Page 4 - THE SEANCE
I love your idioms and your idea about saving them. Here are two more for your
collection. One is "hose pipe," meaning any rubber hose, like the garden hose.
The other is "bad to drink" as in, "He was a good person but he was bad to
And here is the seance news. When I arrived at Susan's, she led me straight up
to the bedroom. I couldn't sense anything unusual like a ghost. Then, she
directed me over to the spot where John stands and told me to stand in it. I
did and got right back out. It wasn't a place I could stand in for long
without developing chills. When I checked my arms for chill bumps, Susan said,
"No, there are never any bumps." All the hairs on my arms were standing
straight up, and my jeans had so much static in them they stuck to the backs of
my legs. I tried putting just one foot in the spot, but my foot jumped back
out. I tried a hand but the hand wanted out. As I sat on the bed to think
about it, Susan said, "See. I told you. He's here."
"Someone's here," I said, "but how do you know it's John?" She said, "I've
known him for 13 years. I would know him alive or dead. It's John and he
wants to tell me something." We decided to go downstairs and drink some
coffee, smoke some cigarettes and think about what to do next. When we went
back up, John had moved but we could follow him around. He stood by the TV and
then by the window. We followed right behind him, chatting about it. Neither
one of these other two spots was as electric as the first spot, but both were
unpleasant to stand in.
Finally, after being taken by John on a tour of the bedroom and the bathroom,
we followed him back to the first spot and stayed there. I read the cards and
we saw something about a message about money. I told Susan I had an idea about
how to get the whole message. Laying out three Tarot cards, I placed the Queen
of Pentacles (Earth, Diamonds), Susan's card. Above that, I placed the King of Wands (Fire, Clubs), John's
card. In the center of the two I placed Temperance (Major Mystery, Duality). As I laid them out, I
said, "This is Susan on the physical plane. This is John on the spiritual
plane. I call upon the great Spiritual Powers surrounding us to open the
pathway of communication between them so they can speak with each other and so
John can tell Susan the thing he wants to tell her." Then, I told Susan to
imagine herself in a conversation with John. As she and I touched fingertips
and as she repeated after me, we called upon all those same Powers I had called
on before, the Earth, the deserts, the mountains, the plains, the forests, the
rocks. We called upon the waters, the lakes, the streams, the rivers, and the
oceans. We called upon the stars, the galaxies, the moons, the planets, the
wind and the breezes. We called upon the fires that burn in the stars, that
burn inside the Earth and that burn inside each of us. Then we called upon the
angels, the Spiritual Guides, the Creators of the Universe. We asked these
great Powers to lend strength and power to Susan's spirit as we called for John
in summoning. We summoned him 4 times. Then, our mood changed and we began to
feel light and happy. We laughed and joked and went downstairs for more coffee
I saw a sťance movie once,
"The Changeling," the same movie with the power cone,
in which the psychic was irresistibly drawn to the foot of the stairs. There
she would stand, staring eerily up at the top of the stairs where the spirits
were. Then, ever so slowly, she ascended the stairs. Oh, it was spooky! Well,
when Susan and I finished our coffee and headed toward the stairs, I stopped at
the bottom step and stared up there, just like the psychic in the movie. Susan
came from behind me and asked, "What is it?" She went up the stairs with me
right behind her, and just as she turned the corner at the top, she stopped and
said, "Whoa! Look at that!"
We stared down the long hallway to the bedroom and we saw the hallway lengthen and fill
with a white haze. We walked down the hallway, right through the middle of a
group of spiritual beings. It seemed to me we were walking through a crowd of
people like in a crowded bar. To those hazy spirits I said, "Excuse me, excuse
me," as I brushed past them on my way to the bedroom. We agreed there seemed to
be about 25 or 30 spirit-people in her hallway. And they seemed like just some
friends getting together for a party. We felt very gay and lighthearted, and
Susan said she hadn't felt that good since John died.
In this party atmosphere, we sat in the bedroom and laughed and talked. We
went down to smoke a few times and came back up. Each time, they were still
there. Susan's two cats were with us there, tiptoeing around and looking
suspiciously through slanted eyes and twitching their tails and their ears.
The gathering lasted for about 2-1/2 hours. Sometimes, the people came into
the bedroom filling it up with their presence, sometimes they went out into the
hallway. They never did go downstairs. After a while, the haze became lighter
and lighter until it finally disappeared and they were gone. We recorded all
of it on her tape recorder, from beginning to end. Too bad we didn't have a
camcorder. We could actually see the haze.
That night, I was too excited to go straight to sleep so I sat up in my bed
thinking about it, wondering about it, until finally I fell asleep. I was
awakened in the night by the brightest light I've ever seen. I sat straight up
in bed to look, but it was so bright I had to cover my eyes. Even that wasn't
enough to shield me. I turned my face away but that didn't help either. The
light lasted for about 5 seconds and then it was dark again except for the TV
screen, which was glowing slightly. When I first saw the light, I thought a
car had come through my bedroom wall where the hole is. I thought I was staring into
headlights. But I knew that no such thing had happened. The wall was still
standing, I was still alive and it's impossible that a car can come through.
I'm on a hill. A car would have to fly through the air to come into the
apartment, but that's the way my mind was working, trying to identify that
I was aware also that the light, which seemed to be outside of me, was coming
from inside me. If anyone else had been there to see it, they would have seen
me sitting on my bed and glowing like a light bulb. And they would have needed
sunglasses. The light came from inside me and just poured out of me in all
directions, lighting up the room and making the TV screen glow. The next
morning when I awoke, I tasted sweetness in my mouth like ambrosia. Later, I
found a reference to this light in my Tarot book. It said that magicians and
mystics describe it as the light of the mystic, the light too brilliant to
behold. I'll say! I even found it portrayed on a Tarot card, the IX of Swords (Air, Spades).
When I spoke with Susan later that day and told her about the bright light,
she said she had no idea what it could be. She asked me what I thought it was
and what it had to do with John, and I said I thought it had more to do with me
than with John.
My spell to change my life really is working, isn't it? I am off in a new
direction and wherever it takes me is OK with me. I answer my phone when it
rings, I read Tarot cards for hours and I feel like the Oracle of Delphi.
(Herodotus said the Oracle at Delphi was established when three sisters came
from Libya to Greece to set up an oracle. Enterprising girls!) I enjoy
reading cards but I am not sure I want to go in that direction. I think
something else beckons, something wonderful and mysterious.
One night, as I was sleeping, I dreamed a yellow light was being beamed
directly into the top of my head. It gave me a ton of energy! I found an
account of this light by the science fiction writer, Philip Dick, who
experienced it as a pink light. He said he had a mystical experience, in which
he encountered God, who "fired a beam of pink light at my head." Then, he
records that his own mind was entered "by a transcendentally rational mind, as
if I had been insane all my life and had suddenly become sane." He said the
rational mind was not human, that it was more like an artificial intelligence.
Well, that's myself-not! I am feeling saner these days, although I imagine
some people would be of the opinion that I've lost any mind entirely.
Susan called two days after the seance to say she had a blissful dream in which
she spent the entire night talking with John, and they were so happy to be
together. John told her about a mortgage life insurance policy with a certain
insurance company, one she didn't know about. She can't remember the name of
the insurance company! I told her that unless she can think of the name of the
company, she will have to send letters to every company she can think of.
She called her attorney and he put his secretary right on it. The secretary
found out the names of all the insurance companies that IBM employees use. She
called around until she found one with a mortgage life insurance policy for
Susan that John never mentioned to her. And you know what happened?! The
insurance adjuster, on learning of John's death, pulled the wrong beneficiary
card and paid John's ex-wife instead of Susan! I guess John couldn't live with
that, or die with that, however you want to say it. The company still must pay
Susan, but her attorney may have to take them to court. Well, there's a thoughtful husband, hanging around after death to make sure her beautiful
and pricey home is all paid for! Or maybe he just didn't want the witchy
ex-wife to get the money. Whatever the case, he transformed Susan from a
grieving widow into a woman of leisure. Check out the IX of Pentacles.
There's a picture of it! Now I know why it's her card. Write Soon.
I read your seance letter and thought, with no small amount of admiration,
"She's really full of it, isn't she?" But in the 28 years I've known you,
you've never told me a lie. So if you said it happened, then it did. I eagerly
await your analysis of those events.
I should not have been able to go straight away and lay my hands on my Tarot
deck. I can't put them down and I cannot see a thing in them and have to keep
looking everything up in a real dud of a Tarot book I got from the library. I
had Ives order
The Tarot Revealed
Mastering the Tarot. What other books do
I need? What I need is to find a murky old book store on a back street and go
in there and find a dusty old volume covered with fidey webs and full of the
power. And I need a long, silky robe in a real brash color and a very large
and expensive occult-looking necklace. I think a tiara would be too much.
I've been getting up every morning and confounding myself with a couple of
hours of playing with my Rider-Waite Tarot cards, from which I come away with
the feeling that I am never going to see anything that I recognize except 78
cards with strange symbols and imperfect artwork. What I can see is that I
will only be able to read for myself. I would have to keep ducking behind the
curtain like the Wizard of Oz to consult the book, and somehow I feel that it
would undermine my credibility.
I've been thinking about those "people" in Susan's hallway and I've decided
they have no flair for drama, or any respect for tradition. If I were going to
appear in someone's hallway as spirit, I would wear a Mrs. Haversham costume --
moth-eaten wedding gown and veil with fidey webs. My accessories would be a
broken wristwatch and a mouse-eaten wedding cake. And I would imagine Susan
would not be intimidated by that either.
Jessie and I just came from the barn, where we had to feed the chickens for the
4th time today. Jessie takes excellent care of her chickens. I hope they
don't get so fat their little spindly legs won't tote them around. Today when
we came home, they had gotten out underneath a board, and she cried and cried.
But since then, she has become very adept at chasing them back in while telling
them, "Git!" and pointing her finger. Apparently, the finger has a lot of
I joined a Grolier "Learn to Read" book club, featuring
Harry Hippo Takes a
and the fabulous Dr. Cat, who Jessie considers the most fascinating
character in all literature. Since reading Dr. Cat, she even allows the
infamous Dr. Bartlett, whom she previously thought was the Prince of Darkness,
to look in her ears with his otoscope. Then I bought her the Fisher Price
Medical Bag, and she thinks she is Dr. Cat. There was no otoscope, but she
insists on looking in my ears with her little plastic percussion hammer, which
does resemble an otoscope. And any time she hears the words "blood pressure,"
she runs and gets her blood pressure cuff and fastens it around my fingers. I
am on a water diet from drinking all the ice water Jessie serves me out of the
Magic Tea Party teapot. And it seems I spend a good deal of my personal time
lying on the floor and coloring with her as long as she wants to. "Cully,
Mommy. Peeze." Last night I colored Big Bird to her specifications. A lot of
what she does to me could only be described as sheer torture.
Today after Mr. Moore had his bath and I was walking him, I remembered how
thrilled I was when I first got his big, red, hateful self. I brushed him and
told him the story of Red Beauty. You may have heard of him under a different
color. I also told him the story of The Red Stallion. When Moore had been my
horse for a week, and I was fast becoming a doting fool, the first thing I did
was climb up in the top of Tam's barn and mount him a window fan. That was
just before Tam and her 60 horses moved out and were no longer living with that
old geezer. I can't believe she ever was; he was older than Xavier Cougat but
had beautiful money.
I'll never forget that day she moved out. Tam and I were tooling into town to
have lunch when we ran up on a gunfight in progress at the motel by Shoney's.
It had just started and there were cars all over the road with their lights on
and with people hiding behind them. I thought at first it was a wreck, but
when I heard the gunshots I just backed right out of there. I have the innate
reverse of a true coward.
I fell for Mr. Moore the first time I saw him. And I rode him before I bought
him, which means I have no excuse for having bought him after that. It was
Halloween and I should have known better. He reared straight up and dropped me
off the back of the saddle and then stepped on the inside of my knee with the
shoes I had just helped Tam put on him. I guess he wanted Weejuns, instead. I
had a horseshoe print on my knee, and my hands looked like catchers' mitts. I
don't remember anything like that happening to Elizabeth Taylor in National
Velvet. Thank goodness Moore isn't a unicorn. Fortunately, I didn't try to
jump him over anything that day, or I would not be writing this letter. One
day I was riding him, just after he had been gelded, and an old mare in heat
galloped by, cut in front of us, and stopped and batted her eyes like Norma
Desmond. After that, it was wild ride. And he was already gelded. What else
could I do to him? I guess Moore hadn't been gelded enough.
I could have bought a pony horse named Spotty. A pony horse is that calm,
reliable animal leading the racehorse from the saddling paddock to the gates.
He is also strong enough to drag the racehorse to the gate, if necessary. I am
feeling so remorseful because Spotty is one of the neatest horses I ever rode,
and among quarter horses, an apt pupil. The only reason I didn't buy him was
because he was not beautiful like Moore, who is part quarter horse and part
Thoroughbred. Moore is one of the King Ranch horses. That won't mean anything
to you but the King Ranch is famous for breeding fine horses. Moore's
grandfather was Royal King, two hands taller than Moore, which explains why
Moore is such a big, beautiful red horse. But Moore has his good qualities; he
is the only thing that never changes in a changing world. No matter how much I
baby him, he is still a dangerous horse to ride. I take consolation in the
fact that Moore, with all his faults and his 16 hands high, is the best riding
horse I've ever ridden. And as long as I watch him carefully and bang him over
the head every now and then to remind him he has a rider on board, he stays
that way. Still, as I remember Spotty, I think I'll cry and mop the floor.
Today, Jessie started in on me again, "Wide horse. Wide Mowey," but even
though I know he won't throw The Princess, I don't let her ride him for fear
that, if he does misbehave and she gets hurt, I'll pull a Rhett Butler and
shoot him like the way Rhett shot Bonnie Blue's pony. It is time for me to go
out and do Moore's stall and to brush him and feed him and tell him how
wonderful he is. Talk about your sacred objects. Write soon.
Page 1 - How I Wrote This Book | The Root Doctor
Page 2 - A Spell is Cast | The Voodoo Priestess | Psychic Healing
Page 3 - Sudden Death | A Hole in the Wall | Crystal Woman
Page 4 - The Seance | The Light
Page 5 - The Portal |
Wings of Love | Bene Ha Elohim
Lord Pacal and the Maya
Page 6 - Pacal's Bride | Wacah Chan | A Murder was Committed
The Mysterious Woman | A Swarm of Sparks
Page 7 - The Vortex |
Portal in the Cathedral | Guede Cosmo
The Androgyny | The Philosopher's Stone
Page 8 - Sexual Alchemy | Tantra Yoga | Feng Shui
Page 9 - Keys in the Enochian Language | The River of Life
Page 10 - The Number Four | The Phaistos Disk
The Star of David
Page 11 - Sacred Indian Ground |
Rules of Congaylia | The Heaven Plane
Page 12 - The Lovers | Ancash-Tica
Page 13 - Searchable Index | Bibliography
Copyright Notice - Text and images copyrighted March 21, 1994-2015, Claire Watson, M.S.T., U.S. Copyright Heavenly Partners and under the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 1998, Claire Grace Watson, M.S.T. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review, including the web page itself and the html/dhtml programming.
Copyright Notice - Disk of the World - Text and images copyrighted March 21, 1993-2017,
Claire Grace Watson, B.A., M.S.T., U.S. Copyright and under the Digital Millennium Copyright Act of 1998, All rights reserved. No part of this web page may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.