GOING BACK TO EDINBURGH: A FEW WORDS WITH MACKENZIE IN GREYFRIARS
I Had Become Mesmerised By The Darkness. I Was No Longer Afraid Of The Night. I Felt Alive, Half Wild, Driven.
Returning To The Cemetery
It was a rainy summer evening in Edinburgh when the bus finally pulled in. As we approached the city, I had been given a series of 'signs', so that I had become focused on him. One of them being 'YOUR MOVE'. I found it outrageous, yet felt myself becoming more and more curious at the same time. The energy that was being generated felt like a magnet drawing me towards him. It had been a long trip. I should have been tired but what could have stopped me? I would not have recognised my own mother waving me down from that misted over bus window. I was off the ground and out of my mind for this.
I had intended to go back to have a few words with him, about his stalking me, but this was slowly changing, so that it had become more about me being there again. Any fear that I had felt at the college had disappeared. Any concern that had come from the women on the trip was dismissed. Any past threats that I had received from Mackenzie or the warnings from my guides were forgotten.
I was operating in a completely different reality or consciousness, where the world around me faded away and where anything bewtween him and myself became magnified, but, without explaination.
Yet as I left the city bus station, the reality of a dreary night walking in the grey rain, dragging a large suitcase behind me finally hit me. Once I was saturated, I caught a taxi to a city hotel that was booked out and overpriced. It was moving into the tourist season. But rather than calling another taxi, I walked out into the rain dragging my suitcase behind me over the rough surfaces of the cobbled streets, as I headed in a direction to look for a room, that had me passing beneath a big old bridge.
Mackenzie Seemed To See Our Interaction As A Game Of Strategies. I Did Not Understand His Way Of Thinking.
Soon after, I walked around a corner where I suddenly came into the view of The Grassmarket Hotel. I entered the reception area and found out that out of 45 or so rooms available, that there was one single room left. Not only that, but it was available for the two nights that I needed it. It was the right room at the right price. It did not suprise me to suddenly find out that this hotel was directly across the road from Greyfriars Kirkyard. I knew it, I thought shaking my head, This had all been a set up.
I was so happy to find a warm dry room to put my luggage in. I was soaked through. Yet at the same time, I could now hardly wait to leave the cosy hotel room and get back out into the evening rain. I was soon walking quickly towards the city cemetery, feeling fully alive to the splash of car tyres along the rainy night streets, the smell of wet concrete and drainage and the shouts and fighting of drunks and local revellers that seemed to go on all night. The summer evenings were beautiful in Edinburgh, especially as the mist crept through the stony uneven streets, slowly swirling around the old style ornamental lights along The Royal Mile. It was very still and cold. I could only imagine that winter here, would be damp, heartbreaking.
It Felt As If A Room Had Been 'Reserved' For Me, At The Grassmarket Hotel. I Felt That A Greater Consciousness Was Behind This.
I felt half wild inside and answerable to no one but the presence of the night. Yet even before I had entered Greyfriars Kirkyard, there was the familiar sensation of energy moving through my body down into the ground. I actually knew exactly where Greyfriars Kirkyard was, not by the general direction I was now headed in, but by this intense feeling that all of my strength was being drained out of me.
The Mysterious Calling and My Desire To Assist
Once inside the graveyard I felt a sense of inner peace and completion. I felt this without question. I felt an overwhelming sense of compassion for everyone associated with Greyfriars Kirkyard. I had entered into a trance state. There was no fear. I walked towards the tomb and once I arrived I knew that he was there. But this time he was more subdued. I looked down to the steps of the tomb and saw a piece of paper. I immediately knew that it had been left there for me. I picked it up and turned it over. It was a tube or a bus time table. The first station I saw on the other side was 'ALL SAINTS'.
I Deeply Cared About The Lost And The Forsaken. I Believed In The Power Of Unconditional Love.
"Yes," I agreed with this. "You are All Saints." I turned from him, with my back to the doorway of his tomb, so that I was now facing back out into the dreary night of the graveyard, where I knew that thousands had suffered and had been lost from God, and I said to him, "Mackenzie, God loves you ... Every single person here is a saint. You are all saints in the eyes of God." I paused. "God loves you," I said, "God loves everyone here. God loves you all." I turned back towards his tomb, "You need to stop following me ..." I was overwhelmed with utter certainty. Suddenly I said, "I love you", whereupon, it had immediately occurred to me that I should not have said it ... Oh no, I thought, It had come out wrong. To me it was simply the channeling of 'a spirit of love' so complete, that for a second, I had become it. So that I was no longer an individual but presence. But still, I should not have said it.
"God loves you," I repeated. "You shine. You don't burn. No matter what you might have done, God loves you." Nothing could penetrate that love until I became aware of myself once more as other than love, ... as human. I then thought that perhaps I could help him by approaching The Black Hart Tour company and talking to them about his situation. It became my greatest desire to do something.
Then I looked into the darkness of the tomb and asked him, "... Would you mind if I took a few photos?" I added, "I do this with respect. If you do not want me to do it, then just give me two raps ... like this ..." (I knocked on the tomb door twice, talking to him in the same way that I did to my guides, since he had communicated to me in the same way that they had) ... "If you give me any sign at all, that you do not want me to do it, then I'll stop taking the photos. Just let me know and I will stop, okay?" Yet there was really no need to speak out aloud, since I knew that he was reading my mind, and therefore I believed that he knew that I was both sincere and respectful of his situation.
Ministering 'God's Love' To The Mackenzie Poltergeist
So I lifted my small digital camera and paused, but no sign was forthcoming. There was only silence and presence. So I held my camera up to the bars of the tomb entrance and began to take photos, one after the other, occasionally shifting position between the bars on the door. I was focused and calm and there was no fear in me, only our new connection and the fact that I had returned to talk to him.
And so, it must have been for the next 30 minutes or so, that I stood still at the bolted door of George Mackenzie's tomb, as I flashed my camera into the darkness, without seeing what, or who was inside that space, but sensing, always sensing a presence of extraordinary intelligence, mystery and focus.
It was a male presence, but in the state of mind I was in, he was more subdued, almost receptive and thoughtful. He was present but quiet and watching now. He was ... thinking, thinking, thinking, but I was unable to hear his thoughts. It was like I had to move ever closer, in order to 'comprehend' him.
It was then that Mackenzie came as a deep black fog dotted with several orbs and imbued with consciousness, as he began to move around the tomb and into my awareness.
But never revealing anything tangible, only the gentle touching of my mind, with his own.
Unseen and unknown by me, Mackenzie began to move about the tomb before the epitaph.
He then imbued the tomb with a rich sepia presenting as a shadowy mystery.
and he showed me shapes against the tomb wall, in order to express himself.
and he moved in close beside me by the tomb entrance, where I stood in the darkness.
Or he would completely black the tomb out, and then bring it into view again.
After I had taken the photos, I thanked him and turned around and left Greyfriars Kirkyard. I walked into the rainy night until I reached The Elephant House Cafe where I ordered a cappucino with soy. My hair and clothes were dripping. I sat down in the warm and friendly atmosphere of the cafe, where the author R.K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter. This city mesmerised me and I could easily see how it would have provided her with the inspiration in which to construct her story. As I sat at the table by myself, I turned on my digital camera and began to click through the photos. I was very suprised to see that there appeared to be a blackness that was moving, shifting to a different position in every photo.
The Heartbreaking Cry From The Undead
I knew that something had to be done to help this suffering man. I was stunned by the photos, hardly believing that this 'thick black fog' was actually moving, but I knew that it was him. I felt 'priviledged' and 'honoured' that Mackenzie had trusted me enough in order to allow me to take them. I wanted to do the right thing by him as I had promised to do. The situation at the cemetery was one of great anguish and it was a very creepy place too. I had never experienced such a suffering and despairing atmosphere.
Mackenzie Called Me And Remained Half Turned Away From Me At The Same Time. Part Of Me Was Fretting Outside His Tomb.
In fact I thought it must have been some trick, or my camera picking up the shadows created by the gate, but the more photos I looked at, the more obvious it became that this was indeed Mackenzie moving around the tomb. Oh my God, I thought, I felt deeply responsible and morally obligated to do something about this situation. Here we had the spirit George Mackenzie (or 'Mackenzie Knight' as he refered to himself) of a deceased Scottish lawyer who was obviously lonely, and had been made very angry by these tours going into Greyfriars Kirkyard and prodding and poking at him, reaching out.
Surely, once the tour company knew the truth, they would no longer do this. This was no poltergeist who attacked tourists. This was the tormented spirit of a man, angry, suffering and misunderstood. No wonder he despised them. At the same time, I knew that they were innocently curious and not to blame for the situation. I was feeling that perhaps I may have been the only person who might have understood him, or that he had 'opened up to', and also I was going to make sure that something was done about his situation. Tourists should not be here baulking him and making fun of him and he should not be hurting them in anger and frustration either. It was wrong, so wrong for everyone, that this should keep on happening.
Mackenzie Was A Puzzle Of Characteristics. He Was Undefineable. He Seemed To Be Many And Yet None, All At The Same Time.
And then, deep beneath my concern in the hidden part of my being, there was another feeling that began to emerge. It was like a slow smouldering from within, that flared up, only to die back down again. It was a feeling that I was barely able to acknowledge even to myself, without fear and shame setting in, and I did not like this feeling and yet I was, somewhere in my own soul, being driven by it.
Therefore I refused to acknowledge it, thinking that, so long as I focused on unconditional love, the love that was of God, which I had for all beings, (living and/ or dead, loving and/ or malevolent - it made no difference), that I would be doing the right thing by God and therefore by Mackenzie Knight.
He Was My Father, My Ex-Partner, My Lost Twin, My Mirror, The Suffering And Sorrow Of The World. I Had To 'Save' Him.
All the while an ancient black fog, that appeared to possess its own consciousness, found this opening, like a crack running through stone, in my own heart and promoted these very deep feelings, that were buried within me. The longing to reach into an abyss of darkness, to retrieve the lost, to draw the suffering back to the surface, and to make the world of dark shine again, as heaven shone. Nothing would be lost from God, nothing. Therefore I was led to a place darker and older, than my own imagining, and in the same way, that 'he' was cloaked in his own mystery, there was the feeling, that I would not acknowledge, an awareness that only surfaced briefly, where my will was oddly fused with his own, this first interaction, soon to be lost again, as he was slowly and purposefully drawing me in.
01 - Hans Zimmer - The Coral Atoll.
This website is part of my personal testimony and has been guided by The Holy Spirit and written in Jesus' name.
