Winnie Ah Pook

The toy played an eerie tune when a draw string was pulled from its anus. Grinding teeth winding the white thread back in with the cadence of notes. Plucking. His eyes and arms raise up in praise and come down with crushing dominance. This beast of darkness that accompanies the recesses of memory. Lying in a silent pile of leaves, the indian summer passed. The curse of an indian giver.
Now only lies in the indian burial ground.
We would sit on the ground with three pencils each. The ends pinched between our thumbs, making a "u" shape and connecting them between us, opening the rectangle. The portal through which we made contact.

"Winnie the Pooh, are you there?" The pencils bending in like an hourglass indicated yes.
"Are you dead?" The pencils bending outward indicated no.
"Are you evil?" The pencils bending parallel diagonal meant maybe.

My neighbor had a Winnie situation also. Although his was a furry stuffed version that operated on batteries. These were gifts that sat like strange talismans or artifacts stowed in the corners of our childhood. Before that childhood even began. They were filled with the expectations of others. An inherited  series of stigma towards pleasure, comfort, and animism. An animal that possessed more epigenetic information bias toward fear, than pleasure.  It was a hoax. A bomb gift wrapped.

We knew it. Our intuition did not mask this grave test. We tried throwing them away. The unexpected return of the expectation laden creature was prophetic in some way.

Winnie Ah Poohk

We began our time/space travel shortly thereafter on the sidewalk outside. Right atop the position of conjuring. This was a powerful activity that required the vibrations to be channelled until the body convulsed against the pavement. Then the world would be superimposed upon this physical sphere. Space suit breathing techniques were the cornerstone to surviving this environment.

Eventually, a spirit board came across my path later in life. Winnie had returned. Ah pook. No one present got the communication. Yet their witness opened the evidence to believe no interference was present. They laughed as things became serious.

The Pookah. Puca.
The shadow self that lurks the areas of early imprinting. The witness of those events that set the course of events to follow. The archetypal memory set of paints. Laid into your lap as if your choice amongst a haphazard set of broken crayons. As natural and normal as the photographic records of events that supposedly took place. Emphasized by scars that remain. All very questionable, but why ask.

Now Ah pook is here. Winnie ah Pook.