Mr Death

He knows skies and oceans

'Sunlight on the garden
hardens and grows cold.
You cannot catch the minute,
within your nets of gold.'

Edwin Muir

I wrote two weeks ago about my Summer of the Snake, which signalled an early warning system in my inner world and what happened subsequently.

Last week, I reflected on death and those precious friends who passed away early.

This post picks up many of the themes and motifs from those earlier substacks, but also takes us into more imaginal spaces. Soft places where reality appears to melt and dualities become less delineated.

But, I would like to start with a disclaimer - I was never interested or attracted to the Spirit World, or ghosts or such things. It just never interested me, even as a child. I knew the dead were still with us, a hairs-breath away, and I didn’t need to enquire of them - there was enough to do dealing with the living!

Curiously, in the course of my life, I have come across many people who have special abilities and could converse with the dead; I have seen spirits enter mediums’ bodies and occupy the same physical space; I have received wisdom and instruction from intelligences not in a physical body and at times of greatest need they have interfered in my life and informed my decisions. After a terribly difficult interview for the position of Head of English at Crosfields School a medium rang me up and a spirit talked through him on the telephone and told me I must take the job! This was beyond weird. I followed the advice and it proved sound. I have learnt not to question such occurrences.

At another’s behest, I have attended a spiritualist church and seen healing take place; this had a hilarious side which I will recount at some point. I met a medium who accurately prophesied a major air crash the following day and who was addicted to her connection to the spiritual world, which seemed to be eating her alive. Sprits have given me my magical name and forms of spiritual practice. However, it’s never really interested me, and I’ve never tried to convince others of its veracity.

As a teenager, my family went to Bournemouth on holiday; accommodation was an old-fashioned guest house at the far end of this Victorian holiday resort, beyond the furthest of its famous parks. This establishment was run by two gay ex-servicemen. I slept in the same room as my parents. They chose this hotel because the food was ‘home-cooked’, but to my mind it was from another time.

At night, one of the owners would knock on the door and shout out in his fluting voice, ‘Open up, I’ve got your Knockout Drops,’ with a certain ceremony, he would enter the room with a tray perched in his left hand and three cups of Horlicks steaming away. It was all rather camp and a little odd. Nevertheless, we all sat in bed drinking our beverage while he watched us. When the last drop had made its journey from lips to stomach, he collected the cups and made his exit. Once safely out of sight, we all started laughing.

Another guest at the hotel was a famous Medium to the stars. One evening, they were convinced to offer an evening of readings. My father availed himself of this. However, an air hostess was staying who was dismissed from the room and did not receive her reading. A month later, she was killed in an air crash!

I have written before about my brush with cancer. After my diagnosis, the waiting for the operation was difficult, and the night before, I got little sleep. The fear was that I would not see my beloved wife or children again.

I awoke in a hospital ward as the nurses lifted me onto a bed, and I was dosed up on Morphine. My main concern was that I wouldn’t have to wear a colostomy bag! Then I fell into a drugged sleep.

Later, I learnt that, as an ‘insurance policy’, I would need four sessions of chemotherapy. A truly ghastly experience which I can only equate with eating death. Throughout this expereince, I meditated up to four hours a day and entered some highly imaginative and imaginal states. I also kept a notebook to try and externalise these experiences.

This is when Mr Death appeared in my inner world.

This is what I wrote at that time:

You might think Mr Death is scary, but he is my myth-poetic creation. He has always been with me, and he has told me he will take my cancer away and heal me. He looks as he does because he can deal with this stuff; he’s gnarly and tough, and this is just one of his aspects. He’s a healer. What you cannot see from my drawing is his beautiful blue eyes, which are full of kindness and beauty; he knows skies and oceans, but he also has a job to do.

He was as real to me as any other person.

With the healing, there is a future, and Mr Death will help me find it. This links with the Path Card I pulled, the Owl. Mr Death loves owls - prophecy, that’s powerful magic. I am being told that ‘All will be well.’ The birds are helping me. I found three magpie feathers today; that trickster bird is helping me. Thank you, Mr Death and your birds.’

Although this may seem strange and irrational, it was very real and present for me at this difficult time. I do believe our being is more fluid than we think and that these imaginal worlds exist for us if we care to turn the mind around and explore them.

The night after this expereince, I had something of a wobble and a sense of terror and dread fell across me. Suddenly, there appeared this illuminating sense of love for my wife Lizzie and this overwhelming desire for more happy years with her and the desire to always look after her.

In the morning, after I meditated, I felt better. Again, that small still voice reassured me that ‘All would be well’. I remained positive and in the moment:

This dance with Mr Death
is no ‘excuse me’,
no tango in time to the bite
of a rhythm sublime. 

These steps matter,
Place your feet carefully,
don’t shuffle,
follow an imperceptible sound. 

Don’t look left
back behind, or
to your right.
Just trust each step
on the clickety-clack
of the bone road.

More next week.

David