As a young boy of six or seven I was afraid of the dark, not outside on the streets of Wakefield, but in my bedroom - the place was alive with beings from the lower Astral. Even at that age I knew the mind was capable of a lot more than was spoken about. I would lie in bed dripping with sweat calling for my mum just for her to say, "what's wrong with you?" Read me a story I would say. Then, when the story had finished and she had gone again I was back where I started. I hid under the covers and focused on the colours in front of my eyes. I would make them pulsate and get them to start...