Scones alone: A Samhain story about feeding the dead

Well, it's that time of year again--October, when the air gets crisper and the veil between the world gets thinner.  It's the pefect time to dust off our best tales of ghosties and spooks, and also to celebrate the return of the beloved dead, our ancestors and departed friends.  One way to honor the dead is with offerings of food and drink, a practice that that exists throughout history and around the world.  In keeping with the season, I thought I'd share a little personal story about trying to serve tea to a spirit last All Souls' Eve.

I guess I should include some background.  I don't regularly work with the dead, and I don't have any great talent for mediumship.  But I have had some isolated experiences with spirit contact in my life--just enough to know firsthand that there's some validity to it.  When I moved into my current home three years ago, I gradually became aware of one particular spirit.  I now think of him as one of my ancestors, though he's not a blood relative.  He identifies himself as one of the settlers of the area, someone who loved this land before I did (and still does).  My house is just past the northeast edge of the land that was once his family farm.  He's not much like a ghost--more of a guardian spirit, one of the genii loci that just happens to claim a human past.  In the past couple of years, I've been able to find out more about him, through a mix of psychic means and regular ole mundane research.  Through various experiences, my doubts have been quelled, and I've developed a sort of granddaughterly affection for him.  He's also been an important teacher for me in the last couple of years.

As All Soul's Eve approached last year, I began to think about what might make a suitable offering to show my gratitude.  Food seemed appropriate--a lot of the memories he'd shared with me related to food.  He remembered the scarcity of wheat flour, and the trial of eating dry corn breads for a couple of years until they could get a wheat crop going and a mill established.  He told me about raising dairy cows, and that the milk and cheese produced from Texas grass never tasted as sweet as the stuff he remembered from home.  He loved the abundance of fruit here--berries and plums that could be cooked into jams that didn't even need sugar.  Since I knew that this spirit was originally from Devonshire, England, I settled on the idea of a Devon-style service of tea and scones for my seasonal offering.

However, I felt that the details had to be just right--and that wasn't going to prove easy.  If you've never had a Devon-style scone--well, its not a regular English scone, those dense and doughy triangles studded with fruit.  It's actually closer to a Southern biscuit, round, but drier and sweeter and made with cream instead of water.  I checked just about every bakery in town, but couldn't find anyone who made something resembling a Devonshire scone.  So I found a recipe online and assembled the ingredients.  Over the next few days, I tracked down the remaining essentials:  Clotted cream from Devonshire to represent the homeland.  Texas strawberry preserves for the adopted land.  Good tea (loose leaf, not bagged), china cups, saucers, spoons, and a teapot of hammered tin.

On Samhain, October 31, I took the day off from work.  I got out of bed and baked the scones.  (They came out a little dense and crumbly, but a good effort, at least.)  I put hot water in the teapot, and gathered the dishes and cream and jam.  Then I put everything in a cardboard box with a tea towel, belted it to the passenger seat of my car and drove the mile or so to where the old homestead was. 

Of course, the original buildings are long gone.  Part of the place is a lake now, part is a busy road, and part is a public park.  It's active in the evening with people strolling and exercising, but during the workday there's often no one in sight.  It was a crisp, clear late morning--a  Monday.   From the parking lot, I could look and see that there was nobody around for a quarter mile.  Perfect.

I carried my cardboard box into the park and found a bench.  I sat down on one end of it.   I set up two plates, two cups, and two saucers--one for me and one for him.  I put two scones on each plate and split them lengthwise.  I spread the cream on the scone first (Devon style--they do it backwards in Cornwall), then heaped on the preserves.  I brewed the tea and poured two cups (plenty of cream, no sugar).  Then I tried to decide what to do next.

You see, this was the first time I had made a food offering to a spirit, and I had some unanswered questions.  I had done some research beforehand and found that food offerings for the dead are common to many cultures, but I found few resources that addressed what you actually do with the food in case the hungry ghosts don't show up to eat it.  Some of the advice was even contradictory.  I read that you eat the food, and offer the spirit the experience of tasting the food, because spirits don't have mouths to eat, which makes sense.  I also read that you should under no circumstances eat the food, because it is an offering for the dead, not a snack for you, which also makes sense.  I was planning to do what I usually do in such situations, which is go with what feels correct at the moment and hope I don't screw anything up too badly.  I took the first sip of my tea, trying to stay in a magical mood but feeling just a little silly.

I don't know what I was expecting to happen. I didn't see anyone, obviously.  I didn't feel anything out of the ordinary, other than the intensity of my concentration on the ritual.  As I mentioned before, I can be a little dense.  I don't always know when spirits are present, but I am a bit more confident in my abilities as a tarot reader.  So, I pulled out my cards--the ordinary 52-card deck I use when I'm in public and want to be discreet.  I asked if my guest was present.  I shuffled the deck and drew his significator on the first try--a definitive "yes" if ever there was one.  I still didn't know what to do.  I took a few more sips of tea.  It was aromatic and perfectly warming on that cool October morning.  I began to think I could easily drink both teas, if need be.

What happened next was baffling.  I saw someone approaching from the corner of the park.  Not an apparition.  Just a nicely dressed white man, slightly past middle age, walking a border collie mix along the path behind me.  When he was about six feet away, he stepped off the sidewalk.  He greeted me heartily, like we were old friends.  Then he came and sat next to me, just inches away from the second tea setting.

I guess I should have been worried, being accosted by a strange man in the park, with no one else in sight.  I guess he should have been frightened to come sit next to a crazy lady on a bench with two cups of tea and a cardboard box full of junk.  But it felt fine--normal, somehow.  I offered him the tea.  He didn't take the scones, but said they looked delicious.  I saw the dog coveting them, so I asked the man if his dog could have one.  Then we sat for a while, savoring the tea and watching the dog lick the cream off the scone.  I poured a refill.  I don't remember what we talked about--the weather, probably, and the dog.  I'm certain he didn't ask me what I was doing there with tea for two and some playing cards--because I wouldn't have had a ready answer for him if he did.

When we were finished, he stood up.  He looked me over and said,  "Enjoy your day...and God bless you."  And he continued on down the path.  And I did--I felt as blessed as could be.  When he had gone out of sight, I poured the remaining tea on the ground, and left the last of the four scones there in the grass.

I don't really have anything to add to this story, except to say that it comes close to typifying how magic, real magic, usually works--in unexpected and quietly stunning ways.  It's not always fireworks, but it's sometimes, just...wow.

Have a happy Halloween, y'all!

The five "clairs": Identifying and developing psychic senses

Remember learning about the five senses as a schoolkid?  Psychic ability is often considered to be a sixth sense, and that's one way to think of it.  But there is a more precise construction, which posits five psychic senses that correspond to the five physical senses.  These are sometimes called "the five 'clairs,'" after the French word stem that they all share.  Today, we're going to define all five, and discuss how they're used and different ways to develop them.

Clairvoyance ("clear sight").  Clairvoyance is the ability to see objects remotely, or to receive other true visual impressions through visions or dreams. Clairvoyance is probably what comes to mind first when people think of psychic abilities.  This makes sense, because for most of us, sight is the sense we rely on the most to navigate the world.  There are many sub-categories of clairvoyance.  Clairvoyant information most often comes spontaneously, through brief flashes of mental pictures.  The skill of a trained remote viewer is a very focused kind of clairvoyance.  Clairvoyant ability is what allows certain people to see auras and subtle energy, spirits, elementals, and other discarnate beings.  We can even classify mystics and religious visionaries as clairvoyants, if we're willing to venture that the realms they access have some external validity.

Some clairvoyants see things with their physical eyes open.  Some see them as mental images or behind closed eyes.  Some can receive images at any time; others get visions only in a trance or dream state.  (No way is better than another.)  Visions vary in intensity, too.  They can be as crisp and colorful as a movie, or lack detail, color, definition or motion.

Clairvoyance and other psychic gifts are almost certainly inborn, to some extent--but it is also possible to strengthen and develop your abilities through practice.  Clairvoyance is traditionally linked to the third eye chakra, so try searching for practices designed to stimulate and develop it.  (Too many to cover here.) Visualization exercises are a great way to improve the clarity of your visions (and enhance dreaming and artistic ability, besides).  And of course, if you're ready for it, scrying is one of the best ways to learn to awaken and control clairvoyant functioning at will.

Clairaudience ("clear hearing").  Clairaudience, or psychic hearing, is a gift that is similar to, but distinct from clairvoyance.  Clairaudients can hear sounds playing elsewhere, or receive spoken messages from beyond the range of normal hearing.  Have you ever sat down next to a friend, and "heard" a song playing, only to find out she had that song stuck in her head?  That's one example of clairaudience.  (All five of the "clairs" can involve telepathic contact, but "hearing" the thoughts of others in proximity to oneself is one of the most common forms of telepathy.)  Some, but not all mediums have clairaudient abilities that allow them to hear spirits' voices.  (Mediums who are clairvoyant, but not clairaudient, prefer to communicate through symbols and gestures.)

Clairaudients sometimes report hearing ancillary sounds, such as ringing or buzzing, that accompany the onset of psychic hearing.  Sometimes there is speech that isn't easily discernible--a murmur just outside of the range of hearing, or several voices speaking at once.  This is said to be most common when clairaudience is undeveloped or just awakening.

Needless to say, the process of developing or discovering clairaudience can be disorienting and frightening.  I suppose this is true of all psychic perceptions, but more so with clairaudience because the experience can be so similar to symptoms of mental and physical illnesses.  Of course, diagnosis of these ailments should be left to the professionals, and you should get help if you're concerned about your health.  However, if you find that strange audio perceptions occur when you're feeling spiritually open (e.g. during meditation or when you're around new people and places) and not the rest of the time, that may help rule out the more mundane causes.

People with clairaudient gifts can focus and improve their abilities through the process of sound scrying.  Similar to visual scrying, a device--a seashell or glass held to the ear, rushing water, or a white noise generator--helps creates a blank space of sound through which clairaudient impression can manifest.  Automatic writing is another way to learn to focus the flood of words into a usable stream.  Clairaudience is linked to the throat chakra, so again, you could try searching for practices to stimulate and strengthen that psychic center.

Clairsentience ("clear feeling").  Clairsentience has got to be the most common psychic phenomenon. Who hasn't had a bad feeling about a person or place, that later turned out to be completely correct? Clairsentience covers a broad range of bodily sensations that provide with information about people, places, and decisions.  This information comes through in the form of tickling or tingling sensations, changes in temperature, and pleasant or unpleasant "gut feelings."  The ability to experience intuitive leaps without any sensory information has another name, claircognizance--but mind and body are so closely linked that this distinction is mainly theoretical.  Both clairsentient and claircognizant folks describe the phenomenon of "just knowing" things, without being able to describe where this knowing comes from.

Some clairsentient people are sensitive to the energy of places or objects--they may have trouble remaining around places that have a buildup of negative energy, without necessarily being able to say why.  Clairsentients who pick up on the emotions of people and animals are also known as empaths.  Often, the pain or emotion an empath's body picks up from others can seem so real, it's hard to separate from their own experiences.  This isn't reserved for the extraordinary few.  Anyone who's ever had a close physical relationship--as a parent, as a lover--has experienced an intermingling of energies at least bordering on clairsentience.

Clairsentience is probably the most widespread of the psychic gifts--it would seem that nature has endowed all conscious beings with the ability to "feel" danger, and also to experience connection with others.  But because it's so subjective, it can be hard to learn to trust hunches and feelings.  One really "out there" clairvoyant experience is usually enough to convince someone of the reality of psychic abilities, but clairsentient experiences tend to be less evidentiary.  Clairsentient awareness builds over time, as you learn what different feelings mean to you, and as you gather that your impressions are usually correct.

Clairsentience is associated with the heart chakra (especially in the form of empathy) and with the solar plexus chakra (the source of the proverbial "gut feeling").  Dowsing (e.g., with a pendulum) can be an ideal divination method for those who have strong clairsentient impressions, but perhaps lack the visualization

Clairalience ("clear smelling").

The last two "clairs" are the least often discussed, but they can be very useful, especially as supplementary skills.  Biology tells us that smell and taste are our oldest senses, the ones connected with our animal past.  In human beings, they're somewhat atrophied.  Most other creatures routinely gather information about their environments through smell, but for us, this ability is so rare that it seems to border on the supernatural.

In folklore, clairalience is most often associated with spirit presence.  It's very common for the dead to announce their presence with a whiff of a familiar perfume or tobacco.  In the realm of ceremonial magic, scent also plays an important role.  Many spirits, gods, and astral places have fragrances that are associated with them, and the proper incense or perfume can be used either as a tool to draw them near, or as a signal of their presence.

If you want to develop your sense of psychic smell, try meditating to get back in touch with this vestigial sense.  When you smell something, you're actually taking molecules of it into your body through the air.  How weird is that?  (And yet, its an apt description of how we move through the mundane and psychic worlds alike, never isolated, always taking in and putting out stuff.)  Close your eyes and see how many smells you can discern in the room around you. You can also practice "visualizing" (or recalling) familiar smells, trying to recreate them in your mind as vividly as possible.

Clairgustance ("clear tasting").

Clairgustance is the least-discussed of the five "clairs"--I've never met anyone who claims to be a gifted third-generation clairgustant.  I once heard a phone psychic describing the experience of tasting the peanut butter sandwich one of her clients had been eating before the call--but that's the only example I can think of.  Taste and smell are very similar, biologically speaking, so I would imagine that anything said about clairalience would also apply to clairgustance.

In conclusion, I'd like to point out that this discussion of the five "clairs" is meant to be helpful for identifying and exploring a variety of psychic gifts.  Obviously, these categories are somewhat arbitrary and the boundaries are blurry--so there's no point in getting hung up on them.  For instance, if you ask a question and hear the spoken answer "yes," is that clairaudience or clairsentience?  In a vision, you smell an orange so clearly it makes your mouth water--are you developing your clairalience or clairgustance?  And so on.  Have fun!

Scrying past lives

So, we've all heard of scrying in order to peer into the future--but what about the past?  As in, past lives?  Let's look at one of the other well-known uses of magic mirrors--catching a glimpse of who you were in previous incarnations.  This exercise hinges on the "change-your-face" method of scrying, which, in turn is a variation of the Troxler effect.  (The optical phenomenon which causes objects in your field of vision to fade or change when gazed at.)  Some people believe it can act as a catalyst to help reveal the faces of previous incarnations to the scryer.

 Personally, I remain a bit skeptical of the whole concept of past-life regression.  Mainly, I think that if reincarnation happens--and it probably does, in some form--it's got to be more complicated than the linear progression of costume changes thought up by New Age authors.  (I mean, we already know that time and space operate in totally trippy ways, so why should the progress of souls be so neat and tidy?)  Also, I'm not sure how spiritually productive regression is, even if it works.  From what I've observed, discussion of past lives is too often used as a doorway to escapist fantasy, or a convenient way to rationalize bad behavior in this life.  And arguably, there's a good reason that we don't remember (much) about past life experiences once we're born into our current body.  It's an underrated gift to get a fresh start with a new lifetime, to be able to focus on the here and now.

But I don't mean to dismiss the practice of past-life exploration.  At the very least, it's pretty harmless way to pass the time and explore parts of your self that may be hidden.  And we can't ignore the fact that some people find (re)discovering their past lives to be genuinely instructive and inspiring.  I think that if you're going to go that route, scrying is the best method.  Plumbing your own past-life memories is way more reliable than other ways you could go about it, such as getting a past-life reading from a psychic or being regressed by a hypnotist. This way, you're not allowing someone else to directly influence your perceptions or memories via suggestion.  Even if you don't have memories of past lives, or don't believe that you've lived before, this exercise can have value.  You can use this technique to explore hidden sides of your personality, or simply as a way to feel connected to people with bodies and lives different from your own.

Okay.  To scry past lives:

Use a black mirror, if you have one, or a regular mirror in a dim room, ideally at night.  If you already have a reflective medium that you prefer, such as water or crystals, then by all means use that.  The idea is to have a surface that allows you to gaze at your facial features, but not so clearly that you start counting your pores or something.  Set up a dim light source, such as a single candle placed behind you, a lamp draped with a cloth, or moonlight, if you're so lucky.  (You may have to experiment to find the right lighting.)  Seat yourself comfortably upright, with the mirror propped up at an angle or held in your hands.

Once you're all situated, the next step is relaxation.  Take some deep breaths, and clear your mind of all worries, distractions, and expectations of what you're going to see.  (You might also want to review some of my scrying basics.)  Then gaze gently at your reflection.

At first, you'll see your face.  Your face is unique in the world, and your response to your own reflection is unique to this moment.  Take a minute to note your reaction to your own image.  Does it please you, startle you, make you feel critical?  Does it look familiar or unfamiliar? What is your facial expression?  Then, once you've had these thoughts about your face, let go of them.  Continue to focus on your reflection without thinking anything, concentrating on your breath if it helps.

At some point, the image will change, fade or disappear.  This may happen right away, or it may take a rather prolonged period of gazing at your refection.  The first sign of success is often dissociation:  You see your features, but they seem arbitrary, as if you were looking at a photo of a stranger.  Sometimes the face will fog over or black out, or the features may shift, morph, or swim.  Your reflection may appear to change gender or skin color.  This sight can be jarring, but if you can hang onto your focus, then the vision has begun.

If you're having trouble detaching yourself from the reflection, try this visualization:  As you look at your reflection in the mirror, imagine yourself getting younger and younger.  Any wrinkles or other signs of aging begin to disappear, as if you were slowly rewinding a time-lapse video of your life.  With each breath you take, the curves on your face soften, and your features grow larger in proportion to your face.  See yourself as a young adult, then as a child, an infant, and finally, just a field of darkness.  Know that the darkness is teeming with life, and that your face is about to re-emerge in a different form.  Then watch the emptiness and wait for what comes next.

You may find yourself gazing at one still face, or several in quick succession.  Like strangers on the bus, some will evoke no real response, while others will give you the feeling that you know them intimately.  If you see someone with whom you feel especially connected, try to go a little deeper into the vision.  See if you can transfer your awareness to that other person.  What does it feel like to inhabit his or her specific face and body?  Do you feel strong or weak, fat or thin?  Are there any sounds, smells, or physical sensations that stand out to you? What are you wearing, and what are you doing?  If your scrying vision is sufficiently developed, you may be able to look out at your surroundings, and even explore or interact with them.  If not, even just seeing another face looking back from a mirror can be a powerful moment.

When you've seen enough, it's time to return to your own body.  Step back from the vision the same way that you entered. With your physical eyes, see the face reflected in the mirror, and remember that it is yours.  Will your eyelids to open and shut, your nose to wiggle, etc., and see the face in the mirror dutifully respond. Take a few cleansing breaths, and put the mirror away in a safe place.  The final step is to write down what you've experienced.  If you're good at drawing (or even if you're not, who cares?) you could sketch a little portrait of the folks you've seen or been.

Happy trails, y'all,

M

Consulting the magic iPhone (Some thoughts on blank screen scrying)

Did you know that you can scry with an iPhone or other electronic device?  Yep--its partially reflective surface makes a perfectly suitable dark mirror.  You already know you can use these devices to view distant places and things, get answers to almost any question, and communicate with people all over the world.  But that's kid stuff.  No, this post is about using your phone, tablet, computer or television screen with the power off.

Like any other scrying tool, the digital black mirror has its advantages and its weaknesses.  Let's start with the disadvantages.

Cons: 

Aesthetic reasons.  I think electronics--all electronics--are ugly and a magical buzzkill.  I spend enough time staring at screens that I don't want them anywhere near me when I'm trying to relax and transcend.  The beauty and mystique of good scrying tools is totally absent from personal electronics.  Also, some people think that these devices emit vibrations that can interfere with psychic work.

The potential for distraction.  A crystal ball is good for about two things that I can think of--playing catch with yourself, and scrying.  With a phone, there's always the temptation to turn it on and start watching shark videos instead.

Fragility.  Phone screens pick up dust and scratches easily, and there goes your nice blank scrying surface. Flat black surfaces can be challenging for beginners anyway.  Add some distracting surface scratches and you're totally screwed.

Pros:

Convenience.  This scrying device is handy at all times--you probably have one in your pocket or on your desk right now.  You don't have to buy or tote anything extra to get your Nostradamus on.

Rebellion.  There's something kind of fun and subversive about using a media feeding device for an unintended purpose.  Yeah, scrying's passive, too--but at least it's a personal exploration instead of a reflexive consumption of mass media.

Discretion.  There are times--on the subway, in the breakroom--when busting out your scrying tools would make you look like a weirdo.  But a phone or iPod makes an excellent stealth mirror.  It's not at all strange to see people staring raptly into their handheld screens.  Nobody has to know yours isn't on.

Learning aids.  You can download various apps (like iScry) which generate relaxing patterns of smoke, water, or flame to help get you into the right frame of mind.  Try searching your app store for "scry" "hypnosis" if a blank screen doesn't quite work for you.  (Try that with obsidian.)

Good luck!

Legendary scryers: Pan Twardowski

Today's famous scryer is perhaps a little less than famous to English-speaking readers.  I'm talking about the quasi-historical Polish sorcerer and folkloric figure Pan Twardowski.  Pan Twardowski (or Master Twardowski) is a Faustian character who sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for occult powers.  In Poland, he has been memorialized in numerous plays, ballads, legends, and folk art.

Like Faust, Twardowki managed to evade fulfilling his end of the bargain for many years.  Always a clever one, he included in his contract a clause that stipulated that the devil would collect his soul in Rome, a place that he then avoided visiting at all costs.  His magical career finally ended when Old Scratch found his own loophole, coming to collect Twardowski's soul while he dined in a tavern named Rome.  (Today, there are numerous inns in Poland that claim to be the site of this fatal meeting.)  As Twardowski was being carried off to Hell, he entreated the Virgin Mary, and she came to his aid.  The appearance of the Blessed Virgin so startled the devil that he dropped Twardowski on the Moon, where he resides in solitude to this day.  But Twardowski gets bored there without his magical books and tools.  He sometimes sends spiders down to earth on silvery threads, to act as emissaries and informers for him.

The sorcerer of Krakow may be based on a real 16th-century occultist whose true identity is unclear.  Or he might be composite character created from the activities of various seers and magicians that were swarming Poland at the time (including, perhaps, John Dee and Edward Kelley, who resided in Krakow).  It's one of those cases where historical fact and colorful fiction blend together in an inextricable mess.

The most well-known story about Twardowski involves his evocation of the ghost of a Polish queen.  It seems that Twardowski spent some time in the employ of the Polish king, Sigismund II Augustus.  The king, after the death of his first wife, had made the politically unwise choice of marrying his court mistress, a Lithuanian noblewoman.  This second queen, Barbara Radziwiłł, was reportedly beautiful, accomplished, and the object of the king's passionate devotion.  Unfortunately, her position attracted the jealous attention of many courtiers, and she died of a sudden illness just five months after her coronation.  (Poisoned by her treacherous mother-in-law Bona Sforza?  Oooh...history's mysteries!)  In any case, her untimely death devastated the king.  He draped her chamber in black and remained in mourning for the rest of his life.  (Though he did remarry, hoping vainly for an heir.)

Krakow at that time was something of a haven for occultists, and the king surrounded himself with astrologers, mediums, and necromancers to comfort him in his grief.  One of these was said to be Pan Twardowski.  One night, at the urging of the king, Twardowski brought his magic mirror to the death-chamber of Queen Barbara.  There, the master magician summoned the wronged queen to full appearance, to the great relief of  the royal widower, and secured his position at court.  (Skeptics and cynics alleged that Twardowski faked the whole thing with the help of the queen's old gowns and a look-alike chambermaid.)

An artifact associated with Twardowski has survived (mostly) intact--the so-called "Twardowski mirror."  This is a tin and silver mirror supposed used by the magician for his scrying and conjurations.  In 1711, the mirror was installed in the Basilica of the Assumption in Wegrow, Poland--where it remains to this day.  The prophetic pull of the mirror was said to be so great that anyone could gaze into it and see portents of event to come.  (That is, until 1812, when Napoleon Bonaparte beheld his coming defeat and lashed out at the mirror, cracking its surface and dispersing its magical power.) The Latin inscription on the frame translates as, "Twardowski played with this mirror, performing magical tricks; now it is destined to serve God."

Artwork, from top:

Wojciech Gerson, "The Ghost of Barbara Radziwiłł (1886).     

Józef Simmler, "The Death of Barbara Radziwiłł" (1860).

Woodcut of Twardowski mirror (1871).

Institute of Noetic Sciences Journal on studying mediumship

It's hard to get good data on mediumship.  Studies of after-death communication are like the broke and irreputable cousin in the already broke and irreputable family of parapsychology.  (A true black sheep among black-ish sheep, I guess.)  There's a couple of reasons for this.  For one thing, legitimate researchers in parapsychology (I'm sorry, consciousness studies) prefer to keep their scope small and their claims modest.  It's one thing to speculate that their may be modes of perception that are little understood.  Clairvoyance and telepathy, for instance, are moderately freaky, but still operate within our known world.  Positing the existence of an afterlife and the survival of personality after death is a whole 'nother level of weird.  Since research funds (and professional respect) are so hard to come by anyway, it's understandable that researchers want to keep their hypotheses on the near side of the twilight zone.  A second reason:  It's extremely difficult to design research that is able to isolate true mediumship from other psi phenomena.  That is, if a psychic can tell you that your deceased Uncle Bob like black walnut ice cream, that doesn't necessarily prove the existence of after-death communication.  She could have gotten that tidbit from dead Bob, or telepathically from your own (very living) brain.

I recently stumbled across a great article in the archives of the journal of the Institute of Noetic Sciences,  "Can Mediums Really Talk to the Dead?"  It's a 2011 conversation with leading mediumship researcher Dr. Julie Beischel.  The interview was conducted by Dr. Dean Radin, probably the most insightful and balanced writer psi researcher working today.  In the piece, they discuss some of the challenges of studying mediumship in a controlled research environment, and some of the intriguing outcomes of experiments done by Beischel's foundation, The Windbridge Institute.  Check it out here.

How long should a scrying session last?

Since we've been covering some of the basics of scrying, I'd like to hone in on one basic question that hasn't been discussed here:  How long should you do it?  The answer, obviously, is "It depends." But that makes for rather a boring blog post, so allow me to elaborate a little.

Most authors recommend ten to twenty minutes to begin with, and never more than an hour.  That's solid advice, though somewhat conservative.  The risk of scrying too long is mainly of burnout. There can also be some undesirable side effects from long sitting: stiff back and neck, eyestrain, headaches, and the dreaded "third eye fatigue"--the achy tension that comes from OD'ing on psychic work.  The best idea I've heard is to alternate scrying with a complementary practice, like a healing exercise or a moving meditation.  That way, you can take a day or two off from scrying if you're not feeling up to it, but stay in the habit of daily practice.

Also, although daily practice is advisable, some sources admonish against sitting more than once per day.  I've been known to break this rule at times--like when I'm lucky enough have a whole day set aside for spiritual practice--but I do see the wisdom in it.  It's easy to get sucked into an inner life that can harbor delusions and cut you off from the rest of the world.  Occult practice has to be part of a healthy balanced lifestyle--along with eating, bathing, going to work, and having conversations with people who are actually incarnate.  Yoga folks talk knowingly about "bliss junkies"--newbies who, having tasted a bit of mind/body integration, want to spend every waking hour on the mat chasing that high.  I'm sure it's equally possible to become a crystal crackhead or mirror fiend.  Self-imposed limits are good insurance against obsession, especially if you have an addictive personality.

Keep in mind that time distortion in either direction is a normal part of the scrying process.  Fifteen minutes can seem like an eternity--and not just when you're bored.  Sometimes the visions come so quickly and encompass so much, that it doesn't seem possible that only a few moments have elapsed.  If you've ever had an epic dream between hitting the snooze button and hearing the alarm, then you understand this perfectly.  Conversely, in certain states, an hour can feel like minutes.  Screwy.

Speaking of which, should you set a timer for your sessions?  Personally, I'm of two minds on this one.  I've sometimes found timers to be helpful, mainly because of the time distortion effect mentioned above.  Knowing that my alarm is set frees my mind from the distracting worry that the whole afternoon may be slipping away.  It also keeps my usual drowsiness from turning into a three-hour nap.  On the other hand, the minute I hit on something really good, that alarm is bound to go off and jar me out of my carefully cultivated trance.  A solution might be to try one of those progressive-tone "gentle" alarm clocks that they sell at home stores (or probably in app form these days).

One thing I've noticed is that many writers assume your sessions will get longer over time--e.g., starting with five or ten minute sessions and working up to a full hour.  True, it takes some discipline and focus to sit for more than a few minutes.  And it's true that as you have more vivid and immersive experiences, you'll want to spend more time with them--scrying will seem less like practice and more like play.  But I'd like to point out that as you gain more experience with accessing various altered states, your sessions may actually get shorter.  I guess you can compare it to learning to change the oil in your car, or cut up a chicken, or any other learned skill.  When you're first trying it, your going to be relatively slow and clumsy compared to when you've mastered it.  If it takes a full twenty minutes to relax your body and empty your mind for scrying, then a twenty minute session is not going to be long enough for you.  But if you become more facile and can access the same state in five minutes, then a twenty minute sitting might be plenty.

Finally, with all this talk about timing, it bears mentioning that scrying sessions can end themselves--quite naturally, as it often happens.  It's normal to go into a scrying state willfully and gradually, and back out with the same gentleness.  You can observe it and even, with practice, control it--like a scuba diver adjusting her depth.  Sometimes your conscious mind will intrude and tell you that it's time to stop.  Sometimes, I gather, an entity will do it for you. I had an early (and very memorable) experience of being suddenly kicked back into my body by some sort of astral bouncer.  It's like flying Southwest Air:  Sometimes you land like a feather, sometimes you go skittering down the runway and spill your peanuts.

We'll save the topic of intentions for a later post, but setting an intention can be a good alternative to deciding on a strict time table.  Think about what you want to accomplish from the session ("I'm going to visit the lunar sphere of Yesod."  Or,  "I'm going to have a vision of where I left my car keys."), and you'll likely find yourself drifting back to reality once you've accomplished your intention.

In conclusion:  Sit as long as you comfortably can--five or ten minutes is probably good for a raw beginner.  Don't burn out and don't hurt yourself.  You can work your way up from there, but don't assume that long sessions are the goal.  Timers are helpful...or maybe not.  Sometimes it's over when it's over.  About an hour is probably enough for anyone, unless you live in an ashram or hermit cave.  Have fun!

Artwork:  Edmund Dulac, "Father Time" (1906)

Crystals to covet: Giant hawk's eye sphere

Oooohhh....look what's up on eBay right now--this sublime hawk's eye sphere measuring over 10 inches.  (Cheekbones not included, alas.)  Anybody have $13,000 they don't need?

What's the matter with tap water? A no-nonsense approach to water-scrying

 Okay, so I'm generally pretty tolerant of other people's magical rules and guidelines.  After all, magic and divination are very subjective arts, and have long been taught through word of mouth and tradition.  This means that there's a wealth of folklore associated with them.  Unfortunately, this also means that there are some truisms that are speculative, dogmatic, or just plain stupid--and they will never die.  Instead, they get propagated in book after book or repeated online as gospel.  My current favorite:  Never, ever use tap water for water-scrying.

Obviously, water that comes out of the faucet at the turn of the handle is just too mundane and accessible to fill your scrying bowl.  Proper water must be gathered from a lake or stream, under a full moon, preferably from a sacred site after asking the blessings of the local fairies.  (Rainwater is reputedly acceptable, as well--which is great news unless you happen to be in Texas in the summer.  Ahem.)  Never have I heard or read a satisfactory explanation for "gathered" water is necessary to produce visions.  But I have a couple of theories that sound plausible:  Maybe pond scum contains little-known psychoactives that are good for scrying.  Or maybe the undines get filtered out at the water-treatment plant.  Maybe making your whole room smell like a lake is essential for getting in touch with the element of Water.  I wonder, if I just get a bowl and fill it with my tears of frustration, would that be okay for scrying?

Now, I'm making fun, and perhaps being a little bit harsh.  If doing a preparation ritual is valuable to you, if it seems essential to your scrying practice, then do it.  However, if you're like me and (I suspect) most people, it's hard enough to find half an hour to dim the lights and close the door.  Never mind finding the time harvest the right water.  Also, these days most pagans/occultists are urban folks.  Unless you happen to have a nice babbling brook within walking distance, gathering water means driving somewhere.  That uses our finite fuel resources and pollutes the air and water, and how do you think the undines feel about that?

And before we start talking about the transformative power of ritual, lets not forget that too often, all these rules and rituals become an excuse for avoiding practice:  "Ooh, I want to learn to scry, but first I need to save up for that pewter cauldron and moonstone necklace, then I need to wait till the next full moon so I can go harvest some moonwater."  No you fuckin' don't.  Just grab that glass that came with the Jim Beam, turn on the tap, and go to town.  It's better than nothing, and the pewter cauldron will still be there when you're ready for it.

Also--I'm not jaded about tap water.  Tap water is pretty damn cool.  There are billions of people in this world who would love to not have to walk to some creek to get water.  So try some gratitude, water snobs. Also, if you just take a minute to think about the miracle of the water cycle, you realize pretty quickly that water is water.  That "ordinary" stuff coming out of your faucet has been in clouds and waves and dinosaur veins and toilet bowls.  All water is magical, whether it comes out of the tap or the well of fuckin' Avalon.

Now, I like pretty tools as much as the next person  But there's a difference between appreciating the beauty of tools, and fetishizing them.  To externalize the process of magic too much is disempowering to the practitioner.  When you experience visions they are (depending on who you ask) in your head, in the ether, reflecting off your aura--but they're not literally in a bowl of water, tap or otherwise.  The only reason that tap water won't work for scrying is if you believe that it won't work for scrying.  And you shouldn't believe that, because it's just dumb.

To know, to will, to dare, to keep silent: The Four Powers and the seer's art

To know, to will, to dare, to keep silent:  These powers are related to the four classical elements and are the cornerstones of Hermetic magic.  (They're also used by some Wiccans.)  These guiding principles are known by various names: Four Powers of the Sphinx, Four Powers of the Magi, Motto of the Sphinx, the Four Pillars, the Powers of the Elements, the Witch's Pyramid, the Magic Pyramid, etc.  Taken together, they form a "simple but not easy" program of personal improvement and spiritual development.  Today, we'll consider the Four Powers and how they relate specifically to the practice of divination and seership.

To know (sciere).  This is a good one to start with, since you could argue that "to know" is the entire point of becoming a seer.  When we sit down to scry or ask for a prophetic dream, we're hoping to get a peek into worlds beyond our everyday reality.  (Or, more prosaically, to find out what's happening in the next room or next week.)  All of the seer's work is done in the service of knowledge.

So, how do we cultivate this power?  Well, the most obvious way is through learning.  We learn through words and images, from teachers who have gone before us.  While human beings have made great technological and social strides in a few thousand years, our basic mental and spiritual capacities don't appear to evolve so quickly--I'm sure there's nobody alive today who's smarter than Plato or more spiritually aware than the author of the Psalms.  And what has worked for the ancients will most likely work today.  So, part of "to know" is to recognize wisdom where its given and try not to reinvent the wheel.  What's the saying artists have--learn the rules before you break 'em?  For the seer this means studying and practicing the spiritual technologies that are available--the time-honored practices of meditation and prayer, for instance.  Then adapt them if necessary.

We also gain knowledge through our own experiences.  Moments of teaching occur throughout the day, and inspiration flashes through the synapses in milliseconds.  But most of the time we're just too busy and distracted to give our full focus to these transmissions  Seership is a way to set the process to slow motion.  We put ourselves in a relaxed state and tell the universe, "Say it one more time.  I'm listening."  So ask yourself a few questions:  Are you honoring the process of learning with your time and attention?  Are you keeping good enough records, so that the insights you catch hold of won't easily be forgotten?  Are you growing in self-awareness as you experience different visions and states?

Which brings us to what is certainly the hardest part of knowing: To know yourself.  The questions associated with self-knowledge are even more difficult:  Why do you want to be a seer?  What will you do with knowledge once its acquired?  They obviously don't have easy answers, but even if you can't answer them completely, it's helpful to keep them foremost in your mind.  The power of knowledge is associated with the classical element of Air.  When perfected, it gives you the ultimate perspective: a birds-eye view of yourself, your surroundings, and your place in the world.  This alone sounds like it could be the work of a lifetime.  But wait, there's more...

To will (velle).

A seer must be strong-willed.  As a member of homo sapiens, you have an extremely powerful and marvelous piece of frontal lobe, that nonetheless has a tendency to overestimate its own importance.  The conscious mind is so active that it would prefer to dominate every waking minute, leaving very little space for intuitive functioning.  It takes a strongly developed will to demand that your normal way of seeing get the hell outta the way, and let your less-developed sixth sense have a turn at the window.

From this, the power of Fire, we derive the inspiration to do some really hard work--the proverbial fire under your ass, if you will.  There is no "easy" method of divination--if there were, then everybody would be doing it.  No matter how talented you are, you still have to hone the skills of single-pointed concentration and visualization.  You have to overcome the tendency of the mind to wander to mundane things, and of all your conscious and unconscious desires to distract and deceive you.  You have to have the will to do your practice even when you don't really feel like it or when other obligations are clamoring for your time.

To dare (audere).

This power is associated with the element of Water, which has a long, long history of being emblematic of the psychic arts.  And with good reason:  Elemental Water is the source of creativity, intuition, and connection. Even in the mundane world, we talk about "streams" of consciousness and "going with the flow"--sometimes an inspiration "springs" forth or we "pool" our ideas with others.  Many traditional scrying devices (bowls, ponds, and wells) are tied to Water.  (Even crystals were thought by the Greeks to be made of water, permanently frozen.)  And the seer's practice of letting go--letting words and images float on by without attempting to direct them--is a watery skill.

But lest I make it sound like seership means drifting off into a gentle pool of soul-melting bliss, let's not forget that "daring" implies courage, not just happy abandon.  Are you really ready to confront all the beasties that lurk in the dark reaches of your unconscious?  Are you ready to start ringing the doorbells of the other denizens of the universe, which might just wanna pinch your l'il rosy cheeks...or not?  Taking up this calling means giving up your fixations on safety, predictability, and objectivity.  No one can promise you that you won't go crazy.   Nobody can prove to you that you're not actually wasting your time with all this stuff.  "To dare" means having the faith and the audacity to do a cannonball into the deep well of the mysterious.  Wooooooo!

To keep silent (tacere).

Ah, yes, the ancient art of shutting your piehole.  (Often said to be the most overlooked of the four.)  Just as some strains of Hermeticism hold that Earth isn't a real element, some people evidently feel that silence isn't a real magical skill, to their great detriment.  I'm sure you've seen the oversharer in action at your local psychic circle / coven / metaphysical group.  There's almost invariably someone who's so eager to share their successes or brag about their newfound talents that they just end up alienating everyone and looking like a fool.  Sometimes there's two or more of these folks and they spend the whole time one-upping each other (which at least spares other people the misery of conversing with them).  Meanwhile, on the periphery you find the more mature practitioners, who don't talk about their abilities unless someone asks--and sometimes not even then.

But the purpose of magical silence isn't just to look inscrutable and cool--although that's definitely a fringe benefit.  Resisting the temptation to chatter really can benefit your practice.  In the ancient world, boasting about personal success was thought to draw the malediction of the evil eye or jealous spirits.  Modern practitioners are more likely to say that blabbing too much will scatter the energy of your working or diminish your enthusiasm.  At the very least, you can be sure that touting your skills will attract the wrong kind of attention, at least as far as your own psychic development is concerned.  Some people will be outright dismissive, and this kind of skepticism isn't helpful in the early stages of learning the craft.  On the other hand, some people will be way too into what you're doing; their neediness will feed your vanity and distract you from the work at hand.  Allow a new practice to be nurtured in darkness, the way a seed is able to grow to viability in the darkness of the soil.

The power of Earth encompasses not only literal silence, but inner stillness and patience.  Patience is really a form of courage--the courage to wait and see, to not be anxious for results, but to trust that our efforts will bear fruit.  When we possess the strength of Earth, we're okay with allowing our abilities to develop slowly, in pace with our (hopefully) growing maturity and wisdom.   Earth is also about integration--bringing everything together in a harmonious whole, symbolized by the pantacle.  I like to think that Earth is represented last among the four powers, because part of learning the power of Earth is integrating it with everything the other elements have taught you.  For example, you use your discernment to know when and where to break a silence--which brings us back to the first power, "to know".

(In case you're wondering why I decided to break my own silence with this blog--well, I'm thinking it through as I go along.  I certainly hope it's been helpful to you.)

Love and blessings,

M

The internal monologue: Friend or foe?

All right, so...I want to talk a little about the internal monologue, as it relates to scrying.  The internal monologue is the voice of your conscious mind as it describes its environment, makes judgements, has insights and ideas, gives you a play-by-play of your physical and emotional condition.  Everybody has one of these mental commentary tracks.  A sample:  "It sure feels good to be sitting in this nice comfortable chair.  It's kind of hot upstairs, though.  Maybe I should get up and go downstairs.  Nah.  I hope we don't have another warm winter.  I really don't want to go to work tomorrow.  My boss is such a stupid bitch.  No, that's not a right thing to say--I don't even know her that well.  She should be nicer, though.  I wonder what's in the fridge."

When you begin meditation practice, one of the first things you learn is how to silence this internal voice, or at least diminish its impact on your concentration.  As I beginner, I tried to squash it by yelling, "SSShhhhsshhh! Quiet, you!" at my mind every time I had a stray thought.  (Hint: That doesn't work.)  Some more effective methods include repeating a mantra, focusing on your breath, hearing your thoughts fading into silence or visualizing them blowing away.  Eventually, with a little practice, you can experience a rare moment of stillness--a quiet interval where your brain's not talking to you and your body's not asking for anything.  Then your internal monologue starts in with the "Wow!  I did it! This is so new and exciting!" thoughts, and you're back to square one.

But scrying is not meditation--not exactly.  Scrying sessions often begin and end with short periods of meditation, but the middle interval is a separate state of consciousness.  I'd say it's like goats and cows: They have more similarities than difference, but they are different animals.  In meditation, one of the goals is to achieve freedom from stimuli, mental or otherwise.  Total stillness and blankness.  (Zen student: "Master, in meditation today I had a vision of the Heavenly Buddha seated on a golden lotus."  Zen master:  "Just focus on your breathing and it will go away.")  When you scry, however, you actually want those stray bits and pieces to intrude upon your consciousness--that's sort of the whole point.  They are the packets that contain psychic information, wisdom from the higher realms, gems from the unconscious, pretty pictures, or whatever it is your after.   I don't know if this is an East vs. West thing.  I also don't think the two modes are incompatible or truly divergent.  Clearly, some of skills and techniques you learn from a practice of meditation are very useful for getting yourself into the mental state necessary for scrying.  And the reverse is probably true as well.

So, normally when you scry, the internal monologue is still active.  It's pretty much always active, unless you use one of the techniques for turning it off.  Your conscious mind may be feeding you random thoughts to distract you, telling you encouraging or discouraging things about your practice, or describing or commenting on the things you see.  This last function is the most useful.  (Although you have to be careful about over-analyzing your visions--as some remote-viewing experiments have shown, often the vision is correct, but the interpretation is wrong.)  Some sources I've read even recommend using narrative voice to go along with the images in the speculum.  Using this method, you actually talk yourself through the session out loud.  "I see dark clouds.  They're lit from behind.  Sunlight?  Now they're moving, forming a funnel shape...oh, it's a tree.  There's someone sitting under the tree..." and so on.  This technique works similar to a mantra.  Describing the pictures in words keeps your verbal center busy, blocking out extraneous thoughts.  It's also a good way for a beginner to see what it feels like to have a continuous stream of visions, and to acknowledge that they really are seeing something--even if it's just various colors and shapes.  Some scryers also report that hearing their own voice has a self-hypnotic effect.  You start out just describing what you see, and as you proceed, the voice will sound stranger and farther away, and before you know it you're in a nice little dissociative state.

There are other good reasons not to banish your internal monologue while scrying.  Dictating your impressions out loud has one obvious benefit:  You can record them for later.  We've already covered how important note-taking is, and recording your sessions is a way to get detailed notes without the break in concentration of reaching for a pen and paper.  And of course, if you're scrying for someone else, or in a group session, you have to be able to be able to talk and see at the same time.  You have to use words to share, because they aren't seeing what you're seeing (probably).  Finally, there's the issue that scrying isn't just a visual phenomena--it can also trigger clairaudience in certain people.  Psychic impressions of words, phrases, even whole conversations can enter the mind spontaneously--and these don't sound all that different from ordinary verbal thoughts.  Of course you have to learn to tell them apart, but if you reflexively shush every word that pops into your head, you might miss out on some useful information.

Speaking from experience, I will say that the internal monologue does act as a tether to the conscious mind, keeping you from reaching down into the deepest trance states.  But that's not necessarily a bad thing.  The deepest trance states don't always yield the most content.  (Just like how the deepest sleep is often dreamless.)  Those deep, deep states are enjoyable, and can be profound in their own way.  But it's harder to bring nuggets back from them.  Keeping one part of your mind tied to the realm of words helps with retention--as you mentally verbalize your visions, you're actually storing them for later.  Think "canoe" to yourself, and you're more likely to remember that you scried a canoe. Again, it's similar to dream retention.  What practice do they always advise to help remember your dreams?  Keeping a dream journal, naturally!  Dreams evaporate quickly upon waking, but if you can scribble down just a few key words, you'll be able to recall the dream vividly for days afterward.  Same deal with scrying.

In conclusion, while the internal monologue is usually cast as the baddie in meditative and/or spiritual practice, it does have some useful functions for scrying.  The key is to be able to minimize irrelevant chatter, while staying open to clairaudient impressions and using your verbal faculties to retain and communicate what you see.  (Not easy, admittedly.  But nobody said it would be.)  Also, while scrying is not the same critter as meditation, doing a traditional meditation practice won't hurt, and will certainly help keep the unwanted noise to a minimum.

Good luck!

-M

Dissecting the "P" word: What's wrong with "psychic"?

Over the years, I've encountered a lot of people who do metaphysical work of one kind or another and are uncomfortable with the word "psychic."  I'm definitely one of them.  Just hearing the term makes my eyebrows tilt inward, and saying it makes my hands leap up into involuntary air quotes.  So, I'd like to spend some time unpacking the word--what it really means, and what about it makes people's skin crawl.  This may seem like a semantic rabbit hole I'm going down here, but bear with me.

1. So, let's start with the obvious knock against "psychic"--its connotations are kind of sleazy.  Sure, it's Greek for "of the soul," but somehow that noble word got saddled with images of ugly neon signs and the back pages of irreputable magazines.  (Thanks, Miss Cleo.) The fact that some jurisdictions require the disclaimer "for entertainment purposes only" from psychic readers does the word further injury.  People who believe that they have genuine abilities just don't want their god-given talents confused with the smooth dealings of a cold reader or mentalist.  It's no wonder you see so many business cards for the "intuitive counselor" and the "angelic life coach" around town, with nary a "psychic" to be found.

2. "Psychic" is divisive, especially when used as a noun. It implicitly divides people into two categories--those who are and those who aren't--when most people agree that psychic talents exist on a continuum.  Furthermore, the word can have an unpleasant ring for people whose gifts manifested early in life.  Many of us have always felt weird or different, and chances are, the first word we learned that described our otherness was "psychic."  Maybe the word got slapped on us when we accidentally displayed our talents in some way that caught the notice of family or friends.   Maybe we heard it applied to an alien species on television and thought, "That's it.  I must be from another planet."  Now, as adults, we can deal with the fact that we are different--if only because of the fact that not everybody believes in or studies this stuff.  (Whether everybody is or can be psychic is a whole 'nother can of worms, which we'll have to savor later.)  But the word draws attention to the difference in a way that belies how common psychic experiences are to human beings--and brings back crummy memories, besides.

3. "Psychic" is unspecific.  There are just too many psychic gifts, all trying to crowd under that one umbrella term.  There's the "big four" which have been most extensively studied (clairvoyance, precognition, telepathy, and psychokinesis) and many more which are on the fringes (mediumship, psychic vampirism, extraterrestrial communication, and energy work of all flavors).  There are people who have psychic dreams, psychic feelings in their big toe, and people who claim not to have any psychic ability at all, but have mad skills when you hand them a deck of tarot cards.  So describing a person as "psychic" is like calling someone "creative."  It's mildly descriptive, but it doesn't provide a whole lot of information about what it is that they actually do--do they paint, do they make windchimes out of beer cans, or what?

4. "Psychic" is a pretty stiff claim, the kind that raises the hackles of skeptics and even moderate believers.  Me, I like to think of myself as a thinking occultist, one of an elite fraternity of seekers who aren't out to scam people or massage our own egos.  One of the markers of this fraternity is that we are hell-bent on being honest and forthcoming about what we can and cannot do.  And precision of language is a big part of that.  Thus, I'm comfortable saying that I have psychic experiences, even frequent ones--but to round that up to "I'm psychic" feels like an extravagant claim that I can't really back up, especially not to the harshest skeptics.  (Say "psychic," and those folks hear "omniscient.")  Most psychic events are spontaneous and kind of random, but claiming to be psychic implies the ability to gain information at will--in a deliberate, consistent and focused way.  I'm certainly not there yet, and furthermore, I've never met anyone who is.

5. I've saved my biggest objection for last:  The whole concept of psychic ability is an extremely limited (and limiting) paradigm.  Dean Radin expresses it best in Entangled Minds, when he says that we need to stop thinking of psychic phenomena powers of the mind, but instead as properties of the universe.  This is an incredibly important and overlooked point.  To focus our amazement on abilities "possessed" by an individual is to miss the truly amazing realities they imply--a splendid unity and complexity in the universe, properties of time and space that are almost beyond imagining.  In other words, the next time you have a so-called psychic perception, the conclusion you should be drawing is not "I'm special" but rather, "This world I'm a part of is incredible."

So, that's just a handful of my reservations about the word "psychic."  (Whew.  I feel much better now.)  I'm not saying nobody should use the word, or even proposing an alternative. I'm just enumerating the ways I find the term problematic, and why I can't quit doing those douche-y air quotes when I say it.  I'd be interested in reading some others' opinions.  Do you use the word "psychic" to describe yourself?  Why or why not?

Legendary scryers: Frederick Hockley

Frederick Hockley (1809-1885) was a British occultist who was particularly fascinated with the practice of summoning spirits into crystals and mirrors.  His other interest included alchemy, Rosicrucianism, and later in life, Freemasonry.  An accountant by trade, he spent much of his free time visiting the British library and transcribing magical texts for his vast personal library.  Hockley's meticulously recorded scrying sessions spanned several decades.  In a lecture given in 1854, he claims to have thirty years of experience with crystallomancy.  Assuming he began in 1824, his practice predates both the Spiritualist movement and the Victorian occult revival spearheaded by the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.

 Despite his lifelong interest in the practice, Hockley apparently was not himself a gifted scryer.  Instead, he relied on the talent of a clairvoyant assistant (usually a young woman acting under hypnosis), who he termed his "speculatrix."  His most fruitful such partnership was with Emma Louisa Leigh, who began scrying for Hockley around the age of thirteen, and who died at the age of twenty.  Through her, Hockly received the answers to over 1,000 questions posed by him to a purportedly ascended spirit being, who he called C.A. (for Crowned Angel).  The result is a lengthy philosophical and cosmological document, which certainly exceeds what a Victorian girl of Leigh's age and education could be expected to generate.

Hockley published no books during his lifetime.  His output was in the form of lectures, letters and essays on magic and mysticism.  He was reputedly a generous lender of his personal library, and kept up an active correspondence with students and colleagues on the topics that interested him.  Virtually the only component of his practice that he did not share was the collection of spiritual diaries that detailed his scrying sessions.  These were dispersed after his death, and the contents mostly lost.  Of the thirty or more notebooks he is said to have compiled, only a few excerpts transcribed by one of his associates have survived.

However, we can gather some of his methods from the book "Invocating by Magic Crystals and Mirrors."  This short treatise originated as a hand-scribed and illustrated manuscript which Hockley presented for the medium Barbara Honywood (herself an accomplished watercolorist), probably to try and inspire her to scry for him.  Hockley was a devout Christian, and grew more and more devoted as a result of his lifelong work with spiritual entities.  Thus his tracts contain effusive prayers, invocation of angelic spirits, and precise formulae for the proper consecration of ritual objects.  For would-be scryers, Hockley prescribes a life of abstinence and piety in order to avoid the physical and mental problems that seemed to have befallen many clairvoyants and mediums of Hockley's day.

Maybe this speaks more to my ignorance that his obscurity, but I hadn't heard of Frederick Hockley until fairly recently.  His works are not much in print, and for that reason I think he's often overlooked.  It is almost certain that Hockley's manuscripts were circulated widely among members of the Golden Dawn, and strongly influenced the development of that organization.  Hockley also stands as a transitional figure between the venerable tradition of Renaissance magic whose grimoires he studied, and the eclectic occult revival which was soon to follow him.  For those who are interested in learning more about this fascinating figure (and who have moderately deep pockets), occult publisher Teitan Press is currently in the process of putting out some truly covetable fine editions of his major works.  Or, you can check out the book The Rosicrucian Seer (out of print, but available as used paperback and also online if you poke around), which compiles some of Hockley's papers into a single volume.

Further reading:

Teitan Press's Frederick Hockley Series.
Hamill, J.  The Rosicrucian Seer: The Magical Writings of Frederick Hockley (1986).
Samuel Scarborough. "Frederick Hockley: A Hidden Force behind the 19th Century Occult Revival" Journal of the Western Mystery Tradition 14:2. (2008).

Pagan annoyances, or demons I'd like to banish

 It can't all be sweetness and light.  Sometimes associating with the pagan/occult community can drive me to the end of my rope, so please indulge me in a bit of vitriol.  Here's three things that have been trying my patience lately:

Whining.  I get so tired of listening to people grouse about being so persecuted for the pagan path that they chose, and presumably enjoy.  So, Mom doesn't like that you go out to the woods to burn shit and dance naked?  Big deal!  (Unlesss you're fifteen)  You aren't comfortable discussing your Samhain plans with coworkers?  Boo hoo.  Save your outrage for the real injustices.  And please shut up about the Burning Times, capital B capital T.  I'm willing to bet that neither you nor anyone you've ever known has ever been in danger of being burned alive for your beliefs.  If you're living somewhere you can safely read this post, you're living somewhere that free speech and religious liberty have at least a fighting chance--for which you should be thanking every god you can think of.  So walk your chosen path with strength and integrity and quit expecting a pat on the back from everyone. 

Cheap, crappy incense.  Ah, there's nothing like wafting, fragrant smoke to set a sacred space and lift the spirit to higher places.  Unless your incense of choice is waxy sawdust doused with cloying solvent.  Here's how to tell if your incense is shit:  Does it come from a Renn Faire, dollar store, or head shop?  Does it smell like a bowl of grandma's potpourri (and grandma's been dead for 15 years)?  Anyway, good incense is like good pizza--just a couple bucks more, and totally worth it.

Eco-fascism. I live in a place that is plagued by swarms of mosquitoes in the summer.  Every year, we have local outbreaks of West Nile virus, which is transmitted by mosquitoes and which can be fatal.  I'm extremely susceptible to the bites (swollen limbs, sleepless nights, etc.), so I buy big spray can of insect repellent and carry it everywhere between May and September.  And it works.  Better than any solution I've tried before, anyway.  But at pagan gatherings, I courteously step away from the group to douse myself, and return to a chorus of unsolicited counsel:

"Oh, you should try eating more garlic.  Then you won't have to use that stuff."
 "You know what works great for mosquitoes?  Orange oil and clove oil." (No it doesn't.)
"Have you tried this organic brand?" (Hell no!)
Me: "No, what's the active ingredient?"
"Ummm..." (Because there isn't one.)

Yeah, I get it: The Earth is our mother and our home.  But let's not be ridiculous--every creature alive is programmed to look out for its immediate survival.  That's the way Momma Earth intended it, and that's what I plan to do.  So here, have some Diethyl M-Toluamide: Fffwwwwwwssssssssssssssshhhhhhhh.  You can thank me later.

Legendary scyers: Jeane Dixon

Before Sylvia Browne and James Van Praagh were camping out on late-night cable, there was Jeane Dixon (1904-1997), one of the first celebrity psychics of the modern era.  Dixon, now best known for her alleged prediction of the Kennedy assassination, reached millions of Americans through her syndicated newspaper column and popular autobiographies.   A professed Catholic who often wore a prominent crucifix, Dixon maintained that her prophetic abilities were a gift from God, and not in conflict with her Christian beliefs.  She rode a wave of increased interest in psi phenomena in the 1960s to a position of considerable influence.  Richard Nixon followed her predictions and met with her in person at least once, and she also advised Nancy Reagan during Reagan's White House years.

 Dixon made her predictions by gazing into a large, clear crystal ball in which she claimed to see scenes of future events.  The psychic, who had a penchant for self-mythologizing, claimed that a gypsy gave her the crystal when she was young and told her she would become a famous seer.  She made some correct public predictions which captivated believers, and some notable belly flops which caught the notice of the skeptics.  (The year 2000 came and went without a World War with China, a female U.S. president, or a cure for cancer.)  In the skeptical lexicon, her name is attached to the "Jeane Dixon effect"--the fallacy by which a psychic's "hits" are publicized and "misses" are downplayed or ignored, creating the illusion of accuracy.

Whether her talents were genuine or not, Dixon's legacy is that of a unique historic personage (and something of a kitsch icon).  Her prop of choice, that large crystal ball, fetched almost $12,000 in a 2009 auction of her personal effects.

Further reading:

Montgomery, Ruth.  A Gift of Prophecy: The Phenomenal Jeane Dixon (1965).
Dixon, Jeane.  My Life and Prophecies (1969).

Nineteen things that might help you scry, and one thing that definitely will

"Crystal-gazing shows how a substratum of fact may be so overlaid with mystic mummeries, incantations, fumigations, pentacles: and so overwhelmed in superstitious interpretations, introducing fairies and spirits, that the facts run the risk of being swept away in the litter and dust of nonsense." - Andrew Lang, Cock Lane and Common-Sense (1894)

Having read even a handful of books or articles on divination, I'm sure you'll immediately notice two things--authors tend to have strong opinions about what works, and their advice can be quite divergent and even contradictory.  For example, some people believe that it's difficult (or unlucky!) to read tarot cards for yourself, and other people maintain just the opposite point of view.  And since we're talking about the metaphysical here, there's no way to prove one right and the other wrong.  Here's a compilation of some of the "must do's" that I've seen or read over time:

• Leave your crystal, mirror or bowl out under the full moon to absorb its influence.
• Burn an incense that's suitable for your work. (Sandalwood, mace, and bay are some that are traditional for divination.)
• Invoke a god or spirit who can help you see what you desire.
• Inscribe your tool with prayers, words of power, sigils, or other formulas to enhance their efficacy.
• Gather scrying water from a sacred spring or other outdoor source.
• Place a light source behind you, so that it's indirectly reflected in the surface in front of you.
• Place a dark cloth or box around the speculum, so that no light is reflected in.
• Scry on a Monday.
• Scry during the full moon waxing moon, appropriate planetary hour, or astrologically favorable time.
• Scry at night, when your mind is closer to a hypnogogic state.
• Scry during the day, when you're less likely to fall asleep.
• Store your speculum wrapped your speculum in silk, to insulate it from outside influences.
• Rub mugwort on your speculum, smoke it, or drink it as a tea.  (Obviously, do your research before you ingest any herb.)
• Use chanting, drumming or singing to help you acheive trance.
• Make your own scrying mirror, so it will be uniquely imprinted with your essence and intention.
• Sleep with your tool under your pillow.
• Anoint your tool with a drop of your own blood to enhance the bond.
• Be a woman.  (Yes, it's a long-standing belief that women are more naturally seers, even though most of the famous ones throughout history have been men.)
• Recite a spell or rhyme before you sit down to scry.

And the one thing that will definitely help?

• Practice. (Duh.)

So far, I've avoided harping on the importance of regular, persistent practice in developing the ability to scry.  It's boring and obvious, and restating it over and over doesn't make it any easier to stick to.  But here it is, for the record:  The way to learn and grow in an occult discipline (or any discipline, really) is to do it--do it until you break through your resistances, do it until you find the methods that work for you, do it until your beginner's luck gives way to reliable proficiency.

As for the other ideas?  Some of them may work for you--the only way to know is to try them and see.  Just don't try them all at once.  Pick one or two at a time and keep a record of the results--that way you know what practices correlate with good results.  You can't really be scientific, but you can at least be systematic.

Ripples in a pond: Lecanomancy

Lecanomancy (from Greek lecane, "dish" or "pan") is the practice of divination by dropping objects into water.  The diviner observes the sound or shape of the water to gather omens about the future or distant present.  Stones or precious gems may be dropped in the water, and their ripples noted.  Or, the diviner may pour oil or dark colored liquid into clear water, and interpret the shapes formed as it pours.  Lecanomancy is closely related to water-scrying, and at times the two methods may overlap.  Unlike, say, tea-leaf reading, I haven't been able to find a source explaining what different types of ripples traditionally mean.  Which suggests that lecanomancy, like scrying, is mainly dependent on the seer's intuition and judgement, rather than on a prescribed set of rules.

Lecanomancy was recorded first in ancient Greece, where natural springs were considered to be sacred to the gods and good for scrying.  The popular practice of throwing coins into "wishing wells" may be descended from a European custom in which a maiden would drop a piece of gold into a well in order to catch a glimpse of her future husband.  Here's an example of a modern lecanomantic ritual, from the book Healing Crystals by Cassandra Eason:

For personal divination, ask a question and drop five moonstones into a crystal bowl of water lit by the moon or by silver candles. The ripples as each falls into the water will suggest an image in your mind’s eye and the five images will answer your question.

On her website, Eason also recommends scattering herbs across the surface of the scrying vessel, then reading the clusters of herbs, or the space in between.  Another tradition is to drop a shiny coin or pebble into the basin, then gaze at the submerged object instead of the water's surface.  Similarly, I've heard of painting a spot on the bottom of the vessel and fixing the eyes on the wavering point.  And recently I stumbled across this so-called Tibetan scrying bowl:  It has handles attached to the sides, which allow the scryer to gently agitate the surface of the water by gripping them with the hands.

Having read and experimented with water-scrying fairly widely, I've come to the conclusion that it is often useful to disrupt the surface of still water with one of the methods discussed.  A smooth plane of water can be too reflective--or just too blank.  Ripples, submerged objects, etc., can act as points of entry for the scryer to same way that rainbows, fractures, and inclusions in crystal are sometimes helpful.  Water has an advantage, though, in that you can disrupt it as much or as little as you need to in order to create the perfect canvas for your visions to emerge.

Yes, no, goodbye? Rosemary Ellen Guiley on Oujia

This week I caught an episode of the Paranormal Podcast, featuring Rosemary Ellen Guiley on the topic of Oujia boards.  The interview coincides with the release of Guiley's new book devoted to the history and lore of the Oujia, or "talking board," as the device is generically known.  She breezes through the Oujia's origins as a Spiritualist-era craze and its current status as a pop-culture icon and mainstay of urban legend.  But host Jim Harold keeps the conversation centered around one question:  Does the board really deserve its bad reputation?

 I've always marvelled at the knee-jerk reaction many people have to the very mention of Oujia--and not just people who are unfamiliar with or fearful of the occult.  I remember one time as a preteen, two friends and I pooled our allowance money to buy a Oujia board at the toy store.  It was the closest my liberal and rational-minded parents ever came to an outright prohibition of anything.  Much later, I became active in a paranormal group, where it was accepted as a truism that any pesky house-ghost manifestation could likely be traced back to a naive person playing with a Oujia board.  And of course I've heard plenty of New Age folks say matter-of-factly that Oujia allows "lower vibrations" to manifest, that it attracts "earthbounds," that it "opens a door" to astral cesspools, etc., etc.

So it's become a matter of course to shun the boards and blame them for all kinds of mayhem, from demonic possession to poltergeist activity to streaks of bad luck.  But why?  Why does Oujia occupy a category apart from other tools people use to access psychic information?  Isn't Oujia, based as it (probably) is on the ideomotor response of the body, basically just a form of dowsing?  How does using the board open a person up to unwholesome spiritual influences any more than say, automatic writing?  Is a paper and ink really more "visible" to predatory entities than a mediumistic individual, sans board?  I'm not denying that some people experience truly disturbing events related to Ouija use.  I just want to understand the mechanics here, and why this device is considered to be so especially dangerous.

Which is why I listed to Guiley's opinion with eager curiosity.  Her controversial position: Oujia gets a bad rap.  The board itself isn't evil, and it isn't fundamentally different than other spirit contact devices.  When asked why Oujia is associated with so much bad juju, she offers some different theories.  (I don't have the recording handy, so I'm going to paraphrase.) There's the prevalence of Oujia-related mischief in horror films, she says, which creates the expectation of fear in users.  Then there's also the ease of access for casually interested folks--people who would never go into a metaphysical shop to buy a dowsing rod can pick up a Parker Bros. board at Target.  And there's the internet, which allows fear-mongering and superstition to propagate out of control.  This interview was a treat.  I haven't totally made up my mind about Oujia yet, and I admire Guiley for having the guts to take an unorthodox stance and consider tough questions without spouting off cliches.  It doesn't stop her from rounding out her book with shocking and scintillating Oujia anecdotes--but hey, those make for good reading.

If you're interested in this topic, I recommend picking up a copy of Oujia Gone Wild, with co-author Rick Fisher.  Guiley's been working on the book for the last couple of years, and it's finally available through her website, visionaryliving.com.  (A digital edition is forthcoming.)  Has she been laying low since her sometime co-author, Philip Imbrogno, got busted for fabricating credentials and sources?  No matter.  It's great to see a new book from Guiley, and on such a perennially fascinating topic.