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When real fairies help real people
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He was one of the most brilliant and energetic astronomers of the previous century. George Ellory Hale was the driving force behind building the world's largest observatory until then -- the 200-inch glass giant of Palomar. He also revolutionized our understanding of the sun, inventing the spectroheliograph, with which he made his discoveries of the solar vortices and magnetic fields of sun spots.
And who was Hale's primary science adviser? An elf.
Beginning at age 42, Hale says a "little elf" appeared in his window sill and told him to get the Palomar project started. Hale says his "little elf" also advised him on other scientific work.
Hales relationship with his "little elf" is documented in Helen Wright's 1966 book, "Explorer of the Universe." Some have disputed Wright's account of Hale's elf, pointing out that the astronomer suffered from mental illness his entire life, while others have claimed that Hale's frequent reference to his elf guide was merely a metaphor for his inner imagination.
Yet, that's not how Hale viewed it. Hale thought his elf was just that -- a living, breathing elf. Hale relied heavily on his "little elf." His attitude toward his helper was remarkably similar to that of another great man, the writer Robert Louis Stevenson.
Stevenson gave us such classics as "The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" and "Treasure Island" but he had a guilty secret. Stevenson felt that he did not actually write these books by himself, but rather, the stories were given to him by fairies -- little people he called "Brownies."
Stevenson claimed the Brownies came to him in his sleep to give him story ideas, plots and narratives, and all he had to do when he woke up is write them down. Stevenson said: "The whole of my published fiction should be the single-minded product of some Brownie, some Familiar, some unseen collaborator, whom I keep locked up in the back of a garret ... the more I think of it, the more I am moved to press upon the world my question: Who are the Little People?"
Who are they indeed? That's the question writer, philosopher and ethnobotanist Terrence McKenna wondered about when he frequently confronted what he called "the machine elves." McKenna describes the machine elves this way in his book, "True Hallucinations": "Dozens of these friendly, fractal entities, looking like self-dribbling Fabergé eggs on the rebound had surrounded me and tried to teach me the lost language of true poetry."
Of course, one must take into account that McKenna only contacted these elves when smoking synthesized DMT, or under the influence of certain natural hallucinogens. Yet, the machine elves have been encountered independently by others researchers, including University of New Mexico's School of Medicine Professor of Psychiatry Rick Strassman.
Strassman was a researcher who administered more than 400 doses of DMT to some 60 subjects, many of whom said it put them in contact with the machine elves. Interestingly, the LSD-soaked music of Pink Floyd appears to make reference to the machine elves in their song.
The Gnomes have Learned a New Way to Say Hoo-Ray?" Why is this significant? Because those who have encountered the machine elves say that they announce themselves by saying something like "hhhyeaaaaaayyy!"
As interesting as these cases are, the most fascinating case of an elf or fairy helping real people was told to me personally by a friend whom I met while working as a VISTA Volunteer in a homeless shelter in North Dakota. My friend, whom I'll call Jubal, was also working as a volunteer at the shelter. He had a good job, but liked to help out at the shelter on weekends because Jubal had once been a homeless drug addict.
He also suffered from a life-time of debilitating seizures and panic attacks. Jubal was about to commit suicide after some 25 years of homeless wandering around the United States, but one day, he was saved by a fairy which called itself an "Elemental."
Jubal learned an unusual method of creative visualization from the son of an anthropologist. The exercise consisted of staring intently at an ordinary potted plant. The idea was to focus all one's attention on the plant until you could visualize yourself as actually being on the plant -- as if you were a tiny bug crawling among the leaves and stems.
Jubal discovered after much practice that he could do this very well. Before long, he was spending hours a day focused on his plant, and, in his words, "actually existing in the plant world." The plant world became so real to him, he said, that it was actually like a virtual reality experience -- it was as if he really was a tiny, bug-sized man crawling around on a giant plant.
While inside his personal plant world, Jubal found that he could remain panic and drug free -- although as soon as he released his mind from the plant world, he would go right back to his old, shattered self.
While walking blissfully along a stem in his personal plant world, he was shocked to suddenly discover that he was not alone in that world. Up ahead on the green stem was a fairy -- a little man with sharp features, wearing a tunic of dragonfly skin, green leggings and a soft red hat! The fairy provided him with detailed instructions on how he could "cure" all his conditions -- from his addictions to his panic attacks.
Incidentally, the story of the grueling task -- which was actually a quest -- is documented in a small e-book which you can find a right here: The Fairy Redemption of Jubal Cranch.
In the meantime, I think it's best to keep an open mind, and also consider the probability that fairies or elves may actually exist, even if we can only commune with them in altered states of mind.
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