Horsefeathers or: How to Dig a Pony

 "I-I-I-I dig a pony

Well you can celebrate anything you want

Yes, you can celebrate anything you want!"

-The Beatles, "Dig a Pony"

It's important to celebrate the little things. It's easy to forget those small bits of magic that bring us smiles to soften the edge on what can be a trying and exhausting day-to-day existence. A kind word from a stranger or hearing a favorite song by chance can mean all the difference, and if we proceed through life with this in mind we can generate a ripple effect of positivity and radiate everything we are throughout the Cosmos. 

I truly believe this and yet I still forget it, particularly at times when things get hectic and stressful. Such was the case this week, when after several long and irritating days at work I found myself without cell reception to guide my route out of Lincoln, Massachusetts. I idly wondered whether I was near a strange spot in that town, known as Ponyhenge, which holds a special place in my heart. Lo and behold, as I scanned the road ahead for any signs that might direct me to the highway I saw a familiar field beyond an electric fence. Rounding a curve I arrived at that most magical of places.

 There's really not much to know about Ponyhenge. Having been there a handful of times I can definitively say that it exists, and beyond that all there seems to be are vague stories about its origin. It seems agreed upon that one day, a rocking horse was left in a farmer's field. Later, there was another- then another, until eventually dozens of rocking horses of varying kinds occupied the field. The arrangement of the ponies changes frequently, and no one knows who moves them- except, presumably, the person responsible for doing that. I would caution anyone, however, from presuming too much about the ponies. The ponies are there for us to dig, not to understand.

There's not much to know, but there's plenty to feel and say about Ponyhenge. My first visit to this mystical, whimsical place was at the very beginning of 2020. A few inches of snow had fallen the night before, and though a bit of it had piled up on the fence rails none was observed on any of the ponies. No footprints marked the snow on the ground around them, and it felt almost a shame to disrupt the pure icy placidity by trudging into the circle.

Having heard about about the mysterious movement of the toy equines, I found it worth noting that no tracks of any kind marked the snow. Of course, this being my first visit, there was no way for me to tell whether they had been rearranged overnight. It is difficult to ascertain whether a mystery even exists here, which is paradoxically a mystery in itself. One gets the sense the ponies have secrets, and they are most certainly not talking. A horse is a horse, of course, of course, and no one can talk to a horse of course...

In lieu of information, and hard evidence from which to draw conclusions I've found it best to approach situations like this with intuition and a light heart. I was unprepared for the mystical "vibe", for lack of a better term, the location had or the effect it would have on me. What I felt was a kind of elation, a whimsical and wondrous restorative wave of childlike joy that hit as hard as a brisk New England winter breeze. I joked afterwards that I had gone to draw upon the ancient power of the ponies, but I'd be lying if I said there wasn't some truth to that. I felt the same way this week upon entering the rearranged circle of rocking horses. You can indicate everything you see, but what you feel is really important too. 

So much of the paranormal relies heavily on creepiness, and the scare factor. People like their ghost stories in the way they like campfire tales, funhouses and horror movies. This is absolutely fine, and normal, but there is so much more to the weirdosphere to be experienced. Those who only want the scares may be missing out, and doing themselves a disservice by neglecting the wholesome and silly weirdness. Whenever I post things about Ponyhenge, there is invariably comments about how eerie it is, and I can't emphasize enough how opposite that is to my experience of it. In a return visit back in 2021, I even brought my intrepid hound (then just a puppy) Bernie and he loved it. Meanwhile other families with children were there to enjoy a relatively safe pandemic outing amongst the inanimate equine sentinels of Old Sudbury Road. 

To what do I attribute this mystical elation, this balm for a weary soul? Searching my mind for horse-related ideas to write about, and experiences in my life that I could have associated with these rocking horses to inspire such wonder I considered writing one of my more characteristic posts, where I connect a bunch of disparate ideas and attempt to synthesize them in some form of coherent thought. I thought about Lady Wonder, the allegedly psychic horse investigated by J. B. and Louisa Rhine, which has long been a favorite paranormal case. It is also a great example of wholesome and inspiring paranormalia that is conspicuously free of scares. Lady Wonder would be an accomplished psychic by human standards, so as a horse she was unparalleled. She predicted outcomes of boxing matches and Presidential elections, and even aided criminal investigations. Rhine thought that she and her handler, Mrs. Fonda, had a telepathic link. Magician Milbourne Christopher claimed that Fonda was using subtle cues to direct the horse, as she "typed" her predictions using a specially customized contraption for letter selection. Ricky Jay, in his book Learned Pigs and Fireproof Women, gives examples of how this trick was done going all the way back to the colonial period in American history. Animals such as Toby the Learned Pig showcased similar abilities, albeit without the acute prognostication that Lady Wonder exhibited. If Mrs. Fonda was "cheating" through subtle cues, and her predictions were still accurate, then a case can still be made for the presence of psi ability. Where the ponies of Lincoln are tight-lipped, Lady Wonder was a fount of information- but a psychic horse is almost as absurd as a mystical toy one.

I thought also about horses used in reincarnation gags, which I had written about before in my esoteric Three Stooges post. In a kind of coincidence that happens all too commonly for me, the horse that appeared with the Besser-era Stooges in Hoofs and Goofs was called Tony the Wonder Horse, who had appeared with Tom Mix in a number of old westerns. It's not clear if he and Lady were related, but one does wonder. Tony was notable for his use in these westerns as a character who seemed to understand English and the context of what was going on, in spite of the fact that he was just a horse in every other respect. The Stooges weren't the only ones to use a human reincarnation into a horse in a film either- Laurel and Hardy, who often played alongside equine co-stars, used it as a punchline in their feature film The Flying Deuces.  Ollie expresses his wish to come back as horse, should he find himself reincarnated; and of course, he gets his wish. "Here's another nice mess you've gotten me into!", he says to Stan. Everything has got to be just like you want it to, because...

I also thought about my own, minimal interactions with horses. I've done a little bit of horseback riding and used to help a friend with her horses, years ago. One of the horses was so fond of me, she would grab me by my coat with her teeth and pull me back to her when I tried to leave the stable. The other one nearly killed me by bolting suddenly while I was saddled up on him. They called him Turbo for a reason, and after being spooked by the sound of loon he almost threw me completely off of him, and it was all I could do to climb back into the right position, and to pull the reigns before the dumb panicked animal ran itself over the edge of a small cliff. 

Much later in life I decided to take my son horseback riding for his birthday with a group of other paying people. Midway through the guided jaunt through a woodland trail, the instructor halted everyone and shushed us. We had interrupted a procession of deer; half were on one side of the trail and half on the other, quizzically observing our party. It seemed every direction around us, the deer were watching, cautious but peaceful, awaiting their opportunity to rejoin each other. Seated on a large beast of burden and surrounded by wild animals, seeing the wonder in my son's eyes reflecting the wonder in mine was a surreal and magical experience. There were strict rules against fumbling for one's phone during a ride there, for plenty of good reasons, so I didn't get a picture or anything like that- but it is as it should be. Pictures rarely capture the magic, the feeling, the wonder- some experiences are meant to be personal and profound in their totality. You can imitate everyone you know, but you can only ever be you. A snapshot on a smartphone will only ever be a pale approximation of the numinous, even when it manifests as more mundane and lacking in any paranormal significance.

 

I had nearly forgotten, as well, about the time I went to visit the reportedly haunted Looff Carousel at Crescent Park, in Providence, Rhode Island. It's a fully restored and operational carousel. Being the goofball that I am, I suppose I should have anticipated that feeling of joy and childlike excitement at the prospect of riding the horsies and playing the ring toss game. I found it hard to believe there was any kind of spooky haunting in such a place; carousels and carnivals have a long association with weirdness and ghost stories, to be certain, but my intuitive read was bereft of the sinister. Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes springs to mind, and perhaps, fool that I am, I was just taken in by the glamor of Mr. Dark's circus. Maybe, like in the book, the carousel had the power to move people backwards or forwards in time. Or perhaps horses make me happy, whether they are the living, breathing kind or made of porcelain; whether they are predicting future events or nearly maiming me. They are something to celebrate, something to dig. Can you dig it?

In my exhaustion this week, and knowing that there was still much to do after arriving home and that sleep would still be a distant proposition, the auspicious and restorative effects of Ponyhenge were not only welcome, but sorely needed. Despite my frustrations, anger, and stress during the week, despite having been up and running since 4:30 a.m., there was time enough to stop and absorb some ancient power from the ponies. In preparing to write about this I learned a bit about the town of Lincoln, how it had been formed from parts of Lexington and Concord. It had been one of the places involved in the first battles of the Revolutionary War, and the place where Paul Revere's midnight horseback ride had terminated in his capture.  Revere, and his historic ride, are also something I've written about before. I read about the history of rocking horses, and the first ones seemed to appear around the time Lincoln was first settled by colonizers. Mass production of rocking horses began after the Revolutionary War ended. Lincoln was named after Lincolnshire in the U.K., which has its legends of little people called Tiddy Mun. Maybe the colonial inhabitants brought their folkloric friends with them, and the Tiddy Mun are reportedly about the right size to enjoy a rocking horse built for children. The original Nipmuc inhabitants of the area, forcibly removed from their homes by the early settlers, probably had their own nature spirits who were displaced by the Tiddy Mun. Perhaps these things all come full circle in their own ways, like rocking horses rearranged by unseen hands. Perhaps it's not important.

The mystery, and in fact the mystery of whether there's even a mystery at all associated with this roadside oddity must at all costs be preserved. As my wife Pam, my muse, said to me earlier: "Knowing why the ponies move would ruin it. It would take all the magic away." I absolutely agree. All I know for sure is how I feel when I'm there, and it's the feeling a child has when about to climb onto a carousel or pet an exotic animal. Upon leaving the sacred circle of ponies, I looked down to see a runic symbol in the grass. You might say that it's just an arrow from a sign that had fallen apart, and if you say that then I'm afraid you haven't learned how to dig a pony. That is the Elder Futhark rune known as Tiwaz, which represents the Norse god Tyr, who, incidentally, I've also written about before. Tyr represents justice, self-sacrifice, and balance. Unfortunately in modern times, the symbol has been co opted by Nazis. One has to tread lightly with mysticism out in the world, and be very clear in one's intent and communication. Inside the pony circle, I choose to interpret the rune as a good omen. 

Balance can be difficult to achieve, but like horseback riding it takes practice. I preach about positivity fairly often, and sometimes feel like a fraud when I fall into the trap of depression or let stress dictate a foul mood that perpetuates itself. The negative moods need to find expression, but all should be tempered and balanced. I would highly recommend injecting magic into your life, wherever you can- and acknowledging it when magic finds you. Don't let fear dominate, and face what's coming with the cool determination of this particular pony:

Absorb the ancient pony power and proceed. Can you dig it now???

 
 

The Most Famous Reindeer's Hidden Meanings

 

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer is a much-loved character this time of year. In 2023, stories about the origin of the iconic denizen of Santa's Village have made the rounds on social media, a testament to the endurance of his appeal. Back in 2020 I revealed the esoteric meanings behind Rudolph and his friends in what was, at the time, a little bit of silliness for the season catered to those with weird occult interests. As I sit on Xmas morning, the sun not up yet, typing these words, I wonder at the logic of making a Xmas post ON Xmas... But time isn't real; and 2020, 2023, or 1939 or 1964 may as well all be Now. I had meant to write more about Rudolph this Xmas season, but stress, pain, and social obligations prohibited it. A final and deciding stumbling block came in the form of self-doubt, and questioning whether anyone would want to read this. I apologize for the "inside baseball" here- or perhaps inside reindeer games- it is uncharacteristic for my blog, but not entirely unrelated to the core themes of Rudolph. Perhaps in the writing, as is often the case, I will work through it- and hopefully you the reader benefit as well.

The esoteric meanings behind the story were borne out of a half-joking tweet, but as has been established on this blog before jokes contain their own manner of profundity. One might consider it a central thesis of my work writ large. Having fun with these ideas, approaching them with wonder, curiosity, and above all playfulness and humor often brings unexpected and mind-boggling results. Further, as I explained on the most recent Holy Donut Revival Hour, even the silliest and most peripheral bits of popular culture contain elements of, and thus are part of, our modern continuation of the age-old storytelling that comprises myth, magic, folklore, and consciousness. Even if it began entirely as a joke, in the numinous sphere of ephemeral meaning divorced from the exoteric, materialist source material of the subject, even a character developed as an advertising gimmick can- and is- a powerful memetic and magical force.

With that, our examination of the famous reindeer and his titular proboscis begins. The following relates exclusively to the 1964 Rankin/Bass television movie version of the story.

I described Rudolph's nose as allegorically being the Rose of the Rose Cross- an arcane symbol, the origins of which are so ensnared in modern myth-making by various lodges and orders that sorting it all out here would be too disruptive. What was meant by that, and what I hoped to clear up, is that the color of his nose is but one of the esoteric hints- it's not only red, but shiny, and glowing. The red nose is not reflecting light, it is self-illuminated. Other symbols could stand in just as easily as the Rose; the Sacred Heart of Christ, for instance. That might be an apt one, being that this is a Xmas special we're referring to that seems to exist in a universe entirely bereft of Jesus talk. When we meet Rudolph it is shortly after his birth in a cave, which is also pregnant with mystical significance. Before his shockingly bright nose is revealed, it is established that Rudolph is exceptionally bright himself. He responds to his name and can speak right away- even knowing the name of Santa without being told. He's praised for his intellect but shunned for his, as Sam the Snowman puts it, "non-conformity".

A nose is not a Sacred Heart or a Rose, but it's more meaningful than it might seem on its face. Never underestimate the metaphysical properties behind the Mystical Pun. Rudolph is praised for what he "knows" but is shunned for his "nose". His radical, intuitive understanding of the world is deemed heretical, and eventually he resigns himself to exile. Santa appears and after shunning the light of Rudolph's "blinkin' beacon" sings a little song about being the "King of Jingling" before making an exit. Thus the highest authority in the land, the King, has dismissed our young hero... perhaps because he fears the light of truth. Santa's domain is fairly small, and is surrounded by harsh winter lands where Abominable Snow Monsters lurk. He takes on a demiurgic quality which is appropriate when you consider that gnosis is what the esoteric meaning of the nose is.

Sam the Snowman, who we glossed over above, is a sort of genius loci or tutelary spirit of the Christmas Tree Forest. He's an elemental or nature spirit, albeit a young one, who acts as storyteller and singer. He briefly involves himself in the narrative toward the end, but mostly seems to live apart from Santa and the elves.

Of the elves, the one most important to the story is Hermey. He is unhappy making toys and wishes to become a dentist instead. His name of course calls to mind the Greek god Hermes, among the most significant figures in myth and magic, from whom we get the word "Hermetic". He is unlike the other elves because he feels the pull of his higher self, and knows that he can and must do the Great Work of integrating the practical and spiritual parts of himself. The choice of dentistry alludes to Hermes as well since modern medicine uses the caduceus as a symbol, the rod with snakes Hermes was said to carry. This itself is odd since the symbol should be the Rod of Asclepius, which only has one snake- but considering the demands put on Hermey for production of toys, with his attention towards helping people, it might be worth considering- especially later on.

The Caduceus / Rod of Asclepius is represented in the modern day by the barber's pole, with a spiral of red on a white background. In earlier times the barber also acted as a doctor, and if you had tooth troubles you'd go to him. 

Hermey abandons his post realizing that he will never fit in as a toy maker. His refrain of "you can't fire me, I quit!" calls to mind Milton's verse attributed to Satan- "Better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heav'n." Hermey strikes out in an attempt to be independent, taking charge of his own life, even though the path of least resistance would be to live a comfortable, albeit disingenuous life under the rule of King Santa in the toy shop. He and Rudolph team up as a pair of Misfits- outsiders- and venture into the pleroma beyond the material mundane sphere of Christmas Town. 

Before long they meet Yukon Cornelius, a prospector looking to make his fortune with Silver and Gold. His name calls to mind the influential polymath and occultist Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa. Agrippa was a soldier, a lawyer, and an academic whose occult writings influenced major figures in magic from the 16th century on; ultimately he warned against meddling with dark forces, and in Yukon Cornelius we see an adventurer who is protective of his new chums and very familiar with the Abominable Snow Monster, or "Bumble". With his guidance and knowledge, Hermey and Rudolph are saved from the grips of the beast. Now a trio, they are cast adrift in the arctic on a homemade iceberg and brought to the Island of Misfit Toys.

The island itself is more of an underworld than anything. Here we meet the Damned. The toys here are cursed to never find a home in the land of the living, and since our heroes are mortal they are refused harborage on the Island by King Moonracer. Moonracer appears as a winged lion, recalling the lammassu of ancient Assyria. These protective deities were depicted in reliefs and statues in ancient times, often at gateways and entrances to cities. The protector King of the Misfit Toys in this sense stands at the boundaries of mortality and damnation, but seemingly offers a third path- one of immortality. He is certain Rudolph is destined to return home, the prodigal son, and "go down in history" as a timeless figure. He only asks that Santa find homes for the residents of the Island. 

Internet meme culture in recent years has focused quite a bit on a more cynical reading of the concept of non-conformity central to the story. While the point may be accurate, it is more useful perhaps to think in terms of exaggerated allegory. The essence of the tale, as convoluted and borne out of commercialism and ham-fisted sentiment as it may be, is a journey of self discovery and self empowerment. Rudolph confronts his fears and is momentarily bested by the devilish Bumble. The "abominable" scary step out of the comfortable but meaningless rigamarole of living a lie is vanquished, and literally defanged by Hermey. Thus the fears and anxieties keeping our misfits from becoming their best selves are transmuted. The beast is tamed; and for good measure, Cornelius appears to martyr himself for the cause. Of course, he rises again, because Bumbles bounce.

The trio end up saving Christmas. Rudolph's illumination guides the King (Santa), Hermey is granted a dentistry practice, and the Misfit Toys get picked up and dropped off with children who will accept them. The seeds are planted, each Misfit Toy proselitizyng the usefulness of non-conformity- and hopefully, teaching that self-actualization is a goal worth pursuing for the betterment of all. Yukon Cornelius, meanwhile, does strike it rich on a Peppermint Mine. This brings us back to the Caduceus, as candy canes also visually rhyme with the barber pole. The humble Bumble is giving a job trimming Christmas trees. All is well at the North Pole.

There are many other directions one could take, and much more minutiae that could be dissected in just this silly little animated Xmas special. This form of analysis could also be applied to virtually any piece of media. Is it what the creators of the special, or the characters or the song intended? Most certainly not. Am I simply spinning esoteric nonsense out of a kid's TV special from the 60s? Yes. But that doesn't make it less valid, nor does it really constitute "nonsense". It simply IS. The threads and themes that weave their way through our collective psyche, from the most ancient and sacred to the most modern and profane can never be adequately or sensibly mapped out. Rather they can only be gleaned peripherally, notated partially, and hinted at jokingly. Occult secrets rarely need to be actively hidden. They seem so absurd and silly from a materialist perspective they are shunned like a shining red nose. So this Xmas, and through 2024, I wish you all the best in finding these truths for yourself. Be empowered and find the other misfits. Spread your weird far and wide, and if you're barred from reindeer games go start your own.

Merry Weirdmas, my friends.  

Blue Moons, Blue Lights, and Elvis Disclosure

 "Blue Moon, 

Now I'm no longer alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own..."

At the time of this writing, we are on the cusp of a Blue Moon- and a Super Moon at that. It occurs to me that the Moon gets a lot more attention these days than it ever used to, although that can be debated. I also don't consider that a bad thing, because the Moon is pretty danged cool. Blue moons happen just infrequently enough to inspire a colloquialism - "once in a blue moon"- which is about every 2.7 years. This one just so happens to be arriving in time for my birthday, while the last one, on Halloween of 2020, coincided with my wedding. 

Monsters in love

On this most auspicious date, and lunar arrangement, I thought it would be a good time to share a little more Elvis weirdness. I recently joined Steph Quick to talk weird Elvis on Project Archivist, and in the course of discussing the alleged connections between Elvis and UFOs I told the story of the mysterious blue light that appeared over his birthplace in Tupelo, right after he was born. Unfortunately the descriptions of this, based on recollections from Elvis's dad Vernon, are rather vague. I said during the recording of the show that I had meant to look into naturally occurring phenomena that might cause such a light, but had never really gotten around to it... so naturally, after recording the show, I did. I ended up finding this article from a few months after his birth in 1935, from the Spokesman-Review (Spokane, WA).

The article appeared on March 31 of 1935, and referenced a reported Blue Moon "a few months ago" which would seem to be around the time of Elvis's birth in January. Current news articles about this effect say that it could result from diffraction of light through particles in the atmosphere, such as those thrown up from wildfires or volcanic eruptions. Such was the case in the 1880s, when green moons were reported after the eruption of Krakatoa. If you haven't already, please check out my post UFO Rope Tricks and Threads From Nowhere for a really weird example of a green moon story. 

At any rate, the blue light and blue moon idea seems to have had a profound effect on Elvis and informed his choices about songs he recorded. The author(s) of The Elvis/UFO Connection, Richard Daniel, make it a point to list some such songs: Blue Moon, Blue Moon of Kentucky, Blue Christmas, Moody Blue, Blueberry Hill, When My Blue Moon Turns to Gold, and of course, Blue Suede Shoes. While some of these might be a stretch, there does seem to be some numinous significance to the motif in Elvis's life and perhaps as a symbol for us all. Consider the Moon in Tarot, numbered 18 in the Major Arcana. I included Salvador Dali's version up at the top of the post, which includes a lot of blue and gold in its presentation. The usual interpretation of the card has to do with illusions, fear, and madness. After all, the word "lunatic" is derived from the idea that a full moon causes people to lose their minds. I suppose it's fitting, then, as Elvis surely lived a life fraught with hidden insecurities and became more of a mythic figure than an easy-to-pin-down historical one. Furthermore, my bestie SJ and I can attest to exactly how crazy the Elvis synchronicities we experience together are... but they would take far too long to explain here.

Which brings me to a very odd thing indeed- the leak from Secret Sources of a song Elvis wrote himself, and recorded, only to have the demo swiped by the Men in Black. Said Secret Sources were not able to recover the recording, but they were able to send me the chords and lyrics to the song. I was told Uri Geller knows about it, but he's being pretty coy about confirming or denying anything. You know what THAT means... wait, what does that mean?

Anyway, here's the song. I hope you enjoy it. Also, happy birthday to me, and happy Super Blue Moon to you all! 

Presenting: Strange Words for a Weird World!

 

For those who enjoy my writing here on the blog, please consider checking out this little eBook I put together on gumroad. Publishing my writing here and talking about weird stuff on podcasts has been very rewarding and enriched my life in so many ways- I perpetually feel gratitude for all of those who care to read or listen. I rarely ever make money off of these endeavors, it's largely a labor of love. What you read here will always be free, and I have difficulty ever asking to be paid for things. This book is no different- if you wish to, you can get a copy for zero dollars. If, however, you'd like to show your appreciation for my work in general, you may pay any price you like. 

The book itself contains mostly stuff you wouldn't have read elsewhere. It's 20 pages of poetry, art, an expanded article that was previously published, and a bit of satire. I anticipate making more of these in the future, now that I've done it once and understand the process a little. 

Once again, a humble thank you to everyone who visits this site and entertains my foolishness once in a while. I wish you all good health, tasty doughnuts, and a ton of wonderful weirdness!