Showing posts with label Chicago Swordplay Guild. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chicago Swordplay Guild. Show all posts

Thursday, April 12, 2018

Attracting the Dead

Years ago when my older daughter was in grade school, she asked me not to get a wind chime for the front of the house.I have always loved the sound of wind chimes, so when I asked her why not, she said, "They attract ghosts."

That was unsettling. And I didn't get the wind chimes.

Now that she's an adult (who admittedly sees dead people and has, since she was a little tyke), I have actually hung a wind chime close to my front door. It's a tiny metal thing, with a tiny gargoyle sitting on top of it. It's been out there long enough to have developed a nice patina, and the small musical notes that chime when the wind moves its little metal rods always sound cheerful and sunny, even in terrible weather.

But I find myself thinking, does it attract ghosts? Our house, apparently some kind of way station on an avenue for the departed, seems to do that on its own. The fact that I sit here and write ghost stories only adds to the footsteps, bangings, thumps, and thuds we experience here routinely. But still, are there things that attract spirit attention?

Would certain activities bring you to the notice of someone dead? Cooking a particular aromatic food, for instance? Or listening to a particular type of music? Or even a particular song? 

How about certain items? John Zaffis did a whole show centered on the premise that objects can hold spirit attachment. Personal items, sure. But also items involved in tragic or violent episodes. Back when Jim and I were still active in the Chicago Swordplay Guild, we had the opportunity to both see and handle part of a historical sword collection, one of which was a blade that was dated to the time of the ancient Greeks. It was the only blade I tried picking up, with gloved hands, and the impact I felt when I held it was both strong and disturbing. The first thing that popped into my head was that this piece of metal had taken life. The second was that I needed to put it down immediately. 

I do not boast having the ability of psychometry that my character, Philip Corts, has. I can't pick up a necklace, a watch, a scarf, or even a blade and tell you details about its owner. But at that moment, I knew for sure that that particular sword had been used in battle, and that it had bloodletting in its history. I asked the curator who was with the collection if it was possible that the sword had seen war, and he thought it not only possible, but extremely likely. I believed him.

That's also the reason I'm not wild about antique shopping.

But in the instance of the sword, that is more about spirit attachment than it is spirit attraction. I don't know if objects can pull in the deceased, but I know that people can. I have heard more than one medium say that the dead view a person with that kind of psychic ability as a beacon of light, and flock to that light. That's why children with the ability get visitors in their bedrooms late at night. And that's why adults who are using that talent are sometimes visited by spirits connected to a particular property before the medium even knows that he or she is going to be asked to investigate the place. Sometimes days or weeks in advance of the investigation. Someone with that kind of psychic ability can't help it; he or she will attract the dead.

So I am sitting here in my office, writing this at my desk and glancing around at what I have that could gain the attention of someone who is no longer in corporeal form. I have an antique writing desk in here, so there's that. I have several candles, although none of them are lit as of yet. (Didn't I hear candles also attract spirit? Isn't that why they use them at seances?) And then there's me, writing about this chosen topic. Already there are noises and disturbances in the hall beyond the kitchen. I know they're just waiting for me to resume work on the book...

On a related note, it's almost the time of year for us to go back north and reopen our three-season cabin, as winter draws (hopefully) to a close. Up north, there is a shop in town that specializes in wind chimes. They must have ten to fifteen of them hanging on their porch, and three times that number of wind chimes available within the store itself. I've been looking at those wind chimes for a few years now, and maybe this season, I'll bring a new one home to keep my gargoyle company. And if it should attract more ghosts? Well, at this point I ask myself the question: Given this house, and given my job, will it really make that much of a difference?

Monday, April 13, 2015

An Ounce of Precaution

Some years ago, a woman I knew gave me a present, something that she considered an even exchange for a small present I had given her months earlier.

I am a martial arts geek. I studied TaeKwon Do during high school and college, leaving classes behind only when my life took a big turn into married life. I practiced on my own when I could no longer attend class because it was something I truly loved and something I knew enough to be able to do alone. After my children had become adults, I stumbled across a class in Medieval Long Sword being offered at our community college. It turned out that the instructors belong to a group called The Chicago Swordplay Guild (feel free to google them -they're amazing) and so for some years, until our life again took a big turn, my husband and I learned what we could about Italian longsword, single sword, dagger, and grappling, with an occasional foray into pole ax and spear. (Note: this is not re-enactment; this is western martial arts.)

All of this is background to the above-mentioned exchange of presents. The woman I met had joined the Guild, and she and I were building a friendship. During the course of this, I gave her a little hand-held self-defense tool that I was handing out to all my female relatives and friends at that time. I think every girl, every woman, should know how to defend herself.

And then this woman gave me her own idea of protection: a St. Benedict medal. Even though I was raised Catholic, I had no idea what the medal was for. She told me it was to ward off evil. I have since looked into this and found that it is considered to be a medal to repel the devil. There is an inscription on the back that actually says as much. It has also been in widespread use for centuries among Catholics and other Christian religions for this purpose. I never knew.

At any event, she knew I was into ghost stories and the paranormal, and she figured this would be good protection for me, so she gave one to me and one to my husband. Since that time, I've even seen the medal featured on one of my paranormal reality shows as a viable form of protection.

So I spent yesterday watching some of my DVR'd paranormal shows, and last night, I had a dream that I was with a group of ghost hunters in a purportedly haunted graveyard. In my dream, I remember reminding myself that before I left the cemetery, I needed to announce in a loud voice that nothing should attach itself and follow me from the site: that it would not be welcome in my life, in my house, or anywhere around me. I woke up from that dream wondering where on earth it came from. True, my husband and I are planning a trip to Charleston, South Carolina in the not-too-distant future that will, of course, include a ghost tour. Maybe that was what was on my mind.

Still, when I have a dream that vivid, I pay attention. Writing what I do, fascinated by what I am, attracting what I might, being prepared and cautious is a good idea. I believe in staying safe in everyday life and heartily recommend that every girl, every woman, have a handful of strategies to use when threatened. It should only follow that I be as prepared, as cautious, in the realm of my particular career. 

Thus, St. Benedict is with me every day and at my bedside every night. An ounce of precaution is worth a pound of cure, they say. I've already had a run-in with something I'd never want to meet again, so I'm grateful for my protection. As for that run-in? Well, that's an entirely different story.

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