This page provides access to all the writing I do that isn't covered on the other pages. Some essays, some memoirs, and so on.
example, What I Did On My Holidays
is an extended travel essay from the summer of 2001, that
fateful, some say defining, summer. I had such a great trip
to London, south west England and Amsterdam that I felt compelled
to take notes. My first afterlife book had been finished by
spring '99 and I was still wondering if it was ever going
to be published. I had been giving talks and seminars locally
on all matters psychic and acquiring something like a client
list and a reputation. Psychic events of varying degrees of
strangeness seemed to happen with a fair bit of regularity,
and my contributions to the conversation board at Bruce Moen's
Afterlife-Knowledge.com kept me current with the cutting edge
of consciousness explorations.
Looking back at that charged summer, I can feel the journey and its stages, the purpose and its unfolding.
At about 6pm on a sunny, warm and wistfully breezy evening, after a long but rewarding afternoon's study in the library of the College of Psychic Studies, and a more or less aimless wander about the dedication of work and post-work Kensington, fueled by a small Kronenbourg and short latte, I settle ona bench with my roast chicken baguette under the splendid foliage of the tree outside the Gloucester Road tube station, and enter the throbbing heart of mother London.
I willingly yield the last of my jet-lagged Scottish-Canadian resistance and reap all the benefits of my basking therein. All the taxis, all the accents, all the tourists with their cameras and contorted smiles, they all conspire to entertain me with their timely humanity and tiny wisps of love.
That special ache of innocence that can incapacitate the aspirant from time to careless time has its way with little me, wounded once again.
Now there's a stage: merging with one's surroundings in gratefulness and love. You can do it anywhere , if you're ready, and ready means giving up your preferences and just letting go. Next day I hit a bit of purpose.
Attending an evening talk on Raising Your Vibration, I am thrilled at the opportunity, in the question and answer portion, to share the basic details of the white light meditation I've been doing these past two years. I can see people are eager and interested, and that it's no mere coincidence that I'm visiting the College the very week this talk is scheduled.
It's a simple process, this downloading of golden white light from the highest level my etheric body can sustain, it comes in through my crown chakra in a thick milky column, accumulates and is expressed, divine mother like, through the nipple of my heart chakra, to the surrounding space and sentient beings abounding in it. I'm a physical plane anchor for this energetic process promoting love and understanding, its ultimate aim, I believe, to provide aras of stabilisation for the ongoing vibrational increase being fed to the physical plane, bringing it closer to that of the astral, where we can all be telepathic, clairvoyant beings more conscious of eternity than mortality.
Another stage: the urge to share one's love and inspiration. Another might be the discovery of tradition, specifically the one you're serving. Ahem, an example...
I sit in a very pleasing old pub on a backstreet with that atmosphere of serene, unbuttoned eccentricity so common to, and so unrecognised by, the English. The London Review Of Books engages my intellect with its inimitable style of information dissemination, while my attention effortlessly absorbs the atmosphere sublime. It's classic mystical contemplation, advertised throughout the ages by its quiet and often annonymous exponents as the best antidote to anxiety going. My perosnal favourite is Thomas Traherne, somewhere in the middle of the 17th century: The green trees when I saw them first through one of the gates ravished and transported me, thjeir sweetness and unusual beauty made my heart to leap, and almost mad with ecstasy, they were such strange and wonderful things. Boys and girls tumbling in the street, and playing, were moving jewels. I knew not that they were born or should die, but all things abided eternally as they were in their proper places. Eternity was manifest in the light of day, and something infinite behind everything appeared, which talked with my expectation and moved my desire.
A few days in the world of later I am in a crop formation in Wiltshire, that celebrated county which is a contemporary sacred space devoted to the construction and appreciation of those temporary temples where devotees refuse to hide their lights under any bushel baskets. Dig this:
Saturday July 28
The hot sun bakes me in a hopeless communion. This is not maybe or maybe not, this is knowing, and like all knowing it's best kept to yourself for a bit. A bried eternity later I find myself worrying about sunburn and skin cancer, and stand to notice a man with equipment on a long pole. It tuns out to be a small video camera, and I've been using his website as my primary source for years. He tells me he tries to keep a balance between the scientific and mystical approaches; we are discussing this theme when we are forcibly joined by someone with some seriously hot gssip. It's a typical insider tale of double dealing, media manipulation, reputations besmirched and personal integrity vigorously defended. At one memorable point, two prominent crop circle personalities area ccused of being in the pay of the Rothchilds.
Meanwhile I've been tuning into some of this fellow's past lives, - building and defending the glory of the British Empire, from farm hand to foot soldier and all the stations of the cross in between, he's sweated and suffered, and now he's someone who will stand up and speak truthfully, an Englishman in his own land, standing against both the deceptive foreigner and the occult machinations of both church and state. The common man duped throughout the ages by all the conniving deceits, now wants his just desserts. The big lie, the conspiracy theorists call it. And as crazily paranoid as it might sound, who's got more to lose, in terms of power and control, if aliens from just about anywhere can mess with us and our military without ever paying the piper or begging Jesus's forgiveness, and devas acn use a spiritaul mindpower, not entirely unlike microwave technology, to make beautufully elaborate ciphers in the crops? That's right, church and state. And all their little lackeys. Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?
(more to come)