God Series - Automatic Typing No5

I gain in skill as a medium or 'channeler' in my first year at it - 1969

Chapter Five

 

1969

 

This was a year of minor ‘Triumph and Tragedy’ for me.   In my employment I was selected for a training course that would lead to promotion.   I was to succeed in this course, be promoted, and then throw it all away by requesting a transfer back to my old job.   1969 was to take me from my home and family in Sydney.  I went to Melbourne,  Dubbo and Canberra.    It was a year of development in which my dabblings with automatic writing were to advance to a stage where I had the opportunity to be an accomplished Spiritual Medium, if that is what I wished to be.

 

            From my mid-twenties work became increasingly important to me.   By the time I was thirty-three the desire to succeed had become an obsession.   I had only one problem; a crucial one-   I did not know what I wanted to succeed at.   There arose in me feelings of frustration and hopelessness. I was getting nowhere because I could not define what I wanted to be.   But I experimented with many things such as graphic art, music, academics, in trying to find my niche.  

 

            In 1969 I’d thought, in turn, of becoming a writer, a professional psychic, a spiritual healer.    My dreams were grandiose, unrealistic.   Only my immense enthusiasm in undertaking things that are new (I’m told it’s an Aries trait) and my vivid imagination, were to provide the impetus for these dreams.   With nothing more substantial to support them they were doomed from the start to be dispersed by the cold winds of practicality.   I had to earn a living to support my wife and three children.

 

            It is said that the price of mediumship is sensitivity.   I have found this to be the case.   When I practised regularly I found my every sense heightened.   In particular, I began to feel greater emotion.   This was often painful.   But there were positive aspects.  For example, an increasing comprehension that we all have far more in common than we realise.    Also, an increasing love towards Humanity overall.

 

            In 1969 the war in Vietnam was still raging.   It had, by now, become a source of disharmony right round the world.   People were protesting against it, marching in the streets.  Rallies were often violent.    The war was often on my mind.  So it came as no surprise when my ‘spiritual contact’ made mention of the war.

 

            Here’s how it went.   

 

            It is 9-40a.m. on 1st January 1969-   New Year’s Day.    By now, the automatic writing had improved to the point that I was obtaining full sentences.   I was also logging my thoughts as well as the answers.

 

Self-   Good morning, U.R..  Hope you haven’t a hangover.

 

“Glad tidings to you, my boy.”

 

“Well, it’s 1969-  at least, it is here in Australia.   You are coming through loud and clear this morning.    (This is radio-operator terminology.   There was no aural or ‘inner voice.’  I spent more than twenty years of my life in radio telecommunications)

 

“Let there be peace in the land of the Vietnamese this year.”

 

Self.  “Yes.   That is one awful war that has dragged on for too long.”

 

“The Americans will begin to leave this year, we are informed here.”

 

“I expect the fighting will drag on, but on a lesser scale, for many years; guerrilla skirmishes and reprisals.   It is a pity men could not just let it go at that.   I mean, forget about revenge-  except, perhaps, through the law courts.”

 

“The fighting will die down more quickly than you would have expected.   The people are war weary.”

 

“I am glad.   I suppose the Great Powers will now send in civil aid to rectify the damage they did militarily?”

 

“Just as after the first two World Wars.”

 

            I could not recall reading of any Marshall Plan or similar type of aid following directly after World War One, but I let that go by.

 

Self-   “Let’s hope Mankind has learned a lesson this time.   Though I do believe that many of us are changing for the good.   There has never been, to my knowledge, such controversy over a war as the Vietnam War.”

 

“Can we ever cease killing those who do not agree with our own political leaders.”

 

“We will one day, I know it.”

 

“Call it intuition, but I know it too.”

 

“See you, U.R..”

 

“Goodbye for now.”

 

            From the foregoing it can be seen that my guide, U.R., although interested in worldly affairs, is far from prophetic.    History shows that the Americans did not withdraw from Vietnam in 1969.   They did, in fact, step up or ‘escalate’ their involvement.    If my history is right, they didn’t leave until the early 1970s.

 

            It is interesting to note that U.R. used the words.  “We are informed here.”

From whence cometh this information?   From me?   My subconscious programming of my memory?     My thoughts?   The thoughts of others?

 

            From the outset of my experiences with Automatic Writing I suspected that the information which came to my automatic pen did not come entirely from my own subconscious.   To those who view this book with a closed mind, and refuse to consider whether the information could possibly of come from elsewhere, those readers might just as well stop reading here and now.   However, for those who are prepared to keep an open mind on the subject, the writings invoke theories ranging from the Collective Unconscious of Carl Gustav Jung to communication with intelligent beings -Spirits, if you like- who inhabit dimensions different to our own;   spirits who can contact and be contacted through the minds of men.

 

            The writer does not doubt that many of these automatic writings are coloured by his own interests, prejudice, and wishful thinking.    Subjects of no particular  interest to him were not presented.    For example, I have little or no interest in, say, cricket, bee keeping, lapidary, or stamp collecting, so these things never got a mention.    On the other hand, I am interested in psychology, writing, public speaking, self actualisation, meditation and the like, and these subjects were usually at the forefront.

 

            From this, it is only natural for both the objective reader and the not so objective writer to conclude that these are all manifestations of the writer’s own unconscious mind, i.e. belonging personally to him, and not to come from any other source.

 

            Certainly I was very much of this opinion.   I was about ninety percent convinced that the writings were coming from parts of me not understood; sub-personalities.    Certainly, I read plenty of literature which supported that theory.   Then something happened which made me really sit back and say,  “Heh!   Somethings not quite right here.    How come my subconscious doesn’t know this one?”

 

            It happened this way.

 

            Some months prior to my commencing Automatic Writing my primary interest had been in writing a novel.    This novel had been all but completed in its first draft.   These were the days before P.C.s, when a novel had to be hand-written or done on either a manual or electric-powered typewriter.    A second draft meant a complete retype of the manuscript.   A third draft, another complete retype.    Writing a book was a long, laborious job.

 

            The story I was writing was based against a background of Aviation in Papua-New Guinea, where I had lived in 1964-65.   The novel had been percolating at the back of my mind for a long time.   It had taken me three or four months to type the first draft.    Yet one of my spirit communicants was not aware of the particular geographical location I was using for this book’s fictitious setting.

 

            This is not an easy thing to rationalise away.    For the plot of that book was well known to me.    It had been in my subconscious mind for months-  if not years!  Yet part of my subconscious did not know it.    Remarkable!

 

            Moreover, the incident occurred so naturally.   I was being questioned by an entity who claimed to be my maternal grandmother.    I had never met her, my maternal grandmother having lived in India all her life, a country I’ve never visited.    After the usual niceties on greeting a stranger, my grandmother asked a few polite questions on how my book was progressing.    She said that she had been following its being written for some time.   And then, quite unexpectedly, she asked a question.   She said:

 

            “Where is Nambis, Tom?”

 

            Now, it happened that Nambis was the fictitious name I had given to the setting of my story.   The real setting was Madang, on the northern coast of New Guinea, where I had lived in 1963-64.    My maternal grandmother questioned me about its climate, that sort of thing.    When I drew a parallel between the climate of Madang and that of certain parts of Bangladesh (a country she had lived in) she seemed satisfied and asked no further questions concerning my book.

 

            This is certainly not irrefutable evidence of  a spirit communication.   Neither is it conclusive evidence of survival after death.   But it does beg the the question.   How come the entity claiming to be my maternal grandmother did not know Nambis and Madang were one and the same?     

 

            If the entity claiming to be my grandmother were really part of my own mind it would have remembered that Nambis was the fictional name I had come up with for Madang, surely?       Is it likely that a book setting that I’d been thinking about for years had not filtered down to one of my own sub-personalities?   

 

            From that time onwards I began to think that I’d maybe been too sceptical.   My views changed.   I did not rule out the subconscious aspect.   Rather the ratios altered.   After some time -and innumerable assertions by my ‘entities’ that they were not sub-personalities but separate beings- I found it increasingly difficult to believe they were not as they claimed.   By the end of this year I was about eighty percent sure these spiritual communications were authentic.

 

            In those early days I did a lot of automatic writing, sometimes two or three times a day.   At 1.15.pm. on New Year’s Day, I took down another session.     It went like this:

 

U.R.  “Can you find a better way of contacting me?”

 

Self:  Do you mean you don’t want me to persist with the pen method?”

 

“Could you use a sounder?”

 

“You mean a megaphone of some sort?   Something that I can use so I can hear you with my ears?”

 

“At least try it.”

 

Self: “Okay.   Hold on a minute.”

 

            At this, I went to a cupboard, selected some materials, and improvised a cardboard cone.   The cone was about two feet in length.   The smaller end had an opening or round hole of about an inch in diameter, whilst the larger end was probably five inches across.

 

Self.   “I have a little paper cornet here.   What would you like me to do now, U.R?”

 

“Clean it in water first.    Then bring it to our office in the sun room.”

 

“Since when is this study ‘our’ office?”

 

“Clean it.   And stop being facetious, Tom.   And just because you are getting along fine with our writing don’t be complacent about our ability to communicate.”

 

“You sound angry.”

 

“When are you going to grow up and be a man...sorry.”

 

“Why, you’re only human-  or are you?   Never mind.   I’ll get the trumpet cleaned.   Hold on.”

 

“Good boy.”

 

            I run some water through the cardboard cone, hoping it won’t become soggy.   Then I return to my writing desk to continue with the communication session.

 

Self.   “Now what?”

 

“Hold it to your ear and listen carefully for a few minutes.”

 

            I do this, feeling rather ridiculous all the while.   Then, in big bold writing came the words.

 

            “Don’t breathe too loudly!”

 

Self:  “I tried that.   Both ears.   Couldn’t hear a thing except, maybe, the rustle of sound waves.”

 

“Could you please make a bigger sounder.   Get the big sheet of paper in your cupboard and use it.”

 

            This I duly did.    How it was known to the spirits that I had a bigger piece of

paper in the cupboard could only of come by my own thinking about it.    It was obvious that they could read my mind.   This, of course, makes one think that it is all ‘of one’s own mind.’    But to get back.

 

Self:  “Which end should I hold to my ear?”

 

“The big end, club head!”   

 

            Something told me that this was my younger brother, Robbie, contacting me.   It was an intuitive thing, with nothing to substantiate my knowing.   Robbie had died after injuries sustained in a motorcycling accident in 1960 at the age of twenty-one.

 

            Whether ‘club head’ is an expression that was used by my deceased brother, Robbie, I do not recall.   However, I do know that it is not an expression I use myself and, to my knowledge, have never used.  

 

            The attempts at a different type of communication using a sounder were unsuccessful.   This particular session went on, and I was contacted by a Mr Jacquin, an author I’d been reading over the previous days.    Jacquin was into palmistry.    I shall not record all of what was said.   Instead I will put down a few sentences ‘as they came.’

 

Jacquin.     “Great (in response to my saying I’d read one of his books)  Please don’t interpolate.   You are going to be a fine dramatic writer.”

 

            and

 

“Get flowers at the window of your work room.   Needs cheering up.”

 

            Then came an interjection from U.R., my primary guide.

 

“There are too many people trying to help run your life, Tom.   Stick with me, Celia, and Robbie.

 

Self:   Be glad to.   It is getting complicated.   See you for now.   Thank you, Mister Jacquin.   And you, U.R..   My Goodness!   You’re human, U.R.”

 

“Go boil your head, you cheeky young rascal.”

 

            Is U.R. human?   Is he a separate entity complete in himself?   Or is he a figment of imagination, the manifestation of an unbalanced or diseased mind?   These were the thoughts that tormented in those days.    But that was over forty years ago and, at sixty-four, I seemed to have managed, and am still managing my life pretty well.

 

            During all those years maybe a million words have been taken down via automatic typing.   I have exercise books filled with writings and reams of paper filled with typings.   There is no way that I can record even ten percent of them in a volume such as this.    Because of this I will attempt, from hereon, to pick out those messages which might be of greater use to the reader.   For much of what has been recorded is, I think, excellent advice on how to live.

 

            My own search for happiness has taken me along many paths.    But I think I can say that the advice I’ve been given via automatic writing -although often not followed by me- has generally been good.    I would like to pass that advice on to you, my reader.

 

            In these earlier years I was contacted by many entities.   These included quite a number of personal relatives now dead.   Also, by many who claimed to be people who had written various texts I’d read.   Some of these being figures of world renown.

Because of this, I always had my suspicions that these were not always whom they claimed to be.    Not until a number of years had passed did I begin to learn that there are various ‘levels’ from which one can be contacted spiritually.   Also, that some of the entities inhabiting the closer and lower levels are not as truthful and moral as one would wish.   Some are mischievous.   Some, I expect, are downright evil.   Though I fortunately remained free of the latter.

 

            After some months, it was established that I work through three major entities.   U.R., Celia, and a fellow named, John Willougbhy.   U.R. being the main one.    These were to be my ‘guides.’  Each of these entities had a completely different personality and I could tell, after a time, who was ‘on the line,’ so to speak, as soon as he or she came through.     Below is a communication taken from John Willoughby.   

 

            John has a lightheartedness, a lack of seriousness that is rarely found in communications with, U.R., for example.    John claimed to be my close friend from one of my previous lives.   (Which infers Reincarnation)  An American, John claims he had lived around the period of the American War of Independence.   That was when we knew one another.    Needless to say, I have no recollection of that.     

 

            It is now 9-35a.m. on Monday 6th January 1969.

 

Self:  “Sorry, I am five minutes late for my meeting.   Please go ahead.”

 

Anonymous:   “We are not very concerned here with your excuses.   We want you to be punctual at all times.”

 

Self:   Who is that?   U.R.?

 

“No, it is John Willoughby, and I was only pretending.”

 

“You insist in getting into the act, don’t you, John?”

 

“There is only one reason for it, Tom.   I am training to be a spirit guide myself.”

 

“You!   But you  are far too quick tempered and emotional at the moment, John.   It might take you years before you are capable of this exacting task.”

 

“I realise that.   But every bit of practice helps.”

 

“I see.   Okay, John.   You talk away for a bit.”

 

            He did talk away for a bit, and here is a small part of that conversation.

 

Self.   Who are they, John?

 

“The angels, old chap.   You do believe in angels, don’t you?”

 

“You mean Cherubs and Seraphs with harps and wings-   no.”  

 

            Meaning I do not believe in such things.

 

“They dress according to the mode of their days on earth; when they made their presence on earth.”

 

“What would, say, a contemporary angle of the late Twentieth Century wear then?”

 

“They are too angelic to be much welcomed on earth.   A priest or a minister might be an angel in returned form, and he would not know it.”

 

“Do we ever see “angels incarnate” here?   If you know what I mean?”

 

“They are not incarnate, but are there nevertheless.   ‘We’ are angels.   It is all a matter of degree.”

 

“These views and this conversation sounds suspiciously like my own opinion.   Can you say something you feel pretty certain I will not agree with, John?   I ask this as a verification that this is not all part of the one mind (mine) and that you are a completely different person.”

 

John:  “They seem to feel that you are too sceptical here to ever be a good-principled waiter on the higher angels-   at least, while you are there on earth.”

 

Self:   “Yes, this is true.   I guess the Age of Materialism has left a deep impression on my thinking processes.”

 

“It is only natural.   But just think of the trouble the Nineteenth Century Spiritualists encountered.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Yes, is an awfully insufficient answer, Tom.

 

“Quite so, in this case.   But I usually talk too much.”

 

“We all know that you’re a bit of a loudmouth.  But so are most mediums before they develop.”

 

“Why is this?   Do you know, John?”

 

“It has something to do with our sensing more to life than those in whose mind mediumship is not highly developed.”

 

“I see.   Somehow, John  -and I don’t mean to be disrespectful-  I cannot help thinking that you are using the ‘thinking processes’ of my mind to communicate: my phrases, my turn of thought.   Your personality is lost in me.   Follow?”

 

“We have to.   These are things which cannot be helped.   As you improve your mediumship our real personalities will come through.”

 

 

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On the 7th January a conversation took place which went as follows.    It is 12-30 in the morning and I’ve returned home from my Evening Shift at Sydney Airport.

 

Anonymous. “You know, I do believe you are beginning to accept us at long last.   I hope we do not upset you too much, because we have some startling news.”

 

Self:  “Go head please.   Oh, by the way-  who is talking?”

 

            To me, it felt like U.R..

 

Anonymous:  “The same man you were arguing with about Immortality only a few minutes ago whilst driving home.”

 

            The ramifications of this answer are significant.   It indicates that a lot of what we regard as our own thinking is, in actuality, a two-way, internal conversation with spiritual entities.   From this, it can be construed that the need to use pen and paper to communicate with spirits is not necessary.   The pen and paper are merely props.   But more than this.   It is a startling idea because, if one accepts it, it becomes obvious that every thought that enters into our heads is not originated by us.  

 

            The natural tendency, if one considers this, is that some thoughts originate with us, and others come from other minds.    But even that might not be the case.  For it has been said that Man -average, undeveloped, unenlightened man- does not think at all.   We simply receive and modify that which already exists.   That is, we never have an original thought.   We are like transceivers or transponders that ‘alter the pure signal’ as it passes through our thinking processes into our field of consciousness.

 

            All pretty profound stuff, eh?

 

            On the other hand, if one rejects this concept, then  Doctor Sigmund Freud’s idea of our having an Id and a Superego as major sub-personalities takes on some validity.    However, because of the numerous and distinctly different entities which were now making an appearance within me, I was obliged to reject Doctor Sigmund Freud’s trio (the third being Ego) as being far too simple.    Either we are made up of infinite sub-personalities, with a number of predominant ones, or there has to be some other explanation.

 

            I not sure what the current widely accepted views are on this.   When I was taking down Automatic Writing forty years ago anyone who seriously thought that they might be dealing with spirits were regarded as being mentally deranged.    It was the sort of thing one kept to oneself.    Consultation in the wrong area could result in being taken away ‘by the men in the white coats’ and fed Valium forever in an insane asylum.   No, ‘schizophrenia’ seemed to answer all the dilemmas of sub-personalities which faced the psychologist of that day.   

 

            The biblical concepts of demons within was likewise held to ridicule by established science.   And it seemed that no one wanted to examine these long held views of established religion.

 

            What about Dr. Carl Gustav Jung’s Collective Unconscious?    To me this certainly seemed to have some validity.    Infinite thought from infinite entities- whether dead or alive- all being able to manifest through an individual’s mind whose  filter against such entry is his own personal conditioning.    This sounded a lot more like it, to me.

 

            Now, at sixty-four, I have moved towards a belief that ‘All is One.’   The ‘All’ being the all-pervading, unmanifest, infinite we would call God; that Humanity is just one tiny part of that One.   Further, that every human spirit who has ever lived on earth is still a living part of that One.   Physical things come and go.   The eternal observer within remains. 

 

            As One we are all interlinked.    The ego concept of being alone and separate is caused by our conditioning.     And when I talk of conditioning I’m talking about total conditioning-   and in particular our concept of reality based on the obvious limitations of our sense organs such as sight, hearing, touch, taste, and smell.    But I won’t go further into this here.     This chapter is long enough.

 

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