I have been following the literature around human clairvoyant perception of, and interaction, with, elemental beings since the early seventies when the various books from the Findhorn Community began to appear. One of them, “The Findhorn Garden”(1975), whilst explaining how large and healthy vegetables were able to blossom in the cold temperatures and sandy soil of northern Scotland, included many telepathic messages between Dorothy Maclean and the various plant devas, certainly got my attention.  For example, in April of ’67 the Landscape Angel said “You ask whether you should contact the deva of each new variety of plant, shrub or tree in the garden.  It would be good, it makes humans more real to us.  Any contact you make with us in love and understanding helps.”  Ideas like that resonated with a Gordon who already knew that more conscious contacts between the ‘living’ and the ‘dead’ would help pave the way for mankind, up and out from the morass of superstitious prejudice and religious mindwarp. At that time, mid-seventies, it was not apparent that new age communities, some quite independent and some inspired by Findhorn, were about to blossom throughout the world and kick start the process by which fairies, elves and devas moved closer to those humans who dared to open their hearts to them.
In the following years, between the likes of Seth, Castaneda & Gurdjieff, I uncovered the earlier Theosophical texts of Dora Van Gelder and Geoffrey Hodson, not to mention deep background originals like Robert Kirk’s “The Secret Commonwealth of Elves, Fauns and Fairies” (17th century), which helped me place the fairy folk/deva evolution in some kind of perspective. Since then, several other works have detailed one human’s developing interactions with elementals have emerged, such as  Wolfgang Weirauch’s”Nature Spirits And What They Say”, “Thoughts That Shine Like Stars” and William Mistele’s “Undines” and “Mermaids, Sylphys, Gnomes and Salamanders” and much more from those Findhorn stalwarts David Spangler and Dorothy Maclean. From the paucity of material available (in English anyway) in the 70’s there has most definitely been a small explosion and I look forward to examining it all, particularly as in the interim I have become a keen amateur gardener, one who recognizes the intelligent influence the nature spirits have on me, and a householder who greets his house angel upon every exit and entry. Such pagan practice has, of course, its own domestic history stretching back to Roman times and farther.
I am currently reading up on the work of Tanis Helliwell, whose “Summer With Leprechauns” made a small splash some years back. As a card carrying believer at this point I do not need convincing, only expansions of my understanding, which Helliwell is providing. This morning, between sips of my coffee and bites of my apple danish I was amused to come across, in one of the detailed conversations between Helliwell and her leprechaun in their cottage by the sea in, where else, Ireland, the following exchange:
“Most of your stories depress us,” he replied candidly, “Think of Dickens, Shakespeare and Dostoyevsky, and you’ll see what I mean. The themes of these stories are the reasons for us not associating with humans. Our favourite human stories are ones we’ve helped write, such as Lewis Carroll’s Alice In Wonderland and C.S. Lewis’s Narnia series.”
“For years, Helliwell continued,” I’ve resisted reading the newspaper or watching the news on television. I find these media not only depressing but obscene. They seems to strengthen the concept that our world is a mess and build a negative thought form of violence. That’s exactly what’s happening, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely!” he exclaimed again.
“The problem is,” I said frustrated, “that apart from saying to others what I’ve just said to you, I don’t know what else to do about it. Do you have any ideas?”
“Absolutely,” he cried for the third time. “You must tell a different story. Tell people about us and keep supporting others who are supporting the Earth and all life on it.”
I have witnessed this ‘head in the sand’ approach to daily life many times over the years, from Christians who’d tell me they don’t read the newspapers because it’s all about the doings of Satan and his minions, to new-agers who won’t because it just depresses them, to the average coffee shop expert who doesn’t need to read any news or opinion as he’s got all the answers already, to busy parents who ‘really don’t have the time’ for the next twenty years, to college degree professionals who tired of thinking shortly after landing their first plum position and now only have the time for the politics of keeping it.
The dark side of our planetary citizenship is, without doubt, far from pleasant, just as the dark side of our personality is something we could all feel we do without. But both are vibrantly there, rumbling away like aging machinery which service calls can quieten but not quite dispose of. You can hide the ugly truth under the carpet of ignorance for as long as you wish, but the bumps in the rug will continue to provide an irritating obstacle course.
The tile of this piece is, of course, a quote from the Paul Simon song The Boxer: “All lies in jest, still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest”. For many years I have heard the ring of undeniable truth in it. It has become so universal in its application that I wouldn’t doubt if Shakespeare, Dante, Chekov or Dickens had their own versions.
But the road to full understanding of our applied sentience in this planetary playground involves the complete embrace of all repugnant activity and disreputable characters, partly because your own past lives will include such poison but also the cosmic game in which we are all players requires many as volunteers to play the bad guys as those who would be saintly and altruistic and those who prefer sheep-like adherence to whichever authority flexes its muscles nearby.
Ignoring whatever discomforts or repulses your finer nature can only add to the false glamour of your gilded moral compass, that piety which presumes a gutter from which you nobly stand apart. Embracing it in yourself and then the world is the royal road to graduation, to the knowing that has been called enlightenment by those who barely understand it.
Helliwell’s leprechaun had represented himself as a scholar of his species, one of a small group mature enough some hundreds of years back to knowingly volunteer as diplomats to the human world, to mix with whichever of us would admit them to our consciousness and aid in the eventual conscious blending of our widely differing world views. While that is a project I am all in favour of, as with the hybridization project between humans and aliens, the only way to be fully human and graduate with honours is to complete the full course, get bloodied, wounded and damn near destroyed, and come out the other side with the goofy grin of the survivor.
For all our warring ways are but another expression of our heart chakra, our determination to defend, at all costs, our women, children and culture, from the enemy who would mercilessly enslave and destroy, that same heart chakra the aliens bred out to avoid such trauma and suffering, only to discover they can’t survive without one, and have returned to us, cap in hand and surly attitudes aplenty, to regain their precious immortality, while the fairy folk, tiring of their endless fun and games, are reaching out to us for much the same thing.