This evening I went into the chair of Zerubbabel in Wrexhamian Chapter, ten years after first taking that same chair in my mother Chapter. There is a quiet poetry in that. A full decade turning like a great wheel, and once again I find myself in the same place, but not the same man.

What makes it even more curious is that a few years ago I went into the chair of Wrexhamian Lodge, also ten years after first taking the chair in my mother Lodge. Two cycles, two decades, two returns. I am certain there is some hidden logic in the spirals of the universe that arranges these things. The old masters would say that time moves in circles, not lines, and tonight I felt that truth settle around me like a crimson cloak.

And there was another curiosity. This evening marked the first installation I have ever attended where no representative, not even a temporary stand in, was sent by the Province. I guess it adds weight to the fact that last year I was given a punishment promotion because the new PGM does not like me because I refused to be at his beck and call and be a servant to him when he was the comms guy. Members of the executive have confirmed that is the case, and the fact my installation was shunned by province does further prove it.

Well, while the universe continues to spin on its mysterious spirals, I think I’ve earned a whiskey! a small planetary reward for surviving another turn of the cosmic wheel. A shame I didn’t win the raffle, though; the stars clearly had other plans for my fortune tonight. Still, there’s a certain satisfaction in raising a glass to the symmetry of it all, the decade’s circle, the chair reclaimed, and the quiet laughter of fate echoing somewhere between the constellations and the bar.

It would appear that word has escaped.

A Lodge from a land far, far away (mid Wales), and judging by some of the administrative timelines involved perhaps a long time ago as well, recently contacted the Province of North Wales with a rather intriguing request. Their question was simple enough:

“Do you happen to know a chap called Wayne Owens, and could he possibly save the day by delivering a Welsh Masonic talk for St David’s Day?” I am paraphrasing here, the actual email is below.

So, somewhere out there, amongst the winding paths of Freemasonry, people I have never met have stumbled across my work, my talks, my articles, my ramblings, or perhaps my occasional bouts of enthusiastic Welsh Masonic evangelism, and thought, “Yes, he’ll do.“

I must confess, that is rather a lovely feeling.

After all, most of us spend years quietly contributing to our little corners of the Craft without ever imagining that our reputation may travel further than we do. Then one day a message arrives from strangers, asking if we might lend a hand, share a story, or bring a little bit of Wales to their celebration. It is both humbling and deeply flattering.

Of course, not all heroes wear capes.

Some wear aprons.

Others wear robes, cloaks, bardic regalia, or enough ceremonial attire to outfit a small druidic uprising. Should the emergency require it, I possess several suitable garments and am fully prepared to answer the call.

For now, however, I think I shall take a moment to appreciate the compliment. My ego, which has worked tirelessly behind the scenes for many years, deserves a little recognition. At the very least, it has earned a polish.

Possibly two polishes.

And if we are being completely honest, it has probably earned a rather good coffee as well.

After all, fame is a heavy burden to carry, especially before caffeine.

I would be grateful if you could forward the following enquiry to North Wales Association of Masonic Study on my behalf.

I am getting in touch to enquire whether a brother might be available to deliver a lecture at a Masonic meeting in Blaenau Ffestiniog on 11th March 2027.

As it is St David’s day on 1st March each year, I am particularly interested in arranging an engaging lecture on the history of Freemasonry, with a strong emphasis on North Wales and its Welsh heritage. I have noticed Wayne Owen’s work and research into Masonic history, as well as his knowledge of the Province of North Wales, I thought he would be an ideal person to approach.

Ideally, I would love the lecture to explore the development of Freemasonry in North Wales, the history of local lodges, and the connection between the Craft and the communities in which it has flourished, including the slate-quarrying heritage of Blaenau Ffestiniog.

I appreciate that this is a broad subject, and I would welcome Wayne’s thoughts on what might make the most interesting and appropriate lecture for the occasion.

If this is something he might be interested in, I would be grateful if he could let me know his availability in March, together with any fee or expenses that would apply.

This evening was the Bishop Wilkins College SRIA meeting.

We had a full evening planned, including electing our next Celebrant, a double Grade II° ceremony, and our current Celebrant was going to finally give his paper from going into the chair. What could go wrong?

Well in the run up to cut off for booking a meal, more and more people sent their apologies, some for valid reasons, but the majority were going to visit a craft lodge to see an installation. Personally I am of the belief that your own meeting should always come first, especially if you are in office. But, nether the less we had enough people to do the evening since we had spare people who could fill in roles so all was well.

Then the night before the meeting, our treasurer happened to message some people about the meeting only to be told they were not attending. This included the Celebrant who was doing the ceremony and the talk. But never fear we had the exact number of people (thanks to a visitor) to do the ceremony for the one candidate still coming. And I decided to write a paper on the day of the meeting for “just in case”. We were OK.

Then the day of the meeting came, and as the treasurer checked if a member needed a lift to the meeting, he was informed that he was going to the same installation as the others and not attending the college meeting. We were now officially one person short.

Luckily Bishop Wilkins College has both the Chief Adept, and the Provincial Secretary in it, and they managed to sort it out so we could do the Grade II° for the candidate who turned up, and we had time for two papers, one from myself and another from our Visitor who was also a past member of the college. In the festive board after as we were all chatting away, everyone was saying how enjoyable the evening ended up being. 

So while up to the start of the meeting everything was going wrong, the end result was a great night for all. So let this be a lesson to you all, never give up when things are going wrong because sometimes what comes after is worth it!

The new season has rolled in once more, and as ever it opened with Clwyd College SRIA up on the coast at Mostyn, that familiar stretch of shoreline where the wind always seems to carry a hint of ceremony. Oddly enough, my second meeting of the season is also in Mostyn, this time Rhodri Fawr Rose Croix on Saturday. I cannot remember the last time my first two meetings of the year were in the same place, let alone the same coastal village. Two trips to the edge of the sea in four days feels like the universe is trying to lure me into becoming a part‑time beach dweller.

Today’s gathering was a blend of Grade IV and Grade I, a pleasant mix of depth and initiation. Time slipped away from us faster than expected, so the paper planned for the evening has been nudged forward to the next meeting. The Candidate was mine, so I gave him a lift, and it made a refreshing change to have company on the road. The drive to Mostyn is always beautiful, but it is even better when there is someone beside you to share the small jokes, the quiet anticipation, and the inevitable post‑meeting debrief.

So here we are, the new season upon us once again. I may no longer be a Busy Mason in the old sense, but September has decided to ignore that entirely. It is shaping up to be a whirlwind month, full of meetings, rehearsals, and the gentle chaos that seems to follow me around the Masonic world. A quieter life may be the goal, but clearly the calendar has other ideas.

The Saturday sun was already blazing when I abandoned my precious lie in and pointed the car back toward England. Everything seems sunny at the moment, sunny and far too hot, as though the weather itself has joined some grand cosmic conspiracy. This time the road carried me to Shrewsbury, glowing in the morning light like a town carved from warm gold.

It was the final SRIA meeting of the season, so I made my way to Charles Darwin College, that familiar little haven of esoteric curiosity. I dropped off a bundle of certificates for their secretary, then settled in to enjoy a beautifully worked second grade ceremony. I found myself standing in as the Second Ancient, which added a pleasant touch of theatre to the morning. Afterwards we were treated to two papers, both thoughtful, both delivered with that gentle Rosicrucian charm.

Somewhere along the way I realised the number two had taken over the entire day. Second grade. Two candidates. Two papers. Second Ancient. It was as though the universe had decided to tap me on the shoulder and whisper a message in numerical form. I have no idea what the message is, but I am fairly sure it involves the number two, and I am equally sure it will make sense eventually.

A warm day, a sunny town, a final meeting, and a quiet nudge from the cosmos. Not a bad Saturday at all.

The heat hit like a wall the moment I stepped outside, the kind of shimmering, impossible hundred‑degree blaze that makes a man question every life choice that involves wool, lining, and a tie. Yet there I was, stubborn as ever, armouring myself in a suit and setting off toward the river. The old bridge stood there like a patient sentinel, watching me park up and wait for my lift as though this were all part of some ancient ritual.

The designated driver arrived with the cheerfulness of a man who has already accepted his fate. He rolled down the window, grinned, and declared that his air conditioning had died a heroic but final death. And so, like two pilgrims in a mobile sauna, we set off toward Leeds, me bound for a Masonic Hall I had never seen, to join a Masonic Order I had never entered. A new chapter, a new initiation, a new adventure.

It was strangely delightful to be a candidate again. There is a particular humility in standing at the threshold, waiting to be admitted, reminded that every journey begins with that first symbolic step. Even better was being ceremonially kicked out during the Installation later. I genuinely cannot recall the last time I had to leave the room for an Installation, the act itself felt like a warm echo from decades past. A nostalgic tug, a reminder of younger days when everything was new and every ceremony felt like stepping into myth.

Afterwards, the day softened into something wonderfully ordinary. We stopped for Chinese on the way home, the kind of unplanned feast that becomes the perfect punctuation mark at the end of a long, symbolic sentence. The meal was fantastic, rich, comforting, exactly what the day needed and it closed the adventure with a sense of quiet satisfaction.

A blazing morning, a broken aircon, a new Order, a nostalgic exile, and a glorious Chinese banquet. A great day, woven together with heat, humour, and a touch of ceremony.

This evening carried that familiar blend of quiet anticipation and gentle chaos that seems to follow me around the Rosicrucian world. I made my way to Clwyd College at Mostyn for what turned out to be my fourth Rosicrucian gathering this month, a detail that suggests either admirable dedication or a worrying lack of hobbies. It was our Installation meeting, always a moment of ceremony and transition, and despite the hurdles it unfolded with surprising grace.

The College Secretary had recently stepped away from all things Masonic, which meant several parts of the evening had been assembled at speed. A few chairs were empty, a few roles redistributed, and the new celebrant had not prepared the traditional celebrant’s paper that should accompany his ascent into the chair. In the SRIA this is not a small omission. The talk is part of the rhythm of the Order, a moment where scholarship meets symbolism and the new celebrant sets the tone for his year.

I had suspected this might happen. There is a particular silence that descends when someone has not prepared a lecture, and I could hear that silence forming long before the meeting. So earlier that morning I gathered a few notes from some research I had been doing and shaped them into a short talk. Nothing too heavy, nothing too academic, just a playful little quest for the Holy Grail with enough humour to keep the room awake and enough Monty Python references to ensure the brethren were smiling rather than bracing themselves for a dissertation.

It went down well. The room laughed in the right places, nodded in the thoughtful ones, and for a few minutes we all wandered together through myth, mystery, and the gentle absurdity that makes our Order so endearing.

Sometimes you simply need a back up plan.

Today was nothing short of fantastic. One of those rare days when the world seems to lean in your direction and give you a wink. The sun, that elusive mythical creature that has spent the better part of three decades hiding behind the mountains of North Wales, finally decided to step out and shine with the confidence of a bard who has just remembered all the words to his own song.

When the sun appears in this part of the world, it is not simply weather. It is a sign. A blessing. A celestial nudge that says, Go on lad, make something of this. So I did what any sensible Welshman would do when the heavens open in approval. I quietly slipped across the border into England for the Province of Western Counties and North Wales SRIA Vault of Adepts meeting.

Three ceremonies awaited us, each one rich, resonant, and beautifully worked. The kind of ritual that settles into the bones and reminds you why we do any of this in the first place. There is a particular stillness in a well delivered ceremony, a sense that the room itself is listening, that the very air is holding its breath. Today had that in abundance.

And then came the meal. A simple thing on the surface, but as every Adept knows, fellowship is the true heart of our Order. Good company, good conversation, and that warm sense of belonging that lingers long after the plates are cleared. There is a magic in shared bread and shared laughter that no ritual book can fully capture. It is the quiet alchemy of companionship, the kind that turns strangers into brothers and brothers into friends.

If there was a downside, it is only this. Now the countdown begins. A whole year until the next one. Twelve long months before we gather again in that same spirit of learning, fellowship, and gentle mischief.

But what a day to carry with us until then. A day lit by the sun, shaped by ceremony, and sealed with fellowship. A reminder that even in a world that often feels uncertain, there are still moments that shine with purpose.

Markham’s Brotherhood:

The Rosicrucian Manifestos in Modern English

By Steven E. Markham
Published by Ferret Books in 2019

For students of Rosicrucianism, Western esotericism, and the great currents of thought that helped shape modern Freemasonry, Markham’s Brotherhood is a welcome and valuable companion. Steven E Markham has taken on the formidable task of translating the three foundational Rosicrucian texts, the Fama Fraternitatis of 1614, the Confessio Fraternitatis of 1615, and the Chymical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz of 1616, into clear and readable modern English while preserving the spirit, strangeness, and symbolic fire of the originals.

One of the book’s greatest strengths is its accessibility. The original manifestos, whether encountered in early English translations or in scholarly editions, can feel like wading through a philosophical marsh in the dark. Markham clears the path without flattening the landscape. His prose flows with an easy rhythm, allowing readers to focus on the ideas rather than wrestle with archaic language. The mystery remains, but the fog lifts.

The accompanying notes and annotations are equally valuable. Markham does not drown the reader in interpretation. Instead, he offers just enough historical and symbolic context to illuminate difficult passages while encouraging readers to form their own conclusions. This balance between guidance and restraint is essential when dealing with texts that have inspired centuries of debate, speculation, and esoteric commentary. He understands that the Rosicrucian tradition is not a puzzle to be solved but a journey to be undertaken.

The book also succeeds in showing why the Rosicrucian manifestos remain historically significant. Their influence reached far beyond the world of occult philosophy, inspiring thinkers such as Robert Fludd and Elias Ashmole and contributing to intellectual movements that would eventually intersect with Freemasonry, Hermeticism, and the broader Western esoteric tradition. Markham restores that sense of living context, reminding us that these texts once stirred Europe like a sudden wind.

Visually, the inclusion of illustrations enriches the experience. The artwork complements the text without overwhelming it, reinforcing the symbolic atmosphere that surrounds the Rosicrucian tradition. It feels less like reading a book and more like stepping into a chamber where old ideas still breathe.

If the book has a limitation, it is only that readers seeking a heavily academic or critical edition may find the commentary lighter than expected. But that is not Markham’s purpose. His aim is not to build a fortress of scholarship but to open a doorway. In that respect he succeeds with grace.

Overall, Markham’s Brotherhood is an excellent introduction to the Rosicrucian manifestos and a worthy addition to the library of anyone interested in esoteric history, mysticism, alchemy, Rosicrucianism, or the philosophical roots of Freemasonry. It achieves the rare feat of making a notoriously difficult body of literature approachable while preserving its depth, symbolism, and sense of wonder.

A thoughtful, readable, and respectful modern rendering of some of the most influential texts in Western esotericism.

Coronation Lodge No. 2927 has a quarterly Masonic Publication associated with it called Coronatio Quadrans, or CQ for short.

One part of the publication is “Question from the Master” This is where the Lodge’s Worshipful Master asks a esoteric or masonic question to the Lodge Mentor who will answer it in an article in the next edition. After the Mentor answers the question, the “Question” is thrown open to all, and anyone can try and answer it themselves anonymously. The CQ Editors will read all the submissions and pick the best which gets published in CQ.

The Question in CQ Vol 9 was “Choosing one or more points I would like you to consider the history, and significance of the use of Tracing Boards in Freemasonry; the symbolism contained within regarding their associated degrees, how they convey the meaning of the respective ritual; the evolution of the symbolism, the style of imagery presented across the centuries and evolving culture, and what, if anything you would include or omit to make them more useful vehicles for conveying their intended meaning?“

This time the question was more like a series of questions, or such an open ended question you could almost write about anything and still manage to get it to fit into the range covered by the question. I decided to write something about how tracing boards used to be special and taught a lot, while now they are mass produced and some of the teachings have been lost.

So, I won.

“What did you win?” you ask, (yes I heard you. I have explained in an old blog post, I can hear you when you speak out loud while reading this site).

Well my prize is that I get to write an article on any topic of my choice, and it will get published in the next edition of CQ.

ANYTHING!

So now I need to think of what I would like to write about.