it was the january of 1938

It was the January of 1938. I was just ten years old. 

We lived in the London borough of St Marylebone.

On Mondays through Fridays I was a boy at Mercers’ School in the City.

On Saturdays I was a Junior Exhibitioner at the Royal Academy of Music.

On Sunday mornings and evenings I played the harmonium for the services of a Spiritualist Church in the front room on the first floor of a building along the Harrow Road. Sometimes we stayed for the after circle where I began to develop a certain measure of psychic sensibility.

This opening up of psychic sensitivity, coupled with substantial convincing experiences of the soul’s continued existence between one physical incarnation and the next, has been an important part of my perception ever since (except for the years immediately after I chose to convert to the Roman Catholic Church, when I put aside all indulgence in such ‘sinful’ activities, and devoted myself to leading the life of a Good Catholic).

I was moving toward my mid-40s and living in Sydney, Australia, when a far-reaching sequence of events in my professional life released me from the bonds of the itinerary I was following and showed me where to pick up the trail again on the far side of Catholicism and Imperialism.

I was free. Free to live my own life. Free to think my own thoughts. Free to return to a personal exploration of planes of perception beyond the physical.

And so it has gone on. At varying speeds and with varying levels of insight and understanding. Of late I am finding levels of perception beyond the surface meanings of words on the page. Symbols on display catch my eye with their immediate depictions. Then the mind comes into play. My inner eyes open. The doors of perception stand wide. A deeper meaning is revealed. And, beyond that, further insights.

And so it goes on .. and on .. per omnia saecula saeculorum ..

francis cameron, oxford, 26 august 2014