldn't mind having several husbands to do the housework, so I can focus on "conjuring a few spirits" myself. On this note, the blighter finally fled with his entourage, never to be seen in my whereabouts again!

Encounters with Wicca

On the verge of the mid 70's it seems my generation was going through some kind of spiritual identity crisis. Aside from all the weird religions they were getting into (i.e. Evangelism, Hari Krishna, Bahai, etc.) there were various Wicca covens taking shape. Being of the psychically overamplified by geophysical forces beyond my control, it was pretty tough for me to keep from attracting the most absurd kind of attention. By this time I had accepted my rather overwrought abilities as something none of these people would ever understand without getting vacuously starry eyed, or take it for some kind of power over human destiny. There was even one that tried to take me for the "doomsday angel" (sorry I'm just not into that biblical nonsense) screaming it aloud on the streets of Halifax-Dartmouth, every time he saw me. Needless to say, it was not long before he had a special room, complete with love-me jacket, in the local asylum. Nonetheless, ugly rumours had gotten around about me knowing things before they happened as well answering questions before the words passed people's lips. Thus one high priest of some Alexandrians got wind of it through his brother, who happened to be an acquaintance of mine. I was invited into the house where this coven resided, not far from the free school I was attending on the Dalhousie University campus.

Although they were good and helpful people, and quite serious of their practice; what was explained to me of its rituals, I really couldn't see myself getting into. I remembered some of the things my Welsh gran explained to me, of old folk practices in South Glamorgan, when I was a child. Indeed I could see parallels, and had been to Stonehenge in 1969, so I had a pretty good idea of what they were getting at. They had been hoping I would work with them as a kind of psychic channel, but it was their idea of the old good&evil-white&black paradox that put me off. I just couldn't see their plans working well with natural causality. When they explained of the problems they had with members getting "possessed" and ending up institutionalized, somehow that didn't surprise me. Its the old law of physics about equal opposite forces, and that Nature always sides with the hidden flaw. In order to achieve continuity in this realm of the universe, you simply have to break from such Euclidean norms. Of course to make them truly understand this, they would no longer be Wiccan. Conversely, if I was to channel their will the way they aspired, it would most certainly go terribly wrong- so I decided to leave well alone, gave my thanks but no thanks, and moved on.