Do inner demons sabotage our lives?

It is important to take responsibility - where appropriate – when we do stupid things, make mistakes, and experience setbacks, accidents and misfortunes. 

I know very well that becoming tired, stressed and overloaded is asking for trouble, so I do what I can to avoid getting into those states.

I do sometimes wonder though whether hostile unseen influences are also at work, subtly taking advantage when people are distracted or not functioning well.  They do whatever they can to cause trouble, damage their victims’ environments and sabotage lives.

I have noticed that ideas that lead to trouble or even disaster sometimes slip into people’s minds. The man who had the ‘good idea’ of moving his daughters into the basement because bad weather was expected only for them to be drowned by flood water during the night, is an example of a very bad case.

Some much less serious examples from my own life come to mind. While I definitely need to take responsibility for getting so absorbed in reading or preoccupied with research that the real world disappears, so when forced to do something I deal with it with the back of my mind, other factors might be at work too..

On one occasion, I was immersed in a book; I became aware very slowly and dimly that something wasn’t quite right. There was a faint smell that I automatically and mistakenly assumed to be medicinal; an inner voice told me that it was just the vapour balm that I had been using for a cough. 

Eventually, I came down to earth and realised what was happening: I had not replaced the lid of a bottle of nail varnish remover properly, the bottle had tilted on its side and the liquid was ebbing away. I was too late to save most of it. It was definitely my fault for not putting the top on properly and for not immediately investigating the source of the smell, but I was misled by that small voice.

Person of interest: Madeleine L’Engle’s Zachary Grey

Zachary Grey is a character in several young-adult novels by Madeleine L’Engle. Confusingly, he becomes Zachary Gray in the later books.

Madeleine L’Engle is not one of my favourite authors and her books do not inspire me to produce a series of articles, but some aspects of the behaviour of her character Zachary Grey and the destructive effect it has on people around him are relevant to my ideas about energy vampires and unseen influences.

About Zachary Grey

Zachary Grey, often known as Zach, is a bit of a Bad Boy. He is very rich and throws money around. He is moody and troubled; he is wild, reckless, unpredictable and sometimes self-destructive; he likes to hurt and frighten people; his outlook on life is cynical, amoral, nihilistic, negative and pessimistic: he is always saying, “What’s the point?” and wondering whether there is anything worth living for in this lousy world. He sees nothing but doom and disaster ahead. 

There are times when he hates just about everyone: he drives them away then tries to cajole them into staying.

Zach has a weak heart; he knows that he could die at any time and uses this as a weapon to control people: if they don’t do just as he likes he might have a heart attack. He uses hysterical outbursts to manipulate his parents into giving him whatever he wants; they are under his thumb.

Zach has a death wish and courts danger; he habitually does things he knows he shouldn’t do. He is always getting kicked out of schools for smoking and cheating and not turning up for classes. He does this for kicks, because he is bored. He intends to study law just to learn how to get away with things and get the better of and outsmart the phonies who run this lousy world.

Zach believes that money is everything; he has nothing but withering scorn for religion: he thinks that all religious people are phonies; he thinks that people care only about number one and that the only way to get on in the world is to step on people. His goal in life is to have what he wants, do what he wants, go where he wants and get what he wants. 

Zachary Grey is a devil’s advocate.

Ian Fleming and his lump of ambergris

The first reports of the finding of a valuable lump of ambergris on a beach in Wales earlier this week by a man who was walking his dog appeared in Welsh newspapers: 

“Ever fancied spending thousands of pounds on a big, yellow and black piece of vomit? Well here’s your chance as an auction house is offering exactly that for sale later this month. Now confirmed as whale vomit – or ambergris – it was found by a dog walker on an Anglesey beach.

The material is used in the perfume industry, making it very valuable, which is why auctioneer Chris Surfleet has slapped an estimate of £5,000-£7,000 on the lump weighing just over a kilogram and measuring little more than eight inches long.

A 6lb lump of ambergris found on a Lancashire beach sold for £100,000 to a buyer from the perfume industry.”

The idea that a substance secreted and cast off by whales is very valuable and can occasionally be found washed up on beaches by anyone who happens to walk past is widely appealing to the imagination. The story was picked up by many other papers and even appeared in yesterday’s Washington Post.

Seeing the headlines reminded me of something I read about Ian Fleming many years ago. This anecdote can be found in The Life of Ian Fleming by John Pearson:

“…Fleming told of how he found his first treasure - he was a compulsive treasure-hunter all his life - at the age of nine… One afternoon he found in a cave a lump of ambergris ‘as big as a child’s football’. He knew it was ambergris from the adventure books he had been reading – it was a real treasure: 

‘Now I would be rich and be able to live on Cadbury’s milk chocolate flakes and I would not have to go back to my private school or indeed do any more work at all. I had found the short cut out of all my childish woes.’ 

He carried it back…but the ambergris began to melt and soon he was a dreadful sight. ‘What did I care? There would be no scoldings or punishments ever again.’

 …It was then that one of the waiters explained that the ambergris was really a lump of very rancid butter from a supply ship that had been torpedoed off the coast.”

A recent string of minor misfortunes

I had a bad day recently, the exact opposite of what I expected. 

I had planned a circular walkabout that would combine fresh air, exercise, errands, a treat and a visit to a park. 

Unfortunately, it was more of an endurance test than an enjoyable experience. It was just one thing after another, so I gave in and went home. 

Unfortunately, that was not the end of the misfortunes.

It all started when I went to get some money from the cash machine. When I pressed the button, all I got was my balance on the screen. I felt paranoid, as though I had been cut off from my money. After a few more tries, I realised that the menu text on the screen was misaligned with the buttons. I got my cash out and went on to the library, where I found that my library card wouldn’t go through any of the machines so had to ask the librarian to do everything manually.

I got some takeaway breakfast items. My plan was to eat them in a local public garden. I walked down a steep street and along the park railings. The gate I wanted to use was chained up: there was a lot of construction work going on. I had to walk all the way back to another gate, past all the vans and workmen.

I was sitting on a bench drinking my coffee and reading my library book when I was interrupted by a group of young people who asked me if I would complete a survey. I don't like doing this sort of thing, and I felt jarred by having my concentration broken. The food I bought was not as good as I hoped it would be either. I walked back up the steep street to the main road, which was exhausting. I had intended to walk through a market area and back home, but I had lost all energy and inclination so got a bus back. 

I was getting my entry fob out when a strange man appeared and wanted to come in too. I told him that he should ring the bell of whoever he had come to visit. He didn’t seem to understand and still thought I would let him in, but luckily a friend came along and we both got inside by ourselves. The man was probably ok but it is amazing how these things happen at the wrong time, just when I don't feel up to dealing with them. 

Mayor and Llewelyn Davies connections: a tangled web

This article consists of material left over from my recent post about convenient deaths associated with the Austen, Mayor and Disraeli families. While doing the research for that post, I came across some information, leads and connections that I wanted to follow up. I decided to stick to the main subjects and leave the extra material and further research for another time.

Mary Sheepshanks and her connections

Flora M. Mayor was a lifelong friend of the social reformer Mary Sheepshanks. Mary Sheepshanks knew Flora’s fiancé Ernest Shepherd; Flora at one time believed that Ernest preferred Mary. Mary actually had feelings for someone else:

“In 1905 Mary Sheepshanks fell in love with Theodore Llewelyn Davies. However, he was in love with Meg Booth, the daughter of social investigator, Charles Booth. After she refused him, Davies committed suicide. “

Suicide is only suspected: he drowned while bathing alone in a pool in the River Lune. It is thought that he hit his head on a rock. He was 34 years old at the time.

Theodore Llewelyn Davies was uncle to the five Llewelyn Davies brothers, one of whom also drowned in a suspected suicide pact.

Disraelis and Mayors: more convenient deaths

I have written elsewhere about the convenient – and possibly suspicious - deaths of the men who were engaged to be married to Jane Austen’s sister Cassandra and J M Barrie’s sister Maggie.

In both cases, the bereaved young women remained available to their siblings as their main source of companionship, emotional support and admiration. In other words, both Jane Austen and J. M. Barrie benefitted from the deaths of the men who would have been their brothers-in-law.

I have found two more cases of interest, with similar elements.

Alice Mayor and F. M. Mayor

Flora Macdonald Mayor wrote novels and short stories under the name F. M. Mayor, mostly between 1913 and 1929. She had an identical twin sister, Alice. Just like Jane Austen, Flora had brothers but only the one sister.

Flora spent some time at university, where she did not do particularly well. She spent the next seven years looking for an occupation. She hoped to succeed as a professional actress, but that too did not turn out very well. The life was hard, the glamour faded, and she became tired of the lifestyle and the squalid lodgings.

People in such situations often dream of deliverance. Salvation came in the form of a young architect called Ernest Shepherd, who, just like Cassandra Austen’s fiancé, could not afford to get married immediately so hoped to make his fortune overseas. 

He was accepted for a well-paid job in India, and this enabled him to propose to Flora. He then left for India. Although she was not happy at the prospect of being separated from her family, Flora agreed to join him later in the year: they would then get married.  Unfortunately, he died of typhoid fever out there while she was still in England.

Alice MacDonald Mayor had not been in favour of the marriage. She was desolate at the thought of losing her twin to India. Just like the Austen sisters, the two Mayor girls lived closely together for their remaining years. Flora died at the age of 59; Alice lived on for another 29 years.

Some small synchronicities from 2013

Big, spectacular synchronicities – such as the encounter with Archbishop Trevor Huddleston for example - for some reason seem to be a thing of the past.

I have posted my best memories, but the record is not complete. I wish that I had made notes of all of the small synchronicities that I experienced over the years but I didn’t, so some of them are probably gone forever. 

I have started to record on here any current interesting coincidences that occur in my life, just to keep a record.

I have just remembered a few synchronicities that occurred almost exactly two years ago. During 2013 I was doing a lot of research and posting the results on the David Icke forum as part of a huge dot-joining operation. While this was going on, I experienced some interesting small coincidences which are worth bringing together and posting on here. 

Cliff Richard
I was in the middle of investigating Cliff Richard when a promotional email suddenly arrived:

"Here’s a golden opportunity to enjoy the pleasures of wine and song (especially for Cliff Richard fans).

When Sir Cliff isn’t singing about Mistletoe and Wine and performing his way around the world, he produces his own wine at his vineyard in Portugal.

We have secured just 1000 of Cliff Richard’s Vida Nova Six cases... And best of all, inside 50 of these cases there will be a FREE pair of tickets to one of Cliff’s Midsummer Nights Still Reelin’ and A-Rockin UK concerts.”

This is the only time Cliff Richard has been mentioned in any email. I am not a fan and had never even thought about him before I learned that he was a person of interest to the forum.

Highgrove
I was just starting to investigate Highgrove House (Prince Charles's residence) for the first time when Classic FM played The Highgrove Suite, which was commissioned by Prince Charles.