What Colin Wilson’s work meant to me

Posted on by Frank DeMarco

I just finished reading Gary Lachman’s thoroughgoing and evocative study of Colin Wilson’s life, Beyond the Robot, and I thought, I need to say something about what Colin’s work meant to me, but what. So I sat down with my journal and asked.

Colin: Come, Frank you always knew why I was important to you. Use the message from TGU in Muddy Tracks for your blog and Facebook.

And I thought: Of course: I’d sort of forgotten about that, over the years. I have little doubt that what Colin did for me – basically, give me a believable reason to hope—he did for many, many others.

So here is an excerpt from chapter one. I omit quotation marks: all the rest of this entry is a quote.

Continue reading What Colin Wilson’s work meant to me

Colin and Rita

Posted on by Frank DeMarco

As I wait to receive my copies of Rita’s World, Vol. II, I continue reading Gary Lachman’s book about Colin Wilson. How I wish he were still here, able to read it! I know he would, because as someone said of Hemingway, Colin read everything. And if he had read it, he would have given me his candid opinion of it, which might or might not have shed light on the subject, but would very likely have shed light on Colin’s position, and on my own.

Colin, for 25 years before we met, was my literary and – shall we call it developmental? – idol. Then once we finally met in 1995, we recognized each other as kindred spirits. We became friends, and then – strange bounce! – he became one of my authors. (I remember thinking, “I never dreamed that I would ever become Colin Wilson’s editor!”)

In the years before Colin got email, he and I used to exchange letters by transatlantic fax. (Most of his earliest letters have faded to illegibility, to my distress.) We were affectionate friends from first sight, and that never changed. But our correspondence made it clear that intellectually, we touched only in certain places. In some ways we saw the world very differently. Beyond the Robot brings back the differences, and makes me wish all the more that he were still here to see the non-3D world described as Rita described it to me last year.

It would be churlish to begrudge the blessings that were withheld, in light of the blessings that were bestowed. Friendship is always a privilege. This one was a once-in-a-lifetime gift, well remembered.

 

Putting Colin Wilson’s work into accurate perspective

Posted on by Frank DeMarco

Gary Lachman’s “Beyond the Robot: The life and work of Colin Wilson” really is a marvelous book.  I am only about half through it (reading as slowly as i can, to prolong it) but as I said elsewhere, it is such a pleasure to have an author take Colin’s work as seriously as Colin did, and not so much as writing as of solidified thinking.

Nobody’s life-work is obvious if seen in pieces, and it often isn’t obvious in mid-stream. But even after we have the possibility of a long look back,  that work may not be obvious. So much depends upon the preparation of those investigating.

Take Chapter Six, for instance, which is entitled “Peak Experiences, Intentionality, and Evolution.” Colin often wrote about intentionality, and the debt he owed to philosopher Edmund Husserl. But you will get a clearer, crisper understanding of his importance — at least I did — by reading Lachman’s discussion of “immediacy perception” and “meaning perception” (page 125) than in piecing it together yourself. And you will certainly get a better sense of the progression of Colin’s ideas over time.

Wonderful book.

Colin Wilson’s preface to Muddy Tracks

Posted on by Frank DeMarco

How often does one of your literary heroes become a friend? During the 25 years between stumbling upon The Mind Parasites in 1970 and meeting Colin Wilson in 1995, my life changed many times, but I never suspected that one day he would write an introduction to one of my books. But that’s what he did, for Muddy Tracks, published in January, 2001, and here it is:

Foreword

by Colin Wilson

When Frank DeMarco told me he intended to write a book about his experiences of The Monroe Institute, I immediately offered to write this introduction, for I needed no convincing that Robert Monroe is one of the most important figures in modern paranormal research. What I had not expected was that the book I had so casually offered to introduce, sight unseen, would be itself as remarkable as any of Monroe’s books.

I met Frank on March 17, 1995, in the New York apartment of the distinguished paranormal researcher Alexander Imich. As it happens, it was the day Robert Monroe died. I remember the date because my taxi had got stuck in the Saint Patrick’s Day parade, and I was two hours late for the party. Fortunately, it was still going strong. But the only one of the guests I mentioned later in my diary was Frank DeMarco. And that was partly because he had sent me a novel he had written called Messenger, a sequel to James Hilton’s Lost Horizon, and that, unlike most sequels, it was totally absorbing. It was the story of a young American pilot whose spy plane crashes in Tibet in 1962, and who is taken to the monastery of Shangri-La. It was obvious that DeMarco had written it partly because he felt that James Hilton had missed some important opportunities. His young pilot attempts to escape, but is caught, then decides to make the best of it and begin to practice mental and spiritual disciplines. The book made it clear that DeMarco knew a great deal about such disciplines, and had practiced them himself. And I sensed this as I talked to him—mainly about Monroe—at the party.

Continue reading Colin Wilson’s preface to Muddy Tracks