As the session progressed, the way in which the glass moved across the table’s surface increased in both smoothness and speed, and I continued to ask myself, "how on earth could this be happening?".
By this point I had a bit more confidence; whatever the pushing and pulling influence was, I felt I could at least eliminate any deliberate, or conscious intent from either of us.
This first session left me very curious indeed. The glass had moved around in a manner that wasn’t at all easy to explain, and explanations were what I’d always wanted.
I cannot actually recall anything in the way of a clear cut message that had been spelt out on that first evening, although a few words and one or two sketchy sentences did come through, and I remember thinking that it all seemed rather laboured. But more than anything else, it was the nature in which the glass moved that aroused my curiosity so much and that fuelled my desire to explore the whole thing further.
Our second session took place on New Year's Eve, and if the first one could be described as “interesting” then this one was nothing less than sensational!
It began in a similar manner to the first session - slowly, and sure enough there seemed to be, let’s say “contacts” coming through and speaking with us. Once again it was all taking place at various rates of what’s best described as “slowness”. But even though I describe it as slow, it’s important to point out that pretty much each contact had a marked character in the glass’ movement. For example, whatever the tempo was, it stayed consistent for each. The same went for whether the glass took a direct path towards each letter, or maybe a more circular route. Only when they were about to say goodbye was it usual for any noticeable decrease in tempo and speed, maybe as if they were running out of steam.
But after some ten minutes, maybe fifteen, I can’t recall just how long, suddenly there was the most abrupt change, a burst of speed and fluency surpassing anything I could have anticipated or imagined. It truly was as though somebody had just barged straight into the room, speaking to us, almost shouting at us in a tone of haste and urgency. It was frantic.
No matter what question I asked, we got an answer, a fast answer, and I knew that neither of us could be making up this conversation, certainly not with such apparent spontaneity.
Not only were we getting clear, fast and coherent answers, but also the mannerisms and terminology in what was spelt out to us did not belong to either Carol or myself.
Although we went into this whole thing with somewhat suspended expectations, I do wonder if, despite the sincere intent of complete and total “open-mindedness” it may actually be impossible–on some level–not to have the interference of stereotypical ideas of what happens in a “séance”. There could well be certain anticipated consequences in all this, things that you fear might happen, yet somewhat paradoxically, somewhere inside you’re also hoping that those things will occur. It’s as though they would act as a form of confirmation that “this” is really taking place, not to mention the desire for a little excitement, maybe.
But at this point in the proceedings what I noticed more than anything else was how these actual events bore little if any relationship to any of the expectations we might’ve had.
Thus far we had observed that a – Person? An Entity? A Spirit? - call it whatever you want – usually they would introduce themselves by giving us their first name, they would make some kind of a statement, and then they’d say goodbye. Then, there would be the odd one that might stick around a little longer and answer a few questions before signing off.
They would usually have their very own, individual and often quite idiosyncratic way of greeting us, and later also of saying goodbye before the glass would then come to a standstill.
There seemed to be no predictable length of time before the glass started up again, and what really struck me was the way in which the speed of the glass varied so contrastingly from one communication to another. At times it could be moving so fast that it was virtually impossible to keep up with the action and write down the letters being spelt out. Yet at other times the glass would move slower than a snail's pace.
It certainly appeared that the speed and the manner in which the glass moved reflected in some way the character and the energy of who, or what, we were speaking with at that time.
Neither of us had even come close to anticipating what was now taking place before our eyes, and which appeared to be gathering momentum. Nor did we realise that the best was yet to come.
Suddenly, the glass started to move at a sensational speed and – as Carol called each letter out to me, one-by-one – I scribbled the message down on paper, struggling to keep up with the pace at which things were happening. It was fast, frantic action. The glass even knocked the letters off the table at times, and occasionally it came to rest for just a moment before starting up again.
The only way it seemed we could exert any control, was by removing our fingers from the glass every few minutes. This afforded us time to briefly reflect, and it gave me a moment to draw lines between the almost unintelligible strings of letters on my notepaper, dividing them up into words and phrases.
Amazingly, perfect sentences were being formed, and the nature of what was spelled out to us bore all the hallmarks of my sister Brenda, speaking in the exact manner to which I had been accustomed and using her own specific terms and expressions.
This was to me – the sceptic that I was – an earth-shattering experience.
We were wished a “Happy New Year” only seconds before the distant sound of fireworks could be heard coming from Preston Docks. I glanced up at the clock – the clock which we had previously been completely oblivious to – to see that it was indeed just midnight.
I’d always had a particularly strong disliking for the usual alcohol-fuelled over-sentimentality of New Year, but at that moment, I have to admit, I was reduced to tears.
Brenda died on February 2nd 1992, and since that time there had been many occasions when I'd felt a possible presence of my sister, but it wasn’t anything I’d necessarily have thought about too long, or would’ve even described in those terms.
The way in which I would normally have assessed issues such as these – the supernatural, the metaphysical, and so on – would’ve been through a scientific and / or intellectual process; at least that’s what I’d be attempting to do. In this respect, I could’ve easily been accused of being a “left brain prisoner”, but it wasn’t in fact that I was a “disbeliever”, no, not at all. It was more an unwillingness to invest a belief in anything without my “own” version of proof, whether it be it on a scientific, or an intuitive level.
These days I’d actually put fewer eggs in the “seeing is believing” basket and instead prefer to think that “believing is seeing”. However, the paradox is that part of the thought process that led me to this belief-based consideration was, in fact, intellectual.
The subject of “belief” – a field worthy of study in its own right – with its many implications is something that holds the deepest interest for me, and when we first began our “séance sessions” it wasn’t easy to take what was happening at face value. To believe without question would have raised the issue of possible self-deception.
I also wondered what “proof” itself constituted. I mean, if I’d had witnessed a supernatural apparition, would that have put pay to my doubts? Well, I doubt it…
You see, one of the things this whole experience has taught me is that the so called “reasoning mind” will tick all the appropriate boxes it needs to; it can rationalise absolutely anything it chooses, if by default it already leans towards belief, or alternatively towards doubt.
Outside of a purely scientific, or mechanistic belief system, one thing does seem evident: the part of the mind which asks “what is this all about?” is most likely not the part that's capable of coming up with an answer!
There are those who seem naturally inclined to follow what their intuition tells them, and I often wonder if this is because they have more of it (intuition) or if they just place a greater degree of trust in it?
So when I sensed the presence of my sister was I only imagining it, or was it my intuition telling me something that I needed to hear? What is the Ouija and where did the messages come from? Was it really Brenda and others speaking from "the other side" … or was it my subconscious mind being freed to express itself? Was it supernatural or psyche? Was it the extramundane or the ego? Or was it something else entirely? That's for each of us to decide for ourselves.
The Glass Chronicles is about questions, it’s a story, a course of events, that challenges our pre-conceptions and very much reassures at the same time. It opened my eyes, and helped my views to develop.
I'd like to encourage you to write a book about all this. And please tell me then where I can buy it. :)
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