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| Fall of the Berlin Wall, 1989 |
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| Robert Graves |
PRECISELY
WHEN IT ALL STARTED is worth putting on the record. It was around 0320 hours
Kuala Lumpur time, 10th November, 1989. In Berlin it would have been approximately
2020 hours, November 9th. Just about the time The Wall was being dismantled.
What
happened to me and my friend Mary Maguire at that particular time could be
called a transdimensional breakthrough. I know it sounds rather pompous, considering how silly the entire exercise might
appear to certain people.
What were
we doing? Fooling around with a what?
A ouija board. And who did you say
contacted you? Robert Graves. Which
Robert Graves? The famous poet, scholar and author? The man who wrote The White Goddess and I, Claudius and Claudius the God?
Ha ha,
nice try.
Look, I'm
not in the habit of attending seances, reading tea leaves, or playing with
ouija boards. And until this thing happened I didn't even know who Robert
Graves was. Nor had I read any of his books or poems, believe it or not.
Hmmmm...
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| Arthur Koestler |
That's a
perfectly understandable response. This is the Age of the Mighty Microchip. We
don’t burn witches anymore. The Ghost In
The Machine? Isn't that the name of a Police album? Well, it's also the
title of an Arthur Koestler book I never got round to reading. But I always
liked the image it conjured. As a young man I was greatly stimulated by
Koestler. When he turned, in his later years, to parapsychological research I
was pleased. Here was an intellect of undeniable probity and precision lending
itself to serious investigation of the more mystical areas of metaphysics. It
could only signal one thing: that the mind of contemporary man was undergoing a
shift from the red end of the energy spectrum to the blue. In Koestler's own
terms: from the Commissar back to the Yogi.
Events in
Europe since November 1989 have borne out this spectrum shift. Witness the
dramatic transfiguration of the sociopolitical status quo in what used to be
called the Soviet bloc. For humanity as a whole, however, the blue-shift toward
spiritual reintegration has not been progressing smoothly. The collective
consciousness of most industrial nations remains stubbornly mired in the
intellectual materialism that has engendered varying degrees of concealed totalitarianism.
In far too many instances the primitive hostility and obscurantism which
springs from Fear still rules the imaginations of influential men and women who
rule the hearts and minds of entire populations.
Now you
may ask: what has this to do with ouija boards and posthumous dialogues with
famous poets?
I have
long been convinced that all brutishness, greed, malice and deceit stem from
assorted fears - and all fears ultimately arise from Fear of the Unknown. And
the Ultimate Unknown is Death.
The
“Godfearing" fear God's punishment: everlasting death. In view of this I
have - like any civilized soul - assiduously practised the overcoming of my own
thanatophobia. My fear of death, in other words.
But it is
one thing to confront the evident inevitability of physical death on a purely
conceptual level - and quite another to find yourself enjoying a cup of tea and
a friendly chat with someone who allegedly expired several years ago. Anyone
who has experienced something like this stands a good chance of acquiring
fearlessness.
Let me try
and explain how these transdimensional dialogues with "Robert Graves"* came about. When "Robert"
broke through on the ouija board he seemed to have been drawn to the scene by
Mary's presence. Before the session with the board Mary had been reclining on a
couch. "Robert" mentioned that she had reminded him of someone he
used to know, someone named Eddie: a pensive and languid lad of 19 who -
heartbroken with jealousy - had drowned himself in a pond.
"Robert"
also reported that he was attracted to my thought-field which he described as
"friendly." After about an hour of conversing via the board (with
astonishing fluency, I must add) I intuited that Mary and "Robert"
were sufficiently attuned to one another's mental frequency for her to attempt
direct channeling with pen and paper.
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| Robert Graves with his muse in Deya, Mallorca |
Mary had
had no prior experience with the process called automatic writing (I personally
prefer the term spontaneous writing)
– but she took to it with remarkable ease. Looking over her shoulder as she worked,
I was struck by her aura of secretarial efficiency. The erratic spelling and
non-existent punctuation were all hers - but the substance and syntax were
clearly emanating from a mysterious source. Whenever I wanted to comment on
something or ask a question, I would verbalize it as if addressing a presence
in the room. I also tried directing questions at "Robert"
telepathically - but the results were unpredictable and inconsistent. Later, as
I developed the ability to "channel" I found it unnecessary to
vocalize my thoughts and questions.
My own
initial attempts at channeling were a little "choppy" till I managed
to relax completely and suspend all disbelief. The flow became smoother as I
lost my self-consciousness and stopped wondering how much of it was
"me." It's interesting to note that after "Robert" made the
transition to an expanded frequency range I gradually took on Mary's role of
"scribe"`and began to perform spontaneous writing exercises
with greater regularity, to keep my neural pathways open.
Spontaneous writing is not unlike keeping a diary -
but here the emphasis is on one's inner life. The act of opening the notebook
and uncapping my pen seems to trigger a special circuit that plugs me into
Inspiration at its source.
Perhaps
it's a way of transmuting the contents of the sub- and superconscious into
everyday Consciousness. In any case the process of letting "strange”
signals flow through my brain and onto paper teaches me not to take the limits
of my egoic existence too seriously.
I must
include three other observations: (i) a degree of skill with translating
thought into language definitely helps and both Mary and myself can lay claim
to being writers of one species or another; (ii) both of us have dabbled in
theater and might therefore be described as empathetic by temperament; (iii)
during the first encounter with "Robert" we had both been psychically
primed by a few cups of strong tea
laced with the juice of psilocybin mushrooms.**
Our
experience of euphoria and heightened awareness lasted several weeks beyond the
initial contact with "Robert". I first began to feel the gravity of
mundane reality again after witnessing newsreels of the carnage in Romania on
Christmas Eve.
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| Robert Graves in his 50s |
THE
ABILITY TO CHANNEL is a faculty inherent in everyone, though certain types of
individuals seem more predisposed to developing their sensitivity as mediums.
Poets, composers, dancers, writers, sculptors, painters, and orators have
traditionally acknowledged their personal daemons and muses. The same gift of
inspiration has also manifested itself in the lives of many scientific
geniuses. Scriptures have been revealed by similar process through the agency
of individuals with specialized neural pathways. What's truly surprising,
therefore, is that people seem to have grown so grossly unmindful of their
spiritual links to all the other dimensions of being. If heightened awareness
leads to greater awakeness then a huge percentage of the human race is fast
asleep. Asleep to its own divine origin and destiny, to its own true potential.
So where the hell is it all coming
from?
Bearing in
mind that any working model of Reality can at best be considered a tool to help
us attain some conscious mastery of our lives, let's examine the arcane
teaching that Human Experience is essentially a 7-dimensional affair. And to
simplify things let's call these dimensions "levels" - or frequency
bands.
Lower
frequencies generate greater apparent mass or solidity. So we may visualize the
different levels as a series of "kingdoms" of ascending sublimity:
mineral, vegetable, animal, elemental, mental, archangelic, deific. The
"higher" levels incorporate and complement the "lower" and
vice versa. Where does the human being fit in? It varies from one individual to
another. The fully realized individual functions consciously on all seven
levels. The vast majority of humans, however, appear to be enmeshed in the
specific dramas of Levels 3, 4 and 5.
Level 3 is
the physical plane, the animal being with its amazing sensory structures. What
we call 3-dimensional reality, the tangible world.
Level 4 is
the elemental (or astral) plane where the sense of space does not exist (or if
it does, it's highly elastic): this is where we "go" in our dreams
and in states of death or deep trance. Devas, demons, and disembodied souls
abound on Level 4. Thought-forms of limited volition abide in this timeless
Twilight Zone that could well be an aspect of Time itself.
The realm
of pure thought - Level 5 - is where the Muses live. This is where the
Intellect originates, where the Imagination becomes articulate. Five is the firmament
of Mind where Ideas float like clouds.
It is the
sacred grove where the Poet trysts with his Beloved and is consumed by
Eternity. When Mary and I first met "Robert Graves" (a well-named
ghost, I had quipped) the man had been disincarnate for nearly four years,
earthtime. The Poet was one at last with his White Goddess and
"Robert" had himself become a full-fledged Muse.
On Level 6
the ego-personality diffuses into the perfect principle of cosmic love,
compassion, and healing light. Here the concept of gender is irrelevant. Six is
rightly called the archangelic realm, for it is through archangelic action that
the lower kingdoms are sustained. In the myth of Lucifer/Prometheus the Archangel/Titan
is erroneously said to have "fallen from Grace"; in truth the Bringer
of Light voluntarily forswears Godhood in order to rescue other sentient souls
trapped in the lower realms.***
Similarly,
the emotive force of the Christ initiation lies in the idea of a voluntary
fall, crucifixion, resurrection and return to the Godhead which, for us, is the
Absolute Reality of Level 7. In effect "where the hell it's all coming
from" is wholly relative to what level of awareness we’re functioning at.
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| Robert Graves in his 60s |
"ROBERT
GRAVES" developed into a splendid transdimensional conundrum for us.
Having introduced himself as Mary's platonic lover from her previous life he
went on to become my spirit friend from Level 5 - and eventually established
contact with me on a heroic, archetypal and mythic level - playing Zeus to my
Cronos, Castor to my Pollux, Romulus to my Remus, and so forth. Finally
"Robert" extended his being onto Levels 6 and 7 and was transformed
into the voice of our own infinite potential.
Eventually
we were faced with a difficult decision: whether to go public with the material
or limit it to a manageable circle of friends. "Robert" himself at
one point expressed his indifference as to the outcome of our sessions. He said
he trusted us with the material. We toyed with the idea of publishing
anonymously or under a pseudonym. But then why mystify what's already and
always mysterious? Besides (I reminded myself) all names are ultimately
meaningless. Nonetheless I've always found anonymous notes, phonecalls, tracts
or reviews extremely annoying. So we see-sawed between doubt and decision for a
while until one day it suddenly became very clear: the "Robert"
contact had restored and reinforced my sense of purpose and given Mary a whole
new perspective on her life (or rather, lives)
Why couldn’t it do the same for others?
Encouraged
by the open-minded interest shown by many of our friends and by the outstanding
example of inspired sensitives like H.P. Blavatsky, Alice A. Bailey, Jane
Roberts, Dorothy Maclean and David Spangler (to name but a few) Mary and I felt
we simply had to do our bit for the Aquarian Dispensation. whereupon
"Robert" waxed enthusiastic and gave us his unconditional blessings.
To Mikhail
S. Gorbachev we owe a very special debt of gratitude for reminding us of the
virtues of glasnost and the power we
hold in our own hands for perestroika
on a planetary scale.
Antares (Kit Leee)
Kuala Lumpur,
Easter
Sunday, 1990
______________________________________________________________________
* Robert’s name occurs in
quotes because there has thus far been no incontrovertible proof that we were
in contact with the surviving intelligence of the late great poet. However, our
subsequent research into Graves' life and work has only reinforced the feeling
that it was him all right. In any case all names are ultimately unimportant
except as a form of "station identification."
** I have myself
eaten the hallucinogenic mushroom, psilocybe, a divine ambrosia in immemorial
use among the Masatec Indians of Oaxaca Province, Mexico; heard the priestess
invoke Tlaloc, the Mushroom-god, and seen transcendental visions. Thus I
wholeheartedly agree with R. Gordon Wasson, the American discoverer of this
ancient rite, that European ideas of heaven and hell may well have derived from
similar mysteries. ~ Robert Graves, in his foreword to The Greek Myths, 1960
*** "The Manichaean
tradition knows that the Holy Ghost is the transformed Lucifer and the dove is
the transformed serpent; and that the Grail was once formed from the precious
stone in the crown of Lucifer and was filled with the blood of Christ who
redeems Lucifer himself." ~ Trevor Ravenscroft, The Cup of Destiny
The controversial Gnostic teacher John Lamb Lash suggests that Lucifer, like Pan, was deliberately conflated with the Devil/Satan by the Roman Church as part of a strategy to disconnect humans from Mother Nature. Indeed, Lash makes a convincing case that Lucifer and Sophia are interchangeable names for what he calls the Planetary Animal Mother, source of all life in the solar system.
The controversial Gnostic teacher John Lamb Lash suggests that Lucifer, like Pan, was deliberately conflated with the Devil/Satan by the Roman Church as part of a strategy to disconnect humans from Mother Nature. Indeed, Lash makes a convincing case that Lucifer and Sophia are interchangeable names for what he calls the Planetary Animal Mother, source of all life in the solar system.
TO BRING THE DEAD TO
LIFE
by Robert Graves
To bring
the dead to life
Is no
great magic.
Few are
wholly dead:
Blow on a
dead man's embers
And a live
flame will start.
Let his
forgotten griefs be now,
And now
his withered hopes;
Subdue
your pen to his handwriting
Until it prove
as natural
To sign
his name as yours.
Limp as he
limped,
Swear by
the oaths he swore;
If he wore
black, affect the same;
If he had
gouty fingers,
Be yours
gouty too.
Assemble
tokens intimate of him -
A seal, a
cloak, a pen:
Around
these elements then build
A home
familiar to
The greedy
revenant.
So grant
him life; but reckon
That the
grave which housed him
May not be
empty now:
You in his
spotted garments
Shall
yourself lie wrapped.
[First posted 23 June 2015, reposted 9 November 2015, 9 November 2017
& 10 November 2019]
