Automatic writing is the noble tradition of zoning out, letting your hand twitch around on a piece of paper, and then insisting that the resulting illegible mess is a profound message from the spirit world.
The idea is simple. Too simple.
You grab a pen, empty your mind — which for some practitioners is less a spiritual act and more of a permanent state — and let the universe, a spirit guide, or your “higher self” take over.
Whatever dribbles out onto the page is treated as sacred wisdom, even if it looks suspiciously like a grocery list written during a minor seizure.
I once sat in on an automatic writing circle. Folding chairs, tealights, a boom box playing whale noises — the standard setup for spiritual nonsense.
We were instructed to breathe deeply, clear our minds, and invite a benevolent spirit to guide our hands.
What followed was thirty minutes of scribbling, muttering, and occasional gasps of self-congratulation every time someone managed to write something resembling a coherent sentence.
One woman claimed to have channeled her guardian angel, who warned her about “dangerous energy” near her neighbor’s mailbox.
Another produced a single, wobbly word: “Pineapple.”
We spent ten minutes solemnly discussing the cosmic significance of tropical fruit.
My own contribution, heavily influenced by boredom and muscle cramps, consisted of a page and a half of looping nonsense that looked exactly like what you’d expect from a man with no functioning belief in spirit dictation and an urgent need for coffee.
Of course, the automatic writing defenders will tell you that meaning lies beyond the words. It’s in the flow, the energy, the vibrations of what wasn’t written as much as what was.
Translation: “We have no idea what any of this means, but we’ll sell you a dreamcatcher about it for $39.99.”
For what it’s worth, aAutomatic writing isn’t spiritual communication. It’s free-association scribbling dressed up in candles and wishful thinking.
If you want to know what your subconscious mind thinks, you’re better off talking in your sleep — at least then you might get an entertaining story out of it.
If you find yourself clutching a pen and asking the universe to spell out the mysteries of existence, maybe just make a to-do list instead.
It’ll be more coherent, and more useful.