Sixty Psychic Years
Autobiography
by
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Once in the train, I would kneel on the seat with my nose pressed against the window watching, fascinated, as the patterned smoke drifted by from the steamer’s stack. It thrilled me to see the huge locomotive suddenly appear up front, as it negotiated the bends, seeming, as if, to leave us behind.
As the evenings drew in, dusk was upon us by the time we were making our way out of Catford Bridge station, and then on down Doggett Road toward Gran’s house. The key always hung on a piece of string just inside the letterbox, and which you pulled out to let yourself in. I ponder those days now, and wonder if we will ever experience a time when such trust will exist among people again.
The first object to greet us was a paraffin pixie lamp Grandfather always had burning in the hallway, and stood on a small shelf screwed to the wall. I never tired of it; fascinated by the little flame that seemed destined to dance eternally within its glass chamber. For me, the faint smell of paraffin oil hanging in the air was to become the epitome of everything Grandmother's and Grandfather’s house stood for. Casting eerie shadows, its dim light probed the remote corners of the hallway, exciting our imagination, serving to remind us all of Gran’s ghostly stories.
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My thoughts at the time were not conclusive; totally consumed in the magic of the atmosphere. It was mid-to-late afternoon that I found myself gazing across the valley toward the horizon. The sun was descending in the sky, constantly changing the mood in the scene around me; shadows lengthening, forming weird shapes that intrigued the imagination. I could not help but let my mind wander, creating pictures of the Indians going about their daily tasks. I pondered their life-style. How over the centuries it had never changed, and but for those intrepid pioneers of old, might have remained so. Contemplating the scene quietly, I listened to haunting sighs created by the wind gently blowing around the strange shapes; rustling the nearby trees. The soft unearthly sound impressed upon me that it was carrying the whispered voices of the Indian spirits across the centuries.
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About the Book
All of my books, and in particular Sixty Psychic Years, relate my concerns for Earth, its inhabitants and the creatures on it. Listening to the various scientific bodies located around our world, I contemplate their submissions of doom. The diversity of opinion seems, at times, contradictory, and yet as Earth reveals in her changing moods a threat to humanity’s future, the majority of us continue to ignore her warning. There are two over-powering reasons that should influence us to pause and rethink the strategy to live our lives here. First is the transient aspect of it, second, our inevitable transition into the next world when it ends. ‘Sixty Psychic Years’ describes a life-time of psychic experiences I have witnessed both from séances, held by my mother; a practicing spiritual medium over that period, and many inexplicable events that have occurred throughout my life.
About the Author
From the time he was able to think for himself, the author has been influenced by strange happenings that have gradually eroded his sceptical attitude toward his mother’s belief. Submitting doubts to her in earlier years, he demanded physical proof, but now in later life, he has learned that the way to achieve that proof is within him. He had to accept, unequivocally, the idea that life continued beyond the physical existence. When he implicitly believed in the spiritual dimension, only then did the proof it existed begin to reveal itself. From these statements then, it follows that no one reading his books will find conclusive proof of the spiritual dimension’s existence: that, despite numerous ancient scripts existing today expounding their gems of truth, the first move has had to come from him. The chapters in this book relate the story of his impulsive struggle against the truth, during his younger years, and the realisation of it in later life.