Owen Jones
Colin Jones – My Dad
All Spirit is Endowed with Light
All Spirit is endowed with light
Of varying strengths and coloured hue,
From everlasting glory bright
To everlasting love so true.
For light and love and truth are one
And one is God the Father,
For He is the ‘Law’ and with His Son
The two are one, or rather,
They are in us and we in Them,
That makes Us Three forever
And knowing now from whence we stem
We’ll forward go together.
Colin Jones – Oneorb –
It was my Dad’s birthday yesterday, he was born on February 21st, 1931, however, before you start to wish him a belated ‘Happy Birthday’, I should tell you that he died precisely 71 years later, on February 21st, 2002. I call that pretty good timing – it’s almost theatrical is it’s exactitude. I might almost say that a comedian would die for it.
Anyway, as I told yet another batch of people yesterday that my father was born and died on the same day, it struck me that he hadn’t actually. I have been saying that for thirteen years, but only a new-born baby can be born and die on the same day. I had obviously meant that he died on his birthday, but that is not the same, is it?
What is strange to me is that it has taken me thirteen years to realize it, and less so, that no-one pointed my error out to me.
I suppose not many people are as irritatingly pedantic as I can be.
Anyway, I celebrated his birthday as I usually do, with my brothers, although we are now 5,500 miles apart. I knew what they would be doing at the appropriate time of the day, and they knew that I would be as well – raising a glass.
‘Happy Birthday/Deathday, Dad, and to Absent Brethren, where e’r they may be…’
Dad was also a Spiritualist – he believed in life after death, as do probably most people in the world, but he was also a channel, a medium, who received messages from those who had already passed on (again, as in reincarnation).
He gave me hundreds of his ‘automatic writings’ a year or so before he died, saying, ‘See if you can do anything with these’. ‘These’ were two Tesco carrier bags of note books and papers with messages on them, or drawings.
Now, I know that Dad did a lot of this work with his eyes closed, the drawings too, and very quickly. The hand writing is different on many of the papers as well.
Anyway, the point of all this is that, I managed to pluck up the courage to do something with the contents of Dad’s carrier bags three years ago. I published a wad of his papers on the tenth anniversary of his death, and every year, on February 21st, I add another wad. Yesterday, I added about 1,500 words.
I want to say here, that I have never chosen what to publish. I just type up the first papers that come to hand.
This time, it includes advice from his mother, the concerns of my mother for her children and former pets, a chat from his mother about two of his sisters and advice on his future, amongst other things.
By the way, the poem at the top is by him and Oneorb was a name he used online.
Does anyone remember chatting to him?
All the best.
