by J H Brennan
The entity began to talk to Dolores. “Give him my name,” it instructed. “Tell him you are here to take over his work after he dies!” Dolores wanted none of it. Ernest Butler was a frail, old man suffering from a chronic illness. As a well-brought-up young woman, she had no intention of talking to him about his death. Butler for his part did not seem to want to talk about Anubis. He suggested they might be running late for their meeting and should go. They stood up and move off down the road. The entity followed. It kept repeating the same message: “Tell him my name. Tell him you will take over his work after he dies.”
They reached Steele’s Road where their meeting was due to take place. The entity was now so insistent that Dolores’s nerve finally broke. She stopped Butler with a hand on his arm and told him the message. He shrugged and told her, “You took your time coming. I expected you before this.”
After the meeting, Dolores and Michael put Butler on the train to Southampton. As he was leaving, he told her she would be the next Director of Studies of the Servants of the Light. It did not strike her as good news and she resisted for much of the following week. The Anubis entity reappeared and she berated it about her predicament. Specifically she was at the start of her career and did not feel herself qualified to teach. The entity told her not to worry—he would be the one doing the teaching. It was the beginning of an increasingly strange time for Dolores. She continued to see Ernest Butler regularly and absorbed a great deal of theory from him. But more important, he taught her trance techniques for reaching the spirit world. Her contacts with Anubis become more frequent. Sometime before Butler’s death in 1978, the spirit brought up the question of becoming her indweller. The term was new to Dolores, but she quickly learned that an indweller is an entity—itself not necessarily human—that forms a permanent link with a human being, occupying essentially the same mental “space” and sharing the same physical body. The relationship is one of mutual benefit. The indwelling entity gains experience of physical reality and is enabled, within limits, to interact with it. The host gains information, companionship, guidance and, usually, a sense of purpose.3
Dolores had not read Julian Jaynes’s book on the bicameral mind when she first heard about indwellers, but there seems little doubt that what her spirit contact was suggesting was similar, if not identical, to the historical phenomena Jaynes describes. As we have seen, Jaynes suggested that in ancient times people were commonly guided by spirit voices they accepted as gods. Here was a potential repeat of the experience in a twentieth-century context. Dolores did not hesitate, did not even ask questions. The moment she agreed, the indweller entered her. It happened so quickly she did not even shiver. As the entity began their new relationship, she felt the arrival of something that took up residence in her mind and has shared the space inside her head ever since. As had happened in the contact with Butler, the presence described itself as the Opener of the Ways and claimed a provenance that reached back to ancient Egypt. Although mainly aware of the Opener as an inner dialogue, Dolores sometimes heard an “external” voice or, more rarely, saw an objective figure. Here again, the parallels with Jaynes’s historical descriptions are obvious.
Prompted in part by her own desires, in part by the indwelling Opener, Dolores Ashcroft-Nowicki embarked on a career that has to some extent paralleled those of figures like Blavatsky. She became a world traveler as a professional teacher of esoteric doctrines, ritual magic, and other occult techniques. She and her husband, Michael, continued to run the Servants of the Light and Dolores began to write books on esoteric subjects. She embarked on an extensive program of workshops, lectures, and seminars. More than a quarter of a century after she received her indweller, she found herself involved in the transfer of another entity.
Among Dolores’s closest friends at the time was an American teacher of spiritual practice named Shakmah Winddrum (Anna Branche), who had an extensive following and an international reputation as a charismatic and compelling speaker.4 They met at one of Dolores’s lectures and hit it off at once. Sometime after the event, the indweller who was now as much a part of Dolores’s life as her husband and children, asked if she would be prepared temporarily to “carry” a second spirit contact who was destined to indwell Shakmah. Unlike the Opener, the newcomer was not a member of the Egyptian pantheon, nor a “god” of any sort. But he was an historical personage.
Old Testament scriptures briefly tell the story of a visit to King Solomon by the Queen of Sheba:
And she came to Jerusalem with a very great train, with camels that bare spices, and very much gold, and precious stones: and when she was come to Solomon, she communed with him of all that was in her heart. And Solomon told her all her questions: there was not any thing hid from the king, which he told her not … And she gave the king an hundred and twenty talents of gold, and of spices very great store, and precious stones: there came no more such abundance of spices as these which the queen of Sheba gave to king Solomon. And the navy also of Hiram, that brought gold from Ophir, brought in from Ophir great plenty of almug trees, and precious stones. And the king made of the almug trees pillars for the house of the Lord, and for the king’s house, harps also and psalteries for singers: there came no such almug trees, nor were seen unto this day. And king Solomon gave unto the queen of Sheba all her desire, whatsoever she asked, beside that which Solomon gave her of his royal bounty.5
But that was not, apparently, all he gave her. The visit of the Queen of Sheba is described in First Kings and again, virtually word for word, in Second Chronicles. In the poetic Song of Solomon, however, are two passages that scholars believe throw a little more light on the historic encounter. The first reads:
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine … the king hath brought me into his chambers: we will be glad and rejoice in thee, we will remember thy love more than wine.6
A long-standing oral tradition insists that Solomon and the Queen of Sheba not only met formally as heads of their respective states, but were so instantly enamored with each other that they had a brief, passionate affair. When the queen returned to her native land, she was pregnant with Solomon’s child. The location of her native land remains the subject of controversy, but most experts believe it was somewhere in Africa. This too is supported by a sentence in the Song of Solomon of such intensity and beauty that it continues to resonate down the years:
I am black, but comely, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon.7
In Ethiopia there is no controversy. The Queen of Sheba is not only believed to have originated in that country, but her son by King Solomon, Menelyk, became the founder of a royal dynasty that ruled Ethiopia until September 1974, when the last of the line, Emperor Haile Selassie, was forcefully deposed in a mutiny of the police and armed forces.
It was the spirit of Menelyk that the Opener wanted Dolores to carry to Shakmah Winddrum. There was no advance warning of the development. Dolores was in the United States for a workshop, taking a shower in the house where she was staying. Her Opener asked if she was prepared to “carry” a second spirit for a short time and when, in some confusion, she agreed, the new entity moved in at once. The experience of sharing her mind with two indwellers was so overwhelming that she burst into tears. She was still noticeably upset when she went downstairs and when her host wondered what was wrong, she asked him for a drink. The only alcohol in the house was a bottle of Amaretto liqueur and Dolores, although normally moderate in her drinking habits, finished most of it. The following day she flew to Philadelphia to meet the proposed recipient.
Shakmah was no stranger to spirit contact. After a conventional education and career, she became embroiled in esoteric pursuits after she was initiated into the Voodoo priesthood in Haiti in 1963. Voodoo is a religion that originated in Haiti but is also practiced in Cuba, Trinidad, Brazil, and the southern United States, notably Louisiana. Its roots go back to the tribal religions of western Africa, particularly Benin, but
it contains elements of Roman Catholicism and representations of Christian saints share the altar with more ancient gods. The main focus of worship is a high god, Bon Dieu, but respect is paid to one’s ancestors, the dead in general, and spirits called Loa. The Loa are African tribal gods and it is they who are usually identified with Roman Catholic saints. (The snake god, for example, is seen as much the same being as Ireland’s patron saint, Saint Patrick, credited with banishing all snakes from the island.) Rituals, led by a priest called a houngan or a priestess called a mambo, involve the invocation of the Loa by drumming, dancing, singing, and feasting. In such ceremonies, ecstatic trance frequently occurs and the Loa typically take possession of the dancers in order to perform cures and give advice. The new initiate mambo experiences the ecstatic trance and the spirit possession. But the possession is strictly temporary—it never outlives the ceremony itself.
On her return to the United States, Shakmah evolved her own form of esoteric practice, which blended Qabalistic, African, Christian, and even some French medieval spiritual elements. In private ceremonies she would frequently enter into trance in order to communicate with ancestor spirits and pass on a body of doctrines to her followers. For all this, she had no specific experience of indwelling.
When Dolores and Shakmah met, Dolores told her she was “carrying something for her.” With a finely tuned intuition, Shakmah guessed at once what she meant—Dolores had told her about Anubis—but did not want it. An indweller was fine in theory, but it suddenly seemed she was about to give away every semblance of privacy she possessed. In spite of this, Dolores laid a hand on her shoulder. At that point Dolores felt the Menelyk entity flow out of her. Shakmah felt another presence in her mind.
Spirit possession, as practiced in ecstatic religions like Voodoo, is a different—and in a sense easier—experience than indwelling. As trance intervenes, host consciousness moves aside and the possessing spirit takes over. When, later, the spirit withdraws, the host emerges from trance with little or no memory of what has occurred, rather like waking from a deep sleep. With indwelling there is a sharing of consciousness, an altogether different phenomenon that requires a host’s long-term dedication. The result is something similar to the biblical idea of a “familiar spirit.” The discovery that such “familiars” can be transferred consciously to a different host is a surprise that calls into question the common preconceptions about the contact experience.
One of the strangest eyewitness accounts of spirit contact ever written was penned by a barrister named Henry D. Jencken and appeared in the February 1867 edition of Human Nature. It described what happened at a séance he had attended along with the Earl of Dunraven, Lord Lindsay, a Captain Wynne, and the prominent scientist William Crookes. The relevant part read, verbatim:
Mr. Home had passed into the trance still so often witnessed; rising from his seat, he laid hold of an arm-chair, which he held at arm’s length, and was then lifted about three feet clear of the ground; travelling thus suspended in space, he placed the chair next Lord Adare, and made a circuit round those in the room, being lowered and raised as he passed each of us. One of those present measured the elevation and passed his leg and arm underneath Mr. Home’s feet. The elevation lasted from four to five minutes. On resuming his seat, Mr. Home addressed Captain Wynne, communicating news to him of which the departed alone could have been cognisant.
The spirit form that had been seen reclining on the sofa now stepped up to Mr. Home and mesmerised him; a hand was then seen luminously visible over his head, about 18 inches in a vertical line from his head. The trance state of Mr. Home now assumed a different character; gently rising he spoke a few words to those present and then opening the door proceeded into the corridor; a voice then said—“He will go out of this window and come in at that window.” The only one who heard the voice was the Master of Lindsay and a cold shudder seized upon him as he contemplated the possibility of this occurring, a feat which the great height of the third floor windows in Ashley Place rendered more than ordinarily perilous. The others present, however, having closely questioned him as to what he had heard, he at first replied, “I dare not tell you”; when, to the amazement of all, a voice said, “You must tell; tell directly.” The Master then said, “Yes; yes, terrible to say, he will go out at that window and come in at this; do not be frightened, be quiet.” Mr. Home now re-entered the room, and opening the drawing-room window, was pushed out semi-horizontally into space, and carried from one window of the drawing-room to the farthermost window of the adjoining room. This feat being performed at a height of about 60 feet from the ground, naturally caused a shudder in all present. The body of Mr. Home, when it appeared at the window of the adjoining room, was shunted into the room feet foremost—the window being only 18 inches open. As soon as he had recovered his footing he laughed and said, “I wonder what a policeman would have said had he seen me go round and round like a teetotum!” The scene was, however, too terrible—too strange, to elicit a smile; cold beads of perspiration stood on every brow, while a feeling pervaded all as if some great danger had passed; the nerves of those present had been kept in a state of tension that refused to respond to a joke. A change now passed over Mr. Home, one often observable during the trance states, indicative, no doubt, of some other power operating on his system. Lord Adare had in the meantime stepped up to the open window in the adjoining room to close it—the cold air, as it came pouring in, chilling the room; when, to his surprise, he only found the window 18 to 24 inches open! This puzzled him, for how could Mr. Home have passed outside through a window only 18 to 24 inches open. Mr. Home, however, soon set his doubts to rest; stepping up to Lord Adare, he said, “No, no; I did not close the window; I passed thus into the air outside.” An invisible power then supported Mr. Home all but horizontally in space, and thrust his body into space through the open window, head foremost, bringing him back again feet foremost into the room, shunted not unlike a shutter into a basement below. The circle around the table having reformed, a cold current of air passed over those present, like the rushing of winds. This repeated itself several times. The cold blast of air, or electric fluid, or call it what you may, was accompanied by a loud whistle like a gust of wind on the mountain top, or through the leaves of the forest in late autumn; the sound was deep, sonorous, and powerful in the extreme, and a shudder kept passing over those present, who all heard and felt it. This rushing sound lasted quite ten minutes, in broken intervals of one or two minutes. All present were much surprised; and the interest became intensified by the unknown tongues in which Mr. Home now conversed. Passing from one language to another in rapid succession, he spoke for ten minutes in unknown languages.
A spirit form now became distinctly visible; it stood next to the Master of Lindsay, clad, as seen on former occasions, in a long robe with a girdle, the feet scarcely touching the ground, the outline of the face only clear, and the tones of the voice, though sufficiently distinct to be understood, whispered rather than spoken. Other voices were now heard, and large globes of phosphorescent lights passed slowly through the room.8
The “Mr. Home” referred to in this account was Daniel Dunglas Home, a young Scot born March 20, 1833, to parents so impoverished that they gave him up at birth to the care of his aunt, Mary Cook. By Home’s own account, his contact with spirits began early: his cradle rocked of its own accord in the home of his adoptive parents. While he was still a small boy, the Crooks emigrated to America and settled in Greeneville, near Norwich, Connecticut. In his early teens, he had a vision of a school friend who apparently indicated that he had died three days earlier. A letter subsequently arrived, confirming the death. A few years later, Home’s birth mother, Elizabeth, also emigrated to America, but died shortly thereafter. Once again Home had a spirit vision informing him of the time of death.
Home began to attract poltergeist phenomena, with raps sounding in his home similar to those produced by the Fox sisters. Three ministers of different religious denominations were called in t
o witness what was happening and all concluded the boy, now eighteen years of age, was possessed by the Devil. A table moved of its own accord and the raps continued. Neighbors began to complain and Home’s aunt, at her wit’s end, threw him out of the house.
Ruth Brandon, a writer clearly not enamored with Home, suggests he was an opportunist who jumped aboard the Fox Sisters’ bandwagon, but instead of accepting money for his demonstrations, used them instead to get himself free bed and board.9 Whatever the motivation, Home held his first formal séance in 1851. A local newspaper reported that a table had moved despite attempts to stop it and Home’s reputation quickly spread. He began to travel around New England working (without charge) as a healer and communicating with the spirits of the dead. He felt he was “on a mission to demonstrate immortality.”10
A year later, his fame had spread dramatically. He sometimes gave six or seven séances a day, often attracting prominent people. Not all of them were believers. The distinguished scientist Professor Robert Hare investigated his claims, as did Supreme Court Judge John Worth Edmonds. Both decided he was genuine.
Home had never been a particularly healthy man and in early 1854 he was diagnosed as having tuberculosis. His doctors recommended a change of climate and in March of the following year he set sail for England. He quickly became something of a darling of London society, although reaction to his abilities was mixed. Robert Browning lampooned him in the poem Mr. Sludge the Medium and the psychical researcher Frank Podmore accused him of cheating while William Crookes claimed that Home had levitated five to seven feet above the floor in good light more than fifty times. It was while he was in London that Home began to demonstrate an even more unusual ability—the power to elongate his body parts. Henry Jencken left the following account: