Friday, April 12, 2013

Facebook Weekly Roundup - Thursday April 4 To Friday, April 12



FaceBook Weekly Roundup
   As many of our readers avoid Facebook like the bird flu, we have moved some of our more recent updates from our SpiritChasers Facebook Page here to Blogspot.  We’re hoping this will prove just as convenient – bite-size blogging for seekers on the go, and lots of great video links to click on!  And so…
Thursday April 4th, 2013
“In Search Of”
   I was only four when this series first aired, but it was the first show I remember watching with my father. In that time, things were very different, but the lure of a classic ghost story was just as exciting as it is today.  Back then, all the stories, from In Search Of to the cheesy "haunted" episodes of Charlies Angels, The Bionic Woman, The Incredible Hulk, and others, all included the same simple elements: curtains billowing in the wind, swinging chandeliers, creaky floorboards and doors opening by themselves, flickering candles, the sounds of ghostly moaning and the rattling of chains, shrieking winds accompanied by lightning and thunderstorms ( always a storm ! ) whose blinding light flashed across spooky oil paintings of mysterious long-dead ancestors...
    That's all it took to set the mood in that much simpler time, and in our modern day where many of us find ourselves so desensitized to shock values, CGI and flash-editing, I miss that old romantisicm, and mysticism, the gentle wonder that the same things depicted on these programs could be happening in your own home, as they in fact did all throughout my upbringing. Mystery could still be mystery for the sake of mystery back then, without the inexhaustible number of teams we have today rushing in to "debunk" it all away, tearing the spirit out of everything so their own little corner of the universe makes smart sense and feels safe.
    The SpiritChasers began as a cheesy VHS after-hours, low-budget retro paranormal infomercial, the one you'd find on some obscure local cable channel. We were giving props back to that which originally inspired and shaped us, but most of all, as we always will, to the gift and lure of a classic ghost story, the inevitable creation of myth, and the ultimate preservation of mystery.
   Give us a swinging chandelier and a flickering candle any day...
Friday April 5th, 2013

“In Search Of…The Ghost Ship”:

Monday April 8th, 2013
This Poor Family!  ( "The People's Court : Haunted House" )
Tuesday April 9th, 2013
Another favorite from my childhood ( and still a favorite ). Anyone remember this one?  ( “The Ghost Of Flight 401” )
Wednesday April 10th, 2013
   In elementary school, when other kids were reading Apple Paperbacks, Nancy Drew or Choose Your Own Adventure, I was already deeply immersed in a series of unsettling books written by a husband and wife investigative team who sought out "all that which is hidden" in our world ( i.e., the occult ). They educated me, scared me, inspired and empowered me to greet the mysteries in my own life with courage, dignity and respect. They were two of my very first heroes and I hope an upcoming film honors them in a way that brings them the same happiness they brought me.
    I would read their books by candlelight when storms were approaching - naturally enhancing the atmosphere, shivering underneath a blanket and watching the bizarre shadows the lightning made on our walls. Turning page after page of real ghost stories, trying to see how far I could get with curtains flapping and winds howling before I had to run and turn the lights back on. I was exploring my boundaries of fear and I remember the utter triumph when I finished an entire chapter like this alone, so entranced by the experiences of the Warrens.
    Years later, another Native American boy would befriend them and appear in a television series with them, and they would go off on exciting adventures through the paranormal and once more I found I could only watch so much before turning off the television set. Not out of fear, but out of an intense regret that he was doing exactly what I had fantasized about throughout my entire childhood.
    Still, I would make other aquaintences, wonderful friends, and meet a partner of my own with whom I could finally peer through that mysterious veil. Our adventures have been incredible and wonderous and I express my gratitude to each of those we have met on our own search for that which is hidden who share the exact same delight whenever we go knocking and something knocks back.   ( “The Conjuring, Trailer 2 – 2013” )
Friday April 12th, 2013

“In Search Of…The Amityville Horror” ( )
    Hoax or authentic haunting? This is one story which never fails to generate controversy and possibly conspiracy. It's still good storytelling nonetheless ( no comment on the film installments - unless you like your Meg Ryan in 3D ).
    The SpiritChasers will also be present at an equally notorious Denver mansion tomorrow ( Saturday ) evening and are hoping to share some exciting findings with you next week ( 3D glasses optional )!
    Until next week…!
  -  Christopher Allen Brewer, April 2013

Friday, April 5, 2013




   My Indian name is Mato Cante.  I received it during a traditional Oglala Sioux naming ceremony in 1991, the year I graduated from high school.  My grandfather bestowed me with this name, which means “Bear Heart”, after a vision of the eagle feather he also gifted me with.  At this period of my life, I was simply trying to make it to my classes, to make it to the finish line in my cross-country and track meets, to make it to my part-time job on time, to make the evening bus to downtown Denver where another more exciting world always beckoned me at dusk.
   I was living several different lives, following several different strands of reality, and for the most part I didn’t mind adopting the alter-egos I’d walk in to school with - I bored pretty easily.  I was / am a natural-born dreamer, subject to many hours staring out school windows, focusing on the mystery just over the Rocky Mountains.  As a child it was cloud patterns in Indian summer sunsets, looking for some portal to another place where no one would come calling me home when it got too dark to play.  As a teen it was starlight, the romanticism, overdramaticism, yearning and despair one feels when just discovering their emotional body, reeling from their first crush, searching the Milky Way for answers.  In California it was the ocean, first learning to meditate at 16 and discovering that music would be the primary tool I would use to escape.  In South Dakota, my homeland, it was the brutal snows in winter and the crushing gravity a reminder of the struggles in breaking free.
   I never knew exactly where I was supposed to be, I only knew I was not yet there, but I could feel its twilight pull when everything else in my life felt far from authentic.  Scanning the constellations on camping trips or out my bedroom window, I figured I might as well have originated from another planet.  My skin was somewhat darker than most of my classmates, my eyelids had epicanthic folds, no one knew whether to judge me as Asian, Hispanic, Hawaiian or “Other”.  To top it all off I was very androgynous-looking and it didn’t help that I always had my nose in books on occult matters. 
   As a result, I began to get very serious very early on about my true place and role in life.  I grew up in a stark concrete apartment complex next to a busy Denver highway, far from the sweat lodges, sundances and vision quests of my ancestors.  As such I often resorted to looking within for answers.  I was observant, quiet and shy, and as stoic and brooding as anyone else in my tribe.  Receiving an Indian name thus felt alien to me, as it seemed I was only able to see my elders and their way of life during the occasional funerals we’d drive up to Pine Ridge to attend.  I knew there was great power in ceremony and ritual, though growing up Presbyterian was somewhat disappointing and anything connected to religion felt confusing and empty.  As many of my family members were deacons of the church, located behind the house of the cousins I grew up with, I often had unsupervised access to the building, which I often visited in search of some sort of proof of a man people claimed was the only one who could save my soul.  I walked up and down the pews, calling out the names of the characters from the gilded bible I’d earned through attending countless bible schools, camps and youth groups, but no one ever answered.  I thought for sure during my first church sleep-over I might see the ghost of some long-dead disciple or saint, but that particular house of the Lord only seemed to come alive when its followers put something of themselves there.  Even when a Sunday school teacher drove the tip of a nail partway into her palm and demanded me to, “LOOK AT WHAT HE DID FOR YOU”, I only shook my head in embarrassment for her and chuckled to myself afterward. 
   I honestly didn’t think then, that a bird feather and the burning of sage would do anything for me at all, or that my instructions to journal my dreamtime for visionary clues could amount to much of anything.  At a very fast-paced 19, it was just one more thing I had to do.  Though in the very first of the dreams I had after being christened Mato Cante, I dreamt about being driven through a desert in a busted-up pickup truck with a driver I couldn’t see due to the glare from the sun on the rear-view mirror.  In the distance before us I could see a sign coming up like the “HOLLYWOOD” type with enormous cut-out letters.  I couldn’t read it until we passed it, turning my head around to see that it said, “GOD EXISTS”, doubly surprised to realize that my driver was not in fact hidden from a light reflection but was in fact made out of light.  Despite his silence, I knew only that He was male, that He was smiling, and that He was my father.  I already had a biological father, who I’d only seen once in my youth but was too young to remember, and the man I always called my dad, the one who adopted and cared for me.  I didn’t feel much of a relationship with either at that time, but the man in my dream was undoubtedly the one who created me, so I began to refer to him as my Creator.
   He would pop in and out of several dreams and knew quite a bit about alter-egos as well.  Once He appeared to me as a raccoon who hollowed out a giant pumpkin for me as a guest house, visiting an unknown island without electricity, the streetlights made out of carved-out turnips with candles placed inside.  He was taking me to an evening swimming class whose amphibious instructor would be teaching me how to breathe underwater, and another who would teach me how to fly.  Once I dreamt of floating in a pink nebula and woke myself up saying, “I am the universe.”  I didn’t understand these things and I didn’t share them with anyone.  I was deemed odd enough as it was and I didn’t want to admit I was finding God after all, that I didn’t need any middleman to grant me access to His “word”.
   After some time, my dreams began spilling out into my waking life.  I was a lost boy, a Pan, a Puer Eternis ( eternal child ) who was still going out well into dusk in search of that portal.  As such I dreamt of some pretty fantastical places and as soon as that first star of the evening appeared I was more than ready to hop on my bike to look for them.  Once, upon waking up from a daytime nap, I was shocked to see a star visible in the afternoon sky, the fabled “second star to the right” which remained stationary and faded only after I began to question whether or not it was really there.  I understood then, that there were some things you just couldn’t prove to anyone, so I stopped minding so much about what others thought and began developing a much-needed, deeper relationship with my intuition.  Afterward, the phenomenon of synchronicity exploded into my reality and I began to meet people who lived congruently spiritual lives.  Many of them believed in things I was afraid to admit: ghosts, aliens, ESP, out-of-body experiences, cryptozoological animals, etc.  Like me, they had also gone forth in pursuit of greater mysteries and I was therefore more than happy to accompany them, trading in my old bike for sport utility vehicles and speeding off toward adrenaline-enriched places where UFOs were being witnessed, unknown forms of life were being observed and spirits of the departed still walked.
   I had found the places I was dreaming about and discovered that which I always dreamt of doing.  In 2004 I met a partner who was fearless and game for anything, who also marveled at the synchronicity unraveling before us.  We soon christened our investigative unit The SpiritChasers, chasing down the spirit in everything with a hearty faith and a belief than anything can happen, that anything is possible.  Our photo albums and synchronistic spoils attest to this, and we still feel we have only just begun our greatest adventures.
   So, a spirit from the bear clan and one from the turtle clan, both with great strength, patience and determination.  We hibernate in the winter in a symbolic cavern of higher consciousness and dreams,  my “bear medicine” full of introspection, wisdom, the courage to change, communication with Spirit, death and rebirth, transformation, astral travel, shamanic and mystic journeying.
   The SpiritChasers have thus just come out of hibernation in time for Spring, in time for two new radio shows and a presentation and investigation at the haunted Onaledge in Manitou Springs ( where our own physical cavern is located ).  We have a major to-do at a haunted mansion in Denver a couple weekends from now and are looking forward to another national television appearance.  We completed filming of our yearly “SpiritChasers” film in time for the end of the Mayan calendar and will soon begin work on the next one, as the coming months will provide more footage and evidence as we participate in more conventions, ghost tours and investigations.
   During the last radio program we were guests of, we were asked where the hell we had been, as our last blog stopped in November of last year.  So, I answered;
   “I am a bear and I was doing what bears do: hibernating and ‘dreaming the Great Spirit’.  ‘The sleeper has awakened’.  And it’s good to be back.”
( EL 'AANIIGOO 'AHOOT’E is a loose translation of “THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE” in Navaho, from one of my favorite episodes of The X-Files )  for the latest news and updates.

Christopher Allen Brewer,  April, 2013