Occult and Psychical Sciences "A Spooky Art Exhibition on DK" 🦇 🕸 🌑
🦇🦇The word occult comes from the Latin occultus (clandestine, hidden, secret), referring to "knowledge of the hidden"🌑🎃🎃Angmar“We must not look at goblin men,We must not buy their fruits:Who knows upon what soil they fedTheir hungry thirsty roots?”-Christina Rossetti🦇 Hand Me DownWe live in the shadow of the dead, all the things they passed to usAnd now are ours, the chair-back worn smooth by a hundred hands, the barrenRug that shows the track of feet,light trapped by youth or heavyFooted and burdened with age. We live in the shade of deadWishes and dreams, books that fall open to a once-loved phrase,We can chooseTo shudder and wince from the memories of those we loved and thoseWe never knew, the ones our parents scarce remembered.Or we can fold themIn the mind's embrace, make ourselves not an endpointBut a point on the journey of a turned bedstead, a chest,A shelf of books, and the wisdomOf a hundred generations.-Lori Dixon 2024Christopher Lopa"On the eve of each new year, the Celts believed, the barrier between the living and the dead became porous"The Celtic Origins of Trick-or-TreatingsmithsonianmagUploaded by Niemann in dk images library This group is named after "Complete illustrated Book of the Psychic Sciences" a book by Walter B. Gibson 1966.A fun and interesting read.Walter Brown Gibson (September 12, 1897 – December 6, 1985) was an American writer and professional magician, best known for his work on the pulp fiction character The Shadow. Wikipedia ☆The 'Occult and Psychical Sciences' on DKis a spooky group here on DK)☆The group will consist of stories about the spooky and scary, personal anecdotes, and general Paranormal, New Age, folklore, Philosophical,metaphysical,Arcane, Esoteric,and Existential information,& conversation about the unexplained in the world and universe.(& all Religion is welcome here in this space.)People are encouraged to share their personal spooky experiences, philosophy, and similar influences. (Please contact me in kmail if you wish to join us).~A spookylink: psychicscience🦇🎃🎃From the Wyrd World of MollyBloom: .When enchantment shadesfair Autumn’s last daysin the glow of Harvest Moon light,And the very air ringswith flushed whispers of thingsreserved for the stroke of Midnight,Then a dashing masked manmay ask for your hand –But don’t let him take a bite! 🩸 MollyBloom July 1, 2009 🦇 Don’t Think TwiceI confess. I love routine. The certainty of knowing what each moment will bring is immensely comforting. Disorder quickly pulls me down into the Black Hole of Chaos. I’m happy just being an ordinary person living an ordinary life in an ordinary body.I love structure. Breakfast at 4:00 am (one piece of organic whole wheat toast – dry, buttered or spread with peanut butter, depending on the season and the weather). Off to work in my home office at 4:15 am, crunching numbers for a company in a distant state with remote colleagues I’ve never met. End work at 12:15 pm. Play with Snowball, the Baby Huey of cats. Lunch at 12:30 pm (soup or sandwich, depending on the season and the weather). 1:00 pm to 2:00 pm – constitutional or run through my Yoga regime (depending on the season and on the weather). Shower by 2:15 pm. Between 2:45 pm and 5:30 pm – errands and appointments (The Bank, Stop and Shop, The Pharmacy, The Salon, The Veterinarian, My Doctor, etc.). Dinner by 6:00 pm (stir fry or salad, depending on the season and on the weather). Clean up, then more play with Snowball. At 7:30 pm it’s time to reply to texts, electronic correspondence and the rare snail mail. No social media for me. Too emotionally intense. Retire by 8:30 pm for evening Pranayama practice (deep breathing). Asleep by 9:00 pm. Same thing tomorrow. No stressing, nothing to think about.Weekends offer a chance to mix it all up, with just enough variety to maintain equanimity. Sundays are reserved solely for kitchen detail. I like to make soups in huge batches for carefree dining during the upcoming workweek. I also freeze as much as I can for the Winter. But Saturdays are when I really let myself run wild. I always look forward to the ritual of attending morning Yoga class for Forever Students.Leave home at 8:45 am. Turn left and left again before crossing the railroad tracks. Pass Islip Animal Hospital (Note to Self: make appointment for Snowball’s pedicure). A young man cruises in the bike lane, probably an undocumented worker on his way to a landscaping gig. Stop light. Nursery on the right. Bodega on the left. Coast through a section of standard subdivisions. A woman wearing a pink top and green slacks pushes a baby stroller on the sidewalk. Two teens chat animatedly between sips of strawberry Frosties. Utility company headquarters on a diagonal line to El Puente de Oro Deli. Cross the second set of railroad tracks. Long stretch of lush verdant lawns and once charming summer bungalows, but now shabby year-round homes. Mama’s Brick Oven Pizzeria. Traverse Veterans Memorial Highway to Town Line Road. Clay Oven Indian restaurant on left. High School on the right - Home of The Eagles. Another long suburban stretch, but this neighborhood is more upscale. Everywhere trees with emerald dew-dropped leaves sparkle in the sunshine. A shirtless jogger. An old man shuffles beside his old dog, baggie in hand. Another woman in pink and green with a baby in a stroller. Must be this summer’s “in” colors – like the gruesome cranberry and bubblegum combo so popular in the 60’s. Golf course. Left turn onto Terry Road. Pump it up over 347 (Smithtown Bypass). Walgreens on the right. Maureen’s Kitchen, home of the best breakfasts on Long Island, on the left. Right turn into the gated condo community and on to Rosemarie’s private studio.Park, grab my mat, then head inside. I’m happy to see my Teacher and Yoga Sisters, many of whom I have been practicing with for more than half my life. Today’s session opens with a discussion of the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali, Sutra 4:12. The past and future are always potentially present. Their manifestations depend on individual and universal laws as a whole.“This is a beautiful Sutra,” Rosemarie declares. “but then they’re all beautiful.”I remark on how the aphorism relates to current scientific theory (Block Universe Model) and how the ancient Yoga masters were way ahead of us, but have been misunderstood, derided even by Western elites, because of the cultural language conventions they employed to describe their insights.“YES!!!!,” affirms Rosemarie. “This is an important point. The message of the Sutras is universal and not tied to history or geography. Good observation.”We move on to asana practice. Adho Mukha Virasana (Down Face Hero’s Pose), Adho Mukha Svanasana (Down Face Dog Pose) to Lunge position to Virabhadrasana I (Warrior I Pose), some rope work, followed by cooldown seated poses with Pranayama, and finally complete relaxation to the ethereal chants of Deva Premal. After class, I wave my good-byes and leave feeling renewed, exquisitely alive and at peace with the world.I anticipate a pleasant drive home as this midsummer day is still pleasantly warm. Slowly I wend my way out of the complex. Up ahead in my lane a band of motorcycle mamas rolls along in perfect formation. I pass the renovated farmhouse that once belonged to Uncle John Volpe. Long ago, when this section of Town Line was nothing more than backwoods, he sold vegetables and Dixie Cups to travelers from a little whitewashed stand at the edge of the Road. There’s the woman dressed in pink and green that I saw earlier, now ambling in the opposite direction. Good thing she took her precious one out for their walk before it gets too hot to do much of anything. Crossing over Vets Highway and past Grissom Way, named for the NASA astronaut who perished in a fire at Cape Kennedy. Under the Expressway overpass. Speed across the Motor Parkway and back through the timeless neighborhood of bungalows. Five Corners. The building formerly known as Agway is on the right. When folks here were closer to the land and kept livestock and tilled the soil, that was the place to purchase feed and natural fertilizer (aka fresh horse and cow manure). The Utility company again. Then the washboard section of Islip Ave. Bodega on right this time. And Spur Drive North, once graced by Charlie’s famous hot dog truck - the family go-to spot for boiled Sabrett’s with outrageously delicious homemade onion sauce. Always a long line, back in the day. The Animal Hospital again, reflecting the invariably packed liquor store in its windows. A trio of adolescent boys swaggering into Angela’s Pizzeria. A woman attired in a pink top and green slacks pushing a baby stroller. The same woman. Holy Shit! I’m falling into the Black Hole of Chaos....************************************************************************************ Rise at 6:30 am. Shower. Breakfast at 7:30 am. Group Therapy for an hour and a half. Art or Music Therapy (depending on the season and the weather) until 11:00 am. Then chair exercise class. Lunch at Noon sharp. Free time for self-reflection. Individual Therapy from 2:00 pm to 3:00 pm. More free time for self-reflection and some personal hygiene. Dinner at 5:30 pm. Guests are permitted from 7:00 pm to 8:30 pm. Otherwise it’s Scrabble, Trivia, Checkers or TV. Retire at 9:00 pm. I wind down either by reading or concentrating on deep breathing, so I don’t neglect my Yoga studies. Lights out by 9:30 pm. Sleep comes when it comes. Same thing tomorrow. No stressing, nothing to think about.Today my brother Michael has come. I don’t really want him to visit me. It disrupts my schedule. But it makes him feel better, so I don’t make a fuss. He’s brought me a darling photo of Snowball and a new journal as the current one is too full to hold one more sketch, collage or thought. I really like the cover - a cosmic spiraling tunnel in midnight blue with glittering silver starbursts. He knows I’ve fallen. He just can’t let himself believe it out loud yet. He couldn’t hide the look of distress on his face when he saw the many iterations of the BHOC Event Horizon and Baby Buggy Lady in the latest overstuffed tome. But that’s his issue, not mine.We go outside to enjoy the fresh air. It’s a lovely day. The sun is dazzling against a cloudless sky and birds are splashing in the Zen fountain. I feed the squirrels some nuts I’ve been carefully hoarding from this week’s meals. Just beyond locked iron gates, the world drifts by in slow motion. A father and daughter cycle together single file. The pregnant tabby that often sneaks onto the campus to hunt peers at us with friendly curiosity. I wonder when the kittens will arrive. And then the woman in pink and green glides by, clutching her stroller. I’m not the only one who sees her, of course. EVERYONE sees her. Only a few notice her though. Fewer still recognize her for what she is. That would drag them straight down into The Black Hole of Chaos. MollyBloom June 22, 2020Mystery of the Autumn WoodAll Hallows’ Even. Copper leaves quiver an angelusbefore receding into smoky blue and violet twilight shadows. Magic hovers about the now still, chill air – sensuous, subtle, sublime.Everywhere as rising mist,the silken breath of theUnseen sweeps inexorablyacross the Threshold. MollyBloom October 31, 2011Crude Drawing by TortmasterThe drawing exhibits one of my worst childhood decisions. Papier-mâché figure by TortmasterThis came about as a way to exorcize a bit of shared childhood trauma. My Sister and I watched Trilogy of Terror as children. We were terrified of that little doll. A couple years ago, now in our 50s, we talked about it. I decided to buy her a figure as a goof for her birthday. I found only one on the internet, and it sold for something like $600. Too expensive! So, I made one, boxed it up, and wrapped it in festive birthday paper. What you don’t see here is that I decided to wrap a tiny thread around the ankle of the monster, punch a small hole in the box and wrapping paper, and keep the end of that thread in my hand as I handed the gift to my Sister and she unwrapped it. After she had opened the box, I was going to pull the thread so that the little monster moved around. Unfortunately, the thread got tangled in the unwrapping process and did not work. Still, she loved that ugly little creature while it lasted. 🦇Drawing by Bumpa in Conte’ CrayonSilly Scary (and some not so) Drawings by niemannJust a stream of consciousness drawing started during a boring staff meeting.An illustration for Ray Bradbury’s story, “The Jar” (seen and approved by the master himself).Doodles done after hearing an optometrist talk about the “Macula” in the back of the eye. I thought it sounded like a vampire truck driver. In the second one Macula he has turned into a bat.A Screaming Demon Zomboid (from a short story written by my brother)The Screaming Demon Zomboid on his lunch break.Two terrifying Ogres leering evilly (from the same story).🎃Night FallClio2 .Impending autumn: while heat draws and drainsAway, we teach our young ones how to paintIn fiery reds and glowing orangesThe fragile pageantry of a senescence.Assuring them this chill is nothing serious.Renewal's on the road already, nearly here."Next month," we promise, hugging them. "Next year."We trick our doors with mockeries of fear.And fortify ourselves with feastings. Over allArches the Hunter. Small lives slip undergroundWith their supplies. The deer disguiseTheir slender shins as saplings, antlers as branches..And in the dark, amid the wind-whippped trees, The last leaf frees itself, and tries the breeze..Copyright Clio2 2022🦇🎃🍁🖌🍂🍃.And Now For Something Completely Different Than Is Dreamt In Your Philosophy ;-)Nearly dark stage, after rehearsal of "The Importance of Being Earnest." The Actor, in unbuttoned 21st-century winter coat over day clothes, slouches on a Victorian love seat. The Ghost, in a tattered pea coat over rusted breastplate, sheathed sword, balloon breeches and flapping shoes, strides about the set.GHOST: It was cold on the battlements as the last circle of Hell. Night after night.The first time, the guards were so well muffled up, none noticed my silent stalking. The next night, I rattled my sword against the breastplate, groaned aloud. The men then, startled, disputed if I were a ghost or mere illusion.Next evening after that, the Prince's friend stepped out to view me, and afterwards persuaded the Prince himself to stand vigil. At last, on the fourth freezing night, I was able to deliver my well-conned speech.But even so, the Prince's friends near receded from pledging silence, which could have undone all. Only a singular arch in the castle's foundation saved the scene, having the property of that famous cave called Dionysios' ear, for carrying sound a mighty distance.From there I heard their dubious murmuring and roared out, "SWEAR!" That fortunately worked.I was near to catching what you, today, would call pneumonia.ACTOR: I still can't believe it.I put my hand right through you.Yet surely this is a trick with mirrors and reflections.GHOST: Look at this threadbare coat -- lifted from a steamboat captain drowned in Dickens's day -- these armaments, these saggy breeches, these pulped shoes. Are they the likely rig of a stage magician?My hat fell into the River Lethe; would that I had, for then I would have forgotten all, and not been forced to walk this earth seeking absolution -- forgiveness I can receive only by auricular confession to the right sort of priest, namely a thespian.For staying to hear me, I thank you. Every other one that I approached mistook me for a shadow, a trick, a drunken hallucination -- or they ran away.ACTOR (nervously): Yes, well, but look, could you come back tomorrow? It's late, I have somewhere to be, actually, and there's an early run-through in the morning.Besides, I'd like our director to meet you. Maybe some media too....GHOST (swelling up, eyes glowing, fearsome): No! Hear me now! ACTOR: All right, go on.GHOST (subsiding): Well, you would have thought that my performance was good enough, wouldn't you, to prompt the prince to knock off Claudius?What did I have left to do, but report my success back to young Fortinbras. Precocious Machiavel that sapling was! He himself, you know, first stirred up Claudius to poison Hamlet's father, who had disposed of his father in battle.So Fortinbras -- what a clever lie! -- urged Claudius, that could he but huddle the present king of Denmark out of the way, and with Hamlet the prince by nature a scholarly idler, Claudius could himself most easily mount the throne, and peace between the two kingdoms be assured. To the good of both nations. Claudius had just enough wit to understand that, and sniffed no suspicion of a double cross. So I'd done my job on the castle wall, roused up the prince to murder Claudius. I meant to collect my pay, and straight to a bed kept warm for me in a cozy convent. 'Twas no concern of mine what Fortinbras might do next. Indeed, I thought he might well plan to march on Elsinore as soon as the prince made an end to Claudius. Success assured, as young Hamlet was truly no soldier nor fit leader of men.But no! (strikes his forehead)That philosophical princely fool had another interpretation of my speech already in his head (I won't say mind ): perhaps I wasn't the ghost of his father at all, but a sneaky demon!So back to the castle I was forced to plod, our whole company with me this time, to suffer the puerile princeling's prosing on about the actor's craft -- to me, me! And feigning to "catch the conscience of the king" with his botched trick.But at least, at last, the noble fool's interpretation of Claudius' impatience with that charade -- and who would not have been annoyed at the stupid script? -- did serve our purpose. We packed up at once and trotted; good thing, too, seeing what happened to poor Rosy-wreath and Golden-star.ACTOR: But in your last scene, Hamlet sees you in his mother's room, yet she can't see you...how did you manage that?GHOST: Tsch! The man was mad.ACTOR: Amazing. Really a stunning interpretation. It might work for -- the play is on next season's schedule....Can't you come back tomorrow evening? Seriously, our director really would like to meet you.GHOST: Much thanks, but no thanks.My soul is purged now of that wrong for which I've borne such a drawn-out punishment: the vile sin of perverting our sacred craft into a murderer's instrument. Hades kept me in miserable exile ever since, on orders from both Apollo and Dionysios. Your willing witness to my confession has now freed me.Ah, it is several hundred years since I've enjoyed the pleasure of a good night's sleep. And asphodel meadows are reputed soft.Good night, sweet priest, good night, good night. (Fades into nothing.)ACTOR: But what about...Wait!--Clio2🦇🦉💀👻💀🦉🦇_________________________________________________🦋🦋🦋🦋💀Original Fiction: "From the Dead," a short story for the spooky season💀by Clio2 My aunt just got a letter from a deceased friend. No postmark, 13-cent stamp....Story at link above, if you haven't already seen it.🎃 Pumpkin Carvings by MELinPGHNot “spooky” per se but every Halloween I do a rather involved pumpkin carving. Unfortunately, most of the photos for older carvings are locked away on a crashed hard drive. Here are the latest 3 photos that I have.2019 Carving — Owl and Moon.2022 carving — Graveyard.2023 Carving — Raven in WindowI have not decided what this year’s carving will be. Will post at a later date when it is available. I’ll likely choose a theme with cats since I’m one of those “Childless Cat Ladies”.🦇 .Works by A Pagan in Arizona.The Hedgewitch. Acrylics on canvas panel, 2024.Not a typical Halloween-y witch depiction, but a representation of what being a witch, specifically a hedgewitch, means to me.Samhain Sky. Acrylics on canvas panel, 2024.It took me no fewer than three tries to get this started satisfactorily. After that it went more quickly than I might have preferred. 🦇 Photos by gizmo59I didn’t think I would have anything to contribute, but then I remembered that the town we live in sponsors a contest where businesses and residents compete for the best (or scariest) scarecrow in front of their properties. I don’t know how scary these photos are, but you be the judge. I’m also not sure how this counts as art, since all I’m doing is photographing someone else’s art, such as it is.One-Eyed Scarecrow (2024)Rooty Scarecrow (2024)Lego Scarecrows (2024)🦇🎃Blood Moon -Angmar Redwood Man 2022Spooky Action at a DistanceYou're gardening, yesterday and started to clear out the vegetable garden and trim back the tomato vines a healthy amount of heirloom tomatoes. Underneath there'll be space for cooler-weather vegetables like cabbage and lettuce, the stuff that burns in direct, hot sunlight... gains of inches. I wrote that poem for you- You're the person I wanted to know as a misfit kid- the Writer who wrote books that gave me hope for more, than the banal, dissapointing late 70s... Turning to 80 A sure incremental and inexorable return to good feeling....Hugs in the quiet morning with the cat glaring at me because she's on a diet and thinks she's already thin- longer growing periods, hotter days, drier conditions, deeper droughts but it's been 49o already- and snow in the Adirondacks...frost, in some part of NY, I forget... And you're right about having no time- But it's all we've got.@Lori Dixon and Angmar Barrow 2024🦇🐾Ents in Autumn(mossy maples by Lake Crescent, Olympic Peninsula, Washington)October 2018, OceanDiverTitle inspired by the wondrous but not scary ancient inhabitants of Fangorn, as described by J.R.R.Tolkien, in The Lord of the Rings. 🐾Missy’s Brother "Shadows of a thousand years rise again unseen, voices whisper in the trees, 'Tonight is Halloween!' "My old crabapple tree on an October night — Attribution: Missy’s BrotherMystic music to accompany photographs YouTube Video“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”All photos taken in my house or yard — Attribution: Missy’s BrotherTop of my medicine cabinet- Attribution: Missy’s BrotherKenny Jose in the barn loft resisting to go inside the house for the night - Attribution: Missy’s Brother Attribution: Missy’s Brother Cat in my kitchen window — Attribution: Missy’s Brother Neighbors’s repro 1700s house with northern lights — Attribution: Missy’s Brother Family photograph of P, Ida Dolores and me at Niagara Falls with harvest super moon — Attribution: Missy’s Brother 🦇🌑Some Marko the Werelynx Spooky StuffOne of my older oil paintings. Intended as a magazine or book cover image, but never used.Pumpkin carving by friends and family— mine's lower left.Atmospheric photo taken on a long walk, in the rain, in the dead of night, off on my own down paths unknown ...An eerily lit bit of salt found hundreds of feet underground in PolandMrs the Werelynx is spooky tooHeh heh heh ...🦇🌑 Autumn Tarot Dance on the RooftopsDancers: Nora (High Priestess) Price, Bashaun (Devil) Williams, Ari (Star) Hassett, Florian (Fool) Alberge, Cameron (Lover) Mertz, Morgan (Hanging Woman) Phillips — Choreography by Stephen Brown(Above) Photo-collage by MT SpacesMC/Singer Madame Zelda (Ischa) and High Priestess (Nora) selecting the ‘Hanging Woman’ Tarot card.Conventional photo by MT Spaces🦇Anamnesis We're having a beautiful Fall- here it's like the Summers we used to have 60s/70s and the cool nights... Dry and sunny, sometimes cloudy, sometimes rain Leaves have started turning also, dying. Recollection- "The ability to hold in the mind" This evening- the southern horizon glowed yellow/peach shading up into dark blue, and a crescent moon hung clear over it, and I thought you would think it beautiful.@Lori Dixon and Angmar Barrow 2024"Anamnesis: the remembering of things from a supposed previous existence (often used with reference to Platonic philosophy)"🦇🎃A holiday at the end of the world Jay calls In Autumn fields- With corn still drying, burnt- ragged, turning to brown Rain still falls- Windows foggy, and soaked, steamy and cold with mourning gray. But tomorrow is goldon again The Sulphur is drunk on last chicory Bees are slow, in the still-warming sunlight Colours are gold and red and orange,and reeds move, silent Earth is still... And everywhere everything feeds, sated unconscious and absorbed- heedless- Holiday's done.-Angmar Angmar 🌑Surely some revelation is at hand;Surely the Second Coming is at hand. And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? —W. B. Yeats, from‘The Second Coming’🦇Thanks to everyone who contributedfor your beautiful Artwork.Special thanks to Tortmaster for this idea!)🐈⬛🐈⬛🐈⬛🐈⬛Today is National Black Cat Day🦇