The Wild Hunt

The origin of Sinterklaas (Santa Claus) and his helpers has sometimes been associated with the "Wild Hunt" of the Norse wind God, Odin.  [Teutonic god, Woden].  The Wild Hunt is also known from post-medieval folklore, and evokes images of the frenzy of battle, and the terror inspired by death. 

The Wild Hunt by Franz von Stuck

The Wild Hunt is a folk tale originating from Europe, and involves a group of huntsman who are presumed ghosts, who pass through the wild in pursuit of humans as game. 

These hunters may be assumed as fairies, elves or even the dead.  The leader of the Hunt is Odin, and all of whom are lost spirits, both male and female.  Odin passes through persistent darkening skies, amidst great mid-winter storms of angry wind, clapping thunder and violent lightening.
  

Odin appears on his gallant white horse, called Sleipnir, who carries him swiftly through the air, leading his army of lost souls.  Sleipnir also possessed 8 legs, which must have aided him in his ability to carry Odin very swiftly, with his feet never touching the earth.

Odin's ever-present companions are two black ravens, Huginn and Muninn, who were the carriers of news - the good or bad behavior of the mortals, below - and report back to Odin, after listening to people through their rooftops.   Huginn and Muninn's role as Odin's messengers have long been associated with shamanic practices, the Norse raven banner, general raven symbolism among the Germanic peoples, and the Norse concepts of the fylgja (is a spirit who accompanies a person in connection to their fate or fortune) and the hamingja (either the personification of the good fortune or luck of an individual or family, or the altered appearance of shape-shifters).

In his nocturnal procession, are huge, vicious, black hounds that bay ceaselessly through the icy winds, and have been described as having red eyes the size of saucers. 

"The Bearer of Death is a term used in describing the Hellhound. Hellhounds have been said to be as black as coal and smell of burning brimstone. They tend to leave behind a burned area wherever they go. Their eyes are a deep, bright, and almost glowing red. They have razor sharp teeth, super strength and speed, and are commonly associated with graveyards and the underworld. Hellhounds are called The Bearers of Death because they were supposedly created by ancient demons to serve as heralds of death. According to legend, seeing one leads to a person's death. Sometimes it is said to be once; other times it requires three sightings for the curse to take effect and kill the victim. These factors make the Hellhound a feared symbol and worthy of the name “Bearer of Death”. The Hellhound has been seen several times throughout history, and it is not specific to any one place. The most recent sightings occurred in Connecticut, Kentucky, Louisiana, Ohio, and Vilseck, Germany, in or near cemeteries."  -wiki

Artwork by Howard Johnson, source: pinterest

Finally, as part of his war-band, and at this side, Odin is also accompanied by his warrior wife, Frigga [Frig or Frigg].   Frigg is known as the goddess of motherhood and marriage, and the keeper of domestic arts.  She possesses the power of prophecy, but does not disclose this information.  Frigg is the wife of Odin, queen of the Æsir, and goddess of the sky.  To underline the importance of Frigg as part of the Wild Hunt, one must consider that she is the only one who is permitted to sit on Odin's high seat "Hlidskjalf" and look out over the universe. 

If you were unfortunate enough to witness the Wild Hunt, you may be the hapless augur of such events like war, pestilence or the plague and surely, death will follow.  

Some mortals who did not meet their demise as witnesses, would mysteriously vanish, and may have been carried into the Underworld or a Fairy Kingdom, as the soul was pulled from the body to join the army of the soul-less. 

Melissa Snark, wrote:  "As people continued to settle in the region, Odin’s path for the Wild Hunt remained unchanged. Once he traveled a road, he would continue to travel it for eternity, so people who tried to build their houses on the old roads he once used would find their home’s burnt down as a result of his hunt. In fact, it was best to leave his routes completely untouched, as anything within his path would be set ablaze in his wake.


To protect themselves during the Wild Hunt, people learned to throw themselves at the ground when the host stampeded through the area to avoid getting hit. They also took to carrying a piece of steel and a piece of bread with them as they made their way to church for Yule. They believed that throwing the bread for the dogs if they encountered them first would offer some protection. If, on the other hand, they first encountered a rider wearing a broad-rimmed hat, they would throw the piece of steel in front of them. Still others believed they could avoid being swept up altogether by the hunt if they asked the riders for parsley."

There is a bright side, however.  If one joined the Wild Hunt, in earnest and sincerity, one may be rewarded with silver or gold.  

Google Images, Artists not cited

“When the winter winds blow and the Yule fires are lit, it is best to stay indoors, safely shut away from the dark paths and the wild heaths. Those who wander out by themselves during the Yule-nights may hear a sudden rustling through the tops of the trees – a rustling that might be the wind, though the rest of the wood is still.“But then the barking of dogs fills the air, and the host of wild souls sweeps down, fire flashing from the eyes of the black hounds and the hooves of the black horses.” -Kveldulf Hagen Gundarsson 

Peter Nicolai Arbo (1831–1892) - Title "Norsk bokmål: Asgårdsreien,  1872

Gif images - tumblr

Oblivion's Throes

About this poem:

"Oblivion's Throes" is a poem that I wrote in December, 2015.  In this 4-part elegy, I  attempt to describe how I experience visions of angels who are preparing me for death, through my delirium of fever.   ~Denise Goodwin

OBLIVION'S THROES

I. 

Outside, the sky was alight, lazuline and gold,
Which begins to describe a summer's day, of old;
When I entertained unexpected company,
Under a slumbering canopy of trees,
Where we hoped to capture even the faintest breeze.
It was all a vain attempt to escape such humidity.
But, the trees gave scant reprieve, on that sultry day;
Their leaden leaves drooped in liquid, languid repose;
Heavy and listless, against the changed sky,
Now of indigo, amethyst and rose.
Heady blossoms released intoxicating essence,
and sweetly perfumed the air and our presence.
How distinctly I recall the scents, from that day of summer;
I mused they knew not time, the month or hour.
And yet, their fragrance haunted and hovered,
much like a concerned and doting young mother.
In that moment, on that afternoon, beneath the trees,
It seemed to me, the world was in deep contemplation.
(This was my passing observation)

II.

The soggy trees and the incessant heat,
are still fresh and alive, in my memory.
When, alas! a sudden trill disturbed my lethargy.
I bowed forward, toward a curious face, known not unto me.
She sat, like royalty, in an ornate chair of bleached vintage rattan.
Donning a gossamer gown of beaded lace and white chiffon.
She whisked air over her face, with a delicate, ivory fan.
I observed scant droplets trickle down her sculptured throat;
And, over the thin brow, where golden tendrils met skin,
I moved closer, so that I may hear the words she spoke,
as her voice was paper thin.
I leaned in, with a sense urgency;
As if it were a necessity, for I must see,
this vapid apparition.
As I beheld, the eyes of whom the sun hath set,
over a rippling river, 'twas then I realized,
I heard not words, only a mournful whimper.
Yet, the eyes were vacant, and gave no reaction.
When suddenly, my own gaze was distracted,
I watched her pull fine filament, and wove a tapestry,
with no design, or plan or map.
Her pale and nimble fingers pulled white threads;
from needlepoint she held upon her lap.
And, all the while, a companion stood behind her,
like a royal Chamberlain, or a brooding chauffeur.
He appeared to await her orders,
or, to intercept or accept her callers;
Or more cynically, me thinks,
He was a swine, she had brought to slaughter.
In his hand, belled melting ice against a crystal globe,
which contained a pearlescent ooze; What, I did not know.
He, too, suffocated from the humidity and the heat;
As I noticed, he had loosed his tie,
and wore nothing on his feet.
I took a chair, opposite, consort and the fairy maiden,
and watched her fingers work, in utter fascination.
Not a word was spoken, as I slowly nodded, entranced;
I had not heard the vesper bells,
nor had I known, that sunset had advanced.

III.

I awoke quite rested,
In the chair that I had nested;
Yet, I did not recognize this location,
As it lacked the former illumination,
And the summer's day had grown cold.
Shipwrecked, from a storm and tossed to sea,
These were the frenzied words that came to me;
As I struggled in the shadows of oblivion's throes.
I had not a candle, nor a lantern to carry me hence,
my heart was heavy in a despairing lament.
Hoary frost has settled across the patio,
and all was veiled and wrought with snow.
Alone in this cold hollow,
I called out to the unknown,
Bellowing frantically to either friend or foe.
Yet, returned to me, was merely an echo;
An echo from above, or below;
I do not know.

IV.

Here, in my delirium, I awaited exultation;
I anticipated that the clouds would burst, in joyful elation.
But, the sky did not open, ablaze in hopeful glory,
Nor had I been given a chance, to repeat this story.
Lo, no voices were heard; and, all remained undisturbed.
I questioned and considered the uncertainty,
And, discovered that my body was no longer fatigued;
Hot tears fell, as I could not control nor pacify reality.
I had been aflame in fever, accompanied by the divine;
She had stitched a shroud, into which I had climbed.
And, it was her familiar, who had carried me;
Where bitter wind, my only friend, is my eternity.
No crashing sea, nor blooming flowers keep me company;
Forever eclipsed in a ivory swaddle, sewn just for me. 
Paradise, for me, it seems, is this cold and lonely hollow, 
Where each day repeats, and in that I must sleep. 

© Denise Goodwin, All Rights Reserved
Written and published on moonspyre.blogspot.com on December 13, 2015

Image credits:

1. rinostefanotagliafierro.com
De la roche Kunst le rs Toten bett (animated)

2. dailymail.co.uk
Gabriel von Max --The Ecstatic Virgin Anna Katharina Emmerich (animated)

Dreams and The Sea

I have written *poetry for many years, and will concede that it frequently has a dark flavor.  I suppose it is the means in which I process emotions, and is a safe way for me to rant about topics of which I cannot otherwise write.  Today, I have selected 4 original poems to share with you that are related to water and/or dreams.   I post with a bit of trepidation, as I fear criticism.  On the other hand, I feel that one cannot write without a feeling of dread, for our egos are easily bruised and it is healthy to keep ourselves in check!  

"I Remember Thee" are the words on my grandmother's gravestone.  Though I had her in mind while writing this poem, I held onto the notion of a man sailing off to sea, never to be seen again.  This poem represents what could have been left behind.

Similarly, "Down to Sea" is my memory of living on the harbor in Gloucester, Massachusetts.  As I looked out of my apartment window, across the harbor was the Fisherman's Statue, and down that same Boulevard was The Fisherman's Wives Statue.  This poem is about an elderly woman that I would sometimes speak with, and I embellished my thoughts to create this poem.

"Water Dreams" is intentionally meant to be surreal and is what I consider to be free verse.

Finally, the poem "Oblivion's Throes" is a 4-part tale that I attempted to describe sublime to decline, and it describes the visions or journey, of a person who is dying, and then the eventual realization that it is the end.

I REMEMBER THEE

She wakes to the sound of thunder;

The clamoring roar hath disturbed her slumber;

Tossing,

Turning,

She listens,

as it changes by degrees.

The rain splashes over eaves,

and onto leaves of grand oak trees.

It drops down crawling tendrils of verdant vine,

Bruising morning glories, and drowns the heads of columbine.

It falls through the sinewy trellis of cross stitched lattice;

Branches scrape the window panes with skeletal scratches.

It plunges and splashes, pooling onto the earth below.

With the wailing wind, she hears a distant murder of crows.

And, as the rain begins to wane, and is slowly dying;

The cunning moon resorts to spying,

as it seeks its source.

The percussion is an echo of the ocean, that is undying,

Repeating a fading concussion, beating onto shore.

And, as it winks light through its gossamer veil,

She scarcely dresses, and softly exhales.

Barefoot, she steps out of doors,

onto the weathered wood of a decrepit porch.

She gathers the fabrics of her night skirts,

to walk a path of decaying planks and dirt;

Exposing a thin limb of porcelain flesh,

As the deluged earth caresses every step.

The night has awakened the lilies, and the musky scent of yarrow.

She travels to the crowning mound, that emerges like an ancient barrow.

She bends at the rosebush that once soothed a pulsing heart;

Arising like a royal sentinel, it now stands guard.

She reaches for a sodden flower,

One, the rain had drowned, and the earth devoured;

Waking the velvet petals, from their dreamy rest.

A single crimson pearl manifests from a fingertip,

as a pointed thorn pierces skin.

She looks to sea and sky, and onto the foamy shore;

Her heart now, is barely beating;

Like the tide, receding.

Faint and faltering, like a canyon echo.

As she recalls the gentle words so long ago.

He left her with a kiss and flashed a smile.

"With a fortune I'll return...I'll only be gone for a while."

Beside the roses, is a grey stone, etched with a sailing mast,

and inscribed with words of three,

Beneath the stars and the thunderclouds, and the incessant sea:

It silhouettes the barren womb, 

the eternal chamber of an empty tomb,

"I Remember Thee".

© Denise Goodwin, All rights reserved.

DOWN TO SEA

One morning, I watched her from my window, 
Outside, in the fog and drizzling rain,
She is alone, and wandering, 
down the lane again.

Near at hand, 
the grayish sea batters land.

She is wearing that same thin lavender frock,
with a pattern of flowers, sprinkled through-out.
As I watched her bull-legged, elderly pace, 
I recognized the distinctly crooked face, 
I wonder, what returns her to this place?

From the large pockets sewn at each side 
of that thread-bare day dress, 
Crooked fingers extract a cotton handkerchief, 
that she presses to her face.

As she looks out to the cheerless sea, 
cruel and angry, on this day;
What is it, that she holds in her memory?

Though many dawns have come and gone,
and the inevitable conclusion has been drawn;
The imagery, is still in our minds.
As she is one of many wives, 
who said goodbye,
and then, waited patiently.

Far out to sea, they sailed; 
Perhaps a sou'east wind prevailed.

Trawling familiar grounds, 
Into waves, crashed the stern and bow;
When lo, the ship was troubled, 
Something fore or aft had broke and buckled.

Imagine the pushing and shoving,
the fumbling and grumbling;
Among the white caps, and warning bells claps;
The creaking, crushing, bubbling, and flooding,  
From the ship, that was buckling.

Suffering such terror and dread,
Grown men crying, 
as if dreaming;
The gulls were flying, 
calling, screaming, 
over head.

© Denise Goodwin, All rights reserved

WATER DREAMS (Free Verse)

The faucet is leaking.
Collecting rust 'round porcelain
like a bloody stain.

The slow, obnoxious drip,
drip,
drip,
down the rusted drain.
I hear it's drip in concert
with the grey and falling rain.

I listen to the hollow echo,
Hear the persistent allegro,
Whispering my name.
Voices call to me, from beneath;
I opine, the weary finds no relief.

At the river's edge, 
my love awaits;
Hand outstretched, 
as I reach, it fades.

I contemplate that drowning offers sleep.
O, to submit to such relaxation,
and the thought is sweet.

Subsequently, I am standing at the shore,
Where the salt and sand swirl round my feet.
Dreams of water, water dreams,
The moon is aglow over a turbulent sea.

At dawn, I awake with a revelation.
Disturbing and deep, was my sedation.
Curtains swell and fall with the breeze,
The drone of honeybees,
lull me back to sleep.

© Denise Goodwin, All rights reserved.

OBLIVION'S THROES

I. 

Outside, the sky was alight, lazuline and gold,
Which begins to describe a summer's day, of old;
When I had attended unexpected company,
Under a slumbering canopy of trees,
Where we hoped to capture even the faintest breeze.
It was all a vain attempt to escape such humidity.
As the trees gave scant reprieve, on that sultry day;
Their leaden leaves drooped in liquid, languid repose;
Heavy and listless, against the changed sky,
Now of indigo, amethyst and rose.
Heady blossoms released intoxicating essence,
and sweetly perfumed the air and our presence.
How distinctly I recall the scents, from that day of summer;
I mused they knew not time, the month or hour.
And yet, their fragrance haunted and hovered,
much like a concerned and doting young mother.
In that moment, on that afternoon, beneath the trees,
It seemed to me, the world was in deep contemplation.
(This was my passing observation)

II.

The soggy trees and the incessant heat,
are still fresh and alive, in my memory.
When, alas! a sudden trill disturbed my lethargy.
I bowed forward, toward a curious face, known not unto me.
She sat, like royalty, in an ornate chair of bleached vintage rattan.
Donning a gossamer gown of beaded lace and white chiffon.
She whisked air over her face, with a delicate, ivory fan.
I observed scant droplets trickle down her sculptured throat;
And, over the thin brow, where golden tendrils met skin,
I moved closer, so that I may hear the words spoken,
as her voice was paper thin;
I leaned in, with a sense urgency;
As if it were a necessity, for I must see,
this vapid apparition.
As I beheld, the eyes of whom the sun hath set,
over a rippling river, 'twas then I realized,
I heard not words, only a mournful whimper.
Yet, the eyes were vacant, and gave no reaction.
When suddenly, my own gaze was distracted,
I watched her pull fine filament, and wove a tapestry,
with no design, or plan or map.
Her pale and nimble fingers pulled white threads;
from needlepoint she held upon her lap.
And, all the while, a companion stood behind her,
like a royal Chamberlain, or a brooding chauffeur.
He appeared to await her orders,
or, to intercept or accept her callers;
Or more cynically, me thinks,
He was a swine, she had brought to slaughter.
In his hand, belled melting ice against a crystal globe,
which contained a pearlescent ooze; what, I did not know.
He, too, suffocated from the humidity and the heat;
As I noticed, he had loosed his tie,
and wore nothing on his feet.
I took a chair, opposite, consort and the fairy maiden,
and watched her fingers work, in utter fascination.
Not a word was spoken, as I slowly nodded, entranced;
I had not heard the vesper bells,
nor had I known, that sunset had advanced.

III.

I awoke quite rested,
In the chair that I had nested;
Yet, I did not recognize this location,
As it lacked the former illumination,
And the summer's day had grown cold.
Shipwrecked, from a storm and tossed to sea,
These were the frenzied words that came to me;
As I struggled in the shadows of oblivion's throes.
I had not a candle, nor a lantern to carry me hence,
my heart was heavy in a despairing lament.
Hoary frost has settled across the patio,
and all was veiled and wrought with snow.
Alone in this cold hollow,
I called out to the unknown,
Bellowing frantically to either friend or foe.
Returned to me, was merely an echo;
An echo from above, or below;
I do not know.

IV.

Here, in my delirium, I awaited exultation;
I anticipated that the clouds would burst, in joyful elation.
But, the sky did not open, ablaze in hopeful glory,
Nor had I been given a chance, to repeat this story.
Lo, no voices were heard; and, all remained undisturbed.
I questioned and considered the uncertainty,
And, discovered that my body was no longer fatigued;
Hot tears fell, as I could not control nor pacify reality.
I had been aflame in fever, accompanied by the divine;
She had stitched a shroud, into which I had climbed.
And, it was her familiar, who had carried me;
Where bitter wind, my only friend, is my eternity.
No crashing sea, nor blooming flowers keep me company;
Forever eclipsed in a ivory swaddle, sewn just for me. 
Paradise, for me, it seems, is this cold and lonely hollow, 
Where each day repeats, and in that I must sleep. 

© Denise Goodwin, All Rights Reserved.

*You may read all of my poetry at: MOONSPYRE

Remembering Mary Jean

hen I was a little girl, my parents came home from a shopping trip, with 3 gowns for my sister and I (and all of the girls in the neighborhood) to use for play and dress up. I can remember that there was a light pink gown, a fuchsia colored gown, and a gold gown.  Today, I know they were either old bridesmaids or prom gowns from a thrift store, but at the time, I felt as if I had walked into the fairy tale.  Though, my sister promptly took them for her own, and I rarely had the opportunity to play with them again, I still remember trying them on and how I wonderful I felt in them.  Even today, I wonder what became of those old gowns...

As a kid, I was always "stuck" with hand-me-downs until Grade 6, because I shot up a full 6 inches taller than my sister as she has never grown over 5' 2".  My parents then had to buy clothes that fit me, and since most of what they bought were my Mother's choice, I hated everything I owned.  My parents did what they could with 4 kids and one salary at that time...no disrespect intended.  So, I got a job after school working in a small-time electronics store and in the summer time doing yard work, and I got a few baby-sitting gigs.  I was now able to buy what I wanted.  Thus, beginning my love affair with 1970's "hippie" and "Bohemian" clothing from which I have never truly recovered.

 Shortly before this, in my hometown of Poultney, (it must have been around 1973 or '74?) there was a little Boutique called "Bombadils" that was owned by this beautiful woman by the name of Mary Jean Lobdell.  She was slightly plump, with very long brown frizzy hair in a Carol King sort of style, that she had grown down to her buttocks. Her face, to me was angelic, in an almost Victorian sense.  Today, I would label her as an all-natural woman, who was an authentic "hippie".  She wore peasant blouses and halter tops over large breasts and long floral skirts, with dangling earrings.  Being young and impressionable, I was always mesmerized by her style.  

Bombadil's was located in the basement underneath our town's laundry mat.  I remember the round sign that hung over the doorway on which were the round popular '70's style writing bearing it's name. Each time I would walk into her shop, my sense of smell would be filled with fragrances that I have never forgotten.  Nag Champa incense, essential oils and mostly I remember sniffing the strawberry scented candles.

Her clothing inventory was geared toward the "College Girls" - from Green Mountain College - with high quality India Imports, brass and wooden incense holders, Indian bedspreads, candles and jewelry.  Ravi Shankar and George Harrison music frequently played while she ironed clothing. 

I remember that once or twice, she painted my finger nails, and offered me a cup of herbal tea.  It seemed she had endless patience and always had a place in her heart for me.  Thinking back, I wonder if I was obnoxious, just showing up in her shop, but she never alluded to it.  The only thing I ever bought was a leather bracelet - and I wore that thing to death.  I just remember how much I loved her because of her genuine kindness toward me.  

Growing up on Main Street, I would walk down to see her.  One day when I was preparing to do so, my sister and her friend Carol Jones stopped me to ask where I was going.  I told them I was going to visit Mary Jean.  Carol held the Rutland Herald newspaper in her hand, and handed it to me.  

The article that she pointed to, explained that Mary Jean had been driving in her blue Gremlin, went off the road and "died of massive head injuries".  Those words jumped off the newspaper.  Strangely, I did not know what to do with this news, as no one I had ever known had died before.  I remember feeling completely numb with tears rolling down my face, and I sat on a hassock in the living room. I was too scared to cry in fear of my sister and Carol laughing at me, because I felt that everything to them, was a joke back then.  But they didn't laugh, and they looked sad, too.  All I remember was, walking up the stairs to our bathroom and weeping into a towel, having no where else to spill my grief.  I was devastated.

I remember that a woman named Harriet Holcomb and her boyfriend Ben took over the store when Mary Jean died.  It was never the same.

About a year or two later a store called "Pearls", which used to be occupied by an old A&P Store on Main Street, came to be.  They had shirts made in India, and I remember buying a few of them over the course of one summer.  If I recall, they went out of business around 1978 - the year before my parents moved my little brother and I to Williamstown.  

My love of clothing today, borders on sickness, and over the course of the last couple of years, I've gained weight and can't fit into a lot of my beloved inventory.  I keep the clothing, vowing to loose the body fat....but let's be honest:  No one wants to read about that!

I still think of Mary Jean.  I don't clearly remember her face any more.  She crawls into my mind when I enter into certain boutiques and smell the incense or essential oils.  In particular, when I smell a strawberry scented candle, I think of her.  I think of her little Gremlin that was parked on the street the week before she died, and can't help but wonder, what made her loose control of her car?   These are things I may never find out, and all I can say is that her spirit truly lives within me.    

The Art of The Séance

Enter Stranger... 
Leave a Friend 

 se·ance

noun
"a meeting at which people attempt to make contact with the dead, especially through the agency of a medium."

I think it would be easy to say that for as long as we have had the ability to communicate with one another as humans, we have also sought communication with the dead - or someone who has passed into the "afterlife" or, with forces that are believed to be on a higher plane than the mortal being.  Consider the worship of Gods and Goddesses, the belief of angels, ancestor worship, visions by people believing they have seen an entity - whether it be good or evil.  The list is infinite - and in the simplest of terms, it is the belief in ghosts.

Brown Lady of Raynham Hall, a claimed ghost photograph by Captain Hubert C. Provand. First published in Country Life magazine, 1936

In it's most pure setting, the Séance is normally conducted wit a medium who leads communication with spirits, by going into a trance and having the ability to channel what they have heard.  During the height of the Spiritualism movement, many of these mediums were exposed as fraudulent, however, there are those who have recorded sessions which leaves us in wonder and in awe.  Do spirits really talk to us?  The jury is still out, and it is still in debate.

Seance with Eusapia Palladino at the home of Camille Flammarion, Rue Cassini. Full levitation of a table." 12 November 1898, Gelatin silver print.

"Spiritualism is a monotheistic belief system or religion, postulating a belief in God, but with a distinguishing feature of belief that spirits of the dead residing in the spirit world can be contacted by "mediums", who can then provide information about the afterlife."  - Carroll, Bret E. (1997). Spiritualism in Antebellum America. (Religion in North America.)

"Séances are frequently attended by people who wish to contact a loved one that has recently died. For many, their experiences at a Séance provide comforting knowledge that their loved ones have not ceased to exist, that there is an afterlife, and there is a possibility of being reunited with those who have been lost."  - newworldencyclopedia.org

Some of the best classic literature contains tales of ghosts, by great authors such as Charles Dickens, Edgar Allan Poe, Stephen King, and William Shakespeare  - and these are but a few that come to mind.

Reginald Owen starred as Ebenezer Scrooge
in the 1938 film of "A Christmas Carol" 

I have never conducted my own Séance, nor have I attended one, but it doesn't mean that I haven't done my homework!  I would like to conduct an event at some point, but would have to hear from others who would like to participate!

I previously wrote about my own Ouija Board, in an earlier blog post, that I've yet to use.

Why am I waiting?  

For the fear to go away.

Preparing for your Séance

If you plan to host a Séance, naturally, you will invite people who have a purpose for attending, or at least believe in what you are attempting to accomplish - communicate with spirits.  For instance, prankster-type personalities would not be welcome.  "Non-believers" will disrupt the flow by allowing negative energy and adverse effects as you attempt to contact the spirits.  Drinking alcohol or using illicit drugs are absolutely discouraged.

"WHAT TYPES OF PEOPLE MUST BE BANNED? A circle sitting for mutual development should never admit persons addicted to bad habits, criminals, sensualists, strongly positive persons of any kind, whether rude, skeptical, violent tempered, or dogmatic. A humble, candid, inquiring spirit, unprejudiced, and receptive of truth, is the only frame of mind in which to sit for phenomena, the delicate magnetism of which is shaped, tempered, and made or marred as much by mental as physical conditions."
Source: empathys.co.uk

A planned gathering can be from 3 to 12 people, but smaller crowds are preferred.

In the room that you decide to host the gathering, you will want to ensure that it is quiet and comfortable for all guests.

Utilizing a round or small table is optimum, but a small table will work; or, if you would like, gather in a circle on the floor.

Fresh flowers only.  If you have old flowers reeking in vases, remove them and replace them with fresh flowers.  White roses and lillies would be a nice choice. The same goes for fruit that you may display.

Do not use overhead lights, or lights that are too strong.  Ideally, a few unscented candles scattered around the room would be acceptable.

"Avoid strong light, which, by producing excessive motion in the atmosphere, disturbs the manifestations. A very subdued light is the most favorable for any manifestations of a magnetic character especially for spiritual magnetism."  Source: empathys.co.uk

Prior to your guests arrival, decide upon with whom you wish to make contact, and during the course of the day, think of that person. Each person should be instructed to think about them, by manifesting their image in their mind.  Do you wish to contact a friend or relative?  What do you remember about him or her?  What do you know about this person?  What are your memories?

I have read that perhaps bringing an article or articles that was previously owned by the deceased loved one(s) may entice a spirit to draw near.  Perhaps a photograph, a diary or journal, a stilled watch or an piece of clothing may suffice.  You may even want to carry that "thing" with you for the duration of the day, prior to the Séance to fully draw it's energy toward you.

Turn OFF cell phones.  No calls.  No texts.  Leave your phone in your car or shut it off.  Period.  Frequencies from cell phones disrupt the flow.  Other video or audio equipment can be used, but chose the method carefully and place it strategically.  Still photos are acceptable.

Winter:  Never turn up the heat.  Maintain a comfortable - but never hot room.  Summer:  Keep temperatures as natural as possible.  The reason for this is that some activity from spirits may cause temperatures to fluctuate, and you will want to experience this to know with whom you are dealing.  Malevolent spirits commonly will produce an icy feeling.  If this happens, ask them to immediately leave.  With other spirits, you may experience a chill, or a wave of heat.  This is all natural and part of the process.

Planning to conduct your event at night is optimum, but can easily be arranged for daytime, as spirits do not live in "time" as we know it.  Try to plan the Séance at a time when you are the least likely to be interrupted.  Once the circle is formed, do not allow late arrivals to enter.  Do not break the circle!

Don't muck up the air by using incense.  And that would go the same for sage burning, cigarette or marijuana smoke.  If you are seeking a true experience then, stave off using any kind of smoke for the duration of the event.

Allow everyone to use the bathroom or smoke prior to forming the circle.

Assign someone to "lead" communication, this may be pre-planned, or perhaps you have invited or solicited a medium to conduct the Circle.

There is an old theory that holding or "joining" hands is mandatory during a Séance.  This simply isn't true.  A belief in the collective conscience is preferable.  Think of the "power of prayer", which is essentially the key.

A lovely way to begin would be to have all gathered, close their eyes and offer a prayer to the loved ones with whom you are trying to contact, that they protect and guide you.  It may be helpful during the prayer that all visualize light surrounding all of you.

Breathe deeply, slowly and normally.  This will help raise your consciousness and awareness.  Close your eyes at first and open them with you feel ready to do so.  Keeping this deep state of relaxation, proceed to invite those whom you want to communicate. Relax.

The lead will begin to "call the spirit".  Do not interrupt this process.  Some may later report changes of temperature, fragrances of perfume, specific food smells or cigar smoke may occur, or you may hear certain noises.  These are all to be expected, so don't panic or gasp.  Stay calm.  Let the moment be and allow the lead to make contact.  She may invite you to speak with the entity, but keep your questions logical.

Don't antagonize or taunt.  Don't ask stupid questions like who is going to win the Superbowl or for numbers of a winning lottery ticket.  Your questions should be poignant, clear and authentic.  Ask your question just once.  Everyone should have a chance to ask a question.

ghosttheory.com states: "Understand that the spirit has to cross worlds to heed to your call, and this is very painful. Thus you don’t want to anger it with such curiosities."

I found the following tips from crystalinks.com/seance, and the content has been taken, directly:

Seance Begins

Sometimes spirits may come that you did not expect. Chat quickly with them, thank them, and tell them to move on.

Some spirits chat a lot but some just say one or two things then leave. Some answer questions while others just bring messages.

There is no length of time for a seance. This is up to you, the spirit, and the medium.

It's humorous when several spirits come down and they all want to talk at once. This must be paced as one would any discussion in a group.

A seance can be a wonderful emotional healing experience when done in the proper setting with the proper medium.

Not all spirits are human. Some are animals, generally pets who have crossed over. They speak in imagery and thought as ALL is frequency of consciousness.

Some are other aspects of ourselves as we are all multidimensional and exist simultaneously in other realities.

Some are spirit guides.

Most spirits want their loved ones here to know they are okay on the other side or to clear up unfinished business.

Some come to talk about their deaths, especially with murders or suicides.

Some are funny, others sad. It's interesting that even without a physical form, many still show emotion, leaving one to believe that in some way that are attached or trapped to our physical grid reality.

Some come alone. Some come with others who wait quietly or they all talk at once, really confusing for the beginner who must tell them, "One at a time."

Some come for personal issues then continue on to tell me more about the changes occurring in the universe.

Not all spirits can come to talk when called. Some simply chose not to come. Some have returned to source.

This question remains, What do I do if the entities are negative and say things like "Die!" Stop immediately. If you can not get rid of the spirit after a few minutes, and it probably won't leave, stop the seance for that session. Someone has attracted that spirit for the adventure of it all. Dysfunctional people will attract dysfunctional spirits, for the drama of it. Be sure you know who is in your group, especially if you are a beginner.

Sometimes a person can become hypnotized during a seance and fall into a trance or deep sleep. This also occurs during group meditations. Just allow the person time to wake-up slowly after the seance is over. They should have a message to report to the group.

Ask your spirit guides to protect you. We all have guides even if we don't know their names.

Photos taken during a seance can reflect the appearance of spirit, photo scrying, and is up to personal interpretation.

ALWAYS, always....CLOSE THE DOOR:  Always thank the spirit(s) for coming.  If someone at your event, has fallen into a trance or fallen asleep only wake them afterward, and do so very gently.  Listen.  Do they have a message?

TELL the spirits good bye and that they can now move on.  It is perfectly acceptable to offer another prayer of gratitude before closing the circle entirely.  Do not be surprised if you are visited in your dreams soon thereafter the Séance.

OUIJA 

If you plan to use the Ouija Board, the same rules apply, as stated above, with the only difference being that you are using the board as a conduit to the spirit world.  Always educate yourself thoroughly prior to communicating with the spirit world.


Cool Links and information:

How to Conduct a Seance

Psychic's Universe

New Age Seance

Do's and Don'ts

This post is for information and entertainment only.  Any use of this blog post is your own responsibility, and any unpleasant consequences are your own doing.