Expectation and the Power of Prayer

A few weeks ago, someone posted in the local Brno-based group on Facebook that the supermarkets here always had empty shelves and that they couldn’t find a number of food items that they were used to in Germany. Politely, I made the comment that I never had experienced that problem and pointed them to a number of locations stocking the items that they needed. I also made the remark that we must live in parallel universes. Not knowing me, that comment was taken the wrong way but I actually meant it. To me, this was another example of magic at work. We get what we expect.

The German plainly had an expectation contrary to mine, that the supermarket shelves were often empty and, as a result, they were. On the other hand, my expectations are that supermarkets are well stocked and for me, they are. I expect poor customer service here and thats often what I get. My fault. I should try better to expect good customer service!

A couple of weeks ago, my salary was sent early from the USA due to the holidays there. The money should have arrived by Wednesday. On Thursday, it had not arrived and I began to worry that it had got lost. Modern banking isn’t reliable and they do make mistakes. About every 4 months, my money goes missing. It vaporizes into thin air between the US and the Czech Republic and none of the banks will ever admit it is their fault nor that they know where my money is. Usually, it either eventually arrives or it ends up back in our company account in the USA. The problem is that as soon as the money isn’t there, I begin to expect that the banks have yet again screwed it up. This time, however, I decided I wasn’t going to let that happen. My remedy was to pray. Yes – pray.

I sat and I focused my mind. God is everywhere, all knowing and all seeing. I thanked the all knowing, all seeing Deity for my blessings and then asked that my money show up the next day. I pictured the money sitting on my account. I visualized my money being in my bank account when I checked it online the next morning. I made myself believe that there was no possible way for it not to be there. There was not a shadow of a doubt in my mind since the Deity is all seeing, all knowing and all powerful, there was nothing else to do but confidently await the next day. The money was of course there.

This is how prayer works. This is how magic works and this is how we create reality.

Perhaps a good example of this is when you simply know something is so. There are times when I know that Hull City will win or lose or draw. I don’t mean I fancy a win or a loss I mean I KNOW. I am always right in these instances without fail. The KNOWING is faith in an outcome so strong that no other outcome is possible. None.

Prayer is a key part of life and of creating our lives. Proper prayer cannot fail to produce results. Proper prayer involves visualization and it can be a willful act of magic. Prayer should be a conversation with the Creator that begins with thanks and gratitude. Give it a try. It works.


The Art

In the silence I can hear
As I watch my heartfelt prayer
In the stillness of the inner
I ask forgiveness and renewal
The Sea is still and deep
Reflections there to keep
Aqua fluidly accepts ideas
Smoothes and refines, purifies
And throws them on the Fire
Flaming through intense desire
To work the Art of magic
The inner to the outer flows
Water steams as ember glows
I see, I hope, I know
That from my uttered words will grow
The qualities that I seek
I am, stillness, eternal
A presence in the space
A fluctuating lighted face
Flickering half-formed in the first light
I imagine that it will grow so very bright
Consuming, boiling, generating
Between the darkness and the light
And everything is simply just right
As it is meant to be
An eternal uttered prayer
The Word is spoken
The speaker is content
The magic is now spent


A Meeting with God

In the run up to Halloween, here is another true and strange tale of the paranormal. I will post a new strange true story each day so don’t miss them.

A few weeks into my college days, as I made my way from the Students’ Union building to my student flat on the 19th floor of a campus building, I noticed a rather suspicious looking character who seemed to be following me around. As I entered one of the elevators in the ground-floor of the building, he followed peering sideways at me but looking away whenever I tried to catch his eye. As the elevator arrived at my floor, I was hoping it was all just my imagination and that perhaps he would continue up to the top floor above me. But, as I left the elevator, he followed and as I reached the doorway into the group of six study bedrooms, shared kitchen, and bath that was my home on campus, he was still right there – right behind me.

“Do you want something?” I asked nervously.

“Gary, I want to talk to you,” he said quietly.

“How do you know my name?” I asked in surprise.

“Oh, I know a lot about you.” he replied. “And I must speak with you – Now if possible.”

Reluctantly, I let him in to my study bedroom and he introduced himself as an Indonesian student. He practiced meditation, he said, and he had been asked by his Guide to talk to me and help with some challenges that I was facing. I was rather incredulous but convinced. How exactly did he know my name?

Anantha and I actually became firm friends from that point forward. He really did know a lot about me for someone I had just met and that seemed both mysterious and alluring. He tried to help me understand that I was a ‘sensitive’ and that this sensitivity meant that I was open to all the flotsam and jetsam of the astral world. He also told me that my uncontrolled reaction – pure fear – was attracting things from that realm that I was probably better off without. He started to teach me some psychic self defence methods that were useful but the problem was that at the smallest hint of any phenomenon, I became a total wreck and fear possessed me completely.

In order to help me overcome this deep-seated fear, he suggested that it might help if I could share a controlled experience with him. Sitting me down in a comfortable position, he asked me to close my eyes and relax. Peeking out of the corner of my eye I watched him do likewise. Suddenly, I was with him in a stone tunnel, it seemed to go on for a great distance and as it did so, it slowly curved around so that you could not see where the tunnel went. What I could see though, was the brightest light I have ever seen. It filled the tunnel with golden light but its source was always just around the bend in the tunnel so that it could not actually be seen directly. The light began to fill me with laughter. It made me feel very happy, happier than I had ever felt and happier than anyone has any right to feel. I began to laugh out loud and as I did so, tears of joy sprang from my closed eyes. As I laughed an odd thing happened. My laughter seemed to become magnified thousands of times and to descend in pitch until I realized that this was not my laughter anymore but someone or something else’s laughter. The laughter permeated throughout my entire being so that everything was laughter and golden light and I knew then that I was in the presence of God.

When I finally came out of the trance that I had found myself in, Anantha was already sitting opposite me with a smile on his face and a questioning look in his eyes.

“You see, He is always there for you,” he explained. “There is no need to be frightened. All you have to do is trust in Him.”

As I discovered on several occasions since then, a wonderful experience like that quickly fades just as the memory of a dream fades. At the time that it happens and shortly afterwards, it feels as if it should surely stay with you forever, but it fades just the same as consciousness returns to normality. And, with its fading away so too the newly found and almost grasped confidence went with it and as Anantha left, I was ashamed to feel just as frightened as I had been before.

Anantha did help me a lot though. Through slow perseverance he got me to a state that I could best describe as the toleration of fear. He was also someone that I could share my thoughts and experiences without fear of reproach or that look of horror as your confidant realizes that you might well be a total freak. Unfortunately, he left the college at the end of my first year returning to Indonesia and I never heard from him again.

If you enjoyed this story you will also enjoy my novel – The Last Observer – great price on Kindle all winter!

The Last Supper

Here is another true and strange tale of the paranormal. I will post a new strange true story each day so don’t miss them.

At the beginning of my second year of college, I moved into a flat in West Bromwich. It was quite a distance from the University but it was the only thing I could find that I could afford. There was a bus ride into Birmingham and so I just had to get used to the idea of commuting.

At some point I had acquired a very large paper poster of Leonardo Da Vinci’s Last Supper. I really liked the painting and would often spend time studying the detail of the picture. It hung proudly on the main wall of the flat.

One evening, I went out and ended up at a party. I met a girl there who was an art student. We got talking and I mentioned that I wrote poetry and song lyrics she talked to me about how she was expected to paint and create a group of art items around a theme for a project. Somehow, we arrived at the idea, that perhaps she would use my poetry for that. The only thing left to do was for her to review the poems and so we made arrangements for her to visit the following Saturday afternoon.

On Saturday morning, when it finally arrived, I tried to tidy and clean the flat. I was quite keen to impress her if the truth be told. I even went out and bought a few small cakes from the bakery and spent a small fortune on some decent instant coffee. She duly arrived and she sat opposite me across a small table and in between munching on the cakes, she began to read some of my poetry . At once, she spotted the theme that we had discussed and that had initially piqued her interest – fear, ghosts, astral plane and so on.

“Why do you write so many on that set of topics,” she asked.

I tried my best to explain. I told her about the Cavalier ghost, the activities at my house that had followed me to West Bromwich, about my interest in understanding it all and my avid reading of books on magic and the esoteric.

She laughed. “That’s a load of bloody nonsense,” she giggled.

To be honest, I was a bit angered by that reaction. She sits there, reading my innermost secrets in those poems and when I explain what motivated them she laughs!

“No, it isn’t nonsense. Not at all,” I said firmly.

“Of course, it is. There are no such things as ghosts.” She said matter of factly. “Magic is something done on stage by people using trickery.”

“No, you are wrong.”

“Prove it,” she said.

Those two words – Prove it – Damn it, I would try. I was pretty angry at having my intelligence questioned and being insulted by a person who had plainly never experienced anything at all unusual. Prove it Indeed.

I began mentally repeating the words “Make something happen – prove it to her.” I didn’t really expect anything to happen to be honest. I had not really ever tried to make something happen as to be honest, I was too scared of what might happen myself to try. Anger and indignation, pride and ego this time however, motivated me to try. There was no technique, no magic words, just a deep-seated will driven by anger to make her eat those words.

“I will,” I said forcefully.

To my utter amazement, the windows behind me suddenly rattled and with a loud cracking noise, blew wide open. A rush of air entered the flat blowing her hair back and scattering the pile of poems all around the room. Her eyes, probably like mine, widened in total shock and awe. Then, the piece de resistance, the huge paper Leonardo Da Vinci Last Supper picture, pinned to the wall with pins, suddenly billowed off from that wall behind her, passed over her head and landed on the coffee table in front of her. It actually flew against the wind from the window to get there.


There was a moments silence as she surveyed and computed what had just occurred. White as a sheet, she leapt to her feet, clutched her belongings and ran out of the door. I never saw her again.

I too was shocked. Actually scared silly might be more accurate.

I really do not know what happened that afternoon. Did I really cause that to happen or was it simply just a freakish coincidence that at the moment I willed something to happen, a strong wind blew open the windows of the flat. It had never happened before and it never happened again. I guess I will never know. It was however, a long time before I ever tried to work magic again.

If you enjoyed this story check out the My Haunted Life series on Kindle.


An Adept Among Us

In the book The adept Magician51Uc7ri7mpL._SL250_ by Marten Crawford, we meet through his own words a true adept. A man who followed Bardon’s teachings for 30 odd years and in passing tells us that he can shoot flames from his stomach and water to put out the flames as well change the weather, stop time, split himself in two and many more bizarre things. When you read the words of the man, you believe him. His words are the words of someone who seems to know and who sees little importance in such abilities anyway.

Mr. Crawford writes a very straightforward and well thought through introduction to his interactions with the man he called the Adept Magician. For those who have read any Franz Bardon, some of it will be familiar but you can also tell that Marten knows what he is talking about too. While Bardon’s exercises include blessing food and giving the food properties to be consumed along with the food itself, about how to use the magnetic properties of water and why control over the elements is essential to this form of magic, Crawford adds his own layers to this of hermetic christianity drawing comparisons to the role of transubstantiated bread and wine in the mass on the one hand and to the concept of macrocosm and microcosm on the other.

If one were to follow Bardon’s exercises day in day out for 30-years, I am pretty sure changes will result in that person. To become an Adept however is a different matter altogether. Bardon was an Adept and it appears that this student of Bardon was also such a man. Most of us, and I speak for myself really here, are far too flawed as individuals perhaps to reach those levels in a single lifetime.

Our adept talks of three great transformations and he describes the first. It is perhaps familiar to those who have read about magic and esotericism. The experience was ‘so trying that I lay for three days, part of me in this world and part of me in another place. During those three-days I dreamed the same dream over and over. To this day, I’m not at all sure if it was a dream.’

The Adept talks gently and with understanding about a number of aspects of the work and training of the initiate before announcing in simple but certain terms tells us that he has made the third transformation and is going to transition accordingly along with his wife and wishes everyone a simple but heartfelt goodbye.

To me this is a must read book. It will leave you deeply touched and it may just give you hope…..

Now, Where is that Curse?

There are times when I find myself contemplating a little black magic.

Yep, I have to be honest and say that there really are times when I think about delivering a really good and debilitating curse. Hell, there are times, if I am honest, when my thoughts are less than pristine and I do come very close to issuing a mental curse or hex. For this reason, I will never be a good magician as I must go back continually to the drawing board of ‘know thyself’ and work on that sudden rush of blood to the head that I experience from time to time and that will one day cause my fall. I must let it all be water off a duck’s back as they say.

I recall taking some presentation skills training many years ago. It comprised of presenting for a couple of minutes while being videoed. The result was boring and anemic to say the least. “Imagine the the thing that makes your blood boil – get angry and rant, wave your arms about, go really over the top”, we were told by the instructor. Guess what, the result of the second video made while I felt like if I flapped my arms any more I would take to flight looked… normal. Interesting and normal.

So what did I imagine while making the second presentation? I imagined being cut off by another driver. Yep, I cannot abide people cutting me off, pushing in, not queuing and riding up my backside trying to push me out of the way. This is the moment when I would love to wave a wand and have that other drivers’ car explode right there and then.

There are other examples. People pushing in at the supermarket when lined up for the check out till. People who use words like ‘pollutant’ when talking about CO2. People who think beforeitsnews.com is a legitimate news site. People doing bad things to other people generally. Hull City losing. But, the biggest one of all is people who for some reason simply decide that they have to write bad reviews about my book. I don’t mean by the way a negative review I mean a personal, sarcastic and totally unnecessarily rude review. Why? What on earth did I do to deserve your undying hatred just because I had the sheer audacity to write a book? What then gives you the right to lurk on Amazon marking good reviews as ‘not useful’ and penning under various other names other sarcastic and twisted reviews of my books? I don’t get it really. I never said I was Shakespeare and I don’t force people to buy my books so what was my crime? That I tried to succeed at something? Now that is just sheer petty jealousy isn’t it?

Anyway, these things make my blood boil. Luckily, my temper is instantaneous and then its gone and I am done with it. It’s fiery and explosive but burns out quickly. The fact is I need to work on it and get rid of it. What does it matter? Who cares? I say… I do actually. Damn. See…. I need to work on it I really do and I will I promise.

On the other hand, there are times when, just like in the presentation skills example, a bit of feistiness is needed. There are genuine reasons to be annoyed and to genuine causes to work for and these do need that bit of fire to spark and sustain them don’t they. So, perhaps its not so much a case of getting rid of my anger but learning when anger is appropriate and how to ensure that that anger is used as fuel to a constructive use.

I probably should stay away from the curses and hexes though….. don’t you think?






The Sea

I think my favorite place to be is by the Sea, which is strange because I live in a land locked country now. But for most of my life, I have lived close to the ocean either in Hull or Houston. Perhaps the Sea is in my blood coming from a fishing port on the east coast of Britain – an island. Whatever it is, the ocean sings to me whether azure blue or broiling grey, the smell, sights and sound of an ocean raises me up.

I think of water as essentially a feminine element influenced by the Moon. A magnetic element that draws you to it. One that cleanses and washes away dirt, tiredness and sin reinvigorating the body and the soul. A body of water is like the mind – rarely still but when it is still, it reflects the heavens or the higher aspect of ourselves and if we think or speak or move, we create ripples that slowly move outwards to the ends of the water body impacting in some small way everything they come into contact with. Those ripples are in fact waves – waves of water and also an example of a waveform that eventually collapses and breaks upon the shore. If we can be still, still like water, our meditations will bear fruit in terms of reflections or/and waves of understanding.

As I stated a few days ago, water has some very magical qualities too and it can be made to carry an intent or a quality – after all, what is holy water but water that has been blessed and purified by intent? Whether you believe in the magical properties of the elements or prefer to think in terms of psychology, imagine the next time you shower or wash that the water is washing away from you some personality trait that you would like to be rid of – see that trait being dissolved by the running water and flowing away into the drain cleansing you and reinvigorating you.

In the book The Mystical Hexagram, you will find more water exercises that can be beneficial.

When I see the ocean, I am calmed. When I see the ocean, my heart stirs. When I see an ocean, I am glad to be alive.


Life is But A Dream

I recall singing that song when I was a small child and wondering what did it mean? – Life is just a dream?

Row, row, row your boat,
Gently down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Life is but a dream.

But where did this come from and who wrote it? A bit of research suggests that the earliest printing of it was in 1852 but who wrote it and why seems lost in the mists of time. If anyone knows, please let me know…

I thought life a dream when I was a child or rather, I thought it a game that I controlled. It was a sort of virtual reality (as it would be called now) and I was sat in a box connected to a machine that gave me vision and senses. So to be honest, I didn’t puzzle too much over the idea that life might be a dream. I rather accepted that it was.

I have lost so much as I have grown and yet I have gained so much. My imagination as a child was beyond equal. I could create other worlds right there in my head and my dreams and my waking life seemed interconnected and one. I could fly back then. Magic – physical magic was real and so were elves. There was a girl I loved so much trapped on an island of towering cliffs looked after by her wicked witch of an Aunt that I dreamed about over and over again. One dream ran into the next even weeks apart until I finally rescued my love and the wicked witch met her destiny.

There may have unlimited imagination as a child but there was no experience of life. In the Mystical Hexagram, I talk about the hardened horny matter that is built up by life. We talk about the burning away – the transformation through fire – of life’s experience. The breaking down of this hardened horny material that we build up through life.

It’s as if we build ourselves a prison.

It starts early with our parents who, knowing no better, burden us with some of the hardened life material. Next, its other kids (peer pressure) and our teachers (culture, way of seeing things etc.). We lose our ability to just imagine and it is replaced with the straight jacket that is normality and acceptance. We no longer ‘row the boat, gently down the stream’ but rather fight the currents going in God knows which direction and to what end? Oblivion?

Life loses its innocence, its gaiety, it’s merriness. It’s no longer a dream but a nightmare.

That is until you remember how to imagine. How to center yourself and imagine. Learn how to dream again. How to cast off the horny matter and transform the experiences – no matter what they are – into something of eternal value and meaning. Something spiritual and energizing. The combination of childish imagination skills and the adult’s experiences of life to at first remember to row, gently DOWN the stream (with the current – Just as Asteroth said ‘don’t fight, go with the flow merrily understanding, it is YOUR dream and you can create your own reality.


Originally posted on Asteroth’s Domain.

Patterns in the Rain

I have always loved rain. Somehow rain always gives me a sense of cleansing and renewal and to walk in rain calms me. Throw in a bit of lightening and ripple of thunder and I am child again in awe of nature.

The magical power of water is often forgotten but alluded to in the rites of baptism and ritual cleansing. That cold crystal liquid, a mixture of two gases in liquid form, can be used magically in so many ways either with physical water or with imagined water. Water can be charged with thoughts, emotions and with intent as with holy water and because of this property, it can be used in a myriad of ways to cleanse and renew.

When water falls from the sky, it cleanses our atmosphere and it cleans the accumulated dust and dirt moving it all to the lowest spot where it reorganizes and redeposits the muck in layers of reformulated Earth where eventually plants will grow extracting the goodness and vitality from the cleansed Earth. Rain waters eventually form streams and rivers that move towards the sea; that salty body of water that is influenced by the Moon and has a feminine quality to it. The sea from which life first emerged crawling onto land and learning how to breath pure air. The sea that churns and moves back and forth with currents and tides constantly redistributing and sorting sediments.

If we observe these movements and motions; these natural properties of water (and the other elements), then we can also understand how to use the elements in a magical manner applying their properties to our psyche in magical ways to cleanse, regenerate, reorganize and redistribute our own selves.

Walking in the rain to me is magical in of itself. The soft sounds of the rain drops falling and the waters streaming. The grey and pregnant sky obscuring momentarily the Sun. The dampness and wetness of the air and the rain dribbling down your body washing and cleansing the soul.


To be a Fool

If I were God I think I would be devastated by the acts of humanity.

But maybe thats the wrong way to think about things?

Maybe I would look upon my creation with a parents’ love and understanding and perhaps I would see the good things rather than the bad? Perhaps I would chose to look upon the little acts of kindness, the attempts to understand another’s point of view and the innocence and wonderful imagination of children and marvel that such kindness, such beauty could exist at all.

Perhaps I would puzzle over why people seem so deeply burdened when in fact they have life, choice and freedom of expression. Perhaps I would understand that sometimes it is difficult to see the light in the darkness if you have never been shown what the light actually looks like. Do most people really live in darkness?

In many meditations over the years, the Fool was often something that came to mind. When we think of the Fool, we tend to think of someone foolish – stupid and I suppose few of us would aspire to be foolish or stupid. However, the Fool is innocent, wide-eyed, curious having no preconceived conceptions about anything. The Fool is joyful dancing, humming and singing silly songs as he makes his way through life. Having no preconceptions means also that the Fool does what seems to be natural without worrying about what others might think, he goes places where others might fear to tread for he does not know nor understand fear as an emotion. The Fool looks foolishly at everything seeing what is really there without some preconceived notion of what to expect. The Fool sees what is really there.

Perhaps God is a Fool too rejoicing in diversity and seeing the good, the beauty and the truth even in the darkest of hearts?

Given the state of the world – let’s hope so.

Tempter Fool by Albrecht Durer.

Tempter Fool by Albrecht Durer.