Reliable Communion with the Dead

Since the misunderstandings which were inflicted upon me last week and the generous accommodation provided by the enforcers of the law, I have purchased some nights indoors at a local hostel. The cold is visited upon us and I have yet to choose the moment of my own passing; as a de facto Maharaj I owe it to the entirety of creation to resist the weather’s attempts to force me into Samadhi perpetual.


Enough of my trivial day-to-day arrangements, I shall continue with my teachings. The events of the summer of 2010 have been so momentous that I am bound to narrate them so that the unenlightened may be initiated into mysteries bound in the land of the British Isles. The events were themselves built upon my investigation of a haunted house in the seaside town of Wallasey. The house in question was truly well-appointed. Not only did it sit atop a hill and receive sun for much of the day, but it was also nestled alongside a historic church and boneyard whilst below, a wonderful public house and that other bastion of public life, a library were located.


After discovering the grave of the last Reverend’s children in adjoining graveyard, I returned to the house. Aquinas – Phil – was happy with my discovery and prepared to go and film the monument. Nothing possessed any manner of being, it would seem, unless it were committed to film. Before he did so, he mused on what may have brought the Reverend’s children back to the Wirral. As a man who has returned, my own experience may be of relevance. People return to die in their birthplace for two reasons, they never truly left or because their absence has transformed them and they wish to return cleansed and free themselves of some past upset. Before rushing off to talk into his camera, Aquinas – I cannot bring myself to call him Phil – mentioned something again of the Reverend’s descent into madness. According to a local historian, the vicar had abandoned a vague, Christianised Neo-Platonism for a version of the Arian heresy. Always a mistake if you should ask me!


Once host and ‘facilitator’ had absented himself, I made for the library to refresh my memory on the afore-mentioned heresy. Doubtless the young men’s devices could have located the information in minutes but they were too busy analysing footage from the previous night and besides, sitting with a book gives one time to think; an activity that the internet does not always encourage. I should point out that one of the gentlemen, Nozzer or something, found on ‘The Wallasey eNews Archive’ references to apparent grave robbings in the cemetery – when graves opened for maintenance reasons were found empty. Subsidence was posited as the reason, the remains having slipped into the hillside. Again, my insight appeared to be corroborated.
I found in the pleasant, single-storey, art deco library, a reference book which reminded me that Arianism was the idea that the Christian God was the only divinity, thus reducing the status of the son – and all other gods! – to that of a mortal man; mere flesh encasing spirit. I had neither the time nor the resources to study the matter in detail, I was due in the Cheese at one and I determined to ascertain why the children returned and the reasons behind their father’s madness through the most reliable means possible – deep meditation and communion with the dead!


Several hours of refreshment passed. I drank to segue into the general group dynamic and to pay homage to both the fruits of mother Earth and the skill of the folk who craft her wares into ale. I noticed a certain ill temper had descended on the group, despite the success of our investigation thus far. Indeed, their respect for myself had even slipped. As I may have already stated, I am entitled to call myself Swami, I was routinely addressed as Ji-Swift in Mother India. I do not insist on such terms of respect from my English brethren, I have no need of such egotistical props and I am happy to bear the title my maternal Uncle earned for his services to spiritualism (that is the Sir – for the benefit of my acolyte and any other s he may not be ‘on it’).
I took charge of matters at that moment – never a good idea for an enlightened man to assert, we lead by drawing the unenlightened to us through our devotions and general aura of holiness – and standing, uttered the following:


We are charged to serve the powers from whom all spirits arise and to which they return – (I ignored Aquinas’ gestures to fall silent at this point) if our job is to liberate them from their residing attachments then we must cast aside our own cravings to achieve that aim.
These words ushered the spirit of Conchord over us and another round of drinks was purchased – not in defiance against my teachings but rather as a misguided attempt to pay homage to the decades of wisdom which inhabit my corporeal frame. I drank too, to show a forgiveness of their petulance and to demonstrate that alcohol is an attachment one can overcome until it loses all pleasure and effect.


It would appear that I must fall silent for another week but I should state now, the phenomena which had been experienced thus far was nothing compared to what should follow that evening!