A Gay Man’s Exploration of Spiritualism

In my late teens I spent three years investigating Spiritualism, attending services at a Christian Spiritualist church in West Yorkshire, and sitting in a ‘development circle’ with the aspiration to develop powers of clairvoyance and clairaudience,  the clear seeing and hearing of those who had preceded us to the next world.

 Most mediums encountered at that time were little old ladies, in contrast to many present-day handsome, young gay men who smile out from book covers, and have become stage and tv celebrities. In that sense I feel I was  an unwitting pioneer, surfing the great wave of curiosity that has swept gay mediums to the forefront of the movement. So why are we as gay men attracted to a religion that had its origins in mysterious rappings reported by a couple of girls called Fox in nineteenth-century rural  America?

For my part, if the departed could communicate, I wanted to know what they were saying, not only as an assurance that death was not the end for those we loved, but for the wisdom slipping “the surly bonds of earth” might afford them. It was exciting to get a message. Strong voice contact helped when this happened, and I got used to saying: “Yes, friend, you’re welcome” much as humans addressed the alien Klaatu in the film, “The Day the Earth Stood Still”.

In those years before I’d ceased to hide my gayness and had gay sex for the first time, I’m also conscious that I enjoyed  a feeling that if the all-seeing visitors from the spirit world (some of whom purported to be deceased close relatives), who must have known I was gay,  still favoured me with special messages, then they approved of what I was. It was an other-worldly coming out, allaying my loneliness and fears. Being privy to briefings from beyond buoyed  my self-esteem, as did the romance of Red Indian spirit guides and ministering angels. No matter how drab and hostile the everyday heterosexual world appeared, I had unseen friends to rely on, and the compensation of psychic resources.

Over the three years seeing many mediums working, I received less than ten meaningful messages, the rest being trivial. Shortly before my father died suddenly (aged only 51),  a medium showed some distress as she came to me, saying to her spirit guide something like, “no, I can’t tell him that” before saying she had a message for my father, which meant little to me that night. “Tell him,” she said, “when you come to  high walls and  five-barred gates it’s time to turn back”.

By that time I was sitting in a weekly development circle led by a mediumistic church member whose own guide (a helpful spirit who works closely with the individual) was called Chang. One evening she was apparently taken over by the guide. She uttered words that sounded authentically Chinese to me, though I couldn’t have said for sure, and seemed to stoop, reduced to the stature of a much smaller person. Chang addressed me, saying “I have George here” - my father’s name - “He is too weak to speak for himself at present, but brings you the scales. Once they were right down here ( at which the medium’s hand reached down as if indicating one dish of the scales weighted lower than the other), but now they are more level”. A moving, personal message followed. My father had worked for Avery weighing scales all his life, so the image seemed so apposite, suggesting he had died early to pay off some kind of karmic debt.

Another time, I was instructed to warn my cousin that he could have an accident on his bike. I imagined she meant a push-bike. About two weeks later the individual in question crashed going too fast on a scooter and spent weeks in hospital with a badly broken leg.
Arriving in London to study, I joined another development circle at Stockell Spiritualist church. One service Ivy Northage, a top medium, was officiating, and she picked me out. To my surprise, she told me I didn’t need the circle any more, and should withdraw from it. She also said I had “a mind-link with an Egyptian”.

That was the end of my sojourn with Spiritualism. I never saw spirits, as mediums say they do, or heard voices speaking. At best I found I could pick up impressions sitting within the overlapping auras of other people. Along the way I witnessed  spectacular arguments among church members, and a fair proportion of the gullible and eccentric. I also knew not to go any deeper, my increasing confidence as a gay man perhaps coinciding with a healthier respect for the living.

Still, some dramatic moments like the ones described linger in my memory. They left me with less regard for the money-making slick theatre peformances of goodlooking mediums today. Older women, often widowed, commonly bereaved,  flock to  these shows, finding an instant rapport with the glamour of youthful gay psychics. They purvey a caring flamboyance with convincing skill, giving many comfort and hope. Then why do I remain doubtful, ill-at-ease?

By John Hartley

(c) Copyright 2010.  All rights reserved.