In a World of Hearing Voices
By Roy Vincent
Key Themes: hearing voices, "schizophrenia", spiritual nature, autobiography, self-help, hope
For twenty-eight years, I have been experiencing inner voices and physical presences in ways that would normally induce the label ‘schizophrenic’ – except that I have never been ill from this cause.
This is how it all began:
A ‘presence’ that I could not see, moved from the space in front of me, into me, and immediately my mind was charged with another ‘voice’ or provoker of thoughts, thoughts over which, then, I had no control, and which were not initiated by me. In my head began conversation as between two separate people, one of whom was me.
I began to hear voices.
This book is part autobiography, part DIY Manual, and so...
...if you are being engulfed in the quicksands of your mind, if you are calling for help in the silence of your mind, if you cannot silence the voices that invade your mind, dominate and torment you, if you are caring for someone who is struggling within the morass that their mind has become...
...if you are any of these, then I am writing for you.
About the Author
Born in South Wales, I spent my early years there, apart from four years service in the Royal Navy. In 1950, I graduated from the University of Wales with a degree in Electrical Engineering, and immediately began work at the Sellafield Nuclear Plant, where I spent all of my working life, my most memorable post being as Senior Instrument Engineer in the Calder Hall Nuclear Power Station.
I retired early, and began an entirely new life developing my smallholding, and my interest in horses. Quite by chance, and following a seemingly innocent investigation and an interest in dowsing, a situation developed from which I began to hear voices and experience a wide range of allied phenomena. That was in 1979, and to this day I have never been free from intrusions into my mind, or from intruding presences. YES – INTRUSIONS. Because of what I was doing at the time, and from all that has followed, I have not the smallest shadow of doubt that my experiences result from spiritual intrusion into my mind and body. I have never been ill from this cause, although there have been difficult times.
My purpose in writing is to inform and encourage – yes, to encourage those who are troubled by voices to believe that they can regain control of their minds and thoughts, and to help them to do so.
It was a dark, wet and miserable evening just two days before Christmas, and I was attempting to muck-out the stable that adjoined my house. But just as if I had lived through an episode from one of the tales of the Brothers Grimm, my mind and body had been intruded into, and my actions had been harried and im-peded by malign ‘entities’, ‘spirits’, ‘imps’ – call them what you will. Have no doubt, they were real and not the product of a fevered imagination, nor, yet, the result of drink or drugs, for I use neither. Nevertheless, and in spite of all of that, I finally got my mare, Bokhara, installed in her stable and dried and fed - in the midst of what varied thoughts I cannot remember. Although I have no doubt that I was being forced to concentrate upon aspects of my moral life, and my fitness for a life of improving spirituality. Let me again emphasise, there was nothing in my moral life, past or present, with which I could reproach myself to any signifi-cant extent; but somehow, everything was trawled, examined, and even the most minor peccadillo could, in my then state of mind, be made to seem to be an enormous ‘sin’. Gradually, the whole thrust of the 'catechism' and analysis wound around the ‘Christmas story’, and subtly, and by allusion, around all past relation-ships with my late parents. Any misunderstandings, any ‘wish lists’, were ex-tracted within the ‘Holy Family’ context, as if my parents were near at hand and conscious of all that was transpiring. Yet again, the wheel turned and there was being stoked a feeling that I should go to the local church on Christmas Eve, but only to stand outside, not being fit to proceed to join the ‘good’ people inside. It all sounds so ludicrous as I write it down, and I do so solely to show how ones sense of proportion could be made to be so distorted as to accept such domi-nance as reality.
What next I remember, is going into the storeroom side of the stable to get some hay to fill the manger. Before I could start to cut the strings of the bale, I found myself forced down onto it on my knees, and made to stare down-wards. But it was not to look at the assorted feed bags and twine that I would have expected to see. No, I looked into a void, but not a void. Picture the most drear, cold landscape of your imagination. I was in a narrow steep-sided valley, and it was grey, and cold. A white, snow covered landscape has some charm, but not this that I saw. The wind blown, snow blown terrain and scree were so grey and lifeless; not a plant grew; not a creature moved; not a bird flew - and it was soundless. There upon my back was a great weight of ice, as if the whole of a glacier lay there, bearing me down. I was so utterly cold and alone, and I knew inside me that this could go on and on and on for ever. But in spite of that, I could muster the shadow of a wry smile, for I knew that this could in fact be a state that knowingly I had chosen, for, in essence, I was being shown what Hell could be. What I was seeing and feeling would be the equivalent of having once known and experienced the warmth of Divine love, and then of having rejected it deliberately - given it a derisive gesture - in full knowledge of what I was doing; and the remembrance of what I had lost by my rejection would be with me for eternity with no chance of recall.
I have no knowledge of how long my ‘vision’ lasted, though lasted it did, sufficiently to have stayed with me unabated for over twenty-eight years. Nevertheless, gradually the warmth returned and I was eased to my feet as my benumbed knees regained their function. And so, standing comfortably again, I turned and looked out over the half stable door. The clouds had cleared, and the sky was full of stars. So full of stars. And the reality of Christmas, and the limit-less and unique love that it had brought into the world, swept over me.
~ ~ ~
Most people are familiar with the idea of ‘voices’ within the mind – ‘hearing voices’ - but far more insidious, and possibly ever present, is the mute physical ‘overlap’ or intrusion into one’s body. Try to imagine a not quite exact ‘fit’, so that in every movement or reaction one makes there is just the little bit of antici-pation or lag; of speeding up when it is inappropriate; of not being quite in phase on a turn; of causing forward movement when there are obstacles to be negoti-ated – whether by deliberate intent or lack of ‘skill’ it is impossible to say. When the presence is continuous, or frequently in and out, it can become positively loathsome and one longs to be rid of it. If you have a copy, read in the Thousand and One Nights the story of the Old Man of the Sea. Sinbad, shipwrecked and alone as usual, stumbles across an old man who asks for his help to cross a stream. Sinbad, in his kindness, takes the old man on his back, and then, when the stream is crossed, finds himself in a stranglehold; beaten about the head, made to go this way and that, by day and night, at the old man’s whim; be-skittered and be-pissed all down his back and generally befouled. It is only ulti-mately by making some wine from wild grapes and getting the man drunk that Sinbad is finally freed, and one can sense the ultimate release as he crushes the man’s skull with a boulder. Many times have I wished for that boulder!
It is possible from one’s own reactions to these presences to understand how it is that individuals will harm themselves in an effort to get at or get rid of this gross intrusion that is only reachable within their own body.
This product was added to our catalog on Monday 01 September, 2008.