I’m Just Going Down to the Pub to Do a Few Miracles
What a title, eh? Colin Bloy first published this book in 1990, and it was reprinted again in 1991. This version is newly minted, newly printed, thanks to Suzanne Thomas, the editor of Fountain International Magazine.
I read the original book in the late 1990’s, and I must have absorbed more than I realized at the time, because many of the concepts contained therein are the same I have been contemplating for more than 20 years.
But to have a copy in my library, without having to pay almost £100 for it, is a miracle on its own. I bought this paperback through Amazon.ca. It cost less than C$20.
Colin’s writing style is conversational, jocular, and filled with anecdotes. It’s as if he’s sitting beside you, recounting some of the spiritual adventures he’s had.
And he’s self-deprecating. Let me give you a sample of his humour.
The problem started when a friend of mine, Harold Wicks, who has a lot to answer for, changed my life (without a Government Health Warning), had me over for lunch one day. He lived then in the country near Tunbridge Wells.
“I’ve become a dowser,” he said.
This was a critical point in my conversion. Had Harold been someone I hardly knew, I might have said something banal in rejoinder, but I had developed over the years a respectful appreciation of Harold’s intellectual integrity. We had worked closely together in politics for some years and had come to trust each other’s judgement. I certainly trusted him, and if he told me it worked, I immediately accepted it.
That was important. If any Tom, Dick or Harry said that to an unbeliever, he’d probably change the subject. Anyway, I showed interest and he explained to me, that a week or two before, across an adjacent field had come a strong smell of gas, on a Sunday, so he called the Gas Board’s emergency service. It wasn’t long before he saw two men digging a hole in a nearby field. He went over to them, and indeed they were from the Gas Board and had found the fault. “That was quick,” he observed. “Yes, guv,” one said, “we use the rods, see!” holding up two L rods. “It’s a lot quicker than using the official maps to find the pipe, and you can find the fault with them very quickly. Most of us use them.” Now Harold accepted intellectually that they were describing a real phenomenon and thus his attitude to dowsing became, not whether it worked, but how it worked.
So, he took up the rods himself and walked. He stuck a pair in my hands. I couldn’t get any reaction over his gas mains at the first session. Then he took my hand in his and with a rod in his left hand and the other in my right hand, we tripped laughingly over his land.
“There you are,” he said as his rod moved. Mine didn’t. A few more tries. I started to try and make myself more aware of what he was feeling. Suddenly, our rods fired and I was away. I soon had his gas pipes, water mains, telephone cables and electrics all located. The rod had started to live in my hand.
“That’s fun,” I thought. Little did I know what I was getting into (I have dropped others in it, too, subsequently). Even so, I treated it as a new interest in life, rather than a huge new insight. (pages 23-24)
This is a very easy book to read. I started it on Friday last, and finished it yesterday, this Sunday past. The chapters are short, bite-sized (mostly), helping the reader to digest what he’s feeding you, little by little.
He also calls the book a hologram, meaning that it doesn’t have to be read as a linear instruction manual. You can dip in and out of it, as the mood strikes, or if a chapter heading intrigues you.
But mostly the message is clear:
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