─ Chapter Ten ─ Leonard
The Six were not shocked to hear of
Leonard’s death on Saturday 25th July 1992 as the Olympic torch made
its way towards the newly-built stadium in Barcelona.
Sarah replaced the
receiver following her conversation with Patrick and returned to watching the
opening ceremony. The news of Leonard’s passing blended with the pride and joy she
was reminded of as she entered the stadium in Toronto years before waving
her Union Jack and yelling “Hello Mum” at any television camera she passed by.
Leonard was in the room with her. She
could see him, sat in an armchair, eating his favourite crisps. “Being dead,
you know Sarah, is a piece of cake. I’m glad you’re not sad. It’s only just
happened and yet I feel I have been dead forever. Physical bodies are handy
but, having experienced breathing I no longer have need of it.” Sarah was
unphased and laughed at her friend’s commentary as a newly dead person.
Folina came to Sarah’s mind as the USA
team entered the stadium. She then appeared in the same armchair that Leonard
was sat in.
‘Hi Sarah, I could see Leonard chatting
with you just now. I wanted to join in and here I am. This form of travel is
very strange. No sensation. One second I’m chatting with a cousin in Perú in
the heat of the afternoon, the next mili-second I’m here with you. Leonard is
dead yet more alive than ever and you’re watching the opening ceremony of the
Olympics. It is as our will or desire bends so we travel, yet do we travel at
all or simply relocate instantaneously? I thought this was reserved for those
revered gurus and masters of enlightenment yet it’s happening to us quite a lot
recently.’
‘Leonard says “Hi” by the way, he was
sorry to miss you but some of his friends had just heard about his death and
were getting all upset so he went to reassure them that all is well and all
will be well – to echo Julian of Norwich! He has appeared to everyone but you
though you can see you only just missed him - she pointed to the empty crisp
packet on the table.
They chatted
about Leonard’s funeral wishes for a while then Folina left and Sarah returned
to the Olympic opening ceremony. King Juan Carlos of Spain took his position at
the lectern and greeted the thousands in the stadium and the millions of people
watching on television in Catalan and Spanish. The flame was lit. The games
were ready to begin. Cho Youn-Jeong would go on to win the women’s individual gold
medal in archery. Sarah had beaten her only a few weeks before her accident. She
began to think about taking up the sport again.
It was five weeks previously that Leonard
had noticed some pain in his chest and feeling a little breathless walking up stairs.
He went to his GP who said he had probably strained a muscle and suggested he
take some Paracetamol. The symptoms worsened the following week so he was
referred to a cardiologist for urgent tests. Nothing ominous was detected and he
was advised to take things easy for a while. This was very difficult for an
active person like Leonard. He paid privately for a second opinion and
discovered that he had contracted an extremely rare virus that was attacking
the chambers of his heart. The doctor broke the news to him in plain language.
‘Leonard, I am sorry to tell you that a
virus is eating your heart away. The damage is so severe I’m surprised you are
not dead already!’
Leonard felt an extraordinary calmness descend
on him and was then distracted by a robed figure standing behind the doctor. It
was his friend, Brother Lawrence, who first revealed himself to Leonard on the
beach at Woolacombe five years ago.
‘Do you understand what I said Leonard.’
‘Yes, sorry, I was just thinking about
someone.’
Brother Lawrence did the sign of a cross
to Leonard, whispered “I love you brother” to him and vanished.
‘So, as they say in the movies “How long
have I got doc?”, asked Leonard in a very acceptable Groucho Marx voice.
‘It’s likely you will be dead very soon –
couple of weeks at most. You could have a heart attack right now or simply pass
away with heart failure in your sleep. I’m surprised you are not in more pain.
That is a profound blessing.’
‘You are correct, there is no medication
available that would do any good. There are some who say that drinking green
tea and eating seaweed can counter this particular virus but those that tried
died as quickly as the others.’
‘Guess I’d struggle to get travel
insurance right now?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Any advice on what I should or should
not do?’
‘No Leonard, this nasty little
microscopic brat is going to kill you one way or the other. However, running a
marathon may hasten your demise!’
Leonard laughed.
‘I’m very sorry but you deserve to know
the truth.’
‘I appreciate that, thank you for your
frankness.’
Leonard left the doctor’s plush office in
Queen Street and walked into the balmy evening Glasgow air. He took out his
mobile telephone, a rather bulky device was a recent acquisition; he could not
resist new technology and knew that one day it would revolutionise the way
people communicate with each other. He spoke briefly with each of the six.
Callum and Val knew already from talking with their respective robed friends
and the others had heard snippets of his conversation with the doctor being
prompted to stop what they were doing and be open to Leonard as he needed them.
Leonard felt their hugs and excitement at the news. They agreed to bring
forward their next reunion to the following week. Leonard had, somehow, managed
to secure lodgings and use of a beautiful room at Iona Abbey.
*
The Seven stood
on the quay at Oban six days following their conversation with Leonard. It was
fairly mild but a brisk northerly wind was playing havoc with their hair.
‘What an amazing place,’ exclaimed
Folina.
Everyone agreed. Leonard had charted a special
boat to take them to Iona. The sea looked calm but you could never tell how it
would be once you rounded Fingal’s Cave, a route chosen by Leonard for a
specific reason.
The vessel that arrived looked out of
place. Unlike the rather rustic boats moored nearby this looked like a
millionaire’s dream boat. It was. It could accommodate up to twenty people, was
adapted for people who use wheelchairs and was fitted out for royalty! It had a
crew of five and once secure Captain John McGregor hopped onto the quay to
greet his passengers. The Seven were overwhelmed by how the boat was fitted out.
The luxury went deep into every aspect. It was not superficial opulence. It was
beautiful in design, function and every detail. This was supreme quality. A roundabout
route was to allow everyone to soak in the glorious views of the Ise of Mull, Loch
Linnhe, the Sound of Mull, Tobermory, Coll, Tiree, Treshnish Isles, Gometra, Ulva,
Little Colonsay and finally Fingal’s Cave on Staffa island before approaching
Iona. As they left Oban the wind dropped and the clouds dispersed bringing
welcome rays of sun that skipped along the gently moving sea. This was unusual
for these infamous choppy and unpredictable waters.
Music had surreptitiously been piped into
the main cabin area expressing the local tunes of the area. They slowed down
near Fingal’s Cave and Mendelssohn’s Overture - The Hebrides - was released
with increased volume. No-one said a word. The notes caressed and pummelled
them like waves of the sea. As it ended the captain announced over the speaker
system, “For those of you familiar with Mendelssohn’s famous music you may be
interested to know that when he visited here in 1829 he said ‘In order to make you understand how
extraordinarily the Hebrides affected me, the following music came into my mind.’
Folina wept, as did Leonard, Callum and
Val. The boat gently swayed to and fro. The captain knew this was a special
moment and cut the engine to allow the sounds of the water and the sea birds to
perform their magic.
‘Look’, said Sarah who had been gazing
over at the organ pipe rocks of the cave, ‘a school of dolphins!’
They swam towards the boat and the gave
an impromptu dance performance ending with them all leaving the water at the
same time in a majestic arch. They almost bowed to the Seven’s gasps of joy and
surprise then swiftly made their exit.
‘Just for you.’
The captain commented in a lovely commanding yet soft voice. ‘Now we will head
for Iona which you can see in the distance. We will help you into our smaller
craft to take you to the jetty. Your luggage will come separately within twenty
minutes.’
‘Best boat I’ve ever been on’, said
Callum in the voice of an excited schoolboy.
*
The tranquillity
of Iona and its welcoming Abbey surrounded the Seven like a blanket of love. The
rooms had recently been tastefully refurbished and the old double-glazed windows
had been replaced. The designer of these guest rooms had managed to mix the
rustic, rugged stone structure with the luxury and convenience of modern
furniture and fittings. It just felt right. Very comfortable but not super
luxury. There were no televisions on the island and mobile telephone use was
restricted to one area within the abbey; actually it was the only place where a
mobile signal was available.
They settled in
and agreed to meet at 5pm. The room they used had a glorious view of the sea.
It had comfortable chairs and a few small tables. On one of the walls was a
large painting of the founder of the Abbey, Columba. Saint Columba was an Irish
abbot and missionary evangelist credited with spreading Christianity in, what
is today Scotland, at the start of the Hiberno-Scottish mission. He founded the
important abbey on Iona around 563, which became a dominant religious and
political institution in the region and across Western Europe for centuries. He
is the Patron Saint of Derry. He was highly regarded by both the Gaels of Dál
Riata and the Picts and is remembered today as a Catholic saint and one of the
Twelve Apostles of Ireland.
‘This sea air feels so pure. My lungs are
loving it,’ observed Callum.
‘So, here we are then, a slightly earlier
than planned reunion.’ said Hannah.
‘I feel tired yet rested at the same
time. Leonard I don’t know how you pulled this off but am so thankful you did.
Look at us, we somehow all made it here. Brilliant!’, declared Sarah.
‘Scotland is so beautiful; I love the
colour of the sea. I love puffins, the clowns of the sea. It is a privilege to
be here, right now, right here with my best friends.’
‘Yes, Folina, I agree and I sense we may
be in for a surprise during our time together,’ said Patrick.
Leonard and Val looked at each other and
both knew what the other was thinking. Leonard bowed to Val, inviting her to
speak for them both.
‘I think we start with Brother Lawrence!’
Everyone instantly agreed. It was clear
that Brother Lawrence had been involved with each of their lives since
appearing to them all at the first reunion at Woolacombe, five years ago. They
had all heard him say “It is enough for
me to pick up but a straw from the ground for the love of God.” The voice
they each heard was different and seemed to change subtly each time they met.
Callum said the voice usually sounded female. To Val it sounded like an old
male sage. Hannah had heard a very cultured female Parisian. All these came
from the same source, more accurately, from the same Divine Source. Things like
this never bothered them. They talked about them and shared how the voice
always fitted the moment.
Sarah suggested she read an article about
Brother Lawrence from Christianity Today.
They agreed.
‘In tumultuous seventeenth-century France,
with its power struggles, debts, and perpetual unrest, lived several spiritual
luminaries whose wisdom still guides people today. Francis de Sales, Blaise
Pascal, Madame Guyon, and Francois Fenelon all pursued an inner path of
devotion to Jesus that shed light on both their world and ours.
Of all the
shining lights of that century, though, none speak with the simplicity and
humble grace of one lay monk whose quiet presence resided in the heart of
turbulent Paris. More than any other of his day, Brother Lawrence understood
the holiness available within the common business of life.
Most of
what is known about Brother Lawrence comes through the efforts of Abbe de
Beaufort, the Cardinal de Noailles's envoy and investigator. By 1666 Brother
Lawrence's unusual wisdom had caught the cardinal's attention, and Beaufort was
directed to interview the lowly kitchen aide. Upon ascertaining that Beaufort's
interest was genuine, and not politically motivated, Brother Lawrence granted
four interviews, "conversations," in which he describes his way of life
and how he came to it.
Besides
these recorded thoughts, Lawrence's fellow monks found in his personal effects
several pages of Maxims, the only organized written material Brother Lawrence
left. These, the conversations (now entitled The Practice of the Presence of
God) and 16 letters represent Lawrence's full teaching.
God is in
the kitchen
He began
life as Nicholas Herman, born to peasant parents in Lorraine, France. As a
young man, his poverty forced him into joining the army, and thus he was
guaranteed meals and a small stipend. During this period, Herman had an
experience that set him on a unique spiritual journey; it wasn't,
characteristically, a supernatural vision, but a supernatural clarity into a
common sight.
In the deep of winter, Herman looked at a barren
tree, stripped of leaves and fruit, waiting silently and patiently for the sure
hope of summer abundance. Gazing at the tree, Herman grasped for the first time
the extravagance of God's grace and the unfailing sovereignty of divine providence.
Like the tree, he himself was seemingly dead, but God had life waiting for him,
and the turn of seasons would bring fullness. At that moment, he said, that
leafless tree "first flashed in upon my soul the fact of God," and a
love for God that never after ceased to burn. Sometime later, an injury forced
his retirement from the army, and after a stint as a footman, he sought a place
where he could suffer for his failures. He thus entered the Discalced Carmelite
monastery in Paris as Brother Lawrence.
Training
Tools for Church Volunteers
He was
assigned to the monastery kitchen where, amidst the tedious chores of cooking
and cleaning at the constant bidding of his superiors, he developed his rule of
spirituality and work. In his Maxims, Lawrence writes, "Men invent means
and methods of coming at God's love, they learn rules and set up devices to
remind them of that love, and it seems like a world of trouble to bring oneself
into the consciousness of God's presence. Yet it might be so simple. Is it not
quicker and easier just to do our common business wholly for the love of
him?"
For
Brother Lawrence, "common business," no matter how mundane or
routine, was the medium of God's love. The issue was not the sacredness or
worldly status of the task but the motivation behind it. "Nor is it
needful that we should have great things to do’ we can do little things for
God; I turn the cake that is frying on the pan for love of him, and that done,
if there is nothing else to call me, I prostrate myself in worship before him,
who has given me grace to work; afterwards I rise happier than a king. It is
enough for me to pick up but a straw from the ground for the love of God."
Brother
Lawrence retreated to a place in his heart where the love of God made every
detail of his life of surpassing value. "I began to live as if there were
no one save God and me in the world." Together, God and Brother Lawrence
cooked meals, ran errands, scrubbed pots, and endured the scorn of the world.
He
admitted that the path to this perfect union was not easy. He spent years
disciplining his heart and mind to yield to God's presence. "As often as I
could, I placed myself as a worshiper before him, fixing my mind upon his holy
presence, recalling it when I found it wandering from him. This proved to be an
exercise frequently painful, yet I persisted through all difficulties."
Only when
he reconciled himself to the thought that this struggle and longing was his
destiny did he find a new peace: his soul "had come to its own home and
place of rest." There he spent the rest of his 80 years, dying in relative
obscurity and pain and perfect joy.’
A member of staff knocked lightly on the
door and then entered announcing that dinner was ready, if they were.
‘You bet,’ declared Callum, who had
always had a healthy appetite and a body that never seemed to get fat. Life can
be so unfair!
*
After dinner they returned to the room and
sat quietly with each other. No-one spoke for twenty minutes. The silence was
natural. Everyone was totally at ease, apart from Leonard who was experiencing
some chest pain. The Six picked this up and sent healing to his heart.
Leonard’s complexion changed immediately and his body gradually looked more
relaxed.
‘Thank you, I could feel the energy
rushing through my veins and arteries. Our Brother Lawrence showed me a picture
of my heart receiving in and pumping out the healing energy. It was as though
my heart smiled. It’s a wonderful relief. We have things to do here that will
change us and raise our consciousness even more. I know I will leave this
corporeal form very soon and I have been guided that it will not be here but in
my home in Glasgow. However, I will be buried in these grounds on this blessed
isle. My brother has been researching our family tree and traced our family to
Ireland and to this island. The monks and nuns here have confirmed their
findings and, though we can’t be one hundred percent certain it is likely that
I’m related to Columba. If not I’m certainly related to people who lived here
several hundred years ago and by an ancient pledge I can be buried here. So I
will, in an unmarked grave. My funeral will be at the Methodist Church in
Dundee and then there will be a ceremony here which you are all invited to along
with my family. When I get back to Glasgow I will record my own eulogy that
will be played at Dundee. Brother Lawrence inspired me to do this and I know
you will be content with this arrangement.’
I felt some of this Leonard from Brother
Lawrence. What an extraordinary character he is. It’s ironic that this barefoot
lame monk fixed broken sandals so that other people could walk with more
comfort! But that’s exactly the kind of humble and generous-spirited man he is.
He has also told me not to get attached to him. He can melt away into the stars
at any time. I’m not attached but when he comes I welcome her with open arms.
Pronouns are irrelevant to non-corporeal forms. Gender is irrelevant. Thank
god!’
They were silent again for five minutes
or so.
‘Hearing no cars, no hum of streetlights
– just the purr of the generator in the distance. What a perfect night. I am
tired and think it’s time for me to sleep,’ declared Hannah.’
One by one they left the circle and
retired for the night. Callum opened his window and stared into the cloudless
inky black sky. There was no moonlight. The more he stared the more stars he
saw. They danced before his eyes and formed multiple labyrinths. He rubbed his
eyes. They were still there. Tears welled up in his wide open eyes and dampened
his T-shirt. He was overwhelmed.
Sarah opened her patio door and wheeled
out onto her private balcony. She heard the music of the sea and her soul
danced to its inviting melodies. A breeze tickled her cheeks and sent shivers
down her spine. Yes, she felt something deep within her lower spine.
Val and Brother Lawrence stood outside,
held hands and walked around the Abbey. She heard them chanting and then her
companion joined in. It was magical. Befawn was near, it was obvious that the
Monk knew Befawn and welcomed the mystical guest with monastic reverence as
they continued their stroll.
Leonard went to bed straight away, fell
into a deep sleep within minutes and dreamed of angels, mystical beings from
other planets and monks and nuns all holding hands and flying – soaring over
the lochs, mountains and valleys of his beloved Scotland.
*
Leonard woke up
early. It was Tuesday 7th July 1992 and today was his 40th
birthday. The Seven were aware of each other’s birth date but made little of
them by agreement. Taking on human form is a momentous occasion but as they had
all done it before many times before the novelty of transitioning from an
aquatic to an air environment had worn off. Breathing is a wonder but, after a
time, becomes an automatic function. In relation to illness and death, it is
one of the body’s functions that can suffer the most and cause severe panic.
Gasping for breath is an awful experience for the person gasping and those who
witness it.
Before getting ready Leonard pulled back
the thick curtains to welcome the early morning sun. He could see a cormorant
drying its wings in a crucifix-like position. He marvelled at the beautiful
bird and looked forward to flying again himself. It was only 6am but the sun
was already transforming the dew into a shallow mist hugging the grass. He took
out a book from a drawer and started to read from where he had left off. He was
a dying man reading about illness. “The
body provides something for the spirit to look after and use,” computing
pioneer Alan Turing wrote as he contemplated the binary code of body and spirit
in the spring of his twenty-first year, having just lost the love of his life
to tuberculosis. Nothing garbles that code more violently than illness - from
the temporary terrors of food poisoning to the existential tumult of a terminal
diagnosis - our entire mental and emotional being is hijacked by the demands of
a malcontented body as dis-ease, in the most literal sense, fills sinew and
spirit alike. These rude reminders of our atomic fragility are perhaps the most
discomfiting yet most common human experience - it is difficult, if at all
possible, to find a person unaffected by illness, for we have all been or will
be ill, and have all loved or will love someone afflicted by illness. No one
has articulated the peculiar vexations of illness, nor addressed the psychic
transcendence accessible amid the terrors of the body, more thoughtfully than
Virginia Woolf (January 25, 1882–March 28, 1941) in her 1926 essay “On Being
Ill,” later included in the indispensable posthumous collection of her Selected
Essays. Half a century before Susan Sontag’s landmark book Illness as Metaphor,
Woolf writes: “Considering how common
illness is, how tremendous the spiritual change that it brings, how
astonishing, when the lights of health go down, the undiscovered countries that
are then disclosed, what wastes and deserts of the soul a slight attack of
influenza brings to view, what precipices and lawns sprinkled with bright
flowers a little rise of temperature reveals, what ancient and obdurate oaks
are uprooted in us by the act of sickness, how we go down into the pit of death
and feel the waters of annihilation close above our heads and wake thinking to
find ourselves in the presence of the angels and the harpers when we have a
tooth out and come to the surface in the dentist’s arm-chair and confuse his
“Rinse the mouth - rinse the mouth” with the greeting of the Deity stooping
from the floor of Heaven to welcome us - when we think of this, as we are so
frequently forced to think of it, it becomes strange indeed that illness has
not taken its place with love and battle and jealousy among the prime themes of
literature. Novels, one would have thought, would have been devoted to
influenza; epic poems to typhoid; odes to pneumonia; lyrics to toothache. But
no; with a few exceptions - De Quincey attempted something of the sort in The
Opium Eater; there must be a volume or two about disease scattered through the
pages of Proust - literature does its best to maintain that its concern is with
the mind; that the body is a sheet of plain glass through which the soul looks
straight and clear, and, save for one or two passions such as desire and greed,
is null, and negligible and non-existent."
The passage did not quite hit the spot
for him so, rather than wrestle with it, he decided to shower, get dressed and
go for a walk. Even though the sun was warm there was a chilly north easterly
wind that was causing some lively waves. He was not alone. He could see Callum
and Patrick sat on a rock in the distance and Folina skipping along a path
towards him. They chatted then joined Callum and Patrick.
‘This is breath-taking,’ said Callum.
They nodded in agreement.
By 8am they had all had a delicious
breakfast – everything cooked with love to their individual taste.
‘It’s still a mystery to me,’ commented
Folina, ‘that food cooked with love tastes so much better than when it is not.’
‘Worth some research that one,’ suggested
Patrick.
They agreed to gather at 9.30. Leonard
resumed his reading about illness and found the following chapters more
inspiring and helpful. After breakfast the others had gone straight to the room
to prepare a surprise for Leonard. He was a creature of habit and they were
confident that he would not come down until just before 9.30.
Leonard thought he was first to arrive.
The building was very quiet and the meeting room door was shut. He opened it to
a chorus of “Happy Birthday” from the Six, several monks, nuns and some staff.
It was joyous and tuneful and Leonard was deeply touched.
‘When did you plan this?’ he asked?
‘About a week ago,’ they responded in
unison.
He opened gifts, smiled, filled up and
was full of appreciation for marking, what he and the Six knew was his last
birthday. “Life begins at forty” suddenly popped into his mind. Indeed it does
but, for Leonard, it would be in a completely different way to the sentiment of
the phrase.
The next few hours were spent talking
about the fact that, over the past few years, the psychic links between them
had become extraordinarily strong. They all agreed that they had become a soul
group. They could all physically and suddenly be together in the same place yet
no-one would have noticed that they had disappeared apart from the few seconds
it took to readjust when returning to where and when they had come from. Val,
Folina and Hannah remembered this from previous incarnations and although it
was disconcerting it saved a lot of time calling or writing to each other! The
moves often happened when one of them was experiencing a strong emotion or was
in danger in some way. Sometimes the communication was only aural, other times
just visual. They had grown accustomed to these links and were aware they had
complete control whether to allow or stop them. Initially Callum was very
concerned that he would have no privacy but quickly realised the power of their
will and intent.
They also discussed that other people
close to them had occasionally also been present. Hannah had been aware of this
in Iran when she felt threatened. Callum and Folina appeared and then Akarsh
joined them too. He was not part of the Seven’s soul group but was welcomed as a
visitor due to his relationship with Hannah. They shared many stories about
this which deepened their understanding of one another, what was important to
each of them. These experiences were simply just one of the many facets of
being a soul group. The purpose of the soul group was to help them as
individuals and as a group to raise consciousness in the world. The soul group
was not an end in itself.
After lunch they met again and after
being quiet asked each other what they need to say about what had been happening
during the past five years. A book could be written about each of the Seven’s
experiences during this time and maybe will be written at some point. They were
already aware of many things about each other and the progress they had made on
their individual missions that were revealed at Wollacombe. The gift they each
displayed in this session was how to express it in summary form in a way that
was exactly in tune with The Divine for that moment. The energy that built up as
each person spoke resonated at a very high frequency. Other beings became
visible and contributed to discussion. Auras merged, energy beams sparkled with
majestic crackles, whizzes and wind-like sounds. They spoke to each other in
different languages that had not learned yet everyone understood what was said.
It reached an exhilarating crescendo then quietly and gradually the room
returned to its normal state. Befawn appeared again in all its iridescent
splendour.
‘Do not focus on the experience for the sake
of the experience. It is God in you. It is Buddha in you, it is Krishna in you,
it is Christ in you. Experience the pure love that is in you, always has been
and always will be. This oneness is normal. You are normal. You are all
supernaturally normal.’
Befawn bowed, flicked its wings with a
silvery shimmer and vanished.
‘Birthday cake anyone?’ asked Callum. He
was feeling peckish again!
*
They resumed
their conversation after tea and the freshly baked Victoria sponge, Leonard’s favourite,
with “Happy 40th” on it.
‘If I sense our thoughts correctly this
is, in one way, our final reunion right?’
They all nodded in agreement.
‘We don’t need to meet every five years
when we are literally in touch with each other a lot of the time’ he declared
with a child-like innocence about him.
‘However, it’s amazing to be together
like this whenever we feel The Divine is calling us.’
‘Got it in one!’, said Sarah in an
emphatic voice.
‘I have a suggestion’, said Leonard.
None of them knew what he was thinking
because he was deliberately keeping this from them.
‘Who fancies a two-day boat trip around
the Scottish Isles? I anticipated this early end to our reunion and, if we all
agree, the boat will arrive tomorrow morning for our magical mystery tour. It
will be a holiday. We’ll sleep on the boat overnight. You have seen the cabins.
The food is all ready to be picked up by the captain. He will take us wherever
we want to go.’
‘Wow! Yes please.’ They all almost
shouted like children opening presents on Christmas morning.
Leonard’s face grew deeply calm but
serious for his next announcement.
‘This is one of my parting gifts to you
my dear, dear friends.’
There was not a dry eye.
*
The next parting gift was a recording
Leonard made two days before he died. He had left instructions for it to be
played at the start of his funeral. Leonard didn’t care whether no-one attended
or several hundred. In fact over 700 people came. The Methodist Church in
Dundee was packed - it could easily hold 500 so the other 250 watched and
listened in the church hall next door.
‘Good morning and thanks for coming to my
funeral service. I wanted this recording I made a couple of days ago to be played
at the start. I promise not to talk for long! My body was brought here in a
rainbow coloured Volkswagen Campervan. I like VW campervans. More importantly
it was driven by Masie, a former heroin addict from Glasgow who I have known
for six years. She now owns a company that offers a bespoke service to families
and friends of people that have died and are dying. She employs three people
full-time and four part-time.
You can be confident that it is
definitely me in this wood-effect cardboard coffin as many of you would have come
to see my body in it in my house. You may be wondering why I was carried in by
four young people from Glasgow and not my family. They asked if they could to
demonstrate their appreciation to me and my family agreed wholeheartedly as
they will be carrying my coffin to a burial site on Iona for a private ceremony
in two days’ time – weather permitting, of course!
One of the greatest influences in my life
has been young people. They are not the people of the future, they are the
people of the present. I have learned to listen to them. The next huge influence
is undoubtedly the Boy’s Brigade. Thank God for William Alexander Smith who
founded it in 1883 in Glasgow. I loved it all and there may be many people here
who will be able to tell you all about it if you don’t know.
Dad died when I was 17. I hated God for
taking him. I became the man of the house, a role I was totally unprepared for.
Thankfully, it was young people that saved me from descending into the vortex
of depression. They had something I lacked – a genuine relationship with the
Divine. I could not answer their probing questions which frustrated the hell
out of me. I needed to go deeper into spiritual things. I loved to talk with dear
Mrs Reynolds; she was 97 at the time. Her eyes shone brighter as her body
weakened. I ended up at a college called Castlethorpe where I made close
friends with six people who are here today. We had amazing experiences together
and encountered wonderful beings from other worlds and times. Time is an
illusion, by the way. We are a soul group.
You see, although my body is dead I am
very much alive. This is not a fanciful tease. It is a fact, whether you
believe it or not. I have lived in other bodies before and have had different
names across millennia. Our only task in human form is to raise consciousness
wherever we are and whatever we do or don’t do. It is to help others to wake up
and discover they are divine human beings. It has nothing to do with religion, politics,
business, gender, age, nationality, sexuality, ethnicity, physical or mental
ability. It is about the evolution of humanity. We are in a mess. We are
destroying our planet and its incredible eco systems. We are destroying each
other in word and deed. There is a
spiritual path and I invite you to come home by going on the journey.
My business is in good hands and helps to
fund the charity that is also in good hands in Glasgow. I hope you have a nice
rest of funeral service, whatever form that takes – if Masie has had anything
to do with it then I know it will be different. It will be fun.
Everyone is invited to visit the newly
opened local project, an off-shoot from the Glasgow charity for drink and food
afterwards. I guarantee there will not be a salmon paste and cucumber sandwich
in sight or any awkward conversation! The YPF and the young people from the
Dundee Project will see to that.
Thanks for listening and see you soon –
literally!’
*
The trip to Iona
had to be postponed due to fierce gale-force winds that were lashing the
western isles. This meant that the burial party, as they agreed to call
themselves, stayed in a local hotel in Oban. For some mystical reason a
conference in the hotel had been cancelled so there was plenty of room for
them. Masie had negotiated with a friendly local funeral director to keep Leonard’s
coffin in their fridge overnight. They eat and drank well and had lots of
unexpected and deep conversations about many things. Val enjoyed talking with
Leonard’s mother and all her adventures in the Christian Spiritualist Church
and writing ghost stories.
The boat the Seven had chartered
previously was moored at Oban’s quay as scheduled at 11am and before long the
marine funeral party were on their way to Iona following the same long route
via Tobermory and Fingal’s Cave. The party consisted of the Six, Leonard’s
brother and his boyfriend, his other brother and his wife, his two younger
sisters, his mother clutching a special ragged diary, three cousins and Masie.
The coffin was secured to the table with hidden fastenings, as if by magic, that
the party sat around. Music, especially chosen by his family was playing softly
in the background. There was little conversation yet the silence was soft, warm
and respectful.
The party, who travelled over to the
island in two smaller vessels first, were greeted by a monk and a nun. These
two robed figures had met at a gravedigger’s conference 12 years previously
before “taking the robe”, and neither knew they would both end up living on
Iona six years later. They had been asked by Leonard’s family to dig his grave,
something they considered to be a great privilege. Masie accompanied the coffin
with Leonard’s brothers and sisters who carried the coffin to the burial site
on the other side of the island. The spot had been chosen by Leonard while
walking around Iona with Folina a few weeks ago.
Two strong pieces of wood had been placed
over the grave and the webbing straps were in place ready for the lowering. Leonard’s
mother had told the party about Leonard’s wishes for this private ceremony in a
letter she took out from the heavily-used diary.
Lord, make me an
instrument
of Your peace.
Where there is
hatred,
let me sow love
Where there is
injury,
pardon.
And where there
is doubting
let me bring
Your faith.
And Lord, make
me an instrument
of Your peace.
Where there is
despairing,
let me bring
Your hope.
Where there is
darkness,
Your light.
And where there
is sadness,
let me bring
Your joy.
Oh Divine
Master,
grant that I might
see,
not so much to
be consoled
as to console.
To be understood
as to understand
Not so much to
be loved
as to love
another.
For it is in
giving
that we now
recieve
it is in
pardoning
that we are now
pardoned
and it is in
dying
that we
are now born again
And Lord, make
me an instrument
of Your peace.
Where there is
hatred
let me bring
Your love
When
the music ended. Masie gave the signal and Leonard’s siblings lowered the
coffin with such precision and gentleness as though they had been doing it for
years. Masie removed the straps and moved away from the party. This was their
time.
No-one spoke. Each person had their
private moment and did what they wanted to do. Flowers, soil, grass, letters, a sweater, a
poster and an origami swan were dropped onto the coffin. Each person drifted
away from the graveside after their moment with Leonard’s body.
The six waved farewell as Leonard’s
family returned to the jetty to be taken back to Oban and then went inside to
meet with the monks and nuns as agreed. The monks and nuns revealed themselves
as a soul group and sensed the Seven were a soul group during their previous
stay on Iona. Leonard’s short illness and death had fulfilled its purpose in
bringing the two soul groups together. They showed the Seven - for Leonard had
made himself known to them - ancient texts and scrolls rescued from mystery
schools in France, Italy and Spain that were kept in an atmospheric vault in the
Abbey’s crypt. Callum was entranced as he had seen copies of some of them
during his travels. They talked for many hours, going to their rooms for the
night well after midnight.
After breakfast the following morning the
Six left Iona knowing that it would hold a special place in all their hearts.
They all had an inkling that the soul groups would combine and focus their
energies in various ways in the future. The Six wished they could have stayed
longer but they had planes to catch and the monks and nuns had to prepare for a
Sufi group that was arriving that afternoon for a dreamwork retreat.