There’s A Ghost in My Cemetery, And A Portent in My Dream

The last dream I had before I woke this morning involved my son being ill. I would imagine this is a reasonably typical dream when away from home and family. I texted a “good morning and how are you?” to my wife and mentioned that I’d been woken by a dream of sickness. A couple of hours later, I spoke to my son.
“Your dream was right, daddy. I had to come back from school because of a temperature and headache. I’ve had a Mars Ice Cream now, to help make me cooler.” (no, we’re not with BUPA, it was just bought from the corner shop).
Now, I have had to throw away all rationalism and all Brian Cox told me, I have realised I have a gift, I don’t even need to look at the steaming innards of my garroted goat, my dreams will guide me.

Sadly, due to my scepticism, this has not led to the start of my new journey to be a wizard, the Shamanic lifestyle must wait, at least until I can grow a more convincing beard.
I enjoy coincidence, but I wonder how I might have felt about that dream had I a greater propensity to want to believe in mystery and half-seen orbs? You’ve heard it all before, how many times have I had a worrying dream about my child? I am filled with fear, I still have a vague sense of doom when I go to check him at night. Hopefully none of my other horrid dreams will come true, and I won’t have to sit my history A level again either.

I think of the time I have seen ghosts. Sometimes they peer perilously close to my reflection from a window when I am alone in the house, at other times, they carefully creep around the corner of my eye so I can never see them fall on. Those stupid nights, when after drinking, and now feeling lazy, you decide on that short cut through the cemetery. At exactly the halfway point, where no route of escape is closest, that melancholy, pale nun appears near the ferns. And your rational mind says, “ghosts don’t exist”, but before that can be heard, your “must survive at all costs, and maybe this will be a punishment for attending skeptics in the pub” portion of mind has you running. Hurled over the piked fence, lying on the ground, you look back, and see that annoying tomb that was cruelly designed to be the rough shape of a mourning Victorian Mother Superior. It was the pattern seeking nature of your brain working in tandem with those memories of MR James that caused you to take flight, but now, with your heart still punching your ribcage, your rational mind has looked at you a look of upbraiding mockery. Should you have a desire to believe, then that rational mind will never bother taking you to stage 2 of explanation, it joins your anecdotal armoury in your quest to prove an afterlife and the existence of the apparitions. The arguments don’t matter, you know what you saw. We’ve all seen ghosts, but only some of us want to explain them away.

Does it matter much if people believe in ghosts? I suppose if they start insisting you re-enact the murders of Jack the Ripper or drink the blood of maths teachers it might become an issue…

Ever since I read John Higgs’ wonderful book on the KLF, discordianism and the burning of a million pounds, I have pondered on how many coincidences I have missed each day.
It makes you delightfully alert to just enough to make you realise how much passes you by.
I received it after John (a man I knew nothing of before this time) had seen something I’d tweeted about Robert Anton Wilson’s Quantum Psychology. He suggested I’d like his book and sent me one. A few days later, I was in Northampton walking around a church with Alan Moore. When I arrived home, the book was in the mat. I opened it, and the first page I saw had a story about Alan Moore. A few days later, I read it on the train to Brighton. On the way to the gig, I saw a fabulous 50s book on how UFOs probably worked in the window of Wax Factor. I bought it, and then tweeted a photo of the cover. I soon received a tweet from Mr Higgs, he had seen it in the window that morning and was planning to return to buy it later, I had beaten him to it. That night, one of the scientists in my audience told me she used to appear on Top of the Pops.
Why was that?
Obvious really, she was a backing singer for the KLF.
And so it went on, until I finished the book, and the coincidences came to an end…for now.

Time to risk the cemetery gates?

I am touring forever – soon to Nottingham, Sheffield, Cardiff, Cambridge, Laugharne and many more. Details HERE

Cosmic Genome app, now with added Stephen Fry, is HERE

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One Response to There’s A Ghost in My Cemetery, And A Portent in My Dream

  1. This particular cognitive bias is known as the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon.

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