G. Michael Vasey's Blog: The Wacky World of Dr. Vasey, page 16

Value Who You Are

I am a thought in the mind of God.

A ripple of consciousness in time and space.

I am making it up as I go along gaining in wisdom, experience and versatility as I go.

My value is that I am.

We must all value who and what we are. Unique as we all are, the death of a person takes with it countless life lessons and experiences…….

Be yourself. Live! Do not be afraid. You are a well of experience, inspiration and yes, magic. So frolick in the Sun, laugh, be merry… and love with fury!

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The Metadata of Magic

I have written much about the nature of reality and how to create reality both in novels like The Last Observer and in little books like – The New You. The other night, I had this very strange dream that I believe fits into the theme of reality. In it, I woke up one morning and could read the metadata associated with everything I saw. ie. I could read the data about the objects I was seeing. I did this simply by looking at an object. The metadata then streamed into my head telling me everything I needed to know about it. This skill allowed me to have a lot of fun in my dream.

Interestingly enough, when I awoke, I could still recall a lot of the dream details including two statements that were told to me in the dream as follows;

You should write this as a book,
This is the secret to everything.

In the world of quantum mechanics, everything is energy. There is no physical reality at all. There is only energy and a conscious observer. I explored this idea in the novel The Last Observer and had some fun with it yet, the idea of metadata emerged only in this dream. In the book The Wizard of EarthSea by Ursula LeGuin, the hero Ged, lets loose something very dark that almost kills him. It pursues him throughout his life and he lives in great fear of it. He finally overcomes it when he learns its name. In magic we use the idea of naming something as having power over it. In the Bible, Adam gives names to everything in Creation (Genesis 2:19-20) and in a sense, Adam was the first Magician taking his rulership over the physical world of his creation in this act of naming. In my dream, the metadata was essentially the same thing – it was the name and associated details about everything in Creation – my Creation.

I am the only person who observes the world and yes, names it, the way that I do. Everyone else, sees it differently so yes, it is my Creation just as your world is your Creation. In my world, I have never really touched anything, seen anything, heard anything, tasted anything and so on. All of these experiences occur in the brain at the quantum level. The particles that make up my body and this desk repel one another – they can never touch. In fact, I am a cloud of particles in a larger cloud of particles and guess what? All of those particles are energy waves and many are entangled – ie intimately connected whatever the distance between them in time and space. There is no time. There is no space. There is just me. Consciousness. I am.

Imagination is the engine room of creation, Stan. What we imagine, if it is done with intensity and clarity, has its own reality, and that reality is the blueprint behind this reality – The Last Observer.

 

That blueprint is the thing that contained metadata in my dream. By being able to read this, I was able to make true magic. I was able to manipulate my world at will. Imagine that – the ability to truly create your reality!

I came to think of my dream as a sort of explanation of what has been called the Astral by many. The framework of energy – imaginatively fashioned and called into reality by an consciousness. It is Yesod at the base of the hexagram – one of the 7 stars of power that shows how to create reality I discussed with Sue Vincent in our book – The Mystical Hexagram. In the world of Yesod, the Astral light, we can read the Akasha – the metadata – and make magic.

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Live Talking BEK on FOJ

I was interviewed live on FOJ this last weekend. Here is the interview….

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Am I Big?

This evening, I realized I needed some business shirts for a trip next week to London. I duly set off for the mall and Marks & Spencers. On arrival, I realized that I had no idea what size I needed! I managed to find a friendly assistant who measured me….. She told me 43 to 44 collar size. It was only when I started to look at said shirts that I made the realization that I am actually quite big! Firstly, almost every shirt I liked didn’t have anything bigger than a 42 or – even worse – was ‘slim fit’.

At this stage I need to ask – who the hell wears slim fit? Suddenly, everything is slim fit. Slim fit shorts, T-shirts and even trousers. Let’s understand each other – slim fit don’t fit me.

I thought perhaps I’d look at a sports coat and trousers too while there. It took me a while to find the size I was – 58. Frankly, there were very few this big and those that were, didn’t seem to fit me – too short mainly. Then I tried trousers – 38/36? I couldn’t find any but here at least, I seem to be not too far off average as waists go up to 48.

After spending an hour going through all of this and even trying a few items on, I had to ask myself did I get big or are men smaller and strangely shaped these days? Maybe its Czech men that are small and strangely shaped?

Now having said that, I am around 6′ 3″ or 191ish cm and I weigh a bit over 100kg (that is a hell of a lot of pounds so I won’t bother telling you how many). I do carry a fee kg around the middle but I’m working on it (again). Maybe I am a big man but I don’t look fat, huge or somehow out of the usual. But let’s face facts, according to the sizes and fits in M&S, men are smallish – maybe 5’8″ with small chests and even smaller waists down to the belt line where they are quite wide with short legs. That would be my conclusion based on the clothing sizes stocked here…. I don’t know anyone who looks like that!

So are men smaller these days or am I just big?

Maybe a bit of both.

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Cold-Hearted Girl

A song on the last album is cold-hearted girl. The actual riff that drives the song is something I have played with for decades – probably since 1974! I finally found a use for it. The lyrics were sang without any preparation – I just let the music take me and sang whatever came out… which was,

 

Cold hearted girl

Cold hearted girl

Cold hearted girl

Cold hearted girl

Outside its cold as ice

Reminds me of your heart

Your empty words

That broke us apart

Its plain to me that you think of yourself

So now its goodbye

My Joanna

Cold hearted

Cold Hearted

Cold Hearted 

Girl

Outside the snow is falling

Its filling your heart

That frozen smile

you use when you leave

Its plain to me that you value yourself

So now its goodbye

My Joanna

Cold hearted

Cold Hearted

Cold Hearted 

Girl

There is no sign

you feel anything at all

Your world must be

A lonely place to be

Its plain to everyone

That you only think of you

So now its goodbye

My Joanna

 

You can hear the song here…. it’s a rocker!

 

 

  

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The Magic of Magick by Peter C. Whitaker

In my last blog post I suggested that I would consider the subject of magick in my up and coming fantasy book ‘The Queen of the Mountain Kingdom’. For those who might not be aware of it Magick is ‘the science and art of causing change to occur in conformity with will’. Magic, on the other hand, is the kind of thing that entertainers do. Is there really a difference? Well, it depends on your view of authenticity I suppose. I believe that the best examples of speculative fiction, that is anything that goes beyond the norm of everyday life, is actually rooted in that same everyday life. Fantastical things may occur, fabulous creatures may exist, but there is also a logic to the fantasy world that they occupy that underpins their validity within the bounds of the story. It is my experience that some authors really do not work too hard on establishing that necessary logic.

‘The Queen of the Mountain Kingdom’ is a fantasy book. It takes place in a world that does not exist but closely mirrors our own. Many of the characters are preoccupied with the kind of things that most ‘normal’ people in our world are; living their lives as well as they can. Of course, if I left it at that then it would make for a mundane story. There has to be something different about this tale doesn’t there? Of course there does. It has a kind of magick that disrupts the mundane and places the people in danger. Who needs heroes if the world is not in some kind of danger?

The book does not rely upon the threat of magick to increase the tension alone, but it is a significant part the story. Although I dismissed most common features of traditional fantasy as a genre, elves, trolls, wizards and such, the element of magick was there from day one. I wanted it to be a motivating force in the development of both the plot and certain characters. I also wanted it to be rooted in some semblance of rationality. Looking at the paraphernalia of typical magick users I decided to dispense with wands, books of spells, amulets, rings, potions, and any other symbolic representation of magic through use of an artefact. Influenced by Aleister Crowley’s quote above, I contemplated a system of magick that is based on energy. The universe is full of energy. Matter is energy vibrating at a certain frequency. Magick is the manipulation of energy by a knowledgeable person exercising their will.

The key word in that last sentence is knowledgeable. The Mountain Kingdom of Oroson is ancient. It was originally occupied by a people who called themselves Panteans. Within Mt. Oroson they discovered something that they call the Localis, a node through which passes the knowledge of the universe. The Panteans begin to acquire this knowledge and it allows them to do things that other peoples would call sorcery. The Panteans build gates to control access not only onto their mountain but also through or over its many ridges, or spurs as they are called in the book, that divide up the continent. This is done with the power of transmutation. With their understanding of the material world consisting of elementary particles and energy the Panteans can change matter into any shape or consistency that they can imagine. Three thousand years later the Panteans have become a race in decline. They have become obsessed with the studying of the Localis. They no longer need to eat or sleep, everything that their physical bodies require is provided for by their magick. Longevity becomes their norm. When a new people arrive on Mt. Oroson the Panteans, or Old People as they become known, cede their kingdom to them quite peacefully. All they ask for in return is dominion over the cave in which the Localis resides. They leave their city and move into the cave. The more knowledge that the Panteans acquire concerning the nature of the universe the more removed from the mundane human world they become.

Inevitably, members of the New People become interested in the knowledge of the Old People, but learning it is a daunting task. They do not have access to the Localis itself and the Old People never wrote their discoveries down. Human words cannot express the totality of the knowledge that they have accrued. The New People are aware of the magick of the Old People, but it is spoken about as if it were a mythology. Two hundred or so years later the book opens with the New People more concerned with the matter of succession as their king lies on his deathbed without a male heir to continue his dynasty. In a similar way the magick of the Panteans appears to be passing away as they, as a people, are consciously evolving to become a part of the universe as beings of energy only. For those New People who wish to learn the secrets of the Old People the task seems impossible. Without reference to a written lore they can only guess at how the Old People built the city of Cirrius on the side of a mountain or erected the invulnerable gates that protect the kingdom from invasion.

I really like the idea of a system of magick in which an understanding of the nature of the universe is key. It appeals to my Pantheistic beliefs. Also, the use of imagination to achieve results. This is not a source of power that can be used by anyone who picks up a wand and mutters a few arcane words. Knowledge and understanding are at the heart of it. Ignorance is a barrier that must be crossed. This magick is not for parlour tricks, it can transform the physical world. It can be used to reshape solid materials into anything imaginable. Its ability to unleash destructive energy gives the user a power that equates to a nuclear weapon. Exposure to this magick inevitably changes the individual. Access to the power also brings a greater knowledge of the reality of existence. What was once important recedes to be replaced by a desire to achieve a greater understanding of everything. At least for most people who experience it. For some their resistance to the corruption offered by power, any kind of power, is not so strong. A faction within the Old People cannot move on from the point that they have reached. Indeed, they do not want to. They have been corrupted by the power that they can wield.

The real test of these ideas is in the writing. Does this theory of magic add anything to the story? Do the characters who come into contact with it risk anything in its practice? Will tension and excitement be added to the story? Well, I suppose the proof will be in the pudding. I look forward to hearing what readers think when the book is published, hopefully this summer.

 

Reblogged from Peter’s Blog. 

Discover Peter C. Whitaker and his books at his Amazon page.

Buy the book?

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Holiday Characters – The Browning Cycle – Episode 2

Having just returned from a week in Italy with my daughter, I have another week’s worth of observations from my sun bed…..

The man was tallish and very thin. A skinny skeleton in fact. He stood at the water line surveying the water in his old fashioned pink trunks pulled up to somewhere around his lower chest so that his junk hung out either side. Deni found this funny as most 12-year olds might. He held in his hand a 1980’s era music player which blurted out 1980’s pop music. He moved from side-to-side in an awkward and abrupt sort of way with the beat. It was very Mr. Bean-like. The name stuck.

We followed Mr. Bean for several days. He would arrive at the beach and rent a sun bed. Then using his towel to partially cover himself, he would change into his pink swimsuit and then wander down to the sea line and stare for many minutes all the time moving in Mr. Bean-like movements to his 80-‘s beat.  Then, he would return to his bed, deposit the music player and enter the water for a swim with his green head cap in hand. As soon as he made it to about waist height, on came the green cap and off he went about 20 meters in to the ocean with a choppy swim stroke before returning to the beach to reverse the entire process.

The resemblance to Mr. Bean was actually uncanny. His face, expressions, movements and general disposition – alone and plainly mostly alone – mumbling to himself all the while. All were pure Bean. To be honest, I found myself watching him a lot as he was comical in a sad sort of lonely way. Watching him change with his towel was also Bean-like as his underwear – whitish and old-fashioned – although clean was shall we say, well used, and bore the stains and marks to prove it.

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Mr. Bean was not a happy man it seemed. He deliberately engineered short arguments with the life guard and the management of the private beach shouting do you think I’m stupid? in Italian. Trying to gain entry to a private beach without paying and then laying your towel, belongings and so on on the beach right by the ocean in a very deliberate and Mr.Bean-like manner in front of the life guard really isn’t smart.

While Mr. Bean kept us occupied, he wasn’t the only character on our bit of beach. Nope.

There was a skinny couple most days as well. The woman we ended up calling Ms. Touch Bottom because she constantly re-arranged the derriere of her skimpy costume. There was nothing attractive about this as Ms. Touch Bottom was also skeletal, smoked pot all day and constantly fell out with her boyfriend. The boyfriend we named “London” because any interaction with him this was the word he would say – London??? He was drunk by lunchtime most days consuming bottle after bottle of beer often laying in the shallows of the sea. He too was very thin and neither looked well. I don’t know what he was saying but his voice was like a scowl and many on the beach were drawn to stare disapprovingly at him. My guess is that he was swearing like a trooper.

Towards the end of our stay, another couple appeared. She was also skeletal in build and extremely tanned. Her husband was a more normal size and he ignored her pretty much all day. She lay on the sun bed chatting on her phone all day occasionally casting a sneer in our direction especially when Deni ran by and splashed a little sand. We also kept running into them in town. She looking at shoes and him looking in the opposite direction.

It’s funny how many characters you see if you look. How many people who sit in the exactly the same place each day on the beach for a week before going back home. We did. I wonder what stories they are telling about us?

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Passive-aggressive?

I may well have a passive-aggressive personality? I can be passive-aggressive anyway, but that isn’t the point of this blog post. Nope. The title is meant to be a play on words around my aggressive use of passive voice in my writing.  I tend to fall naturally into the passive voice and I struggle to recognize it and correct it. I have been criticized no end for my passive voice.

There was a time believe it or not that I was rather competent in English language. Yes – I even got a grade A at O-Level!

The Browning Cycle

Confused, you watch the others to see how it is done. After all, they are now all old hands at everything here. Tanned, comfortable and relaxed, the other guests seem almost brash in their state of relaxation. It’s hard not to contrast that with our own state of Lilly-whiteness and awkwardness, and of course we do, casting admiring glances at the other guests and commenting about them in hushed tones to each other.

It’s a mixed bunch. There is the woman who is not just remarkably tanned but very evenly tanned to boot. She moves like a Queen with her head held high and shoulders back as if gliding a catwalk and everything she does is performed with a willful grace and poise that probably hides a deep lack of self confidence. Like a bronzed narcissist, she sits holding her phone apparently seeking a good picture but in reality, she is simply examining her own appearance in selfie mode. Her husband or lover seems a normal sort and drinks his cold beer in silence ignoring his wife’s antics.

The American family is wiry and deeply tanned. Typical California without an ounce of fat between them, they place fitness above all else and are almost certainly vegetarians or certainly low fat eaters. They talk loudly among themselves in that distinct crisp California accent oblivious to the presence of others in the Hotel bar. Their talk is all of comparisons and a love for all things Croatian or European. They are wanna be Europeans earning a living on the west coast.

We look at each other and smile. Pretty soon we have code for our fellow quests. The Actress. The Americans. And other such names. We finish our breakfast and go back to our room to don swimwear and copious amounts of factor 50 sun cream. Among the bronzed elites of the Villa Barroni guest club, it wouldn’t pay to burn!

That was just over a week ago. Since then, we watched the Actress and her husband closely. They fought. She cried but hid the tears behind her large sunglasses and then they spent time separated – she by the sea and he by the pool. The Americans were long gone and indeed had left that very day that we met them replaced by an assortment of Croatians, Germans, Hungarians and Italians.

We had gotten to know the comings and goings of the Croatian family – a youngish looking couple with dark hair and complexions, but strangely enough – no tan! and their small daughter who would be lovingly scooped up whenever she got more than 1 meter away. The mother looked angry a lot. Her partner looked resigned to that. Sometimes however, they frolicked like young lovers in the silky Adriatic as their tiny daughter slept. There was still something magical between them despite the recent arrival of their small bundle of joy.

Then there was the odd couple. They seemed young – perhaps in their late twenties and were likely German. He had dark hair and a beard supplemented by purple nose ring hanging like a loose body part or perhaps colored snot, from his nose. His body was a mass of nipple rings, piercings and goodnessknows what else piercings! She was taller, had died her hair gray and blue which was odd enough but it was also shaved to a certain apparently arbitrary point on her head and then fell lank and loose onto her shoulders. She too had piercings aplenty apparently randomly distributed about her body. They kept themselves to themselves talking in whispers with each other and occasionally floating in the small waves on two airbeds.

The Hungarian family were dominated by two large matriarchal figures of indeterminate age and shape who perpetually scowled at everything and everyone muttering under their breaths. They glared at everyone in a way that conjured up images of witchcraft. Three generations strong, the two teenage daughters wore string bathing suits that showed off their behinds. This seemed rather odd to us as both were under the age of 16 and spent much of their time with their father. The entire family seemed to believe that they could say exactly what they wanted as no one else understood Hungarian – they were wrong as my partner does and indeed is Hungarian. She explained that they dissed everyone and described their speech as callous, rough and rude. She told me how finding the two of us having the audacity to use the pool, they had remarked that these ‘horrid people ought to know better than to use their pool.’

It seemed to us watching the coming and going of the guests, that we found ourselves in a mini version of the World. Each and every archetype was represented it seemed.

Of course, by now, we had realized that we were the tanned and relaxed ones content with the place and the slow passing of time in the heat of the sun. It was now us who knew the timings and comings and goings of the Hotel staff, who knew how to get the best table for dinner and best sun beds. It was we who had the rapport with the staff such that we did not even have to ask but apparently communicated with them via thought only. It was we that were leaving…..

And as we watched the delicately pale Lithuanians that arrived to take our place nervously seek out sun beds, we smiled at each other and marveled at how all things are cyclic. Even holidays.

 

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Oh Look – A New Book!

I finally managed to get past my laziness and compile a new book! Yes – The Scary Best of Myhauntedlifetoo.com – is now out on Kindle!

An all new collection of favorite chilling true stories of the paranormal submitted to the Myhauntedlifetoo website compiled and edited by G. Michael Vasey.

Ghosts, shadows, demons and poltergeist….. for those who experience such things, the paranormal is very real and very frightening. The stories in this book cover all of these paranormal phenomena and more besides…… Don’t read before bedtime!

The Scary Best of Myhauntedlifetoo.com – True stories of the paranormal edited by G. Michael Vasey

 

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