Saturday, 20 August 2011


I was visited by a Succubus this morning. Not the lame excuse for illicit guilt ridden sexual dalliances dreamed up by hemmed in Restoration virgins. Not the imagined demons of the dark hours conjured by pastors and priests. Not even the accumulated shards of fright I may have garnered over the years through nightly consumption of ever more finely crafted horror stories. This was a true Succubus of the soul.

Robbing me of my ability to move at all for an untold time. Severing communications between limbs and brain that we take for granted and incidentally casting a veil of immediate and tangibly petrifying fear. I was suddenly and for the first time in my life, granted access to the supernatural by this visitation. For an indeterminate period, I was scared of death, scared to live and terribly afraid of permanence. This last was paramount. The sudden irrational thought that sliced through the two sides of my consciousness leaving sharp barbed demands for attention was a questioning of my ability to cope with purgatory. That this fearfulness may rule my waking state with more and more puissance as sleep was to leave me. Any tiny rubs and strokes of hope eradicated, pushed aside by preternatural flaming terror. This was a visitation from hell.

The illusion soon revealed itself as such however. My singular impression of the potential for permanence began to dissipate as my waking self gained ground and rationality came within my grasp. Once more, the timescale here is hard to measure. Not now due to the emotional paralysis I was subject to but increasingly because I was coming to relish the prospect of exploring my experience. Time became at once a valuable cherished necessity and a gradually vanishing commodity. My waking self would soon slip quietly into it's customary service of our human timeline. My hypnogogic self clung to the awareness of time's gradually dominant state. I reluctantly allowed that any impressions I may be granted from this point would be guided by my own physical and emotional pilots. One to be dropped off at his billet on the Styx, the other to be piped on board by dawn.

Now less afraid and more intrigued, I was at liberty to test my paralysis and now aware of what the causes were, enjoy the lack of evidence for demons.

Arms, hands, legs, feet and face completely still I was made aware of the simple truth of propreoception. There was no doubt where I lay, in what position or direction. In common with the history of documentation of this condition, I was prone. I could now relate my awareness of the bedside clock with the rising sun and temperature in the room. One leg was uncovered and my right arm raised above my head. For the first time in this episode, I asked myself about duration. Becoming aware of the processes that I could consciously employ, I tried to move first one leg then the other. No luck. The effort needed was immense, merely to feel that some small change may be effected. All I seemed to be able to do was register that nerve and muscle fibres were at least acquainted. Full working relations had not yet been negotiated. My quarters were on strike.

Minutes now made good time. As my limbs began to thaw from the toes and fingers up, I realised how the enormity of this event had almost caused me to not merely suspend my scepticism but abandon all logic in my natural desperation to make sense of it. My imagination was the last recourse to something seeming akin to me whilst the awfulness took my sense of self by stealth.

It was during this presumably brief time that demons were available to me as reason and excuse for abandoned hope. Latterly, whilst aware of returning sensation, I was impressed by how much relief could be gathered up from the remains of this torture and formed into a countering force for good. How many such straws have been grasped over the years by those without the understanding to confound their superstition? At this time, I glimpsed the very subjective reality of faith in god. I saw the rationale behind beelzebub and understood the reason to abandon all my hope as I neared the gates of dispair.

Monday, 15 August 2011

A small planet..

I was suddenly taken by how this Bee and it's attending Hover Flies would experience the Alium. Miracles of tiny neurological engineering and balance control mean that they are the masters of the sphere but, how much further does their perception extend?

More of this and my own developing sense of wonder at our position later...