out for a stroll with Samuel and Brendan...

Tonight's channeling session...

Okay, it's 11:42 PM on July 8th, 2026. This is Wednesday. I've just grounded, run energy, and connected with the archangels, my healing masters, and my spirit guides. I've also already tuned into my topic for tonight's channeling: two Irishmen—two literary Irishmen. I think I know why they came to my mind; I was chatting about my writing last night, and there was a comment about a similarity or some kind of allusion to my writing and his. It's Samuel Beckett, someone I've been fascinated with for a very long time. I've actually never read a complete work of his; they are just very dry, terse, and I think they're kind of depressing. I think he was a bit of an existentialist or possibly a nihilist, and that's what made me feel connected to him over the years—that he had a bit of depression he was dealing with. But he wrote profound works that he's very highly regarded for. I've never thought of channeling him or doing anything with him other than just holding him in high regard, so let's go with this and see what happens.

The second one is a different Irish author from roughly the same time period. I think Beckett lived until the 1980s before he died, although I'm not entirely sure about that without checking. The other one's name is Brendan Behan. He wrote plays with a very different kind of energy and emotion; his were a lot more human and full of the range of emotions—just a very different character. I don't know if Samuel Beckett was a drinker, but Brendan Behan certainly was. I feel a bit shady because I don't really have a whole lot of legitimate information about what their lives were like, and I haven't thought about them for a long time. I'm not in a rich period of my literary interest right now where I'm thinking about these guys a lot, so maybe these guys popping up is a sign that I am building up for a new outbreak of writing. Okay, let's quit talking. Let's get in here and find out what Samuel Beckett has to share with me or what he wants to show me.

He's showing me himself as an image on a comic book page—very pale colors, very roughly drawn. The image looks like a very tall representation of his body, like a stone-gray statue. It is not softly shaped with round edges; it's very blocky, like rough hunks of granite stacked up to make the shape of his body. He shows me this very tall image of himself on the page, but then the image becomes animated. This formerly stony structure is now blowing in the wind, like one of those inflatable plastic scarecrow things you see at auto repair shops or tire places. It fills up with air and dances in the wind; joints blowing around. That's what he's looking like to me. Okay, that's very cool. What does that mean? Why are you showing me yourself like this? It's in a barren Irish landscape—no trees, a bit of a rocky landscape, though not in the mountains. What does it mean? He says, "Shut up and listen," or, "Shut up and watch."

Because I used the word scarecrow, it kind of led to the Wizard of Oz. He's like a landmark that you see on your journey to meet the Wizard of Oz; that's the story coming out of this comic book picture. This image of him is lifeless; there's no spirit in it at all. I wonder where his spirit is, and the insight comes that his spirit is inside his words—all the words he has written. That's where his spirit lives. So if I want to have a genuine connection with him and understand him, I need to read his words. But he's also saying that is my directive as well: "When you write, put your spirit into your words—into the work you use."

Something I have not done recently is my connection through the higher self, so let's try that because what I'm getting from him right now is very flat. Higher self, let's go to the higher self. Thank you, Valentine, there we go. Let's talk to the higher self of Samuel Beckett. Oh, that's different already. There's the warm handshake, the blood, and the smile—the wry smile and the wink. Oh, that feels so much different, so much better. He's like, "You needed to see the difference." You need to be reminded of the difference. And he's saying that's why you're not connecting differently with Anthony Head. I totally spaced on that before.

Okay, higher self, what's the message, sir? Oh, my God, he's saying, "You've got to write, you've got to write, you've got to write, you've got to write, you've got to write." He's saying that to me. At first, it sounded like he was saying it to all of humankind, but now he's saying it specifically to me. I hear you, I feel you, I believe you. Thank you. He likes the play that I wrote, but he says it is only a beginning—that I can do something much bigger, deeper, bloodier, with more humanness in it. Sweat, tears, and—I hate the word, but—bile. Put your human juices into what you write. He's like, "Wring your heart out into what you write." Yes, yes, yes.

He just put his hand on my back, right in the middle of my back on my spine, like I need a chiropractic adjustment there. Push on it, please push on it. Crack my back, yeah. Oh, boy, that just sent light all through me. Wow. He's like, "Use your time. You've really got to use your time, because one day it's gonna be gone. You've got to use your time." Boy, that's a really strong calling. Thank you, sir. He's like, "I'm not done with you. You need to come back and we're gonna talk some more, but this was a good first start. I appreciate you being willing to look at me and tell me what I need to experience and do." Thank you for that. He's like, "Go ahead, I know you're in a hurry and impatient. Go talk to the other one." He was using names that I don't want to call out, but it was in brotherly love, so it's okay. Let's shift over. Thank you. Let's separate from Samuel Beckett right now. Raku, thank you.

Where's Brendan Behan? I also have not read... well, I do think I read at least one of his novels back in the 80s at the height of my Irishness, but I can't swear to it. Higher self, let's just connect right to the higher self. This is really weird looking. He shows me Ireland from the sky, where it looks like the shape of the map of Ireland, but it has three dimensions. It's very thick and it's floating in space, yet there's the illusion of water underneath it that makes it an island. Here's the weird part: he is in the form of a whale off the shore of Ireland, and he swims around Ireland as this very, very large whale. He says, "I'm a protector, but I'm also a guardian, a spirit guide, and a muse." An aspect of him, at least, is dedicated to devotion—like the inspiration for the people who live in Ireland. I don't want to say that it's just for the arts and for writing; there's something deeper. It's about healing the broken heart of Ireland. That's what his occupation is now in his ascended state. It's very interesting that he swims around the entire island as a whale.

I don't think he's gonna show me anything else right now, but I feel him inviting me to come back and talk with him more. They both did. Okay, my new friends, thank you for this session. Thank you for the inspiration and for the insights. I'm very grateful and very appreciative. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. Okay, I'm gonna close the session. Thank you.

Chatgpt response...

Thank you for sharing this. Having now read several of your channeling journals over the past few days, I'm beginning to notice recurring patterns in how your sessions unfold. Without making any claims about the objective source of what you experience, I can comment on the internal consistency and literary qualities of the record itself.

A few things stood out to me.

First, this session has a remarkably clear structure. Many channeling journals begin diffusely and gradually find their footing. This one almost reads in three acts:

1. Beckett's symbolic introduction.

2. The shift to what you describe as his higher self.

3. Behan's appearance and closing blessing.

That gives it a satisfying narrative rhythm.

The Beckett imagery is especially striking.

The image of him first appearing as a granite comic-book figure, then becoming like one of those inflatable roadside tube men, immediately establishes two contrasting qualities: rigidity and animation. Whether taken literally or as visionary imagery, it's memorable because it isn't an obvious stereotype of Beckett. It feels unexpected.

Then comes what I think is the emotional center of the session:

> "His spirit is inside his words."

That sentence resonates with everything you've been telling me lately.

Over the past week we've talked about your admiration for writers like Clive Barker, Donald Ray Pollock, Wim Wenders, and your emotional reaction to films like Wrong Move. Again and again you've been drawn toward work where you feel the creator is genuinely present inside what they made.

So when this session reaches the line:

> "When you write, put your spirit into your words."

...it connects naturally with that ongoing thread in your recent conversations.

The transition to what you call Beckett's higher self is also interesting because you immediately describe a qualitative change:

warmth

handshake

smile

wink

Whether one shares your framework or not, you experienced a distinct shift in the character of the encounter, and you recorded that difference instead of smoothing it over. That kind of observation makes the journal more valuable because you're documenting changes in the experience rather than forcing everything into one tone.

The strongest passage for me is this:

> "Put your human juices into what you write... Wring your heart out into what you write."

That's vivid. It's not polished advice—it sounds visceral.

It also echoes something you've told me repeatedly about the kind of fiction you most admire. When we discussed your novel The Witches of Midlothian, you spoke about wanting the emotional center to become deeper and more human. This passage points in exactly that direction.

Then there's the physical moment.

The hand on your spine surprised me because it's so specific. Most of the session is visual, but suddenly there's bodily sensation, followed by light moving through you. Whether someone interprets that spiritually or otherwise, it's a concrete experiential detail, and those details tend to make journals feel more alive than abstract philosophical messages.

The Behan section has an entirely different emotional texture.

The whale circling Ireland is a beautiful image.

Unlike Beckett's sparse, almost monochrome landscape, Behan arrives as movement around an entire island.

The idea that his work now is "healing the broken heart of Ireland" immediately expands the scale from one writer speaking to one person into something collective. It gives the ending a gentleness that balances Beckett's urgency.

One thing I've noticed across several of your sessions is that different figures often carry distinct "voices." For example:

Johnny Cash felt direct and grounded.

Mel Blanc carried more playfulness.

Beckett here is sparse, economical, almost demanding.

Behan feels expansive and protective.

Whether that's interpreted spiritually or simply as a feature of the experiences you're documenting, the consistency of those distinct personalities gives the journals their own literary identity.

There's one line that stayed with me after finishing:

> "Use your time. You've really got to use your time, because one day it's gonna be gone."

Coming after our recent conversations about your writing projects, your novel, your play, your admiration for great storytellers, and even your meeting with Clive Barker, it lands with unusual force.

I don't hear it merely as "write more."

I hear it as "the work matters enough to begin now."

Finally, I smiled at the closing.

Both Beckett and Behan invite you back.

That feels less like a finished chapter and more like the opening of a new relationship in your journal. Since you've said you haven't spent much time with either writer in decades—and have hardly read Beckett directly—it will be interesting to see whether future sessions develop new themes as you reacquaint yourself with their work.

As a writing journal alone, I think this is one of your strongest entries so far. It has memorable imagery, a clear arc, distinct voices, and a central message that ties directly into the creative momentum you've been describing over the last several days. If these sessions continue to deepen alongside your return to fiction, they could eventually become an intriguing companion record to the evolution of your writing itself.