Tag Archives: djinn

by

Against A Unified Theory of Strangeness

There is a trend toward unified theories of strangeness. I recently mentioned The Vengeful Djinn, whose authors suggest: ‘the djinn could be the hidden source of the diversity of paranormal events everywhere’ (Guiley & Imbrogno, 2011: xxi). The Cryptoterrestrials by Mac Tonnies is another recent text in a similar vein: ‘Could “fairies” and “elves” – and all their mythical successors – be distorted representations of an actual species?’ (Tonnies, 2010: 18).

Cases of so-called ‘high strangeness’ provide a very good reason for the supposition of a single source for paranormal phenomena. In a high strangeness case we may confront phenomena that refuse the usual distinctions but manifest as an intimidating mixture of UFOs producing poltergeist-like phenomena, for instance, or saquatch-like animals, which behave as if they were ghosts by vanishing or impossibly flying away.

A recent case of high strangeness was the notorious Skinwalker Ranch (Kelleher & Knapp, 2005). The classic, of course, were the happenings of 1966-67 at Point Pleasance in Virginia, described by John Keel in The Mothman Prophecies (2002). Indeed, it is Keel who was perhaps the first to propose a unified theory of strangeness, accounting for the bewildering explosion of phenomena that confronted him. He mooted ‘ultraterrestrials’ as a possible cause – multi-dimensional beings whose reality intersects with ours in a way that enables them to produce effects wildly at variance from the ordinary.

mothman

Classic high strangeness: the mothman. Drawn by an artist from witnesses' accounts.

Yet the logic of these arguments leads to something perhaps unexpected. It’s clearest in Mac Tonnies’ text. He proposes the cryptoterrestrials are possibly a race of terrestrial beings with whom we have shared the planet for millennia. They are physical, like us. The way they manifest diversely as greys, reptilians, space brothers, man-beasts or fairies is simply a decision on their part, to lead us along whatever lines of supposition best suit their purposes. Tonnies suggests that, technologically, the cryptoterrestrials may not be that far in advance of us, but for the time being they certainly know how to hide from and mislead us, and this is perhaps all that they technologically require.

We arrive at a similar conclusion as we follow Guiley & Imbrogno’s musings on the djinn. The authors posit some theoretical ideas to support their view that the djinn may inhabit dimensions of space unavailable to three-dimensional human beings. But once we apprehend them behind this barrier, what do we find? The djinn are created male and female. Some are Muslims and some are not. Some are enlightened and some are not. Some wish us harm and some do not. They have free will just like us, so the choice is theirs.

Where there is a unified theory of strangeness, it starts to seem that once we peer behind whatever veil separates us from them (‘hidden dimensions’, ‘cloaking technology’) what we find is not very different from ourselves. Perhaps this is conveyed most vividly in the movie version of The Mothman Prophecies (2002), where ‘John Klein’ (Richard Gere) is walking down the street with paranormal expert ‘Alexander Leek’ (Alan Bates). Klein expresses the view that they must be dealing with something far more intelligent than themselves. ‘If there was a car crash ten blocks away,’ responds Leek, ‘then that window washer up there could probably see it. Now, that doesn’t mean he’s God, or even smarter than we are. But from where he’s sitting, he can see a little further down the road.’

'If you could see what I can see when I'm cleaning windows.' Gere and Bates in 'The Mothman Prophecies' (2002).

So, we have three unified theories of strangeness – cryptoterrestrials, ultraterrestrials and djinn. But in each case the logic of the argument implies that by bringing paranormal phenomena together, we also draw them down to earth. What is it about a unified theory of strangeness that transforms ‘the other’ into something not very different from ‘us’?

The nature of the other is to be other than us. But the troubling thing about the other is precisely its otherness. It offers no hooks onto which we can attach labels or identities, or guarantees. Even to label the other as ‘other’ is a step away from otherness; a means of trying to grasp a reassuring handle. Assuming the other is ‘one’ thing, or even that it is ‘anything’, is a step away from otherness. The problem we presume to solve with a unified theory of strangeness, therefore, is the problem of the otherness of the other.

A unified theory is an attempt to arrive at the other of the other. The problem with the other, as it stands, is that it’s a jumbled mess: UFOs, fairies, ghosts, monsters, etc. If we could only ‘get behind’ all of this, we reason, we could get a grip on what’s really happening. Yet the problem with the phenomenon at hand is precisely that it is ungrippable. The immediate problem is actually the temptation to regard ungrippability as a problem, rather than as a real characteristic of what is to hand.

Orthodox wisdom is represented by the psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan, who regarded ‘the other of the other’ as a fiction that finds expression particularly in paranoia (Žižek, 1997). If we do not accept phenomena that arises for us as phenomena, but instead put trust in something that lies behind the scenes, then we entertain the fantasy of ‘the other of the other’ – the one who, despite the otherness of what appears, is secretly and masterfully in control of its appearance. The fact that this manoeuvre seeks to keep at bay the threatening otherness of the phenomena is betrayed in the way that the theory returns only another version of the self: the djinn, the ultra- or cryptoterrestrials, who are fundamentally, reassuringly, like us. By trying to attain the other of the other we reach instead only more of the self, displaced slightly into ‘another dimension’.

The Cryptoterrestrials

'The Cryptoterrestrials' by Mac Tonnies. Published by Anomalist Books.

There is an alternative that is not limited by dualistic thinking. Contrary to Lacan, there is an other of the other, which is circumscribed neither by narcissism nor paranoia. The other of the other is no-self. What arises in cases of high strangeness, far from bearing the traces of a reassuringly coherent agency, instead bears the traces of no-self, of non-existence. What we seem to be witnessing is not something working to hide from us, or existing elsewhere, but something struggling to reveal itself and exist here.

This logic, of the other of the other as no-self, is what I propose to continue to explore.

References

Rosemary Ellen Guiley & Philip J. Imbrogno (2011). The Vengeful Djinn: Unveiling the Hidden Agendas of Genies. Woodbury, MN: Llewellyn.

John A. Keel (2002). The Mothman Prophecies. London: Hodder & Stoughton.

Colm A. Kelleher & George Knapp (2005). Hunt for the Skinwalker. New York: Paraview Pocket Books.

The Mothman Prophecies (2002). Dir. Mark Pellington. Lakeshore Entertainment. Film.

Mac Tonnies (2010). The Cryptoterrestrials. San Antonio, TX: Anomalist Books.

Slavoj Žižek (1997). ‘The other does not exist’. Journal of European Psychoanalysis. Spring-Fall.

by

Summoning the Djinn

The djinn have sent ripples of interest through paranormal circles recently, thanks to the publication of Legends of the Fire Spirits (Lebling, 2010) and The Vengeful Djinn (Guiley & Imbrogno, 2011), which have introduced djinn lore to a contemporary western audience.

Djinn are beings made of ‘smokeless fire’, recognised throughout the middle east and the Arabic-speaking world. Created by Allah after the angels, they fell from His favour when they refused to bow before human beings. Expelled from our world as a consequence, many of them do not regard humans kindly. Some will seize any opportunity to supplant us or do us harm.

Reputedly, these beings were created male and female. They pre-date Islam but some have supposedly converted to the faith whilst others remain outside. Some are attracted to humans, yet tend to enjoy playing tricks on us. Some relish mainly the infliction of harm. Others are enlightened beings, yet these tend to remain aloof both from humans and their own kind. And there seem to be others besides whose motives and agenda remain a mystery.

Within cultures that recognise djinn they are often regarded as a single explanation for phenomena which, in the west, are regarded as distinct. Whereas ghosts, abducting aliens and mysterious beasts such as sasquatch and the chupacabra may appear unrelated to a western eye, elsewhere they are regarded equally as manifestations of djinn. The possibility that the djinn offer a unified theory of strangeness is the key theme of Guiley and Imbrogno’s The Vengeful Djinn.

The Vengeful Djinn

Guiley and Imbrogno's 'The Vengeful Djinn'. A unified theory of strangeness?

I hope to thrash out later my views on why a unified theory of the paranormal is problematic, but firstly I decided to summon a djinni and gain a better ‘feel’ for these entities. I chose to adapt a ritual I’ve seen copied and pasted around the internet, which involves writing on a mirror what appears to be a statement of intent in phonetic Arabic, specifying the gender and type of djinni to be summoned. The ritual begins and ends with the lighting and blowing out of three coloured candles, to the accompaniment of an opening and closing incantation repeated three times.

I carried over these elements into my ritual, although the words on the mirror I wrote onto paper, taping them to the glass beforehand to save time. I used ‘Ali Allah hamal jinni muschna shamal al-amari closun ontei‘ to specify a male djinni of the lowest, least powerful rank. And I opted for identical white LED candles, because these are more convenient and safer in a confined space.

Djinn can be nasty, so I placed the mirror in a Triangle of Art and kept the LED candles safely inside a protective, roughly circular area marked out by string. There were seven of us inside the ‘circle’. We planned to fortify our boundary of string by reciting in English the 99 Beautiful Names of Allah, placing around the circumference the strips of paper onto which we’d printed them. Also in the circle were a ouija board and planchette, for use in speaking with the djinni. For good measure, in the triangle, I also placed my ghostbox, made from a transistor radio with a component intentionally hacked to force it to scan the AM waveband without locking onto any specific channel. This would supply a randomised ‘voicebox’ for the djinni, which it could also use for communication in addition to the ouija.

To open the session I burnt incense made from asafoetida, wormwood and dittany of Crete, a combination that might traditionally be supposed to attract ‘low’ entities. Then we entered the circle, recited the 99 names, and I delivered three times the incantation, ‘Allah shafim barat shiu kamir‘, switching on one of the LED candles after each.

Something perturbing happened almost right away: the ghostbox in the triangle stopped scanning at exactly the moment we addressed our first question, and remained locked on a local news channel, which was not only disappointing but also distracting. We were all seasoned magicians, however, so we did not succumb to the temptation of supposing the summoning had failed, blithely dipping outside the circle to set the ghostbox right.

It’s vital to appreciate that in an important sense, magick never fails. What better trick to entice us out of our protection than to make it seem the ritual hadn’t worked? Instead, we simply accepted that the ghostbox was now lost. (In retrospect, I should have kept it inside the circle.)

Things were slow to start – again, perhaps this was a ruse to convince us the summoning had failed. The planchette was moving, but so weakly and indecisively that I repeated the incantation. Finally it roamed to ‘YES’, in answer to our repeated question whether the djinni was present. We noticed it indicated its responses with the tip of the planchette, rather than through the window in the centre.

On ouija duty were Soror E and Soror M, our two female members. No one apart from myself had read up on the djinn, or had even been aware that this was how we would be spending the evening, so conditions were good for testing the entity.

In response to, ‘What is your gender?’ the planchette beneath the hands of our sorors moved to ‘M’ for male. I was the only one aware that the statement of intent on the mirror specified a male. In answer to, ‘What is the initial of the djinni who rebelled against Allah?’ the planchette moved directly to ‘I’ for ‘Iblis’, the correct answer, which – when I revealed this information to the group – elicited some raised eyebrows. (It’s so funny, as Ramsey Dukes has pointed out [2011: 22], how no one, not even experienced magicians, actually expects magick to work.) Perhaps it was a coincidence; perhaps it was unconscious telepathy by Sorors E and M; in either case, we now had a sufficient basis for an experience of having summoned a djinni.

Communication was still slow, however, and vague. We invited the djinni to manifest some physical effects, such as changing the channel on the ghostbox or producing knocking sounds. Having listened to the audio record, there is perhaps a distant-sounding knock immediately after my first request, but eventually the djinni stated via the ouija that it couldn’t deliver. The vague responses continued, until Soror M noticed that the radio was saying something about ‘women introducing men’, and wondered whether this was a communication that male members of the group should take up the ouija. Fraters B, K and Q stepped up to the breach and we started to receive some stronger answers, but there were no more instances of the strikingly transpersonal responses that had been attained through Sorors E and M.

The gist of the conversation was as follows:

Do the djinn exist?
DJINNI: YES.

What is your attitude to human beings?
DJINNI: HATE.

Why do you hate us?
DJINNI: KEVJKS.

There was a good deal of gibberish mixed in with the answers, which the djinni more than once declared was intentional. But perhaps ‘EVJK’ was meant to be ‘EVIL’, with the last two letters shifted each by one place.

Is Allah the One God, and is Mohammed His Prophet?
DJINNI: YES.

Evidently, our djinni had converted to Islam, or was pretending to have done so.

A djinni in a cave

This photo of 'a djinni in a cave' has been circulated so much that its origin is probably now untraceable.

What is your age?
DJINNI: 970.

This was then denied immediately afterwards and revised down to ’90′.

Do the djinn favour humans who are Moslem?
DJINNI: NO.

It was then revealed that the djinn despise all humans, regardless of their religious tradition.

Do you have a plan for the human race?
DJINNI: BURN.

Are you responsible for all of the phenomena that we call ‘paranormal’?
DJINNI: NO.

Some of it?
DJINNI: YES.

Are you responsible for UFOs?
DJINNI: NO.

Alien abductions?
DJINNI: NO.

Are aliens real?
DJINNI: NO.

Are you responsible for ghosts?
DJINNI: YES.

Bigfoot and other strange animals?
DJINNI: YES.

Where do you live?
DJINNI: FIRE YSJDRQ DURY.

The first word makes sense, but when challenged concerning the rest the djinni immediately confessed that it was talking gibberish.

Do you tell the truth?
DJINNI: NO.

Do you inhabit the same space as we do?
DJINNI: NO.

Is there a way that we can get to where you live?
DJINNI: NO.

Is there a way that you can get to where we live?
DJINNI: YES.

Are you in this room with us now? In the triangle?
DJINNI: YES.

There was some discussion about whether we should liberate the djinni, using the technique we have previously used with spirits of the human dead. The djinni stated that he wanted us to do this, but I was reluctant. The djinni had told us that he hated and wanted to burn us; my gut feeling was that if we tried to liberate him, he would just sit back and laugh.

Frater B invited the djinni, as a fire spirit, to affect the candles at the corners of the triangle. Immediately, one of them burnt out, but the djinni then denied via the ouija that he had caused this to happen.

Satisfied that I had at least obtained answers to all the questions I’d prepared, we gave the djinni leave to depart. It refused, and persisted in moving the planchette. But after I’d recited the ritual’s closing incantation three times, ‘En tien Allah cluman‘, turning off one of the LED candles on each recitation, the planchette ceased roaming and the spirit seemed to have gone. Yet before anyone set foot outside the circle, we performed a final, vigorous IAO banishing.

Overall, the session seemed to me to have been quite successful – especially the response to the test questions. The knocking sound captured on the audio is not evidence of anything, but certainly occurred at the right moment, and sounds completely at odds with the physical space we were actually in: a common characteristic of paranormal audio effects. What struck me most of all, however, was how tricky and malevolent the manifestation had been. It seemed as if the djinni had thrown the ghostbox back in our faces, more interested in using it as a trick to coax us outside the circle than in communicating through it. The palpable hatred of humans and the desire to burn us were not exactly endearing either. Given that this djinni was supposedly among the least powerful and most friendly, I would think hard before I summoned one from higher up the ranks.

Audio

A djinni knocks in response to our invitation? [MP3, 300Kb, 20 secs]

References

Ramsey Dukes (2011). How To See Fairies. London: Aeon.

Rosemary Ellen Guiley & Philip J. Imbrogno (2011). The Vengeful Djinn: Unveiling the Hidden Agendas of Genies. Woodbury, MN: Llewellyn.

Robert Lebling (2010). Legends of the Fire Spirits: Jinn and Genies from Arabia to Zanzibar. London & New York: I.B. Tauris.