A long time ago, when I was experimenting with different ideas, I tried automatic writing.
Wikipedia describe this as: psychography ... a psychic ability allowing a person to produce written words without consciously writing. The words are claimed to arise from a subconscious, spiritual or supernatural source.
But, whatever automatic writing is - it didn't work for me, all I got was lots of scribble! However, here is a story, by Dorothy Service, that could be a real example - if you believe such things are possible, of course.
Many years ago I worked with a class of young children and occasionally had a special needs teacher to assist. When her husband died in a car accident, I helped in any way I could.
Two of three months later, I was watching TV and making a to-do list. After a while, I became aware that the sidelights on the walls had started to flicker - but I ignored it.
As I sat there letting the sights and sounds from the TV wash over me as I wrote, it eventually began to dawn on me that I hadn't taken in a single thing for the last hour.
However the paper in front of me was covered in writing.
What I had in front of me was effectively a letter from my colleague's dead husband to his grieving wife. It was a plea for forgiveness for all the times he'd behaved so badly when he was alive.
'I know quite well that [their son's name] would be sitting at the kitchen table eating his evening meal but that as the sound of my car's tyres crunching on the gravelled drive, he would leave the table, scrape the uneaten food into the bin and rush upstairs to his room.'
The writing pleaded me to 'give this letter to my poor wife'. I didn't, of course - not then.
That year, however, was one of electrical disturbances. Nothing major, just persistent.
The sidelights were checked by the electrician and we were told everything was fine. Just over a year after everything happened, my colleague and I were sitting in the staff room - we all knew by now that her husband had been a very difficult man - and speaking of her son, she said, "Do you know, he would be sitting at the table eating his dinner, but the minute he heard his father's car in the drive he would rush from the table, scrape his uneaten food into the bin and then run upstairs ..."
Listening to those words convinced me the letter that I had received / written was from her husband. Later, I took her to one side and, as gently as possible, told her about what had happened. She believed me.
Naturally I gave her the letter. It was never mine to keep. Oh, and in case you're wondering, there were no electrical problems after that.
~ Dorothy Service.
Two of three months later, I was watching TV and making a to-do list. After a while, I became aware that the sidelights on the walls had started to flicker - but I ignored it.
As I sat there letting the sights and sounds from the TV wash over me as I wrote, it eventually began to dawn on me that I hadn't taken in a single thing for the last hour.
However the paper in front of me was covered in writing.
What I had in front of me was effectively a letter from my colleague's dead husband to his grieving wife. It was a plea for forgiveness for all the times he'd behaved so badly when he was alive.
'I know quite well that [their son's name] would be sitting at the kitchen table eating his evening meal but that as the sound of my car's tyres crunching on the gravelled drive, he would leave the table, scrape the uneaten food into the bin and rush upstairs to his room.'
The writing pleaded me to 'give this letter to my poor wife'. I didn't, of course - not then.
That year, however, was one of electrical disturbances. Nothing major, just persistent.
The sidelights were checked by the electrician and we were told everything was fine. Just over a year after everything happened, my colleague and I were sitting in the staff room - we all knew by now that her husband had been a very difficult man - and speaking of her son, she said, "Do you know, he would be sitting at the table eating his dinner, but the minute he heard his father's car in the drive he would rush from the table, scrape his uneaten food into the bin and then run upstairs ..."
Listening to those words convinced me the letter that I had received / written was from her husband. Later, I took her to one side and, as gently as possible, told her about what had happened. She believed me.
Naturally I gave her the letter. It was never mine to keep. Oh, and in case you're wondering, there were no electrical problems after that.
~ Dorothy Service.
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Interesting story!! Some of my favorite books were written by Ruth Montgomery, who claims they were written through automatic writing.
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