.:::. : '. THE : '. :: ::::. .:::. `:. .:::. :: .:' :: .:::. : :::: :: :: `. .' `. :: .' `. ::: :: :: : ' .' `. .` :: :: : : : :: : : :: : :: :: : :...: : :: :: .` `. .' :: `. .' :: ::: :: : , : : : .' :: ::::` `:::' ::::::. `:::' .:' :: :: `:::' .:' `:. ':::` PAPERS Compiled and Edited by Greg Webster - Issue 3 Volume 1 =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Ghostly Phenomenon - Personal Experiences =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I had intended to jump directly into this issue, without a needless lot of introduction. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, life has strange twists that make our standard situations and expectations change. This was started as the December 1995 issue, and I fully intended to send it out then. But, with all the things that usually crop up, once again things did not work out as planned. There's not much I can explain about why exactly things didn't happen as they were supposed to, but I can say that after this issue, expect things to change. I began this only a few months back, with certain expectations of what I wanted to do with it, and certain reasons for putting it out. I didn't want this to be entirely centered around the paranormal and the strangeness of our world, but I would expect that it's a pretty encompassing subject, and one that tends to take the forefront of anything it includes. I had intended a sharing between the talk we have been having about the the unusual things in the world, and some talk about the rules you need to get along in life, both rules for yourself, and what to expect for rules in the rest of the world. So, the write-up I have below I think encompasses both. It's basically about a strangeness in our world, but talks about it in a way that speaks more about ourselves than our environment. I don't know really what's going to happen for the next issue, or even if the next issue you receive will be "The Eidolonica Papers". Things are going to change, I just can't tell you now exactly how. If you find that the changes suit you, then I'm glad...but I expect for some of you the changes won't be welcome. The intent is not to insult or infuriate you, but I'll accept you asking to be dropped from the mailing list with no problems or hard feelings. We all have a path, and some people's paths are a little more like mine than others. Let me know if you would like to continue to subscribe to the Eidolonica Papers, no sense in sending out something that will not be read. So without much more ado.... The Ghosts behind our eyes =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- When humans developed society, we didn't have schedules longer than the day we were in. We worried about when the evening meal was coming, and what it would be. We hunted to find the food to keep us going for another day, and hunted to prove to ourselves that we existed, that we had each day had a direct and visible effect on the world that we were in. As we progressed from a hunter-gatherer society to an agricultural society our schedules grew longer. We timed ourselves by the season because we had to know when to plant the crops and when to harvest them. Our daily schedules became small parts of a larger picture. We thought about the future because in order to hold to the society we were working in we had to. Then we moved into a commercial society, at least partly. Still we had the crops to grow and the seasonal schedules for the basic members of society, the ones providing the food, but a larger and larger segment of our population has a schedule mixed between seasonal and a backstep to daily/monthly. Living on a fixed income, we've come to worry more about getting from one paycheck to the next and saving enough money to get through the "dry season" in the second week. Our long range plans only cover how much we can save -each month- into our retirement plans and holiday savings. So what's next, and why in the world am I talking about this in an issue covering ghostly phenomenon? Ghostly phenomenon to me has always been about seeing what is inside of us more than what might be "on the other side". It has always been said that certain people can see the ghosts while others are unable. Perhaps that was just a lie by false prophets and mediums to lead the less suggestible folks into believing they just didn't have the talent to see what was there. Maybe it is because certain people -do- have talents unrecognized in usual society specifically the talent to see into the ghostly spectrum. But maybe some see things and some don't because as society has moved forward the majority of individuals have grown away from our basic beginnings. In the first growth of our civilization we depended on the hidden spirits that were around us. We worshipped those beings who could affect our luck, the dieties of the hunter, and the sprites and spirits that lived in the trees, plants, and animals. I'm sure that the ghosts those people saw were seen as these dieties and spirits. Wise men had visions of where the best place to hunt might be, or dreams of plants in the woods that would help us in foods or medicines. When we moved into the agricultural stage we began to accept that things happened with a little less discourse on whether a spirit was in every plant of our crops. Our gods became much mightier...Odin sprang forth with Thor showering disbelievers with his terrific bolts of lightning. The gods began to live in the skies and under the earth instead of in the trees and the life-giving soil. Commercialism brought cities, and the people in the cities soon forgot the connection to the earth we had in the beginning. The gods grew in power and use, and a multitude of spirits were brought to life by the Romans and greeks, who had gods for every aspect of daily life...in the city or not. Prophets came and developed the reasoning we needed to move past our actions being controlled as pawn actions of the gods and let us think on our own. Buddha and Confucius came as men whose sayings and philosophies were worshipped instead of their powers or bodies. We changed from worshipping beings to worshipping doctrines, and still underlying all of it was a group of people unconnected in any real way who still saw the spirits of the forest...only they were visions of the dead in our past instead of living breathing beings that controlled parts of the physical world we didn't understand. When we lost our agricultural and seasonal approach to life we also lost our connection to the long term view of ourselves and began living in that present once more. The only thing was, we had a taste of living slowly which we've never forgotten. Now when we see our spirits, they belong to the past...reminding us that we are moving more quickly than we might be ready for. It seems like it is our time-frame that is haunting us, rather than the spirits of our ancestors. Now, you can draw your own conclusions...I leave it open-ended. I haven't said that the spirits don't exist, all I wish to make as a point is that perspective has changed, and what we once saw as forest spirits and fairies may be the same thing as what we saw as the gods among us may be the same thing as the ghosts of the dead we summon. O Ominous Spiritus. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I never know what Sanjay is going to come up with for me when I put out a request on a topic. He surprises me constantly with absolutely everything he writes, mainly because I always get the impression that what he writes could also have come from inside me, and I never knew I thought that way. Me And My Shadow ================ This is a strange topic for me to write about. Personally, I don't believe in ghosts, spirits, or even the bogeyman. Maybe they're out there, but if they don't really have that much of an impact on my life, then why should I care? Out of sight, out of mind, pass the pretzels. Of course, sometimes, things just happen that I can't deny. It's strange. A friend called me the worlds only honest cynic. I didn't really like the term, but I guess it's better than being closed minded. I'm not going to close my eyes and cover my ears every time that something challenges how I would like to view the world. I could, but then I'd be no better off than if I just stayed at home and hid under the covers all day. But I digress. This is actually something that happens fairly often. I'm not sure why, and I can't think of a rational explanation for it, but I seem to have a guardian angel lurking in the shadows, following me wherever I go. It's a little frustrating actually. I can't just dismiss these 'encounters' as pure chance (I don't believe in coincidence), but I can't accept the explanation that it was granted by a 'higher power' either. It's one of the few aspects of my life that doesn't make any rational sense... And yet, it happens. Last year, I was walking to class. The sidewalk was icy, and it was just an unpleasant day. I wasn't paying too much attention to the world around me, but that was fine, because I didn't really care either. Then all of a sudden I felt something pulling back on my coat. I looked up and a car just sped through the intersection that I was about to walk through, and I someone had held me back. I looked around, but there wasn't anyone close enough that could have done it, but I know that it happened. I know what I felt. It was real. There have always been little things that happen too. Both before and after that day. It always seemed that whenever I was about to be crushed by the weight of the universe pressing down on me, the load would lighten. There would be no reason, no explanation, not even any tangible way of identifying it, something would just come along that would make carrying the universe a little easier. More recently, I can tell you about something that happened a couple of nights ago. I had an article typed up and ready to send to Greg, but I heard a little voice that said "don't send it to him." I've learned over the years, that when this voice speaks, I should listen to it. And then this morning, the voice returns and tells me to write about that day at the intersection. And here we are. You'll probably see the other article eventually, but it didn't really fit in with the ghostly nature of this issue. I think this one does. Maybe one day, I'll find the answer. Maybe I'll find out that someone is watching my back, and pushing me in the right direction. Maybe I won't. I still a sceptic, but some things are just too hard to deny. This is one of them. This issue is dedicated to Sanjay Singh. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= And another submission from a favorite regular, W. Burns. At least some credit for the changes I will make goes to this contributor, the sharing of his poetry had made me think that we could perhaps use more in here. Greg Webster, Editor EIDOLONICA PAPERS Dear Editor Greg: My most intense sensations with ghosts have been with my deceased grandparents. My Grandmother Burns passed away, Spring 1977. My youngest son has seen her in our back yard at night, near the wind chime. He describes the woman he's seen as a dark haired lady in a sweater, surrounded by several cats. Mind you, he has grown up hundreds of miles away from my family and there is no way that he can know that she had a thing about collecting cats. There is only one photograph of her, and she is neither wearing a sweater nor are there any cats. I wrote the following poetry in response to her absence. Grandmother Burns =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= What do you see beyond the shadows Grandmother? I weep here at your tomb. I weep the tears that a boy of ten could not muster. The tears that a boy of ten could not understand. What do you see beyond the shadows? Are you warm? Are you at peace? Did you get to talk to God? Did he answer the questions that you saved just for him? I can still see your hand reaching down to a boy of five. I see you in the morning fixing pancakes. I see you letting a boy with sticky fingers pretend that he is helping you. I see your smile.... O dear Grandmother... Why couldn't I cry when they put you in that damned cold box? Why couldn't I cry then when it mattered? I can remember... Your hands still reach in my memory. Your face still caresses me with a smile. Your soul still walks in my dreams. Sometimes we make pancakes and I cry. Grandmother Pennington passed away in the autumn of 1992. I was burning leaves in the back yard when they called. I returned to West Virginia for the funeral. I stayed with my aunt in a bed my cousin had slept in. As I drifted off, she came to me and said, "Oh, Billy, its ever so much more than I imagined." I let her go, she wanted to get back. Grandmother Pennington =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The night you died I lit a candle and put it in the window Did you see it? I prayed Did you listen in? Thelma =-=-=- They called I always get bad news over the phone I built a fire in the garden It being winter the corn didn't mind Bout the biggest fire I have ever built There was a great roaring and crackling And the sparks shot up into the darkening sky Like angles Like souls going to heaven I know the ashes fall back and become dirt But not until the fire is gone out of them The fire continues on . . . Grandfather Pennington passed away in 1993, about a year after his wife. In both of the instances of my grandmothers, there was nothing until after the funeral. In my Grandfather's case I felt his presence in the car on the trip up to West Virginia. There was this intense pressure on my right arm, someone in the back seat of the car. I tried speaking to the rider, but received no response. This went on for awhile, then there was this soft brushing of my hair, like a farewell pat and he was gone. William E. Pennington =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= A gray cap on the table A red truck named Augie Trout and Red bone hounds running even with the evening star Snow on a tin roof Visions fall from the evening sky leaves collecting on my head I wouldn't shut them off even if I could A warm chocolate stove Hot point freezer covered with Thanksgiving pies Honey bees and Apples . . . yes apples . . . Visions of you as you were Raven haired hawk beaked Strong, weathered hands How many times have those hands reached out in my dreams? Held berries when my hands were too soft? Held my arm when the rocks were slippery What can I say to my mother? What can I say to your children? Here is his blood Here in your hands Honor the rivers running under your skin That you might remember him if not in your mind Then in your heart . . . in your blood finis end transmission =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Subscriptions may be relayed to: Kick@freenet.vancouver.bc.ca Submission go to the same place. I've managed to get my act together a wee bit and get a ftp location for you folks...ftp.etext.org. I'm not sure what directory level the files are at just yet (I don't have real FTP access myself), but I've been told the directory is called 'Eidolonica'. Submissions on next month's topic will be accepted until the 20th of that month. I hold the right to edit things as I choose for any reason I feel is appropriate, but keep in mind that I hate doing it, so your submissions will probably be safe from my evil hands. Everything here is (c) 1996 unless I say otherwise. You may feel free to copy it for any non-profit use you wish, as long as it remains unedited. If you wish to edit something for use, or wish to charge money in any way for what you read here, then you MUST contact me for permission. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= _.,-~^~-,._.,-~^~-,._.,-~^~-,._ | Greg Webster | El que siembra vientos | Kick@freenet.vancouver.bc.ca| cosecha tormentas. Caras vemos ^~-,._.,-~^~-,._.,-~^~-,._.,-~^ corazones no sabemos.