and at times scaring themselves silly.
I've sometimes wondered how much trauma could be caused to a psychic questing group in mid-meditation merely by shouting "Holy sh*t, it's coming!!" at the right moment.
I remain very glad indeed that I have never been remotely drawn into getting mixed up in any of this good vs evil psychic questing
Before I read any Andrew Collins, there was The Unexplained magazine part-work. On the basis of a couple of articles about strange goings on at Clapham Woods, near Worthing, I and some friends visited it one night looking for God (or the Devil) knows what. When I later read Collins's The Black Alchemist (also recommended if you haven't read it) and realised the place was a base of operations for a group called The Friends of Hekate, I felt pretty lucky not to have found anything.