The Precambrians

The Precambrians

It was in June 1985 that this story really begins. I was separated from my first wife and sharing a house in Dublin with four builders. My partner and friend, John Heaney and I were walking across an open space to our workshop when a page from a newspaper blew across the courtyard and landed at our feet.

John looked startled as he bent down to pick it up. It had a picture of his uncle and a statement about him being taken into care and later released.

The Newspaper was about two years old. Johns uncle was mentally ill and had made it impossible for John’s wife to cope. They had bought a new house and left johns two uncles to live in his original house, rent-free.
John told me that he had a feeling that his uncle was dead but could not bring himself to go back to the house. He asked me to do a Tarot reading to see if he had passed and I agreed to do it that evening. We 'shut up shop' early and I went back to my house with the newspaper to try and find out what I could. Rushing to finish it before the others came home, - I simply laid the paper on the table and spread the cards without putting up any protection or grounding myself.

I did the reading and was certain that Johns uncle had passed when the room began to go completely dark, - even though there were several hours of daylight left. There was a horrible atmosphere and it took all my strength to push the darkness away and cleanse the room. Johns uncle had passed. But it was not his spirit which had tried to overpower me. He was a harmless gent who collected rubbish and brought it home. We later cleared the house and it took weeks to remove all the rubbish which filled every room.
That night, as I drifted off to sleep a face, appeared in front of me and startled me. It was almost black and more outline than solid. It appeared every night for about a month until a friend who was an exorcist stopped by for a cuppa one evening after a group meeting. He saw the entity immediately and asked me about it. I explained that I had been unable to banish it and he promised to help. He removed the entity, but it followed him home and he said. Later. That it had taken three months to get rid of it.

Then in 2016, Bill sent me a picture of some bubbles and asked me if I wanted to do haikus and poetry to photographs. I agreed, and we posted a few, but then I became unwell and we shelved the project for almost 2 years. Then recently, Bill and Michael sent me the files to create a photographic journal. Bill was becoming convinced that something or someone was playing tricks with them as the bubbles were morphing into incredible shapes and odd events were happening. I got a shock when I recognised the face in the picture as the entity which had haunted me so many years ago.

Producing the book became a nightmare with files constantly shrinking or disappearing. It took a ridiculous number of attempts to finish the project. The files were far above the DPI needed for Kindle, but they were suddenly too small to use, so I have shelved the Kindle version until I can fix it.
There is something strange happening, but I must leave to the readers to decide what it is. All I can guarantee is that you will be mystified and intrigued by the photographic evidence and astounded by the beauty of many of the images.
Patrick W Kavanagh
19/04/2018

New evidence has emerged and the photo-journal is now published on Amazon!

New Evidence...

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This book will inspire and amuse readers and viewers of all ages. We have selected more than100 pieces of our most popular artwork and associated poetry at the request of our online readers to allow it to be enjoyed by a wider audience. Within these pages, you will find many worlds. Things past, present and future will dance before your eyes in the company of many creatures and mythical beings. There are angels and aliens alongside laughter and tears, - but always with a brighter hope ahead. Many have found comfort in our work as well as inspiration and enjoyment. We hope that you will enjoy this book as much as we have enjoyed creating it over the last couple of years.

TO CHECK IT OUT AT AMAZON ON ANY DEVICE CLICK HERE.

Personal Meditations for Mastery and Self-knowledge. This is essential reading for those with an interest in the occult or spirituality. No-nonsense advice on the basics of Magic and Meditation is combined with beautiful and inspiring prose and art to facilitate successful meditation and spiritual development.

Now available in print on Amazon with stunning new images!
View now...

The Beggar

It was the coat that drew me to his side, that cold September day.
He leaned against the wall, inside a porch that barely kept the wind and rain away.
An army coat, just like my dad’s, that came back from the war.
I hoped it kept him just a warm as it kept me so many years before.

I dropped some coins into his cup to ease my passage, as I walked away.
But as I glanced into his eyes, I watched him struggle with some words he had to say.
“God is bleeding into life”, he said. “And life is struggling to escape the mud.
There is nothing in this world which can be made without our sweat and tears and blood!”

His aura stank of urine and insanity, and so, I walked away until he called me back.
“Your poetry is shite!”, he said, “You write of flowers and butterflies like some insipid hack!”
“What can you know, old man, of what I do and who I am?”
He said, “I’ve walked the lonely roads since mankind first began”

“You think that speaking nice and being good will save you from your misery and pain,
But you will walk as many roads as I and birth will come again and yet again.
Your life may be a fairy tale, but fairy tales are born in blood and sweat and slime.
The grimy, gritty glories of this world will last until the very end of time.”

“You bore me with your godly prayers and clean-pressed trousers on the shiny pews.
You tire me with your candles and your bells and all your failed attempts to be a better ‘you’
You drive me to distraction with your chanting and your whistles and your drums.
The only truth is you, - and what you do is what your life becomes.”

“I became this world which we both walk and we both share.
Each moment of my birth was made of misery and pain and dark despair.
You bleed my blood and cry my tears for you and I are one.
This is the mystery which Man has wondered at since Mankind was begun.”

“Forget your worries and your foolish plans and simply be!
You never will be greater than you are, for I am you and you are me.
The measures and the rules with which you gauge your lives are false beyond compare.”
I closed my eyes to still my spinning head, but when I looked again, he was no longer there!

Patrick W Kavanagh
25/03/2018
Art by Bill Oliver.

Tumbling

 The silence was unruffled by the muted ticking of the clock

upon the shelf.

She lay between us like a moody mist which hid the memories of every single kiss.

The years have brought a dreariness which wore away the passion that we felt.

And yet, - of all the losses which we gained, your laughter is the one I really miss.

It’s been such a long, long time since last I saw you smile.

The lack of lustre in your eyes reminds me of the pain we share.

We have not left this dusty dried up world within our own front room in such a while.

The world we used to know outside may long have ceased to be for all we care.


I remember summers, once upon a time, when there was magic

in a sunlit grassy field.

We walked for miles to find a quiet spot where there was no one else around

A tartan shawl laid on the ground became a battlefield where both of us would yield,

And fall into a peaceful interlude, as, cheek to cheek, we lay upon the ground.

But now we sit and stare as if we both have rushed beyond

the veil to share a musty mausoleum

Sometimes I rouse myself from reverie and try to speak, - but don’t know what to say.

The days are just a burden as we sit and wait for sleep and all its promises of dreams.

I wonder if you dream of when we laughed and played and tumbled in the hay.


I see you clearly now through all the years with straw

entangled in your hair.

Your clothes were in a mess and through the creases of your shirt, your passion pressed.

We slipped into the barn and in a stall, we made a nest of cast-off cares.

But when the farmer came we had to run away as maledictions

filled the summer air.

Perhaps we both have lived too long? What use is life bereft

of laughter and of song?

Perhaps we died a long, long time ago when we were struck by grief and everything went wrong?

Perhaps we should have fallen on our bended knees and begged forgiveness for the crime of holding on too long,

To memories of all we had which once had made the love we shared so strong?

We had a miracle and then the miracle we had was torn away.

We had a dream, but then the dream became a nightmare in a
single tragic day.

Our love created life and then that life was torn away.

The god we used to love had punished us for tumbling in the hay.

 Patrick W Kavanagh

16/03/2016

Art by Bill Oliver

Angels Born Sleeping

Angels Born Sleeping.

I am sorry that my passing caused you so much heartache and such pain.

Although my sleeping form looks still and cold, - I am reborn again.

A higher call has summoned me to worlds beyond your sight.

And I am in a place of love and wonder, - and delight.

I will visit often, though you may not know that I am near.

But, if you listen carefully, who knows what you may hear.

My quiet voice will whisper words of comfort and of love,

For I have had the grace of being chosen by the one above.

Your sacrifice and sorrow will have never been in vain.

For our spirit lives forever and we all will meet again.

But I must be a messenger of hope and love to many who are born.
For I am now a light, to all who wait in darkness, for a bright new dawn.

Do not grieve too long for me or shed too many tears.

For I have risen far above all grief and left behind all sorrows and all fears.

I know you wished to be my guide and my protector and to share in all my joys.
But, soon enough, we'll meet again beyond the starry skies.

Patrick W Kavanagh.

16/10/2016

Art by Bill Oliver

Kiara  The early memories

Only a tiny person could see the entrance to Kiara’s world, and only a tiny person with true vision could see the green lady who guarded the entrance to the land of the Fae.
As is widely known, - but not so widely believed; - there are many physical entrances to this world, as well as the obvious routes on the astral plane. However, this entrance is very special; this is where Kiara first peeked out to see Jeremiah. This is when she fell in love and it is the moment that changed her life forever and also saved mankind from a terrible fate.

I was going to say it was the ending of her childhood, but, do the Fae grow up? Do beings with such a measureless lifespan have a beginning, a middle, and an end, - just as we do?
I do not know for certain. I have asked the Fae, but they have declined to answer. Trying to persuade a faery to be serious about anything is a difficult task. They love mystery and magic for its own sake and hate to explain anything in boring detail. In the end, I stopped asking. They are my friends and my helpers, and that is good enough for me. They are intrigued by our intellect and our ego’s, but they have learned from bitter experience that being too close to mankind for too long can have a corrupting effect. Somehow, it steals a little of their joy and innocence each time they give in to their endless curiosity.

How can I describe that world, whose entrances look so unremarkable to the human eye?
Many have spoken of the feasts and the music. There are also many tales of dancing and orgies too, - but perhaps these are the exaggerations of a medieval mind which was starved of joy and hope. Memory fails me where I need it most. Like the dreamer who struggles to recall their night of adventure, I am taunted by brief, half-remembered images of beauty and feelings of utter calm and peace. Even now, I can feel the gentle touch of leaves against my cheek. I can see a clearing where a soft light catches a multitude of tiny flying creatures. Are they faeries? I cannot remember. I can see orbs of many colours and I can smell the musty earth of the forest. The air is warm and moist. My clothes feel like they do not belong here, but I sense that to remove them may mean that I will stay here forever.

The flowers are beautiful. They are a strange mix of both tropical and temperate plants.
I sniff one and suddenly feel that I could shrink, if I wanted to, and nestle inside its cup-like petals. It looks almost like an upturned daffodil with a purple centre. Everything in this place seems to be asking me to stay. As I walk deeper into the forest, I come to a huge clearing. There is a river cutting through the woods, feeding a large pool that is sparkling in the sunlight. I can see larger creatures here. Wolves are blocking my path to the pool, but I do not feel frightened.  I hear the sound of a flute and look up to see a strange creature sitting on a branch playing a bright, cheerful tune on what look like Pan-pipes. He is much smaller that I had Imagined Pan to be. Perhaps he is a faun?

The wolves pull back to allow me to go forward. There in the pool are beautiful young men and woman splashing around. They called to me and invited me in, but my puritanical upbringing failed me, and the vision ended. I did return eventually, and I will share my memories as they return to me in a clearer form.
Patrick W Kavanagh 
Kiara’s later adventures can be seen at:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/589028