Tuesday, January 23, 2018

The Haunted Valley - A Case of a Wiltshire Elemental by Elliot O'Donnell 1917


The Haunted Valley (Coombe) - A Case of a Wiltshire Elemental by Elliot O'Donnell 1917

People are not half particular enough about new houses. So long as the soil is gravel, so long as the rooms are large and airy, the wall-papers artistic, and there’s no basement, the rest does not matter; at least not as a rule. Few think of ghosts or of supernatural influences. And yet the result of such a consideration is what would probably weigh most with me in selecting a newly built house. But then, I have had disagreeable experiences, and others I know have had them too.

Let me quote, for example, what befell my old acquaintance, Fitzsimmons. Robert Fitzsimmons was for years editor of the Daily Gossip, but finally retired from the post owing to ill health. His doctor recommended him some quiet, restful place in the country, so he decided to migrate to Wiltshire. After scouring the county for some time, he alighted on a spot, not very far from Devizes, that attracted him immensely.

It was prettily wooded, at least he called it prettily wooded, within easy walking distance of the village of Arkabye, and about a quarter of a mile from the site of an ancient barrow that had just been removed to make way for several cottages. Fitzsimmons loved beeches, particularly copper beeches, which he noticed flourished here exceedingly, and the thought of living surrounded by these trees gave him infinite satisfaction. He finally bought a small piece of land in the valley, getting it freehold at a ridiculously low figure, and erected a house on it, which he called “Shane Garth” after a remote ancestor.

The first month seems to have passed quite uneventfully. It was true the children, Bobbie and Jane, said they heard noises, and declared someone always came and tapped against their window after they were in bed; but Fitzsimmons attributed these disturbances to mice and bats with which the valley was infested. One thing, however, greatly disturbed his wife and himself, and that was the naughtiness of the children. Prior to their coming to the new house they had been as good as gold and had got on extremely well together; but the change of surroundings seemed to have wrought in them a complete change of character.

They were continually getting into mischief of some sort, and hardly a day passed that they did not quarrel and fight, and always in a remarkably vindictive manner. Bobbie would creep up behind Jane, and pull her hair and pinch her, whilst Jane in revenge would break Bobbie’s toys and do something nasty to him while he slept.

Then their language was so bad. They used expressions that shocked everyone in the house, and no one could say where they had picked them up. But worst of all was their cruelty to animals. The nurse came to Mrs. Fitzsimmons one morning to show her a fowl that was limping across the yard in great pain. Bobbie had pelted it with stones and broken its leg.

He was punished; but the very next day he and Jane were caught inflicting the most abominable tortures on a mouse. Jane rivalled the Chinese in the ingenuity of her cruelties. She scalded insects very slowly to death, and scandalised the village children by showing them a rabbit and sundry smaller animals which she had vivisected and skinned alive.

One does occasionally hear of epidemics of cruelty breaking out in certain districts. A year or two ago, cats came in for especially bad treatment in the neighbourhood of Red Lion Square, and the culprits, girls as well as boys, were invariably excused, it being suggested that the war had excited their naturally high spirits. I remember, too, in Cornwall, not so very long ago, children being seized with a mania for torturing birds. They caught them with fish-hooks, and never grew tired of watching them choke and writhe and otherwise distort themselves in their death agonies. In Wales, too, there are periodical outbursts of similar passions. Some years ago a child was prosecuted in South Wales for pulling a live rabbit in half; but the magistrates acquitted the accused on the plea that it was only following the example of nearly all the other children in the district. Well, Robert Fitzsimmons wondered if his children had fallen victims to one of these epidemics, and he suggested to his wife that they should be sent away to a boarding school. To his astonishment, however, Mrs. Fitzsimmons took a more lenient view of their conduct.

“It’s no use being too hard on them,” she said. “I don’t believe for one moment that Bobbie and Jane realise that animals can feel as we do—that human beings have not the monopoly of the nervous system. We must get a governess—someone who can explain things to them with tact and patience, and not get out of temper, like you do, Robert. The children must be treated with kindness and sympathy.”

Fitzsimmons could hardly believe that it was his wife speaking; she had been such a keen champion of animals, and had boxed the ears of more than one London ragamuffin whom she had caught ill-treating a dog or cat. However, he gave way, and agreed that the children should be committed to the care of a benevolent old lady whom Mrs. Fitzsimmons knew, and who might be engaged as governess and domiciled in the house. This matter was barely settled when Mr. Merryweather, an artist friend of Robert Fitzsimmons, came to stay at Shane Garth, and it was on the evening after his arrival that Fitzsimmons first came to realise that the valley was haunted. He had been out all day fishing, alone, his friend, Merryweather, being engaged painting a portrait of Mrs. Fitzsimmons and Jane; and the evening having well set in, he was now on his way home. Passing the site of the ancient barrow, he could see in the hollow beneath him the welcome lights of Shane Garth. He paused for a moment to refill his pipe, and then commenced to descend into the valley. It was an exquisite night, the air warm and fragrant with the scent of newly mown hay, the moon full, and the sky one mass of scintillating stars. Fitzsimmons was enchanted. Again and again he threw back his head and drew in the air in great gulps. When halfway down the hill, however, he became aware of a sudden change; the atmosphere was no longer light and exhilarating, but dark, heavy, and oppressive.

He noticed, too, that there were strange lights and that the shadows that flickered to and fro the broad highway continually came and went, and differed, in some strangely subtle fashion, from any shadows he had ever seen before. But what attracted his attention even more was a tree—a tall tree with a trunk of the most peculiar colour. In the quick-changing light of the valley it looked yellow—a lurid yellow streaked with black after the nature of a tiger’s skin—and Fitzsimmons never remembered seeing it there before. He halted for a moment to look at it more intently, and it seemed to him to change its position. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he was not dreaming and looked again. Yes, without a doubt it was nearer to the roadway, and very gradually it was getting nearer still.

Moreover, although the night was still, so still that hardly a leaf of any of the other trees quivered, its branches were in a state of the most violent agitation.

Fitzsimmons was not normally nervous, and on the subject of the supernatural he was decidedly sceptical; but he could not help admitting that it was queer, and he began to wonder whether there was not some other way of getting home. Ashamed, however, of his cowardice, he at length made up his mind to look closer at the tree, and ascertain if possible the cause of its remarkable behaviour. He advanced towards it, and it moved again. This time the moonlight threw it into such strong relief that it stood out with photographic clearness, every detail in its composition most vividly portrayed.

What exactly he saw, Fitzsimmons has never been prevailed upon to say. All one can get out of him is “that it had the semblance to a tree, but that the semblance was quite superficial. It was in reality something quite different, and that the difference was so marked and unexpected that he was immeasurably shocked.” I asked Fitzsimmons why he was shocked, and he said, “By the obscenity of the thing—by its unparalleled beastliness.” He would not say any more. It took him several minutes to sum up courage to pass it, and all the while it stood close to the roadside waiting for him. Fitzsimmons had been a tolerably good athlete in his youth—he won the open hundred at school—and though well over forty, he was spare and tough, and as sound as a bell with regard to his heart and lungs. Bracing himself up, he made a sudden dash, and had passed it, by some dozen or so yards, when he heard something drop with a soft plumb, and the next minute there came the quick patter of bare feet in hot pursuit. Frightened as he was, Fitzsimmons does not think his terror was quite so great as his feeling of utter loathing and abhorrence. He felt if the thing touched him, however slightly, he would be contaminated body and soul, and would never be able to look a decent person in the face again.

Hence his sprint was terrific—faster, he thinks, than he ever did in the school Close—and he kept praying too all the while.

But the thing gained on him, and he feels certain it would have been all up with him, had not a party of cyclists suddenly appeared on the scene and scared it off. He heard it go back pattering up the valley, and there was something about those sounds that told him more plainly than words that he had not seen the last of it, and that it would come to him again. When he entered the house he encountered Merryweather and his wife together, and he could not help noticing that they seemed on strangely familiar terms and very upset and startled at seeing him. He spoke to his wife about it afterwards, and though she vehemently denied there was any truth in his suspicions, she could not meet his gaze with her customary frankness. Merryweather was the last person on earth he would have suspected of flirting with anyone, and up to the present time Mrs. Robert Fitzsimmons had always behaved with the utmost propriety and decorum; indeed, everyone regarded her as a model wife and mother, and particular, even to prudishness.

The incident worried Fitzsimmons a great deal, and for nights he lay awake thinking about it.

The governess was the next person to experience the hauntings. Her room was a sort of attic, large and full of quaint angles, and it looked out on to the valley. Well, one night she had gone to bed rather early, owing to a very bad headache which had been brought on by the behaviour of the children, who had been naughty with a naughtiness that could scarcely have been surpassed in hell, and was partly undressed when her eyes suddenly became centred on the wall-paper, which had a curious dark pattern running through it.

She looked at the pattern, and it suddenly took the form of a tree. Now some people are in the habit of seeing faces where others see nothing. The governess belonged to the latter category. She was absolutely practical and matter-of-fact, a typical Midland farmer’s daughter, and had no imagination whatever. Consequently, when she saw the tree, she at once regarded it in the light of some peculiar phenomenon, and stared at it in open-mouthed astonishment. At first it was simply a tree, a tree with a well-defined trunk and branches. Soon, however, the trunk became a vivid yellow and black, a most unpleasant, virulent yellow, and the branches seemed to move. Much alarmed, she shrank away from it and clutched hold of the bed. She afterwards declared that the tree suddenly became something quite different, something she never dare even think of, and which nothing in God’s world would ever make her mention. She made one supreme effort to reach the bell, just touched it with the tips of her fingers, and then sank on the bed in a dead swoon.

She told her story next morning to Mrs. Fitzsimmons, and although asked on no account to breathe a word of it to the children, she told them too. That night she took her departure, and Mrs. Fitzsimmons refused her a character.

Curious noises were now frequently heard in the house. Door handles turned and footsteps tiptoed cautiously about the hall and passages at about two o’clock in the morning.

Mrs. Fitzsimmons was the next to have a nasty experience. Going to her room one evening, when everyone else was at supper, she saw the bed drapery suddenly move. Thinking it was the cat, she bent down, and was about to call “Puss,” when a huge striped thing, shaped, so she thought, something like the trunk of a much gnarled tree, shot out and, rolling swiftly past her, vanished in the wainscoting. She called out, and Fitzsimmons, who came running up, found her leaning against the doorway of their room, laughing hysterically.

Two days later, on his return from another fishing expedition, he found that his wife had gone, leaving a note for him pinned to the dressing-table.

“You won’t see me again,” she wrote. “I’m off with Dicky Merryweather. We have discovered we love one another, and that life apart would be simply unendurable. Take care of the children, and try and make them forget me. Get them away from here, if you possibly can. I attribute everything—my changed feelings towards you, and Bobbie and Jane’s naughtiness—to the presence of that beastly thing.”

.......

Of course it was a terrible blow to Fitzsimmons, and he told me that if it had not been for the children he would have committed suicide there and then. He was devotedly attached to his wife, and the thought that she no longer cared for him made him yearn to die.

However, Bobbie and Jane were dependent on him, and for their sakes he determined to go on living.

A week passed—to Fitzsimmons the saddest and dreariest of his life—and he once again came tramping home in the twilight.

Not troubling now whether he saw the ghost or not, for there was no one to care whether he was good or bad, or what became of him, he slouched through the valley with his long stride more marked and apparent than usual. On nearing the house and noticing that there was no bright light, such as he had been accustomed to, in any of the front windows, but only the feeble flare of the oil lamp over the front door, a terrible feeling of loneliness came over him. He let himself in. The hall was in semi-darkness, and he could hear no sounds from the kitchen. He could see a glimmer of light, however, issuing from under the kitchen door, and he promptly steered for it. The cook, Agatha, was sitting in front of the fire, reading a sixpenny novel.

“Why is the house in darkness?” Fitzsimmons asked angrily. “Surely it is dinner-time.”

The cook yawned, and looking up at Fitzsimmons, said: “It’s not my place to light up. It’s Rosalie’s.”

“Where is Rosalie?” Fitzsimmons demanded.

“I don’t know,” the cook replied. “I can’t be expected to know everything. The cooking’s enough for me—at least for the wages I get. Rosalie’s been gone somewhere for the last two hours. I haven’t seen or heard anything of her since tea.”

“And the children?” Fitzsimmons inquired.

“Oh, the children’s all right,” the cook answered—“at least I suppose so; and, you bet, they’d have let me know fast enough if they hadn’t been. I don’t know which of the two hollers loudest.”

“Well, get my supper, for mercy’s sake, for I’m famishing,” Fitzsimmons said; and he stalked back again into the darkness.

After groping about the hall for some time and knocking over a good few things, he at length put his hands on a match-box, and lighting a candle made straight for the nursery. The children had got into bed partially undressed, and were sound asleep, with their heads well buried under the bedclothes. Fitzsimmons contrived to uncover their faces without waking them, and kissing them both lightly on the forehead, he left them and went downstairs to his study. Here he drew up a chair close to the fire and, throwing himself into it, prepared to wait till the gong sounded for supper. A slight noise in the room made him look round. Across the window recess, from which the sound apparently came, a pair of heavy red curtains were tightly drawn. Fitzsimmons rather wondered at this, because Rosalie did not usually draw the curtains before she lighted up; so he was still looking at them and wondering, when they were suddenly shaken so violently that the metal rings made a loud rattling and jarring on the brass pole to which they were attached. Fitzsimmons watched in breathless anticipation. Every second he expected to see the curtains part and some ghoulish face peering out at him. Drawn curtains so often suggest lurking horrors of that description. Instead, however, the curtains only grew more and more agitated, shaking violently as if they had a fever. Then, all of a sudden, they were still. Fitzsimmons rose and was about to look behind them, when they started trembling again, and the one nearest the fireplace began to bulge out in the middle. Fitzsimmons stared at it with a sickening sense of foreboding. At first it had no definite form, but, very gradually, it assumed a shape, the shape he felt it would, and moved nearer him. For some seconds he was too overcome with horror to do anything, but his recollections of what it had looked like in the valley that night, and his utter detestation of it, increased his fear, and in a frenzy of rage he snatched up a revolver from the mantelpiece and fired at it. Fitzsimmons thinks it was the bullet that made it suddenly collapse; but I am inclined to think it was the sound of the report—as sound undoubtedly does, at times, bring about dematerialisation. There are, I think, certain sounds that generate vibrations in the air favourable to the manifestation of spirits, and other sounds that create vibratory motion destructive to the composition of what are termed ghosts. And here was an instance of the latter. Fitzsimmons waited for a few minutes, until he felt sure the thing was gone altogether, entirely quit of the premises, and then, revolver in hand, pulled aside the curtains.

The next moment he reeled back, stupefied with horror. Lying at full length on the floor, her white face turned towards him, with a hideous grin of agony on her lips, was Rosalie.

“Good God!” Fitzsimmons said to himself. “Good God! I’ve killed her. What in Heaven’s name can I do?”

He deliberated shooting himself; and then the cries of the children, who had been wakened by the noise, reminding him of his duties to them, he grew calmer, and telephoned at once for the nearest doctor. The latter, happening to be at home, was speedily on the spot.

“You say you shot her,” he remarked to Fitzsimmons, after he had examined the body very carefully. “You must be dreaming, sir. There’s not the slightest sign of any bullet. Moreover, the girl’s been dead at least two hours. From the look of her, I should say she died from strychnine poisoning.”

The doctor was right. The girl’s death was due to strychnine, and from the bottle that was found in her possession and a message she scribbled on the study wall, there is no doubt whatever she committed suicide. “I was a nice enough girl till I came here,” she wrote, “but it’s the valley that’s done it. Mother warned me against it. Coombes make everyone bad.”

After this, Fitzsimmons decided to clear out. Indeed, he could hardly have done otherwise, for Shane Garth was now placed under a rigorous ban. Agatha left—she did not even wait till the morning, but cleared out the same night—and after that it was impossible to get a woman to come in, even for the day. Consequently, Fitzsimmons had not only to cook and look after the children, but to do all the packing as well. At last, however, it was all over, and the carriage stood at the door, waiting to take him and the children to the station. As he came downstairs, followed by Bobbie and Jane, someone, he fancied, called his name. He turned, and Bobbie and Jane turned too.

Bending over the balustrades of the top landing, and looking just like she had done in her lifetime, save perhaps for the excessive pallor of her cheeks, and a curious expression of fear and entreaty in her eyes, was Rosalie.

She faded away as they stared, and close beside the spot where she had stood, they saw the dim and shadowy outline of a gnarled tree.

 

The Influence & Importance of the Book of Enoch


The Importance of the Book of Enoch 1890

See also The Book of Enoch and Other Odd Bibles on DVDrom

For a list of all of my disks, with links click here

From A.D. 30 onwards we have plenty of literature illustrating the state of Palestine, its history and its thought. Indeed, the dictum of the Evangelist seems almost now taken too literally; and, but for the necessity of lighting several million fires every morning, the whole world soon could not really contain the books written in this epoch. But from A.D. 30 backwards books are very scant. We have Philo and Josephus and the "Kabbala" and the "Book of Adam," but our spiritual pastors and masters raise their eyebrows a little and whisper "Post Christian" when most of these are mentioned.

This is unfortunate, for a clever Frenchman has said that "history and comparative mythology are teaching every day that creeds grow slowly up. None come into the world as if by magic. The origin of events is lost in the infinite. A great Indian poet has said, 'The beginning of things evades us. Their end evades us. We see only the middle.'" A little book, strangely neglected, throws much light on this epoch, the "Book of Enoch."

Jude cites Enoch as a prophet. Tertullian places the "Book of Enoch" in the list of inspired books. The book disappeared in the early centuries of Christianity, and was supposed to be irretrievably lost. Bruce the traveller, however, discovered three copies of the Ethiopic version. He brought them home, and one was deposited in the Bodleian Library. In 1821, Dr. Laurence, Archbishop of Cashel, formerly Professor of Hebrew at Oxford, published a translation, which seems to have excited little attention. Abroad this work made much more stir, thanks to the labours of Hoffman and Dillman. Kalisch predicted that the "Book of Enoch" " will one day be employed as a most important witness in the history of religious dogmas."

Enoch is the ancient Enoch who was caught up to Heaven without tasting death, and the fiction is kept up that he is addressing his son Mathusala—"And now, my son Mathusala, I have shown thee everything; and the account of every ordinance of the stars is finished"--and so on, and so on.

But Dr. Laurence, from internal evidence, thinks it was written by a Jew in the country near the Northern districts of the Caspian and Euxine seas about B.C. 54. But there is this difficulty about this extreme modernising, that the "Kabbala" quotes it again and again. How, too, could the Jews of the time of Christ have attached so much importance to it if it had no better pedigree?

For it is plainly shown by the author of the "Evolution of Christianity," who has brought out a new edition of Archbishop Laurence's translation, that the idea of a triumphant Messiah coming from the clouds with legions of angels cannot be found in the canonical Old Testament, but comes from the "Book of Enoch."

Jude writes thus:—

"Enoch also, the seventh from Adam, prophesied of these, saying, Behold the Lord cometh with ten thousand of His saints, to execute judgment upon all, and to convince all that are ungodly among them of all their ungodly deeds, which they nave ungodly committed, and of all their hard speeches which ungodly sinners have spoken against Him."

Plainly Jude had this passage of the "Book of Enoch" before him when he was writing:—

"Behold He comes with ten thousand of His saints to execute judgment upon them, and destroy the wicked, and reprove all the carnal for everything which the sinful and ungodly have done and committed against Him." (Chap, ii.)

"He shall sow the congregation of the saints and of the elect, and all the elect shall stand before him in that clay. All the kings, the princes, the exalted, and those who rule over the earth shall fall down on their faces before Him and shall worship Him. They shall fix their hopes on this Son of Man, shall pray to Him and petition Him for mercy." (Chap. lxi.)

Of secondary importance are the views of this prophet on Heaven, hell, election, devils, angels, etc. I will write down a few of them:—

Heaven.

"After this I beheld thousands of thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand, and an infinite number of people standing before the Lord of Spirits.

"In that day shall the Elect One sit upon a throne of glory, and shall choose their conditions and countless habitations."

"The former heaven shall depart and pass away. A new heaven shall appear."

"And I will place each one of them upon a throne of glory, of glory peculiarly his own."

Hell.

The souls of the wicked are "separated by a chasm."

"I beheld that valley in which arose strong smell of sulphur which became mixed with the waters, and the valley of the angels who had been guilty of seduction burned underneath its soil. Through that valley also rivers of fire were flowing."

Of importance are Enoch's views on "election":—

"When righteousness shall be manifested in the presence of the righteous themselves who will be elected for their good works duly weighed by the Lord of Spirits. And when the light of the righteous and the elect who dwell on earth shall be manifested where will the habitation of sinners be? . . . It would be better for them had they never been born."

Commenting on this the author of the "Evolution of Christianity" says :—

"Election here is traced to its original source, and means nothing more than the selection of the fittest—a theory more consistent with the justice of God than St. Paul's doctrine of predestination."

Angels And Devils.

Origen against Celsus announces the functions of the various great angels—"To Raphael is assigned the work of curing and healing; to Gabriel, the direction of wars; to Michael, the duty of hearing the prayers and supplications of men." Where did Origen obtain this superhuman knowledge? asks the author of the "Evolution of Christianity." The answer is—in the fortieth chapter of the "Book of Enoch."

He tells also the names of the devils. They figure freely.

ESSENISM.

"Woe unto you sinners who say, 'We are rich, possess wealth, and have acquired everything which we can desire. Now, then, will we do whatsoever wo are disposed to do.' They shall surely die suddenly." "Woe unto you who are rich."

"Woe to those who build up their houses with crime." "Woe to those who build up iniquity and oppression and lay the foundation of fraud."

The Tree Of Life.

"He has prepared this tree for the saints. The sweet odour shall enter their bones. They shall live a long life on the earth."

The Water Of Life.

"In that place I beheld a foundation of righteousness which never failed, encircled by many springs of wisdom. Of these all the thirsty drank and were filled with wisdom."

The "Treasures Of Sophia And Gnosis."

"This is the Son of Man who will reveal all the treasures of that which is concealed."

I think Enoch here is better than St. Paul. It is the advent of a spiritual Kingdom that will allow the treasures of Gnosis (interior knowledge) to develop in the heart of each individual. A writer in the latest edition of the "Encyclopaedia Britannica," in defining the true and the false Gnosis says that the " true Gnosis" is to be obtained by consulting carefully the books of the Old and New Testament. A funny kind of interior knowledge.

Colenso

Join my Facebook Group

The Paranormal & Other Books You Won't Believe Are Online for FREE (Jan 23, 2018)

Books you won't believe are online for free...but you may have to hurry before they are taken down. I did not post any of these books, these are simply books I found in my online travels.

For a list of all of my digital books and books on disk click here

See also Catholicism, Objectivism & Other Books you Won't Believe are Online for FREE and Bibles, Comic Magazines & Other Books You Won't Believe Are Online For FREE and Philosophy, Rand, Illuminati & other Books you won't believe are online for FREE and Philosophy, Religion, History & Mystery Books you won't believe are online for free and Books and Magazines you won't believe are online for free (May 25, 2017) and More Books and Audiobooks you won't believe are online for free (May 8, 2017) and Books and Audiobooks you won't believe are online for free (Apr 26, 2017)


The Naked Communist by W Cleon Skousen

Haunted Borley By A. C. Henning

Coastal Ghosts. Haunted Places from Wilmington, North Carolina to Savannah, Georgia by Nancy Rhyne

The Encyclopedia of Ghost & Spirits by Rosemary Ellen Guiley

Encyclopedia of Occultism and Parapsychology Volume 1

Encyclopedia of Occultism and Parapsychology Volume 2

The Most Haunted House In England By Harry Price

Mysteries of the Unexplained by Kathy Burke


Encyclopedia of Haunted Places

Brad Steiger - Real Ghosts, Restless Spirits, and Haunted Places

Bolshevism from Moses to Lenin

Terence Mckenna - Food Of The Gods

You Are Being Lied To by Russ Kick

Jim Garrison Papers

Why Government Doesn’t Work by Harry Browne

Parliament Of Whores by P. J. O'Rourke

LIBERTARIANISM: A PRIMER by David Boaz

The Mainspring of Human Progress by Henry Grady Weaver

ANATOMY OF CRITICISM by Northrop Frye

HOW TO LIE WITH STATISTICS by Darrell Huff

Storming Heaven - Class Composition and Struggle in Italian Autonomist Marxism by Steve Wright

DUMBING US DOWN by John Taylor Gatto

THE ART OF MEMORY by Frances Yates


A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf

THE ROOSEVELT MYTH by John T. Flynn

Ain't Nobody's Business If You Do - The Absurdity of Consensual Crimes by Peter McWilliams

MORE GUNS, LESS CRIME by John R. Lott

Sex and Culture by JD Unwin

There are two errors in the the title of this book

The Case for a Creator by Lee Strobel

The Thirteenth Tribe by Arthur Koestler

The Invention of the Jewish People by Shlomo Sand

The Gulag Archipelago in three volumes by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

Catholic Confraternity Bible

The Decline of the West: The Complete Edition by Oswald Arnold Gottfried Spengler

Race Differences in Intelligence by Richard Lynn

Where the Red Fern Grows by Wilson Rawls

Climate Hypocrites - The Not-So-Green Habits of Hollywood Hypocrites

Why Men Are the Way They Are by Warren Farrell

Why men earn more by warren farrell

The New Dystopias

Sherlock Holmes Mysteries Comics


This Magazine is Haunted











Batman - Arkham Knight

Tomb of Dracula Comic July 2005

The Industrial Revolution and Free Trade by Burton W Folsom

Your's Truly, Jack the Ripper by Robert Bloch

PORTRAIT of a KILLER-JACK THE RIPPER-CASE CLOSED by PATRICIA CORNWELL

Who's Who in the JFK Assassination, An A-Z Encyclopedia by Michael Benson

The Rise of the Fourth Reich by Jim Marrs

Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind by Yuval Noah Harari

Codex Magica by Texe Marrs

Dead By Sunset by Ann Rule

The Stranger Beside Me by Ann Rule


Behold a Pale Horse by Milton William Cooper

The Harbinger by Jonathan Cahn

The Secret by Rhonda Byrne

Capitalism and Freedom by Milton Friedman

Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer

Michael Pollan-The Omnivores Dilemma

Devil in the White City by Erik Larson

The Death and Life of Great American Cities by Jane Jacobs

The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable by Nassim Taleb

Black Marxism by Cedric Robinson

A Patriot’s History of the United States

Christianity's Dangerous Idea by Alister McGrath

Holy Blood, Holy Grail by Michael Baigent, Richard Leigh and Henry Lincoln

The Case Against God by George Smith

The Dead Sea Scolls Deception by Michael Baigent

Modern Paganism in World Cultures by Michael F. Strmiska


The Satanic Bloodlines by Fritz Springmeier

The Two Reformations by Heiko Oberman

The Jesus Papers - Exposing the Greatest Cover-Up in History by Michael Baigent

Ayn Rand the Russian Radical

The Cambridge History of Christianity

The Jesus Puzzle by Early Doherty

Mere Christianity by CS Lewis

Bias by Bernard Goldberg

Not Out of Africa: How Afrocentrism Became an Excuse to Teach Myth as History by Mary Lefkowitz

The Skeptical Environmentalist by Bjørn Lomborg

Dinesh D'Souza "Hillary's America: The Secret History of the Democratic Party"

Shattered: Inside Hillary Clinton's Doomed Campaign Part 2

Edward Klein - Blood Feud - The Clintons vs The Obamas

The Making of Donald Trump by David Cay Johnston

Thomas Sowell, Black Rednecks and White Liberals

Basic Economics - Thomas Sowell Audible Audio Edition

David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits, and the Art of Battling Giants by Malcolm Gladwell

Scary Stories (to Tell in the Dark) Audiobook - Complete Trilogy

Ama, a horror story by Daniel MacKillican

R.L. Stine 13 fear horror and suspense stories

Dean Koontz - By the Light of the Moon

The Year's Best Hardcore Horror 2017

Something Wicked This Way Comes Audiobook by Ray Bradbury

Regions of Hell - Horror audiobook by Clive Barker

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng

Sunday, January 21, 2018

Descartes and the Pineal Gland By HP Blavatsky


Rene Descartes and the Pineal Gland By Helena Petrovna Blavatsky

See also Theosophy and Esoteric Knowledge, 120 Books on DVDrom and Descartes, Spinoza & Philosophy - 230 Books on DVDrom

For a list of all of my disks click here

It is well known that Descartes saw in the pineal gland the Seat of the Soul. Although it is joined to every part of the body, he said, there is one special portion of it in which the Soul exercises its functions more specially than in any other. And, as neither the heart, nor yet the brain could be that “ special" locality, he concluded that it was that little gland tied to the brain, yet having an action independent of it, as it could easily be put into a kind of swinging motion “by the animal Spirits which cross the cavities of the skull in every sense."

Unscientific as this may appear in our day of exact learning, Descartes was yet far nearer the occult truth than is any Haeckel. For the pineal gland, as shown, is far more connected with Soul and Spirit than with the physiological senses of man.

[In 1650, Descartes discusses the question of the seat of the soul, and concludes that, although the soul is united with the whole body, yet it exercises its functions more particularly in a little gland placed in the middle of the substance of the brain and suspended above the passage by which the "spirits" of its anterior cavities communicate with those of its posterior cavities, in such a manner that any movement in the gland will alter the course of these spirits, while at the same time any alteration in the course of the spirits will affect the movements of the gland.

There can be no doubt that the gland here referred to, though not mentioned by any special name, is the pineal gland or conarium of human anatomists, although the author's limited acquaintance with the structure of the human brain caused him to represent it as lying inside instead of outside the brain-cavity.

Descartes goes on to explain that the reason which induced him to regard this gland as the place where the soul immediately exercises its functions is that the other parts of the brain, as well as the external organs of sense, are all double, while our thoughts are single, i.e. we only have one single and simple thought of one and the same thing at the same time. Hence the double impressions which come from the paired organs of sense —such as the two images from the two eyes—must be able to unite into one before they reach the soul, or else we should see two objects instead of one; and this union is supposed to take place in the pineal gland by the mediation of the spirits which fill the cavities of the brain. ~The Pineal Gland by Arthur Dendy 1907]


Had the leading Scientists a glimmer of the real processes employed by the Evolutionary Impulse, and the winding cyclic course of this great law, they would know instead of conjecturing; and feel as certain of the future physical transformations of the human kind by the knowledge of its past forms. Then, would they see the fallacy and all the absurdity of their modern "blindforce" and mechanical processes of nature; realizing, in consequence of such knowledge, that the said pineal gland, for instance, could not but be disabled for physical use at this stage of our cycle. If the odd "eye" in man is now atrophied, it is a proof that, as in the lower animal, it has once been active; for nature never creates the smallest, the most insignificant form without some definite purpose and use. It was an active organ, we say, at that stage of evolution when the spiritual element in man reigned supreme over the hardly nascent intellectual and psychic elements. And, as the cycle ran down toward that point when the physiological senses were developed by, and went pari passu with, the growth and consolidation of the physical man, the interminable and complex vicissitudes and tribulations of zoological development, that median "eye" ended by atrophying along with the early spiritual and purely psychic characteristics in man. The eye is the mirror and also the window of the soul, says popular wisdom, and Vox populi Vox Dei.

In the beginning, every class and family of living species was hermaphrodite and objectively one-eyed. In the animal, whose form was as ethereal (astrally) as that of man, before the bodies of both began to evolve their coats of skin, viz., to evolve from within without the thick coating of physical substance or matter with its internal physiological mechanisn—the third eye was primarily, as in man, the only seeing organ. The two physical front eyes developed later on in both brute and man, whose organ of physical sight was, at the commencement of the Third Race, in the same position as that of some of the blind vertebrata, in our day, i.e., beneath an opaque skin. Only the stages of the odd, or primeval eye, in man and brute, are now inverted, as the former has already passed that animal non-rational stage in the Third Round, and is ahead of mere brute creation by a whole plane of consciousness. Therefore, while the "Cyclopean" eye was, and still is, in man the organ of spiritual sight, in the animal it was that of objective vision. And this eye, having performed its function, was replaced, in the course of physical evolution from the simple to the complex, by two eyes, and thus was stored and laid aside by nature for further use in AEons to come.

This explains why the pineal gland reached its highest development proportionately with the lowest physical development. It is the vertebrata in which it is the most prominent and objective, and in man it is most carefully hidden and inaccessible, except to the anatomist. No less light is thrown thereby on the future physical, spiritual, and intellectual state of mankind, in periods corresponding on parallel lines with other past periods, and always on the lines of ascending and descending cyclic evolution and development.

It is a curious fact; that it is especially in human beings that the cerebral hemispheres and the lateral ventricles have been developed, and that the optic thalami, corpora quadrigemina, and corpora striata are the principal parts which are developed in the mammalian brain. Moreover it is asserted that the intellect of any man may to some extent be gauged by the development of the central convolutions and the fore part of the cerebral hemispheres. It would seem a natural corollary that if the development and increased size of the pineal gland may be considered to be an index of the astral capacities and spiritual proclivities of any man, there will be a corresponding development of that part of the cranium, or an increase in the size of the pineal gland at the expense of the hinder part of the cerebral hemispheres. It is a curious speculation which would receive a confirmation in this case. We should see, below and behind, the cerebellum which has been held to be the seat of all the animal proclivities of a human being, and which is allowed by science to be the great centre for all the physiologically co-ordinated movements of the body, such as walking, eating, etc., etc.; in front, the fore-part of the brain -—the cerebral hemispheres—the part especially connected with the development of the intellectual powers in man; and in the middle, dominating them both, and especially the animal functions, the developed pineal gland, in connection with the more highly evolved, or spiritual man.