─ Chapter Four ─ The Seven's Pact
It had rained all day; the
umbrellaed crowds had waited patiently for several hours outside Buckingham Palace for news.
At about ten o’clock in the evening a solitary female figure walked across the gravel, stepping around the puddles, towards the main gate holding an ornate gold easel under her arm and a plaque in her other hand. The Grenadier guardsmen she passed on duty had been told the news minutes before and could not conceal their smile, even if they were hidden by their busby chin-straps. There was a moment of awkwardness for Suzanne – what to do with the announcement notice while placing the easel in the correct position. Thankfully, a helpful police officer swept his cape over his shoulder and offered to hold the announcement for her. The rain, thankfully, had stopped. Easel positioned, Suzanne thanked the officer and rested the announcement on the easel. She stepped back to admire her work This job was a big responsibility and, who knows, her Majesty might have been looking. Her colleague had offered to help but Suzanne was determined to do it on her own. Immediately the crowds pressed forward to the heavily painted railings and gazed at what was written. “It’s a boy!” “What does it say?”
At about ten o’clock in the evening a solitary female figure walked across the gravel, stepping around the puddles, towards the main gate holding an ornate gold easel under her arm and a plaque in her other hand. The Grenadier guardsmen she passed on duty had been told the news minutes before and could not conceal their smile, even if they were hidden by their busby chin-straps. There was a moment of awkwardness for Suzanne – what to do with the announcement notice while placing the easel in the correct position. Thankfully, a helpful police officer swept his cape over his shoulder and offered to hold the announcement for her. The rain, thankfully, had stopped. Easel positioned, Suzanne thanked the officer and rested the announcement on the easel. She stepped back to admire her work This job was a big responsibility and, who knows, her Majesty might have been looking. Her colleague had offered to help but Suzanne was determined to do it on her own. Immediately the crowds pressed forward to the heavily painted railings and gazed at what was written. “It’s a boy!” “What does it say?”
“Her
Royal Highness The Princess of Wales was safely
delivered of a
son at 9.05pm today.
Her
Royal Highness and her child are both doing well.”
It was signed by
four attending physicians and dated 21st June 1982. It was
type-written apart from ‘9.05pm’ that had been entered by hand. “Bloody hell,”
exclaimed someone in the crowd “you’d think she’d just had an exorcism!” Lots
of people laughed though a few took exception to the joke at what was such a
joyous yet rather serious moment. “That comment is offensive and is not merited
on such an important Royal occasion”. Someone called Rosie had to explain to
her rather deaf husband that ‘delivered of’ was a rather quaint old English way
of saying ‘born’. “Well, why don’t they just say that then. Blimey, these Brits,
their head is up their arse!” Rosie’s frown put an end to the matter.
*
Leonard switched
off the radio, refilled Val’s goblet and his own and then turned to her raising
his glass.
‘To our new Prince.’
‘To the new Prince,’ responded Val, ‘may
he be blessed with love, wisdom and good looks!’ They giggled and sat down.
They had shared a relaxing evening
together. This Monday had been the longest day of the year. Their evening had
flown by. Castlethorpe was quieter than usual; about fifty students and staff
had gone to Stonehenge to celebrate the Summer Solstice. Their conversation had
been easy. It always was. Leonard had cooked Sole Véronique and was delighted by Val’s praise about how the
tarragon and grapes complemented each other so delicately in the creamy sauce.
They went out the rear door and sat on the chairs enjoying the caressing
trickle from the water feature. The subtle lighting created an intimate atmosphere.
Val broke the silence.
‘It’s been nearly a year since Carlos
died. What a way to go. He buys a takeaway coffee, takes one step onto the road
in Fleet Street and bang, an out of control lorry hits him. Carlos dies almost
instantly. The lorry driver had a heart attack and also died at the scene. I’ll
never forget it, Folina was telling us about Befawn and the other wonderful
beings she encounters, we were all enraptured. There was a quiet knock on the
door and Jorge entered and beckoned to Folina for a quiet word. We carried on
talking about elemental beings and how we can see and feel them. Folina came
back in, sat down and looked at us. “Carlos is dead.” Her face was white and
she was shaking. Callum put his arm around her. Folina wept. “He was killed by
a lorry. Evidently the driver had a heart attack and lost control. He also
died.” We were all in shock. Jorge drove Folina down to London straight away
and Callum and I went with them.
This might sound weird but it was an
amazing experience. Folina had seen many dead people. She was holding her
grandmother’s head in her lap as she passed. Carlos’ body was not easy to
identify due to the crash but she was able to confirm that it was her husband.
We were all with her. She had insisted. We held hands and looked at Carlos’
badly damaged body and found ourselves quietly praying. Each of us were
speaking something that was not English. I felt as though I was being rinsed
out from the inside. It’s the only way I can think of to describe the feeling.
I touched love that day. Folina said I was speaking in an ancient Quechuan dialect.
I knew Jorge was speaking Russian. Callum said Folina was speaking Mandarin.
Jorge thought that Callum was praying in Welsh, though was uncertain.’
‘And while all that was happening I was
back in Dundee at a YPF reunion. What prompted you to share this now?’
‘I’m not sure, let’s be still and see
what happens.’
‘They sat in silence for several minutes.’
A bold rabbit hopped past one of the
chairs and sat next to the water feature staring at Leonard and Val. An owl
hooted very loudly nearby. The rabbit nibbled some grass, looked up at them
again and ran off. How it got into the enclosed garden remained a mystery.
There were no holes or other ways in or out.
‘Leonard, it has been an extraordinary
privilege to be at Castlethorpe. I think the rabbit was Carlos and the owl,
Folina. They just want to assure us that it is the right moment for us to be talking
about the passing of the human form, about emotion, sadness and tears, about
what we have learned here, about how society responds to death and about how we
can teach people about the pre-carnate choices we make and the lessons we need
to learn. The influence of cultural norms, people’s expectations and, of
course, our egos must be considered. Do you remember the Principal’s talk a few
years ago? She said “There is more to you than meets the eye.” Well, I am sure there
is much more to Carlos’ passing than meets the eye and we will know more when
we speak with Folina when she returns from Stonehenge. They talked at length about
all these things with lots of natural silences.
*
It was getting
near midnight when they started to make their way to the Manor House. Leonard
had persuaded Val to take a slightly circuitous route via The Labyrinth.
‘Wait here a
second, I have something to show you.’
He went to the
side where there was a small concealed cupboard built into the side of a low
wall. He located the right switch.
‘What are you
doing Leonard?’
‘You know I
mentioned to you that Jorge had been busy lately with a new project?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, this is
it. First of all I’m just going to turn off the nearby path lights.’
As he did this
they were thrown into darkness, apart form the very clear star-studded sky and
a picture post card crescent moon hovering in the distance. Considering the
rain during the past few days it was a relief to see the sky again.
‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes.’
Leonard flicked
a switch and The Labyrinth lit up in all its mysterious glory.’
‘Wow, it’s
beautiful!’ exclaimed Val.
‘It is isn’t
it.’
Jorge had painstakingly
inserted hundreds of small amber lights, hidden along the edge of the pathways.
Somehow, he had managed to light the feature in the centre of The Labyrinth
with the same colour as the small lights. Its smooth oscillation glowed and
beckoned explorers.
‘This means that
it can be used by everyone at night which is a marvel. I walked it last night
at about two in the morning. I know it’s the same labyrinth but it was a very different
experience for me.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, there
were no distractions for starters. Not that that should matter anyway. We have
learned to give our complete attention to each step, ignoring everything around
us. It was also so, so still. The College grounds were silent apart from the
occasional rustle in the undergrowth and owls hooting to each other. The lights
are simply perfect. Not too bright, not too dim. Just right. They light the
path immediately in front of you which helps you to focus on the present
moment. We can see it all from here because we are on slightly higher ground.’
‘Blimey Leonard,
Jorge is a very extraordinary maintenance man isn’t he? How does he do it all?
Where does he come up with the ideas?
‘You know the
answer to that question Val.’
‘Yes, of course,
Castlethorpe magic strikes again! It doesn’t matter what aspect of the place
you probe. It’s all about the people. About our oneness in Spirit. The gifts
each of us have and the encouragement we give to each other to give them, to
share them with everyone. It’s amazing; thank you for showing this to me. I
wonder what Callum will make of it?’
‘He is planning
something even more enthralling having returned from London where he met with
some of his friends who do lighting for shows in the West End theatres. He has
met with the Board to share his initial creative thoughts and outline plans and
they are behind him one hundred percent.’
‘I can’t wait to
see what he has got planned. Guess we’d better get a move on. I think I saw
Nigel earlier,’ said Val.
*
They entered through the side door and made their way to the
Star Room, where the Principal usually meets with prospective students for the
first time. Nigel was gazing out of the window and welcomed them.
‘Hi guys.
Perfect night for it don’t ya think?’
‘Yes, we were
just at The Labyrinth admiring Jorge’s latest work.’
‘It’s fantastic
isn’t it. Took him more than one hundred and twenty hours. He is meticulous – a
true artist and brilliant electronic technician. I’ve only been here a few
months yet I’ve learned more in that time than in all my studies at university
in the States. His next project has so much potential and can be applied to
lots of different topics.’
‘Tell us more’
exclaimed Leonard.
‘Well, take my
field for example. If it works it will help us to look at constellations in a
whole new way. The technology is not quite there yet but computing power is
growing at such an exponential rate it would not surprise me if we get to see
the night sky on the ground at Castlethorpe within the next year or so.’
Val and Leonard
looked at each other, open-mouthed. They sat down and talked about where they
were up to regarding their research into the strange phenomenon of the Green
Dragon constellation. This had first occurred in a dream that Sarah had had two
months previously. Hannah and Leonard had the same dream at about the same time
the following week. Val and Patrick had not dreamed about the Green Dragon but
they had seen it independently of each other in the sky during the previous
week. Nigel thought it would be a good opportunity to meet with them while the
others were away at Stonehenge.
He got up and
walked towards the tapestry. Val and Leonard followed.
‘At first I was
very sceptical about the Green Dragon constellation. In all my years of
astronomical study I had never come across it. To be honest the descriptions
seemed so bizarre that my inclination was to dismiss it – not the kinda
open-mindedness you guys expect of a Castlethorpe student eh?
Val and Leonard
looked at each other and then smiled with supportive understanding at Nigel,
tinged with a look of slight rebuke.
‘Okay, I get it,
and you’re right, I did not feel the tiniest hint of blame or disagreement about my
position – just the positive drive to dig deeper. Well I did; boy did I dig
deep and deeper. I can’t tell you how many hours I have spent in and out of the
restricted sections of The Library. I discovered ancient texts that simply blew
my mind. They contained such old knowledge and wisdom that modern astronomers, astrologists
and astrophysicists are only just beginning to get their heads around and are,
as a consequence, struggling to explain due to so many apparent contradictions.
Now here’s the thing, the more I researched the more convinced I became that
the Green Dragon has been called exactly that for more than three hundred years.
In fact I found references to it dating back over two and a half thousand years!’
‘You saw a group
of seven green stars that appeared one night then disappeared the next, right?
‘Yes’.
‘This
constellation only appears to people who have a connection with each other.
When I say appear, I mean it is only perceived by a few - either in a dream,
vision or in plain sight - for a specific purpose. Now I have scanned the sky
with my own powerful telescope, the wonderful scope upstairs here in the turret
observatory and also I was granted special access to use Jodrell Bank’s Lovell
Telescope to probe the farthest reaches of space in search of it. Nothing,
absolutely nothing. Do you have any idea how frustrating that was for an
astronomer? I could read about it but I needed to see it for myself. But how
could I if it is only seen by certain connected groups of people for a specific
purpose? Then, it gradually dawned on me. I was trying to look for it with my
eyes. With my mind. With my ego. With my experience. Instead I wandered in here
in the middle of the night a few weeks ago. I came in like a little boy who
just wanted to see stars. I sat on a chair and stared for a long time at this
tapestry. This artefact is ancient yet it is a copy of something that was
sketched out several thousand years ago in what is now the Democratic Republic
of the Congo. The Green Dragon is here.’
‘I saw what I
think we are all now seeing at about five am. It was dawn. All the telescopic
technology in the world could not find the Green Dragon constellation. Why?
Because they did not know how to
look. Can you imagine the impact this discovery had on me? Not that I was going
to publish academic papers on it or seek credit. It has always been there. It
appears when it needs to and to those it needs to. I am a simple bystander, a
witness to the sky calling out to you through tiny specks of twinkling light.’
They talked for
another hour or so and then each headed home to sleep. Nigel immediately fell
into a deep slumber. Val and Leonard could not sleep. Thoughts were bouncing
around in their minds. Neither understood the real meaning of the Green Dragon.
They could not grasp how hugely significant it all was for them as individuals
and as a group.
*
It was a busy
night for the Green Dragon. Visions were not a common feature of Hannah’s life.
In fact the last one she had of naked people running out of the Wailing Wall
was about three years ago. Mind you, that was a very special one and sustained
many conversations for months afterwards. Its messages were probably esoteric
and have not yet been fully revealed. This time Hannah was enjoying the three-day
Summer Solstice event at Stonehenge with more than ten thousand people from
every corner of the globe and from a myriad of religious groups, non-religious
groups, spiritual groups, pagan and magical groups. It is likely that many
people attended just to watch people in all their technicolour diversity.
As the sun began
to rise from the Heel Stone some did hand stands, others lifted their arms,
most were bare-footed as it seemed important to be in physical contact with
Mother Earth and to feel and sense Her deep vibrations, Her heartbeat. Hannah
felt nothing apart from the cold wet dew on the sparse grass caressing her toes.
She admired the spectacle but there was a part of her that blocked out any
influence of what she thought was group hysteria. Some were sobbing, others
held hands and danced in circles. All different types of music gradually
started up in what, for Hannah, seemed like a discordant cacophony. Then a
sweet sound reverberated from somewhere. It was a pure high pitched ring of a
bell that went straight into her heart and called to her soul. It happened
again and she left the Castlethorpe group and walked to where she felt it had
come from, back towards one of the several large car parks. A crow flew
overhead and landed about twenty yards in front of her with its head turned to
its right. She turned left and then saw a man in his twenties sat on a plastic
sheet. As she approached he said ‘Hi, take a seat if you like.’ Hannah accepted
the invitation. He introduced himself as Akarsh. His welcoming eyes were deep brown
and his long hair was tied back, resting on his rich blue t-shirt. Hannah was
fascinated by his fine facial features and a sense of calm that surrounded him,
like a shield from the rowdy crowds nestled on an oasis of puddles and cars –
lots of Volkswagen campervans, painted in bright colours.
‘What are
those?’ Hannah asked.
‘These are
Tingsha bells. They were made over ninety years ago in Tibet by Tibetan people.
Their skill is renowned. Look at these engravings.’
Hannah could see
a dragon, hugging the edge of each cymbal-like bell. The two bells were joined
by a piece of leather about eighteen inches long.
‘Here, try
them.’
Hannah held the
leather strap in two places to keep them apart. She was surprised by how relatively
heavy they were. Each bell was three inches in diameter.
‘Just let them
gently touch each other.’
She did and the
sound resonated, touching a deep place within her. The tone sustained itself
for nearly thirty seconds. A tear rolled down her face. Akarsh deftly wiped her
cheek with his thumb.
‘Did that to me
when I first heard them at Labrang Tashikyil Monastery, a Gelugpa monastery
situated in the historical province of Amdo in north-eastern Tibet. The monk
used them in an ancient ritual to welcome guests and as a call to gather in
meditation. This was only two years ago. It’s sound was so much more than a
sound. My heart palpitated. Tears streamed down my face. I love those people. The
Chinese had destroyed some of the buildings during the Cultural Revolution but
they had rebuilt them. The accommodation was simple. The monks’ hospitality
blew me away. I stayed for three months. I swept floors, tended plants and
prepared the most wonderful vegetables I have ever tasted. The monks sit around
the plant and vegetable beds and send energy to them. One of the monks gave me
these Tingsha. They are over one hundred a fifty years’ old and are my
most-treasured possession. I ring them on this longest day in memory of those
monks and to celebrate the painstaking work they do to protect what little Tibetan
true spirituality and culture remains.’
‘Beautiful’, Hannah
said softly. ‘Where do you live?’
‘Watford. I’m a
computer consultant with a new start-up company not far from Watford Junction.’
‘Gosh, we are
almost neighbours. I am a student at Castlethorpe College.’
‘Castlethorpe!
You must know my friend, Jorge, then?’
‘Yes, of course.
Actually, he drove us here for this crazy festival. Come, let’s go and join
them. Are you with anyone?’
‘No, I came by
train, my tent is just over there. It won’t take long to pack.’
An hour later
the sun was feeling warm and the smell of breakfast being cooked was everywhere.
Hannah and Akarsh approached the Castlethorpe tents and noticed Jorge
organising everyone, as was his way. Jorge looked up and ran towards them. He hugged
Akarsh.
‘We were
wondering where you’d got to Hannah. Come and have some breakfast. Put your
stuff here Akarsh. It’ll be fine.’
Castlethorpe had
hired four minibuses and had erected a temporary “village” in one of the
designated camping areas. It was Callum’s turn to cook and he had prepared
green porridge made of jumbo oats, water, milk, cinnamon, honey, sesame seeds and
linseed and a mixture of spirulina and wheatgrass powder that turned it green. He
pleaded with them not to judge his porridge by the colour. Several replied “You
feed the eyes before the stomach Callum!” Despite some protestations he managed
to get most to reserve judgement until they had tasted it. To everyone’s
surprise it was absolutely delicious and several requested the recipe. The few
that had smuggled in some bran flakes, however, looked on without a hint of
envy!
Their final hours
at Stonehenge were spent discussing the events since their arrival ,
particularly the celestial appearance that had been witnessed by Hannah,
Folina, Callum, Patrick and Sarah in the previous night’s sky.
‘So what’s this
Green Dragon everyone’s talking about,’ enquired Akarsh.
‘Well,’ started
Sarah, the five of us stayed up late last night chatting about this and that. I
was getting tired and as I stretched my arms and yawned I saw a flash across
the sky. Folina had noticed it too. I assumed it was a shooting star. Then we
both spotted another one followed by yet more. It was quite a show that lasted
a minute or so. We stared at the velvet sky, expectant, hoping for an encore.
Instead I could see a green dot. Then another. Callum said he could see five
green dots. Patrick said there were seven. Hannah said she thought she saw two
lighter green dots, like eyes, she thought.’
Callum continued
the story.
‘We thought
nothing of it other than it was unusual to see coloured stars. It was probably
this that made us hold our gaze for longer. The seven green stars grew a little
brighter, or shall I say, their twinkle grew in intensity but not at the same
time. My eyes followed the sequence and suddenly I was convinced I was looking
at a green dragon’s head. I had a lump in my throat. We had been learning about
the Green Dragon constellation a few weeks ago and most astronomers were of the
opinion that it was a myth as it did not seem to be perceived by others looking
at the same point in the sky at the same time. I then noticed other stars
starting to twinkle brighter than others and followed their sequence. I saw a
whole dragon outline in the night sky. So did the rest of us. A few seconds
later it was not there though its two green eyes remained for a while then
blended into the blackness of space.’
‘That’s
fascinating’, said Akarsh ‘but what does it mean?’
‘We’re not
sure.’ Replied Sarah ‘which is why we can’t wait to get back and speak with Nigel,
he is an astronomic whizz-kid. Do you need to get back to Watford today?
‘No, why?’
‘Jorge is taking
us to Glastonbury; we are camping in the garden of one of Callum’s friends.
Jorge also has a meeting with a computer lighting expert in Shaftesbury along
the way. You’re welcome to come with us or travel back to St Albans in one of
the other minibuses.’
‘Thank you, I’d love
to come with you.’ He turned to Jorge, ‘Jorge, are you working on a lighting
project?’
‘Yes, we have a
labyrinth at College, modelled on the one in Chartres Cathedral. I recently
laid hundreds of feet of small lights along its paths so it can be explored at
night. As that project neared completion I had an idea to take it to the next
level which is why I need to see this expert in Shaftesbury. It is early days
yet but the possibilities to develop something truly innovative are very
exciting.’
‘I’d love to
help if you think I could.’
For some reason
Jorge was a little guarded.’
‘Yea, er, sure
you may be able to.’
By mid-morning Jorge and his six passengers were on their
way to Shaftesbury.
*
A few days later
an opportunity presented itself for Sarah, Callum, Val, Hannah, Patrick, Folina
and Leonard to meet together, as arranged, at Val’s cottage. It was
mid-afternoon and Val had been busy earlier baking chocolate and blueberry
muffins.
Callum was first
to arrive, followed immediately by Sarah, Leonard and Patrick. They made
themselves comfortable and talked about yesterday’s lively discussion about the
purpose of being in the human form, the lessons we plan to learn in an
incarnate form before birth and what happens to memory after returning to the
Oneness in Spirit. The fact that a group of students can converse casually
about such topics is a characteristic of Castlethorpe life. A few minutes later
Folina and Hannah arrived.
Val had not
talked with Hannah about her speech to the United Nations two weeks previously.
Hannah had asked that the College did not make a fuss but, inevitably, people
wanted to know how it had gone. Her second book had provoked reaction from
across the world about the Middle East and was still number one on the UK’s non-fiction
best seller list. Hannah was very shy about her notoriety though it had not
happened overnight. She had managed to get people to have creative
conversations for two years now about what peace could look like and had
achieved this from a non-political and non-religious stand point. Castlethorpe
students and staff were very proud. Her achievement was remarkable. Her family
remained silent. Even her mother had not been in touch for months – such was
the power of Herem, Hannah’s excommunication. Val wanted to bring up the
subject though she was concerned about Hannah’s feelings. Her chakras were
almost glowing with sadness. She decided now was not the time.
Val had placed a
seven-piece tea set on the table ready with the freshly-made muffins for their
arrival.
Leonard spotted
them.
‘Oh my God, is
that what I think it is?’
He picked up one
of the cups and examined the stamp on its base.
‘Val, you are a
classy woman. Who would’ve thought it? Susie Cooper, Whispering Grass in green - she did grey as well – about 1959 I’d
guess. Bone china at its best. It blew Wedgwood and Royal Doulton out of the
water. They hated her success. Wow, this is great!’
Leonard’s smile
became infectious
‘Leonard, you
are a dark horse. I had no idea you were into pottery,’ said Callum.
‘I’m into
pottery alright though mainly post-war stuff. I have quite a collection. As far
as I’m concerned bone china is the only way to drink tea. Tastes completely
different to earthenware mugs. Val, you are a star!’
*
It was Callum’s
mention of the word “star” that jolted them to the purpose of their gathering –
the Green Dragon.
Val poured tea
for everyone except Sarah who asked for coffee. Sarah said later that even the
coffee tasted amazing in quality bone china. The muffins went down a treat and
Val accepted every complement with grace. A lull in the conversation became a
purposeful silence. They were used to these and comfortable with them, no
matter how long they lasted. At eleven am on the eleventh of November the
United Kingdom observes a two minute’s silence to remember all those that have
died in two World Wars and military conflicts since. These seven Castlethorpe
students remained silent for eight minutes. The room was still. Even birds
seemed aware and took there song elsewhere for a while. The room became
spiritually charged in a totally natural way. The silence was broken when Patrick
felt prompted to speak.
*
‘I had a dream three
days ago and I think it’s important that I share this now. Seven creatures
gathered under a Green Dragon. It was huge. They sat under the protection of its
wings. The dragon’s eyes were a fierce, friendly and fiery green and looked
down at each of the creatures in turn with profound affection. I can’t describe
the creatures. They would do that themselves. In fact that was part of the
reason why the Green Dragon had called them together. Each of them spoke though
I have no idea what they were saying. The attention they gave each other was
visible. After that the Green Drago lifted its huge wings and breathed fire on
the group. The creatures were not at all burned but they looked different. They
glowed. The Green Dragon nodded to them then flew away. Each creature glowed
brighter than the others for a while and then the same happened again. They
then each emanated a spiral of light from within themselves that joined in the
centre growing into a huge fountain of blinding light. This then shot in to the
air and disappeared. After a short while little stars of light started to fall
like snowflakes covering the ground.’
No-one spoke for
a while.
‘Patrick’s dream,’
said Hannah, ‘is about us. Each of us has been brought to Castlethorpe for some
reason or other. Our purpose this afternoon is to share who we are, what has
been important for us at this College and what we are being called to as a
group.’
‘That’s exactly
as I discern it,’ said Folina, ‘I think the glowing in Patrick’s dream is an
instruction about how we do this today. When we feel ready each of us tells
their story in whatever way they want to, no matter how long or short, about
their lives before coming here – we all arrived within an eleven month period –
and, as Hannah said, what has been important for us in these last three years.
We all know how to listen deeply and attentively and to send energy to the
person speaking. Let’s do that now in an even deeper way and then we can explore
what it all means for us. We can break at any time or not as we are used to
doing in learning units.’
Everyone nodded
in agreement. After a short silence Patrick spoke.
*
‘I was born a girl and named
Nina in 1956. We lived in nice town house with a loft and a basement not far
from Clapham Common in London. My parents were middle class. Dad was an
insurance broker and mum a secretary at the local gin distillery. Peter, my
older brother, and I loved playing with tiny Airfix soldiers. My parents
attended the local Pentecostal Church, had been baptized in the Holy Spirit and
prayed often, loudly, in tongues. I always knew I was a boy and told Peter when
I was five. He just accepted it and loved having a brother. Mum and dad were devastated
and took me to see the Pastor. After praying over me in tongues and casting out
demons for nearly an hour the Pastor called several members of the congregation
round and they all laid hands on me and prayed earnestly for my deliverance. I
sat on a chair in the middle of them all, totally bewildered. I remember
laughing at one point which angered one of the women who came; she cried out
“In the name of Jesus be gone you mocking demon.” I did not feel possessed but
then I had no idea what being possessed meant anyway. Nothing happened. I did not
grow out of it. I was not “healed” as they hoped. In fact, as I grew up,
despite everyone’s attempts, I grew up and lived like a charming teenage boy in
every way apart from physically. Much to the horror of teachers, the
Pentecostal congregation and my parents I referred to myself as Patrick though
was happy to keep my Mortimer surname. It was clear that God had no plans to
intervene. The school eventually accepted me as Patrick though other pupils bullied
me though, after a while, got bored and just called me Patrick. I confessed my faith
in Christ, was baptised in water, then in the Holy Spirit, I spoke in tongues,
attended the same church as my parents, believed in the inerrancy of the Bible
and studied it every day. As far as I was concerned Christianity was the only
true religion and Pentecostalism was the best denomination because people got
healed – apart from me that is but then I did not think I needed healing. I
thanked God for who I was.
Following years of psychological testing
and medical examinations I was prescribed hormone tablets and then gender
reassignment surgery. Even some of the Pentecostals forgot that I had ever been
a girl and wondered, privately, if it was part of God’s mysterious plan. I had
done well at school, despite everything, and got three A levels in Physics, Chemistry
and Latin. I got a place at Durham University studying geology and astronomy,
graduating with honours. When the Castlethorpe prospectus dropped onto the mat four
years ago my parents wondered what was next for me. They had not quite gotten
over me introducing Greg to them, my boyfriend, a few weeks’ previously.
The Castlethorpe prospectus attracted me
because I could determine my own learning path. I also felt that I would have
opportunity to convince others that Christianity had all the truth and that all
other religions were false. On arriving here it took no time at all to realise I
was arrogant, misguided and foolish. My process of unlearning, or shall I say
learning, about Christianity has taken a long time and continues. Listening to
different interpretations of the Bible has not shaken my faith, far from it, it
has transformed it. My belief system has been replaced by a direct experience
of God as part of me and you. I’m not convinced about esoteric messages and
meanings. Why would God deliberately hide things that only the determined or
gifted discover? My studies here make complete sense of my astrological and astronomical
studies at university. I love this place. I love the people. I feel a strong
connection with you guys yet we are all so different. Studying gender and
hertory has been mind-blowing. Part of me is woman. Part of me is man. Part of
me is Divine. Yet there are no parts. There are no splits. I am a reflection of
the Divine who is neither male or female yet is also both at the same time.
Historically I see the harm done by patriarchal societies and men’s influence
on how history has been written. I sense we are being brought together for
something but have no clear view what this is – yet.’
*
No questions were necessary and, after a
while, Folina spoke.
‘I chose to be born in 1956 in Cuzco, Perú
to an ancient Quechua family. I had a wonderful relationship with my paternal
grandmother Kasish who taught me many things. I loved nature and animals. I knew
how to survive. I had and continue to have relationships with elemental beings like
Befawn, Elonedil, and Felsesh. I spent many hours on my own. I walked to Machu
Pikchu when I was eleven and stayed there for forty days, drinking nature’s
mysteries. My family were poor in monetary wealth and possessions but rich in
love and Spirit. Like thousands of Quecha people we moved to Lima in 1967 and
lived amongst thousands of others in Kay Pacha, a dusty, dirty shanty town. The
Sendero Luminoso guerrillas blew up the power stations frequently and
controlled the water supply. There were frequent earthquakes. The spirits were
angry. I yearned for the peace and greenness of the Andes. My elemental friends
never left me. My father was a proud, gentle man. My mother, a quiet, joyful person
but her heart seemed overshadowed by a strange sadness. I don’t know why.
Kasish died in 1970 and as she passed in my arms she said ‘Go to school’ Folina.
I did and excelled in all subjects with top grades. I am possessed, not by
spirits, but by an insatiable thirst to learn and curious about everything.
Meeting and marrying
Carlos Condor-Hankenson, a handsome 20 year-old Amerindian was a wonderful synchronicity.
He was adopted by very rich British parents. We moved to Tunbridge Wells in
January 1974 to live in a very large house that he inherited from his adoptive
parents who had been killed in a car crash in 1973. I taught in a local infant
school and was adored by the young children. Carlos worked in banking in London
and was very successful. I got involved with an extraordinary Sufi group in
London which helped me to bridge the cultural differences of Perú and interpret
spirituality in the West. Its teachings have made the most sense of any
teaching I have ever received. Carlos was agnostic about it all but supported
me in everything.
None of you really knew him. Since living
together at Castlethorpe his heart opened to Spirit in ways I could not have
imagined. I always knew that the small flickering light inside him could melt
the world. When he passed my sadness knew no bounds. My tears had no end and
came from such a deep place within me I felt totally drained. We are closer now
than we ever have been. We have learned that we are all teachers and we are all
learners. Carlos continues as a great teacher. This is not some mystical projection,
it is my daily reality in each moment. Our marriage was for a purpose. Not
having children was for a purpose. I love introducing people to elemental
beings, to healing plants, to trees whose wisdom seems never to dim and,
recently, to all different angels who guide our way. I still have an insatiable
appetite to learn and discover yet am profoundly at peace with just being. I
feel close to each one of you at different levels and in different ways. I
sense we have been given a mission but first we have to make a solemn promise
to each other.’
*
‘I
was born,’ said Sarah, ‘in 1955 in Shoreditch, London. Dad was a social worker.
Mum a nurse. I desperately wanted a brother but none came. Dad did not go to
church but respected mum’s faith. I had many friends at school from all sorts
of backgrounds. Racism was a fact of life at that time though it hurt me deeply.
I devoured the writing of Martin Luther King and Mother Theresa. I attended a
mosque, a synagogue, a Gurdwara – loved eating meals sat on the floor in the Langar
m- prince or pauper, black or white, the Sikhs treated everybody the same, at
least for a while. I enjoyed all the different festivals and rituals though was
not keen on fasting during Ramadan – I loved food too much! My favourite church
was the local Catholic church and I fell in love with Mary, the “Mother of
God”. All the leaders in religions seemed to be men. They were in the Catholic
Church but the focus of worship was more on Mary than a male god. ‘About time
too’ I thought. I didn’t do bad at school though was nearly always in the
middle so far as exam results were concerned. My best subject was history. I was
fascinated by how secret groups formed in all the major religions and the
growth of cults and off-shoots like Mormonism, Hare Krishna and the
Christadelphians.
My passion was sport and I was a brilliant
sprinter. I won the regional and national schools’ championships and was
hopeful of being selected for the Olympic team. That all ended when I had my
accident. A drunk driver knocked me down on a pedestrian crossing near Old
Street. They thought I would be a quadriplegic but after a month I started to
feel my arms so was awarded the lofty title of paraplegic. I thought I would
never do sport again. I had no idea what I wanted to do and, for a while,
thought about becoming a Catholic nun though a scandal in the newspapers soon
put that to rest. One of the physiotherapists at Stoke Mandeville suggested I
try archery and I quickly learned how to shoot recurve and started to win
regional and national competitions. The rest is history. My silver Olympic
medal in Toronto in 1976 was an amazing experience. I still hate the term “Paralympics”.
You know I still love to shoot and Callum is getting pretty good with the
longbow.
It was my wise old aunt who came across
Castlethorpe through a friend. She thought it would be right up my street and
sent off for a prospectus. I pondered about it for ages then one evening in a
Soho restaurant having talked about Castlethorpe’s unusual approach to learning
she said “Go for it girl!” Her encouragement was irresistible.
The question I came with was “What is
truth”. I became a mole and buried myself in the library researching every
religion and its off-shoots, every sect, cult and spiritual group I could find.
Far from getting confused I became more and more convinced that there are universal
truths and as many pathways for discovering and manifesting those truths as
there are people on the planet. That is why I came. Now I feel like a new
chapter is approaching. I can feel it in every part of me – so to speak!’
They smiled. After a break and another
silence Callum started to speak.
*
‘I
was born in 1957 into an aristocratic family. I was the middle child between two
brothers and two sisters. Our home, if you can call it that, was almost next
door to Castlethorpe at Childwickbury Manor. I can say for sure that money does
not bring happiness. Father was a colonel in the Hertfordshire Regiment and he
expected us boys to follow in his shoes. None of us did. Pictures of him in his
pristine, medal-clad uniforms adorned large oak furniture in the drawing room.
Mostly everyone around him spoke with a plum in their mouth. The house was like
a museum and, despite my family’s wealth, always felt cold. Father owns an
investment company in London and is always talking about the deals he has done.
I think he employs people to buy companies, strip their assets and then sell
them, resulting in lots of people losing their jobs. Perversely, he seems to
enjoy it and this makes me dislike him more than ever. Mother is president of
many societies, loves to swan around Hertfordshire with her society friends
doing, allegedly, good works and gossiping about others who could challenge her
position.
We were all boarded at St Albans
Chorister School. You had to be boarders to get in no matter how close you
lived to the School. My brothers had great voices and also excelled in sports.
They passed their exams but were not really academic. We keep in touch but have
little in common apart from agreeing that our family is completely
dysfunctional. My older sister is a brilliant pianist and is a member of The
BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. She hated singing. My younger sister is currently
at Salisbury and Wells Theological College studying medieval religion and the
mystery schools. She has no intention of becoming a priest. We are very close
and talk often. She is a great source of advice and support.
Something awful happened to me at school
that made me retreat inside myself. I remember my father saying “He’ll come
around, mark my words”. It took me a year. Someone at the school was eventually
sent to prison for a long time. My father’s final words on the matter were “Bad
show what.” He did not have a clue. Charles, our family’s faithful butler,
driver, gardener and has been my best friend and confidant since I was small.
He somehow countered the stereotypical remoteness of my parents. He quietly
supported my resolute determination not to take part in any activity that had
any connection with the military. Charles knew the reasons for my inner withdrawal
at school.
Despite all this I excelled and became
top student in maths, geography, history and physics and in the top five in all
other subjects. Yep, I was a swot. I got a first in in classical literature and
chemistry at Oxford. I developed a similar passion for the mystery schools and the
great alchemists. In the past two years I have been working on my PhD on the
sacred geometry of cathedrals and other historical buildings which has involved
trips to France, Spain and Italy before returning to Chartres Cathedral in
France for three months intense study – especially on the labyrinth. As you
know there is so much misinformation and twaddle been written about these
extraordinary and mysterious creations.
Castlethorpe has been a very up and down
experience for me. I love all the ‘weird’ stuff but, at the same time, I can’t
help questioning everything. It’s what I have been taught to do. It’s in my DNA.
I don’t deny all the extraordinary experiences that we have, it’s just that my
mind needs explanations. One of the worst events since coming here was when my
father sacked Charles. He blew the whistle on him though, slippery eel that he
is, he somehow managed to avoid prosecution. He probably had a quite word with the
Chief Constable at one of their cosy little meetings at their regimental club.
As for the Green Dragon... well, it has certainly grabbed my attention. It has
brought us together for some reason. I have no idea what this is. My PhD is
nearly done and it’s looking likely that Oxford will offer me job in their
history department later this year so I may decide to leave Castlethorpe.’
Folina looked crestfallen by Callum’s
words through resisted the temptation to ask questions. Now was not the time. Leonard
sensed he was next.
*
‘I
know we are all citizens of the world and that to say “I’m British” or “I come
from Ireland”, in a spiritual sense at least, is utterly meaningless yet,
despite this, I’m rather proud to be Scottish. It’s something about my Gaelic
heritage, the hardiness, the poetry, the clans and the glens that runs through
my veins. I was born in Dundee in 1952, the youngest of five children. Dad was
a builder, mum ran the house and in her spare time wrote ghost stories. Life
was a struggle but they worked hard to keep body and soul together. They attended
a local Methodist church and encouraged me to attend Sunday School and get
involved with the Anchor Boys, Life Boys and Boys’ Brigade. I loved it. The
Boys’ Brigade was the best thing that happened to me. I gained the Queen’s
Badge and rose to the rank of staff sergeant. I was the solo drummer in our bugle
band and was so good that my officers said I should join the Royal Marines. Dad
was delighted by the idea, it reminded him of his naval service in the war. Mum
was horrified and my determination to apply at fifteen became a source of
conflict in, what was otherwise, a peaceful household. My application was
unsuccessful. I was crestfallen, dad was disappointed, mum was relieved.
Although I excelled in the Boys’ Brigade
I did not do so well at school. They thought I was very bright and put me forward
to take exams a year early. I failed them all. I left school as soon as I could
and started to work for my dad, learning lots of new skills that would help me
progress in the building industry. Dad was a fantastic gardener. He had a way
with roses and dahlias and we had a cabinet at home full of his medals and
trophies. He made me proud. Sadly he died I was seventeen. I hated God for
taking him so early. My brothers and sisters had all moved out leaving me as man
of the house. I was overly protective of my mother. I need not have worried.
She immersed herself in her writing, pouring out her grief into extraordinarily
mystical and complex ghost stories. She became a very successful author under a
pseudonym.
My friends did not know how to console
me. They avoided me. I felt like a leper. There was a Young Peoples’ Fellowship
group (YPF) at the church and they were the only ones who drew near to me in my
grief. They did not condemn me for blaming God. They had a peace, a grace, a
love that shined out of them. It was infectious. I wanted what they had. I became
a Christian and threw myself into work and the church. Over ten years I grew the building business I inherited from
dad into a very profitable business and employed two excellent people who
managed the business for me. I was a wealthy and respected businessman and a church
steward. I became leader of the YPF, did small building jobs for the church
free of charge and joined the local Rotary – supporting many local charities,
especially for children from tough backgrounds to help them stay out of
trouble.
But, deep down, I felt spiritually barren.
I had no answers for the challenging questions young people asked me about God,
Jesus and the church. I suppose I was like the first moth in the Sufi story we
learned about a few years ago. On the surface everything was great but there
was a gnawing ache inside me that I could no longer ignore. As part of a
stewardship campaign every church member was encouraged to reflect on three Ts
– time, talent and treasure. I ticked all the boxes though put myself forward
to visit older church members who lived alone. This started my transformation.
I spent many hours talking with a ninety-one year old lady called Mrs Reynolds.
Her life story was amazing. Her eyes shone brighter as her body weakened. She
never gave advice but a deep thirst for the deeper things of God took hold of
me. A friend of hers had heard about Castlethorpe so I made enquiries.
Coming here has been an amazing
experience. I may be a little strait-laced, coming from a working class
background and a traditional Methodist church, but my mind and heart have been
opened. I realize I don’t have to know all the answers. I’m beginning to learn
how to ask questions. I talk less and listen more. My frequent trips to Dundee
are to see mum and spend time with Mrs Reynolds. She has seen such a difference
in me and loves to hear about all the experiences that I share with her. I had
no idea about the depth of her spirituality. I’m still in the infant class
compared to her. She is preparing me for her death and we talk about it a lot.
It’s as though she could have been one of the founder members of Castlethorpe.
Nothing surprises her. During my last visit she said “Lenny,” she is the only
person who calls me that, “keep your heart, soul and mind as open as you can
during the next few weeks. There is something stirring in the heavens and it
will mean you trusting in God more than you ever have. This is not about
belief. It is that God is in you. You are part of God. This Oneness will
overwhelm you. Let it!” I thought she may have been referring to her death, but
no, it’s about me – it’s about us.
Callum and Folina stood, stretched and
then sat down again. Everyone else seemed comfortable. After a short pause it
was Hannah’s turn.
*
‘I arrived on this planet in 1950, born
at home in Prestwich, north of Manchester, known locally as “Mount Zion”, to
orthodox Jewish parents of Russian descent - fourth generation in England. I’ve
no brothers or sisters. My parents brought me up according to strict Jewish customs
and beliefs. Tradition was everything! I was not allowed to play on the
Sabbath. Father owns a very successful family tailor business providing suits
to the rich and famous. Mother observes the strict rules for women and works
tirelessly to run an efficient household, supporting other wives at synagogue
and cooking, cooking and more cooking for feasts and festivals. I loved my parents
deeply but grew to despise what religion had done to them. They hardly ever
smiled, even at joyous festivals, though they were devoted to each other. I attended
a fee-paying orthodox Jewish Day School and made many friends with young people
were also quietly questioning religious orthodoxy. I threw myself into my
studies and was awarded a special scholarship to study Judaism at Pembroke
College, Cambridge. I got a double first and then a PhD that explored Judaism’s
relationship with the state of Israel. I turned it into a book. It was a huge
surprise to me that it sold over seven hundred thousand copies.
My writing success was the last straw for
my parents, not because I was an author but because of what I had written in
this book. They tore their clothes and took an oath to have nothing to do with
me unless I recanted some of the statements I had made in the book. I was then,
and still am, subjected to Herem, a form of excommunication from the Jewish
community. This severs ties with all my family but it was too much for my
mother to bear. We met secretly with and it was she that encouraged me to “Get
out there and explore other spiritual and religious worlds.” I ignored her and
pursued a career in journalism, becoming the youngest sub-editor of a national
newspaper. I was successful but lonely. I wore expensive clothes and rented a
luxury flat overlooking the Thames near Richmond. I dated many men but quickly grew
bored with them if they were not interested in my obsession with atheist intellectuals.
It took an emotional conversation with my mother, sat on bench in Richmond Park
one sunny October afternoon, with rutting deer battling it out in the distance,
to change everything. She talked about her own doubts and the spiritual
distance that was opening up between her and my father. She said that she
devoured my book, re-reading it many times. She was so proud of me and many
liberal Jews were starting to come out in public to supporting my views about
the need for integration between all religions in the Middle East. She
encouraged me to think about Castlethorpe. She had met Eleanor on a train to
London. Eleanor was reading my book which prompted my mother to initiate a
conversation – something she would never have normally done. “This is the place
for you Hannah, I just know it. Request a prospectus, I have such a good
feeling about it and sense you will too.” I did and, as they say, the rest is
history.
The vision I had three years ago with the
naked people running out of the Wailing Wall formed the premise of my second
book Leave It All Behind. My appeal was
simple but, according to most commentators and reviewers, totally unrealistic.
In order for there to be peace in the Middle East people need to strip and go
naked – not literally but they have to leave behind centuries of animosity and
conflict, religious dogmatism and nationalistic identity. Countries are created
when someone says “This land is mine.” It’s not. It never was. Castlethorpe has
blown my mind and made me see things with increasing clarity. I feel like a little
child, running around like the boy in Hans Christian Anderson’s The King’s New Clothes. You know the
song right – the one in the movie sung by Danny Kaye?’
Blank looks.
The King, the Queen, his courtiers and
all citizens were fooled into believing the tailor had created some wonderful
new robes for the king. Everyone knew that there were no robes but dare not say
anything, apart from, that is, a small boy who said what he saw:
“Look
at the King! Look at the King! Look at the King, the King, the King!
The King is in
the all together
But all together
the all together
He's all
together as naked as the day that he was born.
The King is in
the all together
But all together
the all together
It's all
together the very least the King has ever worn.”
Saying the obvious in a childlike way in
my book has propelled me into the maelstrom of all the different groups yet
from a totally atypical perspective. Opposing sides have sought to discredit me
using the same argument – that my background is in orthodox Judaism yet have not
been able to recognise the fact that I am still subject to Herem so have no
real axe to grind. I tried to keep my speech, based on the book’s title, to the
United Nations a secret but the media quickly made this impossible. I hate
being a celebrity and have no intention of writing any more books. This
experience has tested me in every way. I have delved into all the religious
groups and their past is so bloody I had nightmares about it all. Despite
everything I knew I had to write it and now it’s done I’m ready for the next
task. I have no idea what that is but am certain my dream about the Green
Dragon is significant. This meeting is significant.
*
‘I’m
just a country lass from Devon see.’ started Val in her best West Country
accent that made the group laugh. ‘I were born in 1959 in Holsworthy, Devon. Margaret,
my identical twin sister, died when I was five. I miss her terribly as does Tom
my younger brother by three years. Dad was a farmer. Mum was a farmer’s wife.
When too much rain reduced crop yields she did extra shifts in the local shop where
she worked part-time. Life was tough but we made do with what we had. We were a
close-knit family and enjoyed each other’s company, when we had time to relax.
I was lazy at school and my reports were
generally poor. However, I excelled at music and drama. My senior school was in
Bude and I loved it, particularly the outings to the beach. I used to paddle
and stare out at the sea, overwhelmed by its vastness. I dreamed of sailing off
to some far distant land and marrying a rich prince. My exam results were
dismal apart from history and religious education. Mum and dad were not
religious or spiritual though would go to the local Anglican church at
Christmas and for weddings, funerals, baptisms and, of course, harvest festival
when all the farmers usually attended.
I cycled around the Devon country lanes
without a care in the world and would often stop in the nearby village of
Chilsworthy to chat with Meryl, the wife of a neighbour farmer, at the spiritualist
church she attended. Meryl did the flowers each week for their services. One
day, shortly after my tenth birthday Meryl said to me “You have a gift”. “I know.” I replied, matter
of factly. “I see and hear people who are not really there - at home, on my
bike, at school and in the bus.” Nine years later I was a regular speaker and
medium at Chilsworthy Spiritualist Church. People would travel many miles to
hear my messages. I refused to charge any money though I knew many mediums did.
The organisation of the spiritualist church, its various groups, conferences
and events did not interest me. It was all rather twee and I could not see the
point. In fact I was struggling to see what the real purpose was of all the
messages I shared. They were very comforting and it was all definitely real;
there was no way I could have known the details that I shared at meetings. When
mum became ill I ran the household and helped my dad on the farm. I enjoyed getting
my hands dirty. When mum got better, that’s another story in itself, I felt I
needed a new challenge. A visiting medium gave me a picture message of a large
manor house with turrets and the name “Castlethorpe”. As Hannah just said, the
rest is history.
In the past three years I realise how dogmatic
I had become about spiritual gifts. It is so easy to create a religion around
them. I struggled with the old-fashioned terminology, the dull hymns and the
same groups of people that started to dwindle bit by bit as the economy of the
South West declined. Spirit was real to me in Devon but, at Castlethorpe,
Spirit feels vaster than the vastest ocean in the world. I dived in and have seen
and felt so many things previously hidden from me by the constant lapping waves
of traditionalism and narrow thinking. I have not made sense of it all. I don’t
have to make sense of it all. There is something wonderful for us seven people.
I can feel it in every fibre of my being. There is work for us to do. It will
not fatigue us so long as we do not over identify ourselves with it. Our
attachments should be few or none at all. We need to make a pact.’
The group nodded in agreement and, after
a long pause, it was clear to everyone that this part of the meeting was over.
*
‘More
tea anyone?’ Val asked, which was met by a resounding ‘Yes please in unison.’
Hannah and Leonard stretched their legs
in Val’s garden. The aroma of delicate herbs bathed the air. Wild plants were
blooming and showing off their colours in the late afternoon sun. A choir of
birds burst into song and others joined in the chorus from nearby woods. This
time Val brought in her freshly made wholemeal scones, her mum’s recipe, Devon
clotted cream and homemade raspberry jam, the recipe of which is a closely-guarded
secret. A short argument broke out between Callum and Val about the right way to put the cream and jam on
the buttered scone. In fact Patrick said that you should not butter the scone
at all but he was in a minority.
The big question was what should be put on
first – jam or cream. The seven were divided. They quickly agreed to disagree.
*
‘Let’s
be quiet again for a while and see what happens.’
After about three minutes Patrick spoke.
‘We have each shared some things about
our lives. Some of the information will be new. The retelling of things known may
have been shared with a new perspective and power. The pact we make today is
binding. We must all agree to it or there is no pact. I don’t sense it is
necessary that we know what it is we are do – yet! We have more to learn and
this can happen here at Castlethorpe.’
‘Patrick is right,’ Sarah said, ‘we have
to all agree. We don’t need a written agreement; it is written on our hearts
and souls. I’m seeing the word “REUNIONS” in large capital letters rising up
from the centre of the floor. It’s being drawn up by the Green Dragon.’
Folina stood and said ‘We are to meet
every five years to share what has been going on in our lives. To share how
Spirit has been teaching though us in line with the mission we will soon know
about yet have always known. We must not get obsessed with purpose. There may
not be a purpose. We will communicate as often and in any way we want to
between these reunions. In fact we will have to in order to find out how long
they will be, where they will be and if it is only us seven who attend.’
‘This pact,’ Val added, ‘is a solemn oath.
We are bound by its simple terms. We are not
an organisation. We are not a
secret club, society, order or new religion. We don’t follow a creed, belief, or agreed set of spiritual principles.
We express God, our essence, the Ground of our Being, consciousness, the
universe, whatever term we use, through our physical bodies, our character, our
personality, our mind, our heart, our soul, our spirit - because we are that which we struggle to describe
in human words, apart, that is, love. We agree to this pact of love.’
Everyone said in unison ‘Yes, I agree.’ The
group chatted for several hours more then returned to their own rooms to
reflect on what had happened on this longest day of 1982.
Meanwhile the four-day old Prince William woke
up, eager for a feed.