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Wonders of Spiritual Unfoldment J O H N B UT L E R

SHEPHEARD-WALWYN (PUBLISHERS) LTD

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© John Butler 2008 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the publisher, Shepheard-Walwyn (Publishers) Ltd First published in 2008 by Shepheard-Walwyn (Publishers) Ltd 15 Alder Road London SW14 8ER

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library ISBN: 978-0-85683-260-4

Typeset by Alacrity, Sandford, Somerset Printed and bound through s|s|media limited, Wallington, Surrey

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Contents Foreword

vii

1

How it all Began

1

2

First Intimations

12

3

Reflections on Farming

25

4

First Revelations

38

5

Clouds

44

6

On Seeing the Self

7

Of Love and Limitation

53

8

Reassurance

61

9

Surprise from Farming

1984 /5

10

A Theme of Love

11

Glimpses from Africa

1986

47

66 72

1988 1988 /9

Kalahari Namibia Return to Kalahari

76 79 84 96

12

Homesickness

103

13

A Time of Study

118

14

Fresh Life in Russia

15

Fresh Views of Faith

137

16

The Work of Prayer

147

17

Approaches to Union

155

From 1991

128

v

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18

Even the Eagle

159

19

Notes from Stillness

168

20

Observations from 2003

175

21

Dearest Nina, Children, Friends …

182

22

Deepening Insights

185

23

Attempt to Clarify

24

What Really Happens

25

Russia

26

A Russian Pilgrimage

27

Pure Prayer Needs No Directing

28

The Higher One is Lifted

29

Beyond, One Comes to Rest

30

On Redemption

269

31

Of Life Unlimited

277

32

Russia

292

33

On the Occasion of George’s Christening

318

34

Glimpses of Absolution

320

35

Of All Fulfilled

333

36

Some Questions Answered

344

37

Of Unity, or Being Oneself

369

38

Emergence to Perfect

385

39

My Grace is Sufficient

391

40

On Spiritual Guidance

400

Postscript

409

vi

From January 2004

191 194

Spring 2004

202

Summer 2004 Solovki, August 2004 Autumn 2004

Winter 2004/5 Spring 2005

Autumn 2005

220 230 242 254

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Foreword by The Very Reverend Archpriest Daniel Joseph of the Russian Orthodox Church WHEN FIRST invited to write this Foreword, I was reflecting upon the death of His Holiness, Pope John Paul II, just two days previously. He was made Pope four years before I was ordained, and has often been in my thoughts and prayers throughout my ministry thus far. I mention him because, more than anything, he put prayer first – and this shone through his life, his ministry, his suffering, and the manner of his death. And yet, the prayer life certainly does not come first for most people: I do not speak judgementally, but out of concern for the human family I see around me, as I try to live the days I am given without entirely wasting them. I cannot remember exactly when I first met John Butler – I feel as though I have always known him, but it was probably no more than 10 years ago. He handed me a card on which he described himself as a farmer, teacher, traveller, and writer. All these things are true. He was an organic farmer well before it became fashionable. He taught in Russian schools. He has travelled to many countries and learnt much on the way; and now it is high time for some of his writings to be read by a wider audience than has hitherto been possible. He has a beautiful, vulnerable style of writing about his life’s experience, which I find most absorbing – almost captivating. But the whole purpose behind his book is to share the insights he has received over the many years he has been struggling to learn at least something about true prayer. Many books have been written on the subject of prayer. Those I find the most frustrating extol the virtues of prayer, describe vii

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various stages quoting from a wealth of source material, and then stop. Thus the enquirer is left feeling even more inadequate and excluded than before. Other books give plenty of advice on methodology, but one can be left feeling rather suspicious as to whether the writer is communicating from experience or mere hypothesis. John’s work certainly does not fall into either of these categories. Readers may well be familiar with a book much beloved within and beyond the Orthodox Christian tradition, called “The Way of a Pilgrim”. The manuscript was discovered in a monastery on Mount Athos, by the Abbot of St Michael’s monastery in Kazan. He was so impressed by the writings of this simple, humble pilgrim, whose sole aim was to learn true prayer, that he copied out the entire manuscript, and it was printed in Kazan in 1884. From encounters with prayerful people and from studying the Philokalia – a gift from one of them – the pilgrim learnt a specific method of prayer, known as “Prayer of the Heart”. It may seem unlikely that such prayer can be harmful but, with the best will in the world, inexperience can lead to unsettling results. For this reason, those intending to explore the world of inner prayer should start gradually and, if possible, seek experienced advice. I say this as a priest concerned lest people get confused, or even damaged, though I acknowledge that suitable directors may be hard to find. John was taught by The School of Meditation, in London. However, his chapter “On Spiritual Guidance” gently but firmly steers us from dependence on purely human guides. With many examples, here and throughout the book, he reminds us that God does the calling, and Himself, through the very circumstances of our lives, teaches and provides. John also writes about his closeness to nature, his encounters with people and places which enabled his search, and the thoughts and feelings which coloured the various stages of his continuing journey. The reader will see that he has had a life richly blessed by many opportunities and meetings and events – indeed my own life has been quite different and uneventful in comparison. Yet we can learn from other people’s journeys, if we go about it in the right way. By this I mean that we have to look at another person’s

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journey, fully appreciating that: a) we all share a common humanity, and b) each of us is a unique human subject. I cannot pursue your journey and you cannot pursue mine, but we can find points of contact, and we can help each other along by being prepared, in all loving kindness, to share what little we have with someone who wishes to learn. Thus, when we read a spiritual book written from the heart, we might feel the need to leave some of it aside, but other things will be of great benefit, chiming in as it were with our own experience, and perhaps taking us that bit further along the road. So it is that John and I may well have different approaches, but we are both committed to discovering stillness. I used to think in terms of a trichotomy: Stillness, the Mystery of Existence, and the Peace of God beyond our understanding. Now, at 58, I am beginning to learn that the first two are in reality aspects of the third, though, at a certain point, it helped me to think in terms of three rather than one. You, dear reader, will find that Oneness is the recurring theme of John’s book, and, I would say, is also the recurring theme of his life. The windows of John’s dawning realisation clearly show that he gets ever less and less before the light of One. One includes all of us, if we would follow too. We need not fear. Properly prepared, loss of what is dark in man is spiritual gain. In losing one identity and role, a greater One is found. The prayer which John describes and practices, transcends ego and images of mind, and comes to rest in the stillness of pure, undifferentiated depths of heart – not empty, but the fullness of infinity itself – the spiritual potential of all that subsequently manifests as worlds. It follows the tradition of many men of prayer, lovers of God who, from living with effect have turned to Cause. It finds itself at home in any Church – or none. Its aim and fulfilment is no longer mine, but One – Spirit, “Source of good and giver of life”, the Kingdom of God and glory of creation. John has good news to tell. In many remarkable insights, he confirms the reality of Spirit. In this he echoes St Seraphim of Sarov’s oft quoted statement that the true aim of Christian life is attainment of the Holy Spirit. Aware that present day religion

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frequently fails to meet our deepest needs, John leads us to consider whether this is not because we so often aim for worldly ends, to the neglect, if not forgetfulness of Spirit? Above all else, he seeks to show that Spirit may be discovered, and realised in practice as the corner stone of life, which it already and actually is. With growing confidence, he describes his experiences of Spirit as indeed the “One thing needful” (Lk.10,42). With infectious excitement the book leads on, each page opening up to fresh glimpses and fuller realisations of the spiritual Kingdom of God. I do indeed relate this to the instruction of Our Lord that we should seek this first (Mat.6,33). From a strong sense of responsibility for the world around him, John writes of his own gradual transition from working with body and mind to the spiritual work of prayer. He came to understand that the struggle against evil is not so much “out there”, as in ourselves. This is known in Christianity as “Unseen warfare” and is also the deepest sense of “Jihad” in Islam. He uses the phrase “To make whole, be whole”, and explains how the individual, in his fall from and return to God, is both cause and healing of the wider world disease. In our conversations, he has told me how he himself was brought up in the Anglican Church – learnt to meditate at 27, and 24 years later “met Jesus”. He shares his life of prayer, but makes few specific recommendations for others, besides “Practice makes perfect” and “Follow your heart”. Rather, in view of the trials of human life, he offers this account of adventures into Spirit to encourage and inspire us on the way. By the time I met him, John had explored his roots through learning Russian and going to Russia. His mother was Russian, but her background did not figure as much as one might have expected in his upbringing. Having lived through the terrifying upheavals of revolution and civil war (1917-1923), including the apparent near destruction of religion, she sought rather to shield her children from the ravages of her own youth. John’s arrival in Russia coincided with the revival of traditional Russian Orthodox Christianity, which he was then able to study and experience for himself. It should be borne in mind that he loves the Church, as

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I do, but he has to be free to write with integrity about his own spiritual journey, as it has happened and continues to happen. Otherwise, the book would quite simply be unreal and, accordingly, not worth reading. I hope you will find, as I have, that the reverse is the case. June 2007, Derby

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WHEN GRASS GROWS in spring and it’s time to let cattle out of winter quarters, the gate is opened, chains are loosed but – will they, won’t they go? Incredulous they stand, sniffing the fresh air, blinking in sunshine before returning to familiar shadows and their daily straw. Until one, bolder than the rest, will take a timid step. First one, then two – a nervous leap. She’s free! The others watch unable, unwilling to believe. A second follows, and a third … and then … stampede. Oh, how they feast on sweet, green grass and kick their heels for joy!

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How it all Began I REMEMBER how I was first drawn to search within. After a few unwilling years in business, I’d gone out to South America in 1963 at the age of 26 to “Make the world a better place.” It wasn’t so easy. One morning, after several disappointments, I was sitting alone on a mountainside when, from somewhere inside me, a voice seemed to say “To make whole, be whole.” I realised that, before being able to help others, I first had to work on myself. When I returned to England, I looked for a teacher, and found the School of Meditation, in London. I worked as a farmer. I loved nature, loved the land and animals, but when they’d asked me at the School what I really wanted in life, I answered, “God.” I never doubted that. I’d been schooled in the Christian faith but I was not now, at this time, attracted to the Church. Thinking I should, I’d tried to find God with philosophy, but got fed up with it. In South America I’d learnt that “good works” didn’t work either, so I came back to myself. My longing for the infinite beyond was pure and simple; my heart reached naturally for the stars. Meditation was always a love process for me. Some people meditate for knowledge or for some sort of practical result, but I wanted love, infinite love – to love and be loved. I didn’t really want to be tied. My favourite picture at school had been of a cowboy riding up to the crest of a hill, over the caption, “Don’t fence me in.” And I remember saying that what I wanted most from girls was the inspiration to write poetry. I felt no problems 1

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with God. As I saw it, my problems were people and civilisation. Meditation was a wonderful answer to that – in meditation, love took wings and soared. But, as I was to discover, one doesn’t so easily shake off human bondage. This is emphatically not a guide book. No doubt there are as many valid ways to God as paths up a mountain but, as far as I understand, the principle in all of them is to find oneself – the One “I am”, the Christ or Universal Self – which may also be described as Union, or pure Spirit, Consciousness, or Being. In the many and varied notes I have kept, which form the basis of this book, I use all these words, and do not worry too much about any difference between them. I have some experience of, and feel open to, different ways and am grateful for what they’ve taught me but, since the time when Jesus appeared to me as personal Saviour, I continually learn to trust in Him. Let me offer a very brief explanation of meditation as I practice it, which is also sometimes called “inner, contemplative prayer” or “prayer of the heart”. We cannot comprehend Spirit with the mind. Spirit is immortal, but mind, as we commonly understand it, occupied with the “changes and chances of this fleeting world” – the domain of “me” – is mortal (Ps.146,4). Only like can understand like. However, beyond our active, discursive mind, lies another faculty – quiet and reflective; and beyond that again, an indefinable but recognisable heart, or soul. This is the innermost essence of what we really are, and can be compared to a drop from the ocean of Spirit. A quiet mind can reflect aspects of eternity – it may for example become aware of stillness amidst movement, but for fuller access to Spirit it is necessary to discover and work with the heart. Prayer usually starts with words, which may be accompanied by more or less heart – heartfelt prayer. It is an ever deepening process which, with practice, may pass beyond surface expressions of the active mind, through deepening levels of quietness and surrender, to the heart. By then it has usually lost most of its words, and may be completely silent, though possibly still retaining some dual sense of God and “me”. There it may rest and wait (Ps.62,1). Finally, imperceptibly, the heart melts. The drop becomes one with the ocean.

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We cannot know Spirit mentally – we can only “be” it. Hence it is also known as pure Being. Pure or impure means the addition or not of something extra which, as far as prayer is concerned, are usually ideas associated with “me”. In order to purify oneself, these need to be let go, left behind – which is called “repentance”. This is the most important process in the liberation of the individual from the bonds of his separate and mortal existence – “me”, which deny him access to eternal life and unity in the “Kingdom of Heaven”. All intermediate experience in prayer should be taken as “intermediate” – if encouraging, as encouraging; if not, then to be ignored and passed by. Final union is beyond description. It can only be known by its subsequent effects. It is simple to explain, but the actual process may take many years of practice. Fortunately, God helps those who help themselves. Much depends on our motivation – how contented or discontented we are in this world, and how determined to be free. * * * Please don’t imagine I know more than I do. Who can know or understand the Infinite? I fully accept the suppositions that, in general, the less you know – the more you speak, or write about it; and, the more you know – the less you know. I have long hesitated to expose my ignorance by offering these notes for publication. I’m acutely aware that, however great and wonderful the realisation, it is but one glimpse of an infinite beyond. Let us suppose I’d made a few brief visits to a remote continent. How could I possibly describe her size, her resources, her infinite soul with a few photographs or words? A thousand other travellers would experience her in a thousand different ways. Incomparably vaster are the heavenly realms – immeasurable, and indescribable by human means (2Cor.l2,4). With our own thought we cannot accurately even imagine what lies so obviously beyond us. However, I have more confidence in realisations, which appear from that mysterious realm beyond my control, as a complete surprise and do indeed seem like gifts of Grace. I cannot explain much more than this, and feel safer not to try, but would rather let these windows speak simply for themselves.

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Realisation is not a personal attainment; on the contrary, it usually comes at times of deep prayer or quietness when the mind is clear of personal “me”. Then, being more able to receive what’s given, we may suddenly realise a completely new level of awareness. It’s a bit like when, on ascending a hill, unexpected views appear – they are not thought, or remembered, or believed – but seen. This may happen outwardly in the visible, worldly sense, or inwardly in mind and heart. What is this hill? It is oneself, and what changes is one’s point of view, or level of consciousness. Realisation is both of the view seen, but also of the viewer, the witness, the one who sees – realising who and what that is. How does it happen? By our own efforts, we can only present ourselves as cleanly and attentively as possible – wait upon the Lord, and watch, and pray (Mat.26,41). Realisation comes, not at our bidding but, as it were, from the other side, like sunshine breaking through the cloud, or screen, of our ordinary, impure and dim perception (1Cor.13,12). This spiritual sunshine is Grace. All poets know how poems appear unexpectedly in the mind – a gift, we say, of our muse. Poetry, vision, realisation – all forms of inspiration – are grades of the same process, which is Providence itself, appearing not only in words and insight but as abundance of “Every good and perfect gift” (Ja.1,17). In general, these descriptions have arisen spontaneously but following deep prayer. They appear without thought or preparation, as attention surfaces, when mind begins to function again and when memory of the experience is still clear. They are not apparently related to anything I’ve learnt elsewhere, and require only to be written down. As such, they seem to have an authenticity of their own. I claim no credit for these windows – I feel they are a gift to me, and I offer them, not as any sort of teaching, but only so that others also may be encouraged in the work of prayer, their hope of salvation, and of being in heavenly places in our Lord (Eph.2,6). * * * Now, approaching old age, I look back over a full, adventurous and interesting life. What has been most significant in producing

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these windows? I have no simple answer, but I have had several teachers: 1. Nature – where I’ve been blessed to spend most of my active years, quiet and alone under open skies. There, with the presence, the providence of God before me, I cared ever less for the words and works of man. There I learnt to read nature as the book of God, and worship in the church not made by hands. Why then did I need anything else? Because I’m also a messed-up and complex personality, with huge guilts that I ought to be better and other than I am. Social conditioning – it’s called, and I’ve spent much of my life trying to overcome it. 2. Love – a long story, with many chapters … through which I’ve learnt that no human love is ever really big enough, and nowhere else but God is ever really home. 3. Freedom – with love, a sure guide – the greater, the better. 4. Over 40 years of practicing meditation /prayer. The absolute corner-stone of my spiritual life. “Lift up your hearts”, we say – if you don’t climb the mountain, you do not see the view. 5. The Church, and human teachers. Through 10 years of daily services and scripture lessons at school, I was well grounded in the language of religion. But, as I began to search more intently for the meaning of life, the Church, as I then knew it, did not rise to the spiritual direction my young mind required – I had to search elsewhere. At the School of Meditation it was my great, good fortune to come under the guidance of Shantanand Saraswati, Shankaracharya of Northern India. He neither represented nor taught religion (he advised us to stay with our own), but was described as a realised man.* At the time, I had no idea what such realisation really meant, but there was no doubting the pure, simple and practical wisdom of Shankaracharya’s words. Before them, the clouds of philosophic/religious confusion in my mind * The great teacher Shankara was born in India, about 682 A.D., at a time of conflicting beliefs and religious confusion. Having attained the unity of perfect Self-realisation, he established a tradition, which endures to this day. Shankaracharya means “One who preserves the teaching of Shankara”.

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melted away. Classic books of Christian spirituality, which I had studied, such as The Cloud of Unknowing, The Practice of the Presence of God by Br. Lawrence, The Imitation of Christ and, of course, The Bible, appeared in fresh clarity and depths of meaning. Above all, Spirit began to be a practical reality – no longer something just to be believed in or talked about, but possible to experience. I recall here the well-known saying of St Seraphim of Sarov that the true aim of our Christian endeavour is attainment (realisation) of the Holy Spirit. I remember so well the excitement of those days as the rather dry obligations associated with my Christian schooling sprang into new life. Of course I wanted to share this discovery with the Church, as indeed with everyone, but I had to learn that my new enthusiasm for universal, invisible and spiritual unity, transcending the differences of religion, was not shared by all. I spent several months in a monastery; I would have become a priest – wanting nothing more than total dedication to this new life, and was deeply hurt when a certain bishop described me as “not sufficiently Christian”. A sense of rejection – of somehow being “wrong” with the Church dogged me for many years, though it also had a positive effect – I was freed to explore ever wider realms of Spirit. I understand now that bodies, focused primarily on outer ministry i.e. visible or verbal expression, characteristic of “normal” religion are less drawn to the ultimate stillness of the inner world. But a balance is natural, and sooner or later, it seems, in the lives of certain individuals, an impulse arises for Spirit itself. Then, lesser objectives fall away. Outer and visible indicators are seen for what they are, and doors open to go beyond. What do I really mean by this – to “go beyond”? It seems easy to me now, for, through long practice, it has become natural. It’s connected with meditation and “letting go”. Gradually, deeper levels of rest are discovered within oneself, which correspond with deeper levels of awareness without. Subtler, inner perception becomes aware of silence beyond words and sound, stillness beyond movement, invisible presence beyond appearance. Indeed, everything existent in time and space may be experienced within the rest of eternal being. With what result? The contrast between

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changing and unchanging, i.e. eternal and transitory life, is seen and realised, and then the consequent facts that one is limited, the other free; one whole, the other partial; one corrupt, the other pure. Although, obviously, our lower natures continue, consciousness comes to dwell more and more in that invisible, or spiritual realm, and draws ever more of its necessary substance from it. Correspondingly, identity with and reliance on the transitory world diminishes (1Cor.13,10). Miraculous, marvellous though the outer world may be, it is but a shadow of its divine origin. That’s where the action really starts; that’s why masters of prayer direct us to turn within; and that’s why, once the taste of heaven is acquired, the soul – if not the mind – is only too willing to return there. When inner light is shining, it needs no other. Unseen, unspoken and usually unacknowledged by the world, it unites, illuminates and heals. Nevertheless, for a long time, the see-saw there and back continues … the sense of belonging and yet not belonging. How can I not love my farm, my wife and Mother Church? I struggle with myself to find the right words … “Should … must … duty …” I hear my father, my school, ideas and attitudes picked up throughout my life, compelling me to be and do that from which another part pulls me to be free. Eventually I have to follow the freedom … the other gets ever more restrictive. Without knowing why, I find myself unhappy, irritable, unable to be at peace. And nowhere does this apply more than with religion and the Spirit. One keeps growing, and at each stage, past lives are left behind. What served its purpose yesterday is no more use today. Yet, like most people, I hold on. Identities seem so real, we fear to abandon them. “Support the structure, don’t be selfish,” whispers the voice of doubt. There is much about man, including religion, which holds us in spiritual childhood (1Cor.13,11). At times, we have to throw ourselves from the precipice, go out into the wilderness and be alone. Matter may cradle, but it cannot mature us, and we do not find Spirit while listening to the voices of the world. I lie on the warm grass under a sunny, autumn sky and smell the earth. Dear earth. No questions here – no labels or demands,

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no foolish words. The agitated world of mind finds rest. The two conditions, are not actually separate unless we think them so. They interpenetrate; one serves the other. It is well described as “Being in the world but not of it”. A while later on, I look up, and there before me, hanging on the walls of my room, I see the icons of many saints, and several more of our Holy Mother and the Lord. The saints are those with whom I’ve had some contact – visited where they lived, honoured their relics, read about their lives. Shankaracharaya’s portrait also stands before me. Long since passed on, he too is considered a saint by those who knew him. Who are my teachers now? The answer seems self-evident. There’s no more need for words, no need for names; in Heaven, all is one … the Communion of Saints … and silence reigns. If I sometimes feel distant from the Church on earth – especially when she’s assertive of being right, I have no such difficulty with this spiritual family. The icons remind me of individual lives, but their presence is not divided. It merges into here and now, into what I’ve always felt by sea, and sky, and quietness of the fields – that ever present and all fulfilling oneness of Spirit, who “teaches us all things” (Jn.14,26). Amen. However, in its approach to Spirit, mind is often so volatile, so devious, so full of innumerable distractions that it is almost impossible to maintain a consistent direction without outside help. In our modern world, there’s a bewildering variety of spiritual guidance on offer, and who can be sure of its integrity? I feel safe with Jesus – our never changing rock. The Church does help to keeps us straight, and mindful of the Saviour. I value her place in society, try to support her and never cease to learn, but, as she has chosen a primarily outer role for herself, so she remains for me. It was more in the inward spirit of Shankaracharya’s teaching, preparing me over 20 years in the School of Meditation that, at 51, I was granted a living encounter with Lord Jesus. And it is, of course, to the Lord’s Grace, received directly or through teachers, that I owe such realisation as I enjoy today. *

*

*

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At this point I also include a few notes about my parents and the connection with Nature, which may be helpful in explaining why things developed as they did. Father was an artist, and thoroughly English. From him I learnt to observe and pay attention to what I was doing, as a good craftsman. He taught me to see the harmonies of nature – to work for what was right and true rather than for gain, to follow my vision and shun the artificial. His insistence on duty towards others caused me much sense of failure until it found fulfilment in the work of prayer. As a practical man, he looked for results and was suspicious of what he called my mysticism. He liked the saying “Moderation in all things”. Hard-working, honest, generous and kind – a gentleman, respected and admired – he lived to a high standard. Mother’s influence came out more strongly later in my life, so I write about her then. Being Russian, we, as children, knew she was different but, apart from telling us her father had been a colonel in the Siberian Cadet College at Omsk, and a few homely details of their lives, she kept it to herself. When we innocently teased her, asking whom she loved most, she said she’d cut herself in three pieces – one for Father, one for my sister and one for me. Little did I realize then that this extreme devotion, so typically Russian, would become such driving power in me. When I was older, it took me back to Russia to find my roots and see with my own eyes, but meanwhile, brought up English with a Russian heart, I inevitably found I didn’t fit. Often mocked when young for over-reaction or “wearing my heart on my sleeve”, it wasn’t until I went there and found this behaviour widespread and perfectly normal, that I became confident in and grateful for the strength of my own feelings. Nature has been with me since my first breath, for I was born at home on a May morning to a world of blossom and bird song. Now as I write, again it’s spring. Instinctively I turn towards the first sweet, swelling buds, tinting winter trees. They used to call me “Nature boy”. I felt more part of her than she of me. I still love to gaze at wide horizons – feel close to earth, see animals and

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something green each day. I’ve watched two great movements throughout my life – the growth of ecological awareness, conservation, organic farming etc. – and the decline of religion. For me, one practically substitutes the other – national parks are the cathedrals of our time. I live in one myself, and watch people come from nearby towns to stroll by the river, feed the ducks, enjoy themselves and rest. Some walk the hills, some simply sit and look. They go home raised in spirits and refreshed – they have a lovely day. No one speaks to them of God, or needs to, for does not Mother Nature heal the soul? It seems to me that peace, eternity, the Oneness of all things – many if not all the attributes of Spirit, convey themselves quite naturally through her. With quiet, reflective mind, all sorts of mysteries come closer to being understood – our troubles are comforted, and love is found for all. * * * For sure, every event and meeting, every smile and tear is recorded in the book of life and mysteriously re-emerges as what happens to us, for better or for worse. The spiritual way is not smooth and, like all who travel it, I’ve had my ups and downs. I see more clearly now that these are due to inherent tendencies of our lower, human nature which rise up and protest as we proceed. To begin with, they may seem formidable, but patient practice overcomes. Every person’s life is unique, as is their search. Some find their way through religion and some do not but, as irresistibly as the spring sun draws earth’s latent seeds to life, so are we each drawn to seek ever greater fulfilment of our hearts’ desire. I do believe in the principle “Seek and ye shall find” and, albeit blind and foolish, and often lost in pride, somehow or other I’ve tried to search for God in the ways He most readily appealed to me – in love and freedom. * * * Some people might look at this book, and see it as a collection of my “thoughts”, but I stress that it is not. If it were, I would certainly not value them enough to publish. They would be but self-manufactured extensions of “me” – the very thing that

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spiritual work seeks to overcome. There is a very important distinction between thought and realisation. One is “pseudocreation”, an imagination of our own separate minds; the other experiences creation as it actually is. In effect, our personal thought acts like a cloud, or superimposition, obscuring the real world, but this is where we often find ourselves – literally, within our own minds, in a world of our own making. A distinctive feature of thought is preoccupation with past and future. Realisation, on the other hand, is always of the present moment, here and now. In comparison to thought, it’s like waking up from a dream. It happens naturally as when, for example, a singing bird breaks through into our thought, and we wake up, realise the presence of another world – clear, complete and wonderful. I have, however, had to use some thought to introduce and connect up these windows of realisation. Although, at times, the distinction may seem obscure, and one may overlap the other, I emphasise again that the most significant passages are not my thought. It should be self-evident to the reader, which parts are realised, and which are not. In order to lead in to the main windows and make them more easily comprehensible, I am going back some 40 years and briefly reviewing the most spiritually significant events of my life since then. Fortunately, I’ve preserved various pieces of writing which illustrate what was happening, and how my understanding has developed. These start with my early years as a farmer, searching for connections between meditation, soil fertility and health. They lead on to a life-changing period when I first saw the Divine in human eyes. I then spent time in Africa and America, struggled much with depression, and eventually found myself in Russia. Throughout, understanding and practice of meditation /prayer develops, and gradually the sequence of personal story gives way to revelation, realisation – windows of beyond.

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First Intimations I N D ECEMBER 1963, I was one of three passengers on a cargo ship to South America. I’d packed a lot into my 26 years – particularly since leaving school. I served in the army as a cavalry officer, and had an eventful year sailing round the world to Australia, where I realised my dream to be a cowboy. Then I entered university to study agriculture, but left in rebellion against science and economics. During my travels, I’d become interested in soil erosion, and many other spoiling aspects of civilisation upon both man and nature. I loved horses, handwork and the traditions of good farming, and tried to resist the tide of modernisation, which swept them all away. I started my own farm but injured my back, and had to have a few years’ taste of business. Full of poetry, philosophy and romantic ideals, I longed to have something to work at that I could believe in. Life pressured me to settle, start a family, and be “responsible”, but I felt at odds with the world. I’d tasted the sweet fruits of freedom, and could find no place, no way … I was tempted by virgin land for settlement in Bolivia, and someone offered me work shepherding in Patagonia. I abandoned a promising career. I remember a meeting when someone said, “We’re in business to make money.” “Oh, no,” I thought, “I’m not.” I wanted to be free to make the deserts bloom … to heal the wounded earth. But what was I searching for? To myself I answered, “God,” but it didn’t sound very convincing to others. “Why can’t you find God at home?” they replied. I thought rather vaguely of “doing good”, but felt more sure of what I didn’t want, and that seemed to be almost everything that other people did. Father tried to dissuade me. The only encouragement I had was 12

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from a motherly Frenchwoman: “You must follow your heart,” she said, “and be true to yourself,” but I didn’t know what that meant. I thought it was selfish, and didn’t understand. There wasn’t much heart about that winter evening, nor direction to follow. My departure for Australia six years before had been exciting and carefree. Now I carried a world on my shoulders. After the long emotional struggle to get away, I felt as empty as the cold, grey sea. It was a stormy passage across the Atlantic. We stopped for two days at Santo Domingo, where it didn’t take me long to fall in love: In an indefinable way I knew that what I sought (and I could not say what that was) existed, as she’d shown me so simply and sweetly by her being. As the mountains of Hispaniola merged into the evening, for the first time in many months I was happy, and knew I was happy. I had some fairly miserable times too – of loneliness, uncertainty and, as someone said, “Searching for a hook to hang my hat.” God was more theoretical than real, and my occasional prayers – a desperate plea. I thought more of outward giving than the inner soul, but it was all interspersed by glimpses of the pure, the good and beautiful. Having arrived in Peru, I found a job in the Andes, where I worked with sheep and read my way through the Bible. But this was the “socialist” period of my life, when I really wanted to restore eroded soils, and feed the poor and hungry. I applied and became an agricultural volunteer. I lived high up in a remote and impoverished village, in a barren valley, long since deforested. I longed to make it green and productive again, as old Inca ruins indicated it had been. Once, wanting a break to see Amazonia, I left the thin, cold mountain air and took a long winding road down through clouds to the steamy heat below. With a companion and an Indian guide: We went by boat some way up the river, disembarked at a muddy bank and, suddenly – were there. The bustling settlement was gone – eternal jungle was. For four unforgettable days we moved in another world – a profusion paradise of life and greenery, with creepers, palms and mighty buttressed tree trunks soaring up to lose themselves above. The floor of the forest is nearly all shady

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and covered with dead leaves. There’s no grass. You have to look to see the light, far up beyond the broken canopy. The Indian slipped ahead on his bare feet, but we found it difficult to move quietly. Vision is very limited in all that growth. We heard tapirs crashing about, but only saw their tracks. Flying foxes – large squirrel-like creatures with huge bushy tails, were not at all afraid. And then we found some monkeys. First you notice a shaking of branches and you strain to see … there’s a movement … and it’s a monkey! The difference between seeing them in a zoo and in the wild is so great that it defies description. They are so free and beautiful, exciting – so radiantly alive. But even using words like these I feel I debase them, bringing them captive within my own conceptions. They are in their domain, their home – not mine, and I know that the very act of seeing them is an honour. I remember those days in the jungle as some of the most significant of my life, indicative of what in later years I was to discover through meditation. As the canopy of leaves closed over us, so it seemed our normal egocentric lives faded away. Gone was the pioneering farmer, the young man agonising over what to do, the constant flow of personal reactions to an attractive or repulsive world. We were absorbed into another life where we existed just as the snakes and monkeys and giant centipedes going their way over the fallen leaves – neither smaller nor greater than they, and having no dominant function, but just being there as coparticipants, held and controlled as they were by the same natural forces round about us. We came to a little beach bordering a stream, where it looked as if a barrel had been dragged this way and that, gouging out deep grooves in the soft sand. My mind flashed back to the illustrated cover of a boyhood book, which showed a great snake, its body thick as a barrel, rearing out of a river to threaten a canoe full of men. Anaconda! For years that word had sent a shudder of excitement through me. And now we looked at the Indian, the word on our lips. He nodded. I wanted to follow the trail where it disappeared into bushes on the far side, but he refused to go,

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describing how it would be lying up somewhere, and likely to spring out and seize a curious intruder, drawing him in to crush him in its coils. We stood for a while undecided what to do, before reluctantly turning away. It started to rain soon after this and we made a cold, tired camp, lighting a fire with difficulty to drive off the mosquitoes. It grew dark, and the familiar hubbub of night cries, squeaks and whirrs joined the dripping trees. The jungle became sinister, hostile – even terrifying. I lay down, thinking of the snake nearby. If I stretched out my hand, I might just touch it. What if the Indian deserted us? How would we ever find our way out? Everything was wet, and I was cold. I sat up, blew the fire to life, took off my wet shirt and hung it over a twig to dry, settled more comfortably and looked out upon the dark trees. And then a marvellous thing happened. The rain had eased, and a few night birds squawked and called in the surrounding blackness. Suddenly I was at peace. I stopped fighting my fears. I couldn’t beat the jungle so I accepted it, surrendered to the dripping darkness, the sleeping Indian – the snakes. Surrendered, and put my trust in forces that were greater than I. And so came peace such as I had never known – an overwhelming sense of almighty and comforting presence. I must have sat a long time, completely at peace, completely happy, for my shirt was warm and more or less dry when I moved to put it on again. I didn’t use such words then – I didn’t even think that way, but I look back on this as my first great spiritual experience, when I knew and took refuge in a dimension that was not of ordinary, everyday living. I learnt a lot in Peru, but I don’t know that I did much good for others. A few trees were planted, a few small things achieved … some public interest was stirred. Helped by experience, and many quiet hours among the mountains, I came to feel more deeply, the transience of things. What’s it all for anyway, if it comes to an end? My own ideas seemed immature, intrusive. The valley was not mine to change, and life could so obviously go on without me. As I thought less of myself, I found much more to admire about the Indians. Who was I, to advise them what to do? Understanding them better, I came to realise that I was one of the

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least, not most, capable of living. I returned home, maybe, a slightly humbler man – more aware of my own faults – with the thought that, if I couldn’t change the world, at least I could try to be a good shepherd, and hopefully, make a better job of my own life. * * * These next notes were written when I was about 30 – freshly back from South America, starting to farm again, learning to meditate, and reading every sort of spiritual book I found. They remind me of how I then thought – of things I’d learnt from others, and some first moments of genuine realisation: Sometimes I feel an infinite strength and love flowing through me, and it seems that by passing a wand over this troubled world, I could bring about the holy mountain (Is.11,9). Only to love, is enough – and in the face of real love my whole intellectual effort seems vain, and I know that without love, I am nothing. Yes, the strength and love were infinite, but the mortal man was not. The world I saw was bedevilled by my personal, egocentric point of view. I struggled to explain it to myself: Love – we are as rings, lined with rough snags of egoism. When God shines through us the beams of His light catch on the snags and become distorted – so we see ugliness and disharmony. As we develop, our rings become smoother; God lives through us in increasing purity. We feel love and see beauty. And I tried to accept the things I so disliked: The odd thing is that when we desire something against the circumstances of the world, we thereby set ourselves up in opposition to them, and are in sin. Trusting – not preferring one to another, seeing all equally in love, we make ourselves available for that which lies in store. This one seems rather theoretical, but it set the right direction:

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The only movement is to or from God. As we move away from God, so we are diversified, we know strife, desire, discord and all evils. As we realise God, we realise His influence pervading all things, and know unity – hence love and harmony. How comparatively easy it is to know something intellectually – to repeat, believe and even teach it; and yet remain another world away from practical realisation. How did I first come to “feel” God? I remember writing this for a friend, upset about old age. And old age – why call it ugly? It’s only when we think ourselves to be our bodies that it appears so, and even then, ugliness to one is beauty to another. Watch railings as they rust, or stones that wear beneath our feet, and turning autumn leaves. No – old age can easily be loved, with understanding that we’re more than flesh and bone. Stand under trees when rain is falling. Feel movement down, down into earth. Bow down and smell the sweetness of wet soil beneath your feet. Take some in your hands – but reverently, for this is you. Yes, this is you. Don’t be afraid. The trees are no less friendly than they were yesterday – they are your brothers, made of the same earth, and when their time is come, they too will share with you the earth from whence you came. And what remains? Didn’t you see Him under the trees? Didn’t He whisper in your ear? Listen again to the dripping leaves – be still, so still. For this is He, and you are He – the trees, the rain, the whole wide world is He, and He can never die. Yes, I could see it – sometimes. But I still felt myself as an individual “doer”, especially when confronted by tragedy, and indeed the whole dilemma of human existence, and I worried much about my duty in the world: For I saw things with the eyes of summer, when sun shone warm and birds sang, and cattle lay full, contented in the fields. But then

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came death, starved and stiff in naked mud, and crying lambs and – worms – and I wept, and fought in anger against what I didn’t want to see. And when, with heart too full for words, I turned to woods and hills, they welcomed me and took me in their arms and gave me strength. And so I learnt the power of things being natural – themselves, neither accepting nor rejecting life, and so allowing the will of God to flow. And I saw that there is no value apart from God, so the value of our work and actions is solely determined by the amount of God we allow to pass into them. An ash tree grew by my farm gate. Oh sister tree, how I do love you. We’ve shared the years together, bending our heads before cold winds, and stretching, smiling in the sun. Always you are here, comforting in your presence when hot tears of anger have put me against the world – and still, with holy stillness in the early dawn with only you and me. Roost for the blackbird’s song in spring, playmate of the raindrops – shelter, shade and strength you give to all who ask. Inspiration to the earth that bore you, symbol of the life that calls, how perfectly your worldly task is done. Dear tree – God bless you. The stillness was important. Besides sheep, cattle and a horse, I kept several sows, which, naturally, produced numerous piglets. As these fattened and had to be sold, I started going with them to the slaughterhouse. I tried to keep aware of the still presence and, as it were, hold them as they went through death. Was it of comfort or use to them? I cannot say, but it certainly helped me, and made me feel I’d done my last farmer’s duty as best I could. Being still confused with too much philosophic and religious reading, I found these “lessons” from nature more convincing and reassuring than anything I learned from man. I remember saying to myself that if I could see it in nature – I’d believe it, but not otherwise. *

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I love sheep. I’ve had 25 years working with them. For me “Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins of the world” is literal truth. I’ve always noted the fact that many saints and seers have started life as shepherds – maybe because to achieve anything with sheep, you need to be quiet and watchful. The sheep in this episode was an orphan from a hill farm where I’d worked. I reared her, but she was always a “fey” character, a law unto herself, nibbling away at the boundaries and uninterested in others. I loved her the more because of it. Something went wrong with her first lamb. I tried to help, but nothing worked. She lay down by the fence and, over 2 weeks, just drifted away. Each day, on my round, I’d spend a little while with her. She really taught me to love death: … and I pondered on death, kneeling on the wet earth beside the sheep, realising that she had a strength beyond my own, for she accepted death and did not fear, nor sorrow for her unborn lamb, nor regret her young life taken away before her purpose was fulfilled. For what was her purpose, except to be, and when her time came, to die? * * * At one time of great sadness between selling my first farm and starting again elsewhere, I was sitting on a low bank of grass at one end of a field. Opposite me, about 150 yards away, my 5 rams lay in the shade under a hedge. I watched with amazement as one slowly got up, deliberately walked across and, laying his head in my lap, gently leaned on me. He stood there for several minutes before turning round and going back to the others. What caused him to act in this extraordinary way? How did he know? He was not a pet. It’s not at all the usual behaviour one would expect from a ram. To this day my eyes fill with tears when I remember. My closest companion throughout these years was a black mare, who pulled a little cart around the farm and carried me through many a changing mood. She was the first animal I acquired when I returned from Australia, and did much to help me adjust to the comparative restrictions of life back home in England. I missed the wide open spaces I’d found out there, where stockmen on the great sheep and cattle stations still

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routinely wore their spurs, and all daily work of moving or inspecting stock was done from the back of a horse. She bore a fine colt foal which, at a year old, died of tetanus. I buried him in the woods above the farm, and next day took her to visit his grave. I expected some reaction but she showed none, and merely cropped the grass nearby. It rather took the meaning out of my personal grief. Knowing the love that arises so naturally between man and beast, and indeed with all natural materials like wood and soil, which then came into daily contact with his hands, I often wondered what happened as synthetics and machinery took over our lives and men were driven from the land. What happened to the patience, the Grace, the cycles and stability of nature, which human life instinctively absorbed? Where did the love go? I feel so grateful to have lived with animals. So many, many, wild and tame – I’ve known and loved them all – and worked, companioned by their sweet and humble lives. When I look back now from, maybe, a slightly more spiritual point of view, they all seem more angel than animal – and who can say they’re not? * * * I used to go down to London to attend the School. They wisely guided me to trust my own experience, and I began to see more clearly the human condition, too. In the Underground, I have a sudden realisation of each person being Christ incarnate – yet covered with a greater or lesser cloud of unknowing. I seem to see each one’s state clearly, and feel I could take each in my hands and, by peeling off the layers of doubt and ignorance, reveal in every one a model of Christ. After living some time in a monastery. I escaped for a bit of air and exercise, walking in a dingy alley near the Westminster rubbish carts’ depot. It was dark, cold, raining – an evening conducive to depression. I looked down and saw in the light of a street lamp, a cigarette packet crushed into the gutter. My God, how beautiful it was, how perfectly it lay there, reflecting

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all the lawfulness of life. How the colour, the water and the marks of tyres radiated their message to me, the town hater and despiser of civilisation, that God lay as surely in that humble sign, as ever He sang in the skylarks overhead at home. My heart soared, and burst out “Oh, I am in love!” This was an important experience, forcing me to revise some deeply negative attitudes towards civilisation and city life. But nevertheless, fate brought me back to the land. I knew heaven this morning, as sun shone over the frosty land. At first I shared it with a little bird, and then with a puddle, and then with some cattle, steaming softly in the yard below. And then a man came, and he alone of all creation, knew it not. *

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Isn’t one of our greatest problems, learning to trust God, rather than ourselves? Nature teaches us one way, but the pressures of human conditioning drive us to the other: What a wonderful lesson is the planting of a seed. Placing it in a small, dark hole where it must first send its roots down and into earth, before reaching upwards to light and thereby to fruition. So, with us. In the small, dark hole of our earthly life, we must make our first explorations. And also, like a seed, if we choose to cling to earthbound life rather than watch its ending as the precondition of entry to a higher sphere, we deprive not only ourselves but the whole creation of its natural fulfilment. Can seeds comprehend the glory of a flower, or man the spiritual glory of his heritage? *

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What does it mean – to trust in God? As coal burns unresistingly in the grate, unaware that through its destruction, warmth and light are generated – so let us be prepared to lay down our lives, possessions and loved ones; living only for what is both beyond and above, and the common factor

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in all things – in which all have their being. For we are neither our bodies, nor our thoughts – we just inhabit them for a while to go through life. We are eternal, infinite, and all things. We are in God, and God is in us. The only thing that can go wrong in life is to lose God. Then we come under the domain of our bodies. Our notions of good and bad become determined by the pleasures and pains of the flesh – one man’s profit becomes another man’s loss, and so there is conflict, discontentment and disharmony in the world. This matter of which to trust, God or man, led me to question the whole subject of love. Like all young men, I longed for it but, after many disappointments, began to feel incompatibility between the desires of personal love, and something, which I felt was bigger. I felt an immensity of “God” within me but, in contrast, my own concepts of life kept everything too small. I remember thinking “How can one fit God into a jam pot?” and did not fully realise – the pot was made by me. Where is the human life that can receive my love? Surely there is none, for when I love truly, I love universally and so must destroy any illusion of individual human being. Similarly, there’s no one to receive my gifts. Only that totality from which they come. So must all expression be sufficient unto itself – fulfilled in its own being, and done as a sacrifice without thought of consequence. Well – yes, and no. I saw it as either / or – the classic fault of duality. But that is how we start. I longed to love, longed to give, yet found myself ever more driven to solitude, remote from human life. At this time, unity seemed a very far away and even unwelcome concept. I didn’t want to be unified – not with those things I disliked and rejected. How hopelessly confusing it became. On one sad day: You are too young and beautiful for me, How can you understand – I serve another God, you see, And He is in the parting too, And so I pass away.

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But Oh, my dear, I know the pain And turn to face your way again, And hesitate – before I pass away. And that led to questioning my thoughtful mind – and everybody else’s, too: Why is it that poetry says more than prose? I’ve tried and tried to say in dry and intellectual terms The reason why (when I thought I knew) Things were, but always failed. Then unintentionally with a flower Or a spider’s web over a doorway, You said it for me – For in my heart I really know, It isn’t the words that matter, any more than the action, But the love I allow to breathe into them, Which carries life and knowledge. *

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Outside in the fields – alone, I found space and simplicity, and felt at home: It rose with listening to a thousand larks. Blown by winds, it chased away, and danced along with autumn leaves. It brushed over hayfields and cried with the lambs. It died with their dying, to live again with the spring grass – and always it came back to me. *

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Alone in my quiet house at night, I hear an owl call. It comes out of the blackness beyond the window, and reminds me of the “other” – the indefinite, invisible dimension of the night, which surrounds the house and penetrates each corner where the light from my lamp does not reach. It used to frighten me – make me unsure of what I could not see – but not now. If I switch off the lamp, I become joined to the night and thereby to the owl.

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The night becomes as it were a connecting medium. If I keep still, I can merge with the night, contain my body and the owl outside, and know that each is part of one. * * * Again – while digging in the autumn field, the rhythm breaks. As I straighten my aching back and look around, a new world opens before my eyes. I see a plough across the lane, and a sparrow picking the last fruits off an elder tree. Behind and all around is still. The silent stillness – always there – but I was turned away, and had forgotten it. Forgive me, Lord.

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Reflections on Farming I O NC E had an orphan piglet. He lived at first in a cardboard box, being reared on a baby’s bottle. He became so tame he would follow me around like a dog, and come for walks in the woods near the farm. How he loved to wallow in wet places and bury his nose in the sweet earth before running back to me, snorting with delight, for a cuddle. But he got bigger and bigger, and time came for him to be killed. I had him salted, and hung the bacon from hooks in the ceiling. I was living alone at the time and ate a bit each day, but he was a very large pig with a lot of very fat meat and it took me over three years to finish. The last piece was green with age and mould but OK inside – if a bit strong. I couldn’t bear to throw it away. After that, I didn’t want to buy meat. Everything else seemed dead in comparison. Pig and I had loved each other in life and, in death, I at least, felt the bond continued. It was an important lesson. Somehow, it seemed to me, my piglet never died. As a farmer, it taught me that the love with which we work is not lost but recycled, and the value of the food we eat is most certainly connected with the quality of man and conditions, which produce it. When my great aunt died soon afterwards, I found these words for her grave: Say not her work is done. No deeds of loving kindness ever die, But through the lives of others, multiply. * * * These next pieces come from my late ’30s and early ’40s, when I was living totally devoted to the two things I loved best – meditation and 25

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farming. The School taught us to live in the present moment. There, I discovered I could not, at the same time, be lost in my own thought. * * * Up and down the rows I went, watching my hoe in the soil, attention outward and steady – pausing, when my back hurt, to rest my gaze on the clear horizons of the fen. My mind became very quiet. I look back with amazement now for I hardly had a thought in it all day – just “Is it time for lunch?” or “How many more rows?” When I went to London I found ever less need to speak. Let no one think that a quiet mind is necessarily dead. Oh no, I was acutely alive to the things about me and reflective on what I saw, probing the mystery of organic farming and how it linked up with meditation. “Life, life is what we are looking for. Life is fertility. Earthly life needs air, water and warmth. Higher life raises lower life to Life. Lower life takes higher life to death. Our business is towards Life. Put the germ of life in conditions where it can work – it multiplies, transforms dead matter into living – transmits life, health and beauty. Humus is the life of soil. “Soil, plants without Life are like man without soul – matter deprived of its due Spirit. The form is there, but completeness is not. Form may survive, but as man directed towards matter, away from Spirit, the direction is to darkness and death.” I knew my instincts were right. I knew there was value in working by hand, with care and attention. Never mind economics! The only economics I cared about were those of life and love – the principles of giving. As I gave, so I would receive. What else mattered? Everyone recognises the special quality of a gift from a beloved – that it is different from commercial utility. Why should it be any different in farming? Love and attention flowed together – life for me and life to the plants I reared. Let nothing stand between. Why should I fear bugs or disease or infertility, let alone financial loss? Life, life and ever more life – every footstep a blessing and opportunity, and of course, all this transmitted to a wider world. *

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I wrote this on request for an influential association magazine, but it was not published. When I queried, Why? I was told that it might not be acceptable to some of the members. It was another lesson to me that in our usual world, unusual views are usually ignored! Someone said to me the other day “We’ve made the muck respectable, and now it’s the turn of the mystery.” I did so agree, and was glad when offered the opportunity to write about it. I’m sure that all of us in our hearts know something of the mystery. It isn’t easy to put it into words; it isn’t easy to be completely truthful; but I think I have the best chance of being truthful if I stick to my own experiences and write of how my own understanding has developed. Several years ago, I was turning a compost heap – rather reluctantly as far as I remember for, although I’d been brought up with organic ideas, I’d never taken to the details of compost making. It seemed so bound by rules and diagrams and patent ways of doing it that, for me, it had rather lost its point. At the time, I’d been newly introduced to knowledge about levels of consciousness, and through the practice of meditation I’d come to realise that there were worlds of consciousness (which one could readily experience), beyond our normal “waking” state, from which the usual daily preoccupations of “me” and “mine” became as unreal as the dreams of night when viewed from the breakfast table. There was no doubt that this “spiritual food” (as referred to in the Communion service, and which I now understood to be a higher level of consciousness), worked. It was the remedy for the world’s ills. One didn’t have to change anything, but one had to wake up or become more alive. When I was unhappy, if I could see my unhappiness and create a space between me, the unhappy man and me, the observer, then the unhappiness was already half way dissolved. After all, it was no longer the total scene. Consciousness and life were synonymous. Everything had some life, even a stone, but some things had more life than others. In fact the whole of life could be seen in terms of levels of consciousness or aliveness.

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Well, as I was turning my compost heap, I realised that what I was doing was creating the conditions for an increase of life. Composting was the process of raising matter to a higher level of consciousness, and all those millions of bugs and bacteria, which we are told exist in good compost, were that extra increase in life, made manifest. Consciousness was what pulled me out of my worldly troubles, and consciousness worked the same on the land. Compost was a vehicle for giving spiritual food to the land. One could forget everything else. Consciousness was what mattered. The consciousness of worms and bugs and birds and plants and of me, the farmer, all lifting the soil, lifting each other, lifting ourselves up towards God. And here was I, with a fork in my hand, beside a compost heap. How simple it all became. Of course life needs air, water, shelter, and something to eat. These I must provide. Now I understood. I could throw away the recipes and work from principle. Life was the principle. Whatever encouraged life was good – whatever didn’t was to be avoided. Life is subject to problems when we view it in separation i.e. from the point of view of little “me” in my body and personality. If we can raise our sights a bit and view life as it were from the top of a mountain, it all becomes much easier. When one experiences a wider consciousness, one realises that Man is in fact much greater than he usually gives himself credit for. No wonder that when he loses contact with this wider Self, he feels incomplete and bound and frustrated, and yet at that level cannot understand why. It’s as though sometimes I’m the puppet, and sometimes the man pulling the strings, and sometimes the audience, and sometimes right outside the theatre, where I’m not really anything other than just “I am”; and I know jolly well that when I’m there, I’m a lot nearer to God and eternal life and the point of it all, than when I’m locked up in little old farmer John Butler worrying about the price I’ll get for my onions. Yet, through all these changes in consciousness, my body stays the same and continues with its worldly tasks, but – differently… Well, what is the difference? Here am I standing in my field …

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To start with, I see things more as a whole. As wholeness takes hold of our minds, so the dominance of “me” diminishes. When we look at life we see not so much my farm, my food, my advantage, as the symphony of the whole. Other lives rise up in value to our own. Respect and tolerance follow. Our first concern becomes, not to struggle with and change the world, but to remember the whole. If we have reservations about the rightness of this way of living, they are resolved for me by the undoubted fact that life runs better. The chaos of rush hour traffic, for example, becomes a beautiful and ordered movement. Tensions, etc. fall away. Happiness increases. What formerly appeared as limited and threatening to “me”, becomes just and perfect in the light of the whole. So it all comes back to one’s point of view. One cannot really divide life into organic and non-organic. It is all organic – all one perfectly just and harmonious whole. What gets out of harmony is ourselves (and through our influence, our environment), when we forget the wholeness and become lost in the part. So whatever efforts we make to harmonise our surroundings without first resolving the disharmony in our own selves, is doomed to failure. The old saying “To make whole, be whole,” is true. How do we become whole (or holy)? When I give attention to something with a wider than usual awareness, I am sometimes aware not only of the object, let’s say a chicken, but of a Presence, a stillness – in which it lives and moves and has its being. In fact I see not so much a chicken, as Presence manifesting as a chicken (a movement within the stillness). The ephemeral nature of a chicken’s life is only too apparent, yet there before my eyes is eternal, unchanging Presence, including me as surely as the chicken, and in that common factor the chicken and I are not only brothers – we are the same thing. I know that this sort of giving attention has an effect on the object (albeit unrecognised), because I know my own experience of coming into the presence of men who look beyond my own small me to the greater Presence which I may have forgotten. One feels oneself lifted, remembered. This is surely what loving is all about

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– the offering of the experience of the Presence of God to the beloved. It is nothing personal. This is the real rock on which to build our relationship with others. In truth we are not separate. We are one. And with plants also, and all the daily objects of our life – when one discovers the same Spirit within them, they acquire a new dignity, a new stature. It becomes appropriate to treat them with respect, to say “please” and “thank you”. I suppose the ancient blessing of the crops was like this – a holding them up to God. Man, providing the link for creation to find its way back to the Creator. What a wonderful opportunity and privilege that is. For Man to offer the creatures under his care the Grace of the greater consciousness that he alone can provide. Isn’t this the first duty of a farmer? I will not try to trace these principles too far into the details of farming, because each human nature will put them into practice differently. Too many rules tend to obscure the point of it all. When we lose the point, the principle, the origin and source of life, the detail becomes fossilised and mechanical and, as in my experience with the compost heap, we are left with a set of rules but without a heart. Action then becomes heartless, automatic and sterile. There are many human institutions, which demonstrate this process in action. It is to my mind the greatest danger now facing the organic movement – that we become too identified with some details of diet or self-sufficiency or compost making, and lose the vision of the whole which alone can truly satisfy us. However, I would like to suggest a few guidelines for the care of the land. Happiness is one of the best indications of right living. How often we hear, “All the fun’s gone out of farming.” If we attend to the happiness of our farms, most other things fall into place. It is obvious that, in general, farm chemicals depress rather than activate the level of life. Artificial fertilizer is less alive than compost. Excessive mechanisation and large-scale operations tend to squeeze out the human element that we have seen is so vitally

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necessary. How much all this lowering of the life quality of the land and, therefore, the food it produces, affects society, I do not know, but I suspect it is significant. I know that the real value of my life has nothing to do with my body. It’s the level of consciousness, or the amount of God that I convey that matters. It follows that the value of the foods I produce on my farm has nothing to do with their size or weight or the price I receive. It’s the consciousness that goes into them. That’s what really counts in nourishment – the inner quality, the life force. And so it follows again, that by far the most important fertilizer that comes on to my farm is from my own periods of meditation, when I give up my normal preoccupations and turn towards God. Unless I let God flow into me, God cannot flow out again, and my works will not be the works of God but the works of me, and correspondingly worthless. It seems to me that our first duty as farmers is to offer the creatures in our care the gift of consciousness – in other words, to love them. They must be given the chance to become as alive as they can be. Contact with men can be their equivalent of our sitting at the feet of an angel. We must realise that a farmer is as a god to his creatures. Care of the dying is particularly important. When we pull a carrot from the ground we are taking part in its death. We have a responsibility. It’s future, both material and spiritual, is literally in our hands. On health … I know how turning to God can relieve tension and care from my body and allow previously latent qualities such as confidence, happiness, peace and harmony to flow. This seems to happen similarly with my farm. By attending to positive life qualities, the whole self-help mechanism of nature seems to come into action. With God in first place and then the dignity of the creature, nature has a chance. With strengthening of this attitude, I find that the influence of disease seems to diminish. When I think of this, I realise that what I actually experience is the miraculous, healing power of God. We call it miraculous because it is beyond our understanding. But what is a miracle if not a visible act of a higher level of consciousness? We believe that

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God is the source of good and giver of life, and what could be more convincing proof of this than the improving health of crops before our eyes? On productivity … when I first came to this farm and viewed with some dismay the cold and hostile winter soil, something whispered in my ear, “You’ve got to give, to receive.” So I took my great granddad’s fork and started digging. And over the years my farm has yielded more abundance than I could ever have imagined possible. Again, it’s so simple, this law of productivity. So perfectly beautifully just. We get what we give. But here I must explain very clearly what I have in mind. Yes, of course, the input of my physical and mental effort is rewarded. Every farmer knows that what you receive from the land depends on what you put into it. But I refer to a much greater law – the law of spiritual Grace and providence, functioning of itself, independent of us, but usually more evident in the measure we deny ourselves and turn to God. Experience undoubtedly shows that the longer I live, the less I know; and the less I interfere in the workings of nature, the better goes the farm. How everything is connected. Religion teaches us that our prime task is repentance i.e. turning away from ourselves and towards God. Then we are saved by Grace; as indeed, I venture to say, I’ve learnt from observation of my farm. It is a microcosm. As on a farm, so in society as a whole. Wholeness lies at the very heart of the organic movement. If it isn’t there, then the movement is not true and is worth nothing. No matter how many members we have or how fashionable our ideas become, if we forget wholeness, our efforts will be in vain. If organic farming is not a more true way, more in line with natural law, and the great fundamental truths of life – then we are wasting our time in promoting it. How we all measure up to these ideals is another matter. I am constantly being swept away by anger, doubt, lethargy and all the rest, but having once had a glimpse of these truths, one cannot deny them. Life is never the same again. The old ways and habits just no longer satisfy. It’s all topsy-turvy isn’t it? We approach life

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from a different direction. But as consolation we find that great statements of natural law such as the Sermon on the Mount make sense: “Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Mat.6,31-33). *

*

*

I did quite a bit of writing for various magazines. Organic farming was then in its infancy, and I was one of the first to practice it commercially. It was an exciting time, as we tried to understand the principles, and apply them in our lives: The other day, feeling thirsty in the field, I roughly tore the heart out of a lettuce and ate it. It was an ordinary, thoughtless action – such a one as we do hundreds of times a day, and might easily have passed unnoticed, but this time something happened. The lettuce in my mouth turned sour, and from its companions I felt a real shock of reproach, almost as though they were physically repelling me. I knew without question what I’d done wrong, and what I must do. The plant had come into the world to give, but I had seized it ungraciously without any consideration for its sacrifice. I went back, knelt down and apologised. I have often thought about plants as having feelings and spirits, but it’s a long way between thinking about something and actually experiencing and knowing it. It made me realise more that ever, that the way forward for farming, as for all walks of life, is to develop our awareness of and co-operation with the “things not seen”. *

*

*

I’m just back from my first autumn selling trip to London. I’ve sold 15 cwt. of carrots, potatoes and cauliflowers for about £80. These occasions often throw me into a confusion. My year’s work is exposed, and the world looks in. Strange hands seize my beloved carrots … bang, crash, they are thrown onto the pavement. My heart, tense enough after the long journey, aches to protect them.

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To most people in London, the little problems of a carrot’s life don’t mean very much. It’s easy to forget, in a hot and agitated shop, that the humble creature, bruised and exhausted under its sales ticket, needs care. I know there are much bigger and more important things going on in London than the fate of a few carrots. * * * I spent an afternoon at an agricultural show in London. For love of farming, nothing could stop my heart beating faster as I entered. After a while, I found a balcony overseeing the great central arena. Wherever I looked, iron and oil – machinery, chemicals, iron and oil. What mad dream is this? What has this got to do with farming? I was with two companions, and it was most noticeable how we were drawn to an Irish seed potato stand. Here was something living and small, which we could hold in our hands. Those dear, simple, precious potatoes were like water in a desert. * * * Oh, I was happy that day last week, when the wind blew and sun shone, and I took my little cultivator down the field and dug it into my lovely earth. In farming, every season has its proper task. There’s a time – usually in March, when larks are singing, and the rain beaten crust of winter soil just begs to be broken. Then, if you lift and turn it and loosen it up, the earth will stretch and swell, and breathe in the spring air and tell you “What a lovely, long sleep that was,” and now she’s fresh and ready for work, and hurry up and sow some seeds. And before you know where you are, the whole mad, glorious rush of growth is upon you. Dear land, dear spring. The fresh soil stretches out behind me. I know my place, I love my work, and the whole world of thinks and thoughts can go to the devil! *

*

*

May is the month when one really notices grass. Our main pasture has been carefully shut off from all fowls, sheep, children etc. since the end of April. If it gets trampled at this stage, grass never really

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gets up again, and makes difficulties when we come to cut it for hay. Out in the middle sits a large old poplar log – beloved play and scratching place for generations of animals, and I watch it day by day submerging beneath the sea of grass. This pasture is a much treasured part of the farm. It’s been here as long as local knowledge can remember. I don’t think there’s anything in creation that I find more beautiful, or which penetrates more directly to my heart, than an old English pasture. Instinctively I’m drawn. Knowing only the surface of its marvellous work, healing, feeding, mothering the earth, fills me with peace and reassurance – “If God so clothe the grass” (Mat.6,30). How wonderful to feel such wisdom there before you – granting its access to an open heart. * * * I’m often asked sad little questions like “What can I do about slugs, etc?” and feel my answers lack that recipe quality that so many people look for. We all seem to slide up and down a scale. At one end we view life as something to be manipulated – at the other, we see only the order and perfection of it all, and any thought of changing anything seems absurd. As a man sees, so he acts, and so fare the slugs. * * * Late this afternoon, before dusk fell, I walked around the perimeter of the fields. There was I, a tiny figure under a darkening January sky, at ease among familiar things, enjoying my farm. Recently, while transplanting some young trees to leave a clear pathway, I’d had to prune off some of their growth. In passing, my attention fell on these injured plants, awkward in their new position, and an impulse arose to comfort them in their distress and encourage their new possibilities. We’d been thinking a bit about service, and I thought then that just to look at each plant as I came to it with that idea in mind, brought me into the right relationship with it. In fact it seemed so right that, as quietly as it arose, it established itself, so I wondered how I could ever have considered my farmer’s duty otherwise. To serve the land – how simple. *

*

*

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A silent, frozen, moonlit night. The cold draws us in. It’s no time to struggle, no more with nature than within ourselves. Close to, there’s peace and warmth and food and rest. The time to work is past. One understands life’s efforts more, the harvests of the fields and the harvests of experience. Now, in the pause between two lives, the harvests are put to use. “Two things have no limit,” I’ve heard it said, “the foolishness of man, and the mercy of God.” I often think of it. I intended to write more of carrots and sales and big farmers and small, but the moonlight is too big for me, my little foolishness too plain. Tonight the other is more real. Why write, why farm, why anything, if not to learn the vanity of things? Why write, why farm, why anything, if not to see them as the forms of God? To sit by the window on such a night. To feel both the awful desertion of the winter Fens, and the over-riding happiness of God. How can one argue against such certainty? What happens to me for those few minutes? I am left totally trusting, totally happy, totally at peace. What happens then to all the effort, the suffering and desires to change? It’s as though they are not there. More light, less darkness. How simple, how strange – one knows that all is just, all perfect, all in control. One knows that without this, one can do nothing. One knows that besides this, nothing else matters. One knows that this is the beginning and end of all things. One just knows. * * * A fine collection of hand tools – scythes and sickles, hoes, forks, spades etc., worn and polished by much use, hung oiled and in place on the walls of my barn. I was seldom attracted to the quick results of insensitive machinery, and preferred to work by hand. In particular I mention the quiet, drawn out rhythms of hoeing, scything and sheep shearing. Few pleasures can compare with that of such skills, carefully accomplished. As expression of love, I cannot better well-directed work, precisely attentive to the needs of farm and man. I do thank God I’ve been able to live most of my life so close to nature – with soil and plants, and all that live thereby – with the opportunity to

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develop a sensitivity towards them. To feel they are as much living creatures as I am myself, to understand something of what’s involved in making food for man, and how nature bears the consequences of our fall from Grace. I realise more fully now the blessed responsibility of knowing nature’s suffering because of man. To share one another’s burdens is Christ’s law (Ga.6,2), the fact of Unity, fulfilled. As realisation grows ever clearer, I dare to hope that, as land is “cursed for our sake” (Gen.3,17), so it is also blessed by our redemption (Ro.8,19-23).

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4

First Revelations SOMET IMES IT happens that a sort of curtain is withdrawn and we see with astonishing clarity, an event, which remains with us throughout the rest of our lives. In contrast, it seems remarkable how much of life is not remembered, but lived as if half asleep. As children, the world is naturally new. First impressions seldom fade. But as we grow older, “Shades of the prison house begin to close” and we descend ever deeper into the self-made world of “me” – our usual muddled forgetfulness of thought and dream, and days passed unnoticed. In adult life, times of clarity occur less often, so are all the more noteworthy. As an illustration and, I hope, for interest, I include this extract from the diary which I wrote in 1957, when I was 20, and worked my way around outback Australia. It was one of those outstanding occasions when time stood still, I forgot all else, was totally happy, and lived the experience exactly as it happened. Having seen oxen working in France, I became interested in bullock teams. Hearing that one or two were still to be found on the Atherton Tableland – an area of high rainfall and thick jungle that lay to the north of the park like cattle country where I then was, I set my heart on finding them. Jack Davison was the kindest of men, and took me into his home. Early in the morning we rode out to the paddock where he kept his bullocks. It was my first real sight of jungle. Eagerly I searched the great, green mass of leaves and creepers, hoping for a glimpse of a python. 38

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We mustered them into a yard. One seldom sees a fully grown bullock. Usually they are slaughtered when fat at two, three or four years old, but a working bullock lives much longer and grows tall and bony, with massive horns. These were enormous. There were sixteen. The plain, wooden yokes lay in a semi circle on the ground. Jack stood in the centre as they milled around and called them by name, one by one. And one by one they went and stood in their place, next to their mate, beside their yoke. He then just placed the yokes on their necks and linked them together, opened the gate, spoke to the leaders, and off they went. There was no rein, no guiding stick – just the man’s voice. I’ve never seen such a superb example of man working with animals. Before the days of tractors and bulldozers, bullocks were traditionally used for dragging timber out of the jungle. They are steadier than horses, and will pull at a dead weight, whereas a horse likes to keep moving. And they are not so likely to panic at sudden crashes. Jack hitched his team to a tree stump and, oh my word, I never saw such a wonderful sight. Those sixteen mighty beasts put their noses to the ground and heaved. He swung his great whip over their heads and cracked it this way and that. Their feet ploughed the ground, they sank to their knees, they pulled and they pulled and – whoomph! Out came the stump. There, with that unknown man, in an unknown clearing far away in the bush, I lived some hours I shall never forget. Was it a revelation? But what is revelation? It’s seeing things as they are – wide, wide awake. As I wrote in the Introduction, revelation may be outward in the visible, worldly sense, or inward in mind and heart. I still remember this event as clearly, it seems, as I saw it then but writing now, 50 years later, I also know more about levels of awakening – of spiritual as well as physical awareness. Revelations evolve with our level of consciousness. Becoming less “visible”, we normally describe them as “realisation”. Both however are characterised by the same clarity, simplicity, happiness, and fullness of meaning – and they are not easily forgotten. First revelations come as a “plus” to our lives – as discoveries and experience, which we acquire and want to share with others. Later on,

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when spiritually more mature, realisation is always of one’s own nothingness. In realising the only Source as God, one’s own story seems of ever less significance, and eventually burns itself out. Our first windows are usually of the outer world. In 1982, I received my first major inner revelations / realisations. I was thrilled and, wanting to share them with everyone, sent out a description with our Christmas card. Needless to say, the response was disappointing! I had to learn that these things are not acceptable to all. This is what I wrote: On several occasions this year, the world of physical form has opened up to reveal another side. These insights came unexpectedly, lightening up ordinary perception. They were not like dreams, but totally clear and comprehensible. They seem to be among the most significant events of my life – the times when I have really come alive. But let three of them speak for themselves. In each case, I wrote down the description soon after it happened: * * * We had just gone to bed. I came away from my body. It was like being at the centre of a great, upturned umbrella, containing the whole world – connected with everything and everyone. With a great exultation of freedom, I remember crying out, “I’m free!” Bodies were like images on the periphery of consciousness (or on the outer rim of the umbrella). One entered them, identified with them, took up residence there, acted and reacted with others – forgetting the connection back through the centre. But one isn’t that; one is also the neighbour; one isn’t separate. I wasn’t one body any more than any other; I wasn’t any of them. I was way back, yet embracing all. What then, I asked, is the body? It’s a reflection of an aspect of universal mind, which we take to and superimpose with our own imaginary separation. There was no feeling at all of God or Self extra. That was I. What then am I doing lying in bed? I’m not tired! The vision slowly withdrew, leaving me excited and very happy; knowing it was only behind a cloud and that in time, and with work, it would return.

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What ancient teaching says is right … there is no bondage. All is free, and a free man knows that everyone is free. * * * On another occasion, similarly on going to bed, I saw the whole of the last 15 years or so of my life, laid out before me, all together and at once – something like a cine film strip. I was totally free of it; not connected in any way; I was as clean and bright and untainted as light itself. * * * This next experience came after meeting with an old friend. It lasted much longer than the others: I was meditating – and was swept up, lifted far beyond earthly separation, where there was no question of hanging on, where thoughts and diversions were irrelevant. Further and further, from where, looking back, her body seemed like a paper model on a distant screen. It was exactly the experience of human love, resting on a human heart, but infinitely, infinitely more so, and without a body or any of the limitations of doubt, or results, or reciprocation and all the rest. It was love such as I have longed for all my life, and there we were joined in love, held in love, united in love, unto the uttermost reaches of eternity. I know, for I have been there, and seen it. Free of all fear of age, separation, doubt or difference – deeper and deeper without end, sinking ever more wonderfully into Love’s heart. All things come from there. The body that had held mine was none other than Love’s itself; her looks, her gestures, were all expressions of the One Almighty Love coming straight from God. If only people knew how totally free and pure and perfect they really are. Their reality is Love; they are Love; their bodies are only shadows. You can imagine the effect of this experience – creation is like a photograph – it’s no substitute for the real thing. When one has lain on the heart of Love, nothing else will do. * * * The aim of meditation is not visions, but union. Anything that can be described is not fully union, for it presupposes a duality of subject / object.

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Therefore, the usual advice given to those who meditate is: Whatever happens, go beyond. Sometimes, however, it’s too compelling to ignore! A couple of years after these first “glimpses”: Where meditation normally ends, here it starts. Body consciousness, thoughts etc. are left far behind – it takes quite an effort to remember what one’s “normal identity” is. One can face the world, which seems very small and peripheral – like broken fragments, or spilt milk. It is past, a result, a product, an expression of the Self, modified by the separate existences it is passed through. One cannot do anything there, because it’s like crying over spilt milk. One can face that way, or inwards; inwards, which is really the only way – except that it isn’t inwards, but all ways. What is there? “City of God, how broad, how far outstretch thy walls sublime.” That’s how it is. One could enter or leave the world at will – take up different embodiments; from here one could act freely – one could “do”. If I had spoken, my words would have come from here. “Me”, separation, had no part in it at all. I understand why yogis stay for hours in meditation. It’s so wonderful – why would one ever leave it? It is real – the world is unreal. Here, one knows, sees. One sees how it is, how it is organised. One sees what the world is. One sees it as clearly as one sees a bird flying across the field. A friend’s mother is dying. In death, the being withdraws from its shell, merges again with the universal, like quicksilver coming together. Maybe, in time, whatever is left of personal beliefs will emerge again – embody. From this point, behind the screen of life, death is not going, but coming, returning from the far off land. All effort in the world is because one is not here. So, not knowing, one fears, doubts, and looking outwards not inwards for one’s needs, condemns oneself to perpetual struggle and eventual failure. From here, any insufficiency is incomprehensible. * * * Being, pure being. As bubbles rise up and burst – so it is when we come into being. Every doing, every action of mind and body, every effort to remember, to be, to sort out, to improve, to help –

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let it all go, let every, every, every thing go, every denial, every doubt and fear and difficulty. There is nothing whatever hindering us except what we hold on to. Then Being is known; one stands as it were at the centre of the sun, and all things are comprehended and governed in its radiance. Nature does everything. Yes, from Being arise freedom and joy. Being is not a denuded void, but totality, fullness – Oneself as one has completely forgotten, so wrapped up have we been in separate existence. Immersed in Being – no, BEING , just Being, all is contained within oneself, is part of oneself, is lawfully ordained by the Self, is the play of the Self. Self sees Self and loves Self, bubbles over with the joy of Self, and rests in Self. Bodies and mind are not at all necessary to Being. Being is of itself. We only have separate bodies and minds because of past and present attachments, which hold us like sticky flypapers, and – behold the consequence. *

*

*

And then, from time to time, something like this just happened: “Wave upon wave of happiness surge forth from within. Scraping up my pudding is divine music; the perfect ordered beauty of disordered, post-lunch plates, the pen, the writing – one cannot describe, discriminate, divide. One is totally wrapped up in loveliness.”

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Clouds IT IS obvious enough when one looks at the sky That the sun is obscured when clouds pass by, With this natural fact I’ll endeavor to show How the problems of life can diminish and go. For problems arise when we take by mistake, Changing scenes for our permanent state. Within each of us shines a similar sun Dependent on nothing, beholden to none, In all things sufficient, with freedom and bliss, It’s there from our birth, and it’s what a man is. Now that you may query, but look and you’ll find How your sun gets hidden by clouds of the mind. Mental conditions of various sorts Consist of multitudinous thoughts, We think of so many by day and by night That we almost smother our inner light, So it’s hardly surprising we then do not see That conditions are clouds, and they cannot be me. Some clouds are so busy, so much on the go That the inner light gets no chance to show, But others sit heavy, lazy and grey With no inclination for going away. 44

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Clouds

We slump in inertia under their spell And often complain that we don’t feel well. There are clouds of loves, and clouds of hates, And clouds that produce quite extraordinary states. Others get angry, they struggle and strain, And some of them suffer terrible pain. But whatever a cloud may think or do, A cloud is a cloud and it isn’t you. There are times for us all when things are not clear And we worry and wonder at what to do where, For most other folk get as silly as me When we hold to our clouds and then cannot see. But the fact should be noted, and then we will know That clouds may come but they also go. Some clouds look important and from a great height They like to insist they are quite all right. This sort are especially hard to see For they really believe most convincingly That they have their work and they know their way, But watch them with care, for they’ll lead you astray! And also convincing are clouds that instill Thoughts of “Can’t” and “Won’t” and “I never will”, That lay one open to every fool Who writes a recipe, makes a rule, But if we observe them, experience shows When clouds are surmounted, our confidence grows. Poverty, sickness, depression and fear, Thoughts that are horrible, thoughts that are dear, Dreams and illusions of every kind, They all of them are but clouds in the mind. Despite all appearance, through every one Shines the perfect, unique and sufficient sun.

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In every eye shines an inner light, When cloudy it’s dull and when clear it’s bright, And according to this our lives will appear Dark and uncertain, or simple and clear. All wrongs become right and all difference, one, When we banish the clouds from our inner sun. With inner light shining bright and serene, Each man is a king and each lady a queen. There is nothing more lovely below or above Than the light of reason, the light of love. This is the secret of philosophy: That all are essentially noble and free. The sun may be hidden, the clouds may be dense, Life may seem hurried and worried and tense, But these changing states, they cannot be true, Clouds may change but they don’t change you. Freedom from problems of every kind Is found by those able to master the mind. With confidence I poured it forth. It’s not so difficult to know something mentally. It takes longer for the whole man to conform to what is known.

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On Seeing the Self 1984/5

A LTHOUGH ONC E described as a “total lover”, I still had much to learn. I only partly understood that the response I so longed for lay beyond our human means. I looked for fulfilment where it could not be found. Unwilling to accept social requirements, which bid me compromise and curb my feelings, I received much hurt and little comfort from the man-made world. I preferred nature – though she, now, was no longer the whole answer. I’d been happy as a farmer but, by the time I was 47, this had passed its peak. There was one student in the School of Meditation with an unusually open character. One evening, after a meeting, we sat and, as was our custom, closed our eyes and paused: One night we sat together, shy, And knowing not what to say, We turned within to silence, for The ending of the day. And from that inner listening, A marvellous vision grew, Our souls rose from our bodies and I merged as one with you. Our bodies stayed, we did not speak, And then, quite plain to see, Above us shone our common self, In which you merged with me. 47

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In this case the Self appeared as a “third point”, inwardly visible, containing and uniting us, but it had been evident in her before and became even more so afterwards. What does it mean – to see the Self in another person? We normally see it in the eyes, the “windows of the soul” and it’s all to do with those clouds – the inner curtains or veils of the mind, being open or closed. They are our personality, thoughts etc., the impure part of us connected with “me”. When there, that’s all we see; when absent, and the mind and heart are pure, the inner glory is revealed. And we love it, we cannot not love it, for it is very love itself. Some months previously, I had been at an exhibition of photographs, showing Shankaracharya, informal and relaxed on pilgrimage. While others went downstairs for refreshment, I stayed behind, wanting to feed only from the wondrous depths of his eyes. What held me but the Self? And now I saw that wonder once again: Most dear, most lovely, living light In deep response from honest eyes … We all know to some extent that God is within us. We acknowledge it as the Rights of Man, or Human Worth, but this is just scratching at the surface. Like the skins of an onion, our human personality imposes layer upon layer of “covers” over and around our basic, primal being. Think how often we use the phrase “I am”. Usually it’s with some addition of name or quality etc. But when these additional covers are removed or seen through, then that pure being “I am”, may be glimpsed in amazing clarity. It’s both “no thing”, but also the spiritual substratum of all creation. When two people fall in love, this seeing the Self is usually most evident but which comes first I cannot say – the two are just different aspects of the same thing and lead into each other. This was my first great realisation of its spiritual wonder: From deep within your shining eyes Revealed, the Spirit ocean lies. Unfathomable depths I see; Incredible, this love for me.

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This was not just woman that I saw, but God. When I write that it must be understood that I saw as much as I was able, or given, to see. It may not seem much in comparison to our supreme example, the Transfiguration (Mat.17,2) or the lesser effect of Jesus looking on those sent to arrest Him (Jn.18,6), but nevertheless, within my capacity to see, it was momentous, and more than enough to bring renewed inspiration to my spiritual quest. Normally, we receive teaching through an intermediary but, when the Self is experienced directly, that source itself becomes our teacher. So it was in this case: The love that you give me, surpasses by far The love of a woman, so open you are. The looks that you give me, they open the door Of a heavenly loving, an infinite store Of blessings, caresses, love fluid and fixed, With God and yourself inextricably mixed. Over the barley field, over the fen, I hear your voice calling, again and again. Swallows a-sailing, sparrows in straw, Bear twittering tales of the one I adore. Flooding forth bliss all over the land, You ardently lead me to understand – That you are the singing and you are the song, From you they come springing, to you they belong, Between you and me and the moss on the wall, There is no separation, no difference at all. With no one to claim and no body to find, The heavenly marriage is all in the mind. The world as we normally know it, divided into the duality of you and me, with all that results from division, exists only in our mortal, “sinful” or “impure” perception. As love expands, these apparent divisions melt and unite, and the extent of totality experienced within us is reflected in what we see outwardly. How sweet, how pure and perfect it could be! But how can such a fact be reconciled to the impure and contrary conditions, the ordinary

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personal desires of our human lives? For a while, the wonder of it swept all that away but, as the implications sank in, these forces of the world rose up to challenge it and tore our lives apart. As never before, I felt the awful contradiction of our two natures, the Spirit and the flesh, and swung between confidence and despair in being able to cope with it. On the one hand: O lovely beloved how can I despair, With such certainty knowing that my lover is here? Where, held in that loving upon which I feed, I find my salvation and all that I need. and on the other: Oh God, how trapped in circumstance are we, How burning … love’s intention to be free. Like pacing tigers, up and down we roam The regulated cages of our home, Or stupefied, by keepers’ passage crouch Midst creature carrion and iron couch, While inexhaustible, life’s tea-pot pours The baubles of the passing hours. How could we be both so wonderfully one and so dreadfully apart? And besides, as I saw the Self so clearly in her, why didn’t I see it in everyone? In fact I did, occasionally: I am in love with the depths of you, I am in hunger for the depths of you, For the deep, clear depths of your open eyes, Opening gateways to infinite soul. And nothing else will do. And I only want to draw closer, and deeper and deeper into you, And nothing else will do. Grasping your hands, Your body frame won’t do –

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It’s like prison bars which I grasp and gaze through at you, This hopeless barrier in which I visit you, A hopeless once a week prison visitor While you serve your sentence in the flesh. And sometimes I see you in another person, Those same clear open depths, but this is rare; More often one meets a substitute, A busy, noisy agitation, or fear, or baby-talk, “I must get on,” or maybe just a screen of dullness. And virtually all human exchange becomes A presentation of what people are not, Providing everything except the one thing that matters And the only thing I want. Now, 20 years on, I read those last lines and, especially the words “I want” with a greater sense of danger. The monster of personal “me” was beginning to intrude. I did not so well appreciate then that the barrier to seeing was as much there, in me, as in the other person. My own dismissals and criticisms, my expectation of disappointment, created those very conditions, which cut me off into separation. It was a classic case of pride coming before a fall but, at that time, even if I partially realised it, I had no will to escape. To see the Self in another person, not once but over several months, and not only to see it but to love it and be loved in return: No map can measure Thee, nor man can know Thy Self divine … My God, the shadows flee … That radiance is beaming straight at me. I am not, of course, the first man to see a woman in this way. Every lover knows something of the wonder, and how can we possibly measure it? Each time it is unique. I can only write of the impact it had on me, and this was of cosmic dimension: Who are you that I kneel before, My head upon your knee?

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Last night you filled the universe And now you comfort me. Oh woman, woman, rapt in awe, Before your scale I bow; You were before the universe And sit beside me now.

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Of Love and Limitation EX PE R IENC ING BOTH ecstatic realisation of radiant truth, and miserable imprisonment by all that prevented it, I naturally tried to follow the light. What cared I for human rules in the face of such glorious freedom? Having seen life, I could not go back to death: Oh miserable world crushing love beneath your miserliness, Under the pretext of helping or protecting, Or believing some fearful reasonableness That prefers the familiar, muddy, duck pond To the uncharted ocean, made for adventurers. The one thing true love never does is make demands, The one thing untrue love always does is make demands. Love taken carefully remains an infant, Wounded by carelessness at every turn; Wrapped in protection for its safe containing, Wary of trouble for its own concern. Beware the mind with cautious reasoning, Fearing beyond its watery doubts’ turmoil, Ducks in the mud, let quaking hearts deny it, Rouse up the hero to the battle royal! Great love itself, enfolding wonderful, Rolling aside the mountains of dismay; 53

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Almighty ocean, pouring, soaring, wonderful, Roaring these mouse timidities away. Who will accompany me beyond this harbour? Who will come voyaging the endless sea? Great-hearted woman, at your moorings straining, Rouse up your gipsy fire and burn them free! “Amor vincit omnia”, the ancient fable, Love conquers everything and never dies. Comfort my darling, and be firm believing, Trust in the moment, and in love be wise. As to a pivotal third point, I always came back to practice. Both despair and joy can give wings to prayer: O morning mist, and cuckoo call, and dawning of the day, Into your surrounding me, my soul would slip away. O God, my God, I turn to Thee, alone my heart despairs, Your sight alone can guide me, for mine is mist’d with tears. I feel my life disintegrate, I know not what to say; All that I thought I knew or sought, it dies and falls away. I’ve loved your face in nature, and romantic eyes have shone, But nature now repeats herself, and all the girls have gone. Your skies no more enthrall me, I’ve seen the spring before; Like outer coverings they change, and pass, and are no more. O ocean of eternity, the scatterings of Thy foam Are what, in our blind ignorance, we call our earthly home. O take me, hold, devour me, embrace me unto Thee, I have no wish to stay outside Thine all absorbing sea. O deeper, deeper, without end, O take me more and more, I reach into the ocean, and no longer heed the shore. All that I know, I leave behind – all that I thought as “me”, And as a liberated soul, I gently merge in Thee. Of that beyond creation’s dream, I only know that there I’ve been.

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From deep, from deep uncalculate, I cannot say from where, But like a bubble rising up towards the open air, From far beyond all surfaces, the sounds of life begin; Creation spreads before me, and again I’m back in spring. But now my hope is heartened, my depression reassured, I face the day undaunted, reunited with the Lord. And then, back again in reaction: The The The The The The

non-life of life non-work of work non-marriage of marriage non-home of home non-importance of important things great non-event of embodiment in this world.

Unity was there before our eyes. Oneness of Spirit was open and obvious. We knew we were one but, finding no answer in our worldly lives, it burst out elsewhere in surprising ways: O deepest longing through a night Of harvest moon’s romantic light, Where are you, O my love so dear, To share with me this moonlight clear? O moonlight, lovelight, midnight clear, O bring to me my darling near. So strong my wish, so deep my prayers, With the moonbeams she appears. No separate form within these beams Appears, but as the moon she seems; The moon itself is named your name, My loved one and the moon, the same. As harvest rustlings bend and blow, My love becomes the wind also;

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No words you speak, nor voice I hear, But you empower the moonlit air. As midst the moonlit cloud she soars, My soul lifts up to dance with yours, And there we loose and cast aside The masks of being identified. O far beyond all fences, free Of mortal partiality; As wisps of misting disappear, Dissolving into cloudless air, So, you and me (whatere’ that be), Ascending through identity, Resolve into our substance pure And there unite for evermore. So, merged and mingled, two as one, My prayer is met, the dance is done; In moonlight, lovelight, soft and deep, With you within my heart, I sleep. From force of separation we expanded to beyond; the unity was obvious, both inwardly and out: Upon a hill, with misty rain, From deep I called upon your name. I called and called so deep and wide That nature’s veil was drawn aside, And bit by bit, and you the same, The vision grew, light was revealed Till light did shine from every stone, And tender lichens glowed sublime And all was you, and you were known To be myself, with all that sang And worshipped in such glorious light Of vibrant love, of Grace so bright, That tears broke forth and dimmed my sight.

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What were we to do? We were neither of us free. It was impossible. Two levels of existence stood opposed. Yet it was equally impossible that so great a realisation should not triumph in the end. In spite of opposition, love transformed everything and, again and again brought me back to the spiritual reality beyond the outer form: My God, this sunset on the winter fen Explodes the blind restrictedness of men! With open heart, enlightenment received Gives brilliance to everything perceived; All aberrations merge in mystic light, All free from shadow, beautiful and bright; And even plastic rubbish – filth made pure, Lightens the darkness we so oft endure. With recent rain the watery land replete, Sucking and squelching at my passing feet; The dog ecstatically a-running wild, Drunk with sensation like a crazy child O’er dormant fields, a soaked and seeded sponge, With curlews calling while the plovers plunge, And steam-breathed bullocks deep in misted sea, Startle as pigeons burst from roosting tree. All this I see and still pursue my way, These treasures do not tempt me here to stay; For love’s sweet heart a-beating I have heard, And love’s sweet whispering of love’s sweet word, And to that heart a-beating, sounding through These outer coverings of earth and you, Unto my love, so beautiful, I call, Until once more, into this world I fall. Death is swallowed up in victory (1Cor.15,54), and so are mortal love, mortal ideas, mortal anything when their eternal origin is found. Paradoxically, many of our love problems arise because we do not love enough, beyond the limits of our so-called lives:

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Oh give me a woman as great as the sky, Whose love is as deep as mine is high; Who spans the heavens, and nothing debars, Whose soul within her contains the stars. Oh raise me a woman from winter field, Whose earth brown eye can mist and yield; Who, warm in this frozen, lonely land, Will come towards me and understand. Alone with the lapwing as evening falls, Awakened and open, my soul recalls The musing that rises from nobody knows, The magical spring whence poetry flows. Midst darkening dusk and whispering reeds And moorhens splashing in water weeds; By deep cut dyke and emerging corn, Love comes to my heart and is there reborn. And whence indeed does poetry arise? One moment it isn’t, the next it is – it’s there, and we write it down, as every poet knows. How much less do we understand the mysterious happenings of life. Great love is always crucified on earth. It must be so. Our lives of limit are not able to contain it and, feeling threatened, go to fear and law. In heaven there is only one law – of love unlimited, but fallen man has laws for everything: Here, I intended to be close to you, Undisturbed and all at one with you. As North Sea breakers beat on sand and stone, I suddenly realise I’m not alone; But you’re beside me, walking on the beach, Invisible, but seen and within reach. Here, in grey harmony of winter’s wish, Where Sunday lovers walk and fishers fish;

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Of Love and Limitation

Accompanied untired by breakers’ surge, Grey sea, grey mist, grey sky all greyly merge And through grey evening’s curtains’ grey befall, The soft grey present of this time is all. How distant seems love’s opposition now; What law can such behaviour allow? What other world exists from whence arise Such damning thoughts, to hurt and criticise This over all most wonderful of gifts, That from our puddle of creation lifts And ennobles, magnifies and heals, And ever deepening, more wonderful reveals The heart’s direction known to every soul: The less the limit, then the more the whole. Poor fear of bigger things beyond the bound Of what has been already known and found; How fearfully we cringe and hesitate And hold on to the old familiar state, When love might in its sweet adventure draw Us ever closer to fulfilment’s store. Is love so selfish, that it overrides? It does, despite what jealousy decides. With you, inclusive is the world contained, Why then is opposition so maintained? I’ll tell you why: the fear of being alone, And also greed, that wants love for its own, Reduce the spirit of love’s liberty, And that reduction brings catastrophe. Confined, entrapped within possession’s wall, Great love diminishes, being kept too small, And fear of losing what our habit holds, And of the consequence as love unfolds, Leads men to regulate and count the cost, Discovering too late that love is lost.

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At first I hardly knew what was happening. I only felt that half of me had died. It seemed we had lived through our own personal drama of divine incarnation, crucifixion and ascension back to Spirit. Now, in meditation, I listened to the cosmic heart, which I had loved on earth. Meditation acquired a new, vital intensity – no longer being an aid to life in this world but becoming that very life itself. Deeper and deeper I sank into its depths and felt its presence ever with me (Mat.28,20): Clear flow the waters in Lathkill Dale And I think of my darling as I walk through, What message these waters, this valley tell, What interconnections ’twixt me and you? Moonlight and wind through the surfing trees, I hear my beloved’s “I love you now.” “Oh where, my beloved?” “I’m here with you.” And again your voice whispers, “I’m with you now.” How can I summarise the magnitude of the experience and the impact it had on me? At the time I described it at length and, when I read back over what I wrote then, I am still amazed. I suppose I was literally blown out of my mind in the sense of my usual identification with mind and body, yet visions pass and life goes on, and I could not stay in the new condition. All the long established forces of habit pulled me back. And that, I came to realise, is the unseen spiritual battle – the passions of the body at war against the soul (1Pet.2,11). My previous dedication to farming had by then outlived its time. Completely overwhelmed, I could no longer live within my previous life. I wanted no other teacher, nothing else but love. I left my home and farm, left the School, and, taking the long, lonely road to nowhere, felt all else but love disintegrate about me: Alone I reach out into you, endlessly expanding, Drawing you into my heart and being drawn into yours. Now, the immensity of love takes over – There is just love.

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Reassurance A BOUT A year later, I was out walking: And there was golden light … there from my point upon the ridge, I saw … I saw the misted valley at my feet, I saw September sun. I saw … but whether vision comes from sighted seeing, that I do not know. I saw the golden light. There was impression of figures, rarefied but distinguishable; as when we try to look at the sun – it is too bright, yet bodies, clouds appear in front of it. You were there and so was I. I did not see us as such, but I knew it. We belonged there and we were together. I saw that in all the real areas of being (and that is infinite), you and I are one (married or whatever), as lover and beloved, in the godly, angel realm. I can hardly express the utter joy of realisation of our heavenly union, the light, the radiance, the glory, the indescribable beauty of it – the overwhelming totality of love. I knew I may have to face further trials, but you would be with me. My God, a soul mate is most truly that – how little we glimpse or guess its full potential. There is no age as we know it, no past or future time. All is beautiful, radiant, joyful. Darkness, unhappiness belong down here. Earth seems “down below”. One looks up at this shining world. Our existence down here is only because of our limitations, our shells of embodiment – physical, mental – anything that builds up finite demarcations of the infinite. To be open – open minded, open hearted, open anything, opens the finite shades of separation and the light shines forth. 61

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Such revelation is instant knowledge. One sees, one knows, one understands. It explains our irrepressible yearning for love, no matter how unattainable; for beauty that does not fade; for truth that always just eludes us. It explains the frequency with which we feel torn between these ideals and our duties, our loyalties to this world. It explains our sense of exile, of being trapped; our longing for space, and yet our loneliness … the tears of disappointment at a love that isn’t. Why are we here on earth and not at home? Why are we separated? I used to say, “I came into this world to be a farmer.” How did I know? As a child, I sometimes referred to “before I was born”. How did I know? Am I really a shining one – a fallen angel? Is everyone? What on earth entices us to leave heaven and come down here? Did I really want so much to be a farmer? What are these associations we call marriage, families, relationships, that so seldom live up to our expectations? Are they just travelling arrangements, comforts in exile, substitute shadows of the real thing? Are they here to prepare us for a life to come? They stretch our capacities, work certain ambitions out of our systems, provide some basic needs. To some they mean more, some less, and then the aggression, the momentum of living is withdrawn, and all is past and gone. Occasionally one comes across a soul mate and the conviction of re-union after death. “True love is forever,” so they say. Although this was for me such a life-changing period, it is also to some extent, in maxi or mini form, the experience of everyone. Who has not loved and suffered loss and then, somehow or other, come to terms with it? Loss is often one of the great teachers of our lives. But, once again, it was not so easy. I can write about it clearly now but it took me some years to assimilate. One extreme led to another, and my heights were met by awful depths. How could it not be so? I was still a man and by no means free of personal desire. I’d loved my home and work as well as a woman and I’d lost it all. Depressive loneliness closed in. I had a small camper-van in which I drifted around, picking fruit, harvesting etc. but found no resting place. Indeed, seeing other people’s settled lives drove me further into depression. A few friends did what they could but I

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felt I no longer lived in that world. I found some comfort in writing, which released some turmoil and helped, a bit, to understand but, through nights beset by demons of depression, negation, loneliness, desire, I gave myself ever more to prayer. Hour after hour I spent, calling on love in any way I could: So passed the night, the lonely night, I tore myself about, And sleepless, tossed and turned aside, and cried my aching out. And early in the morning understanding came to mind, Of the constant disappointment for the spiritually blind. For in the dawning light I saw, abundantly displayed, The spiritual substance of which everything is made, Including you my darling, and including me my dream, And once again reminding me – we’re closer than we seem. And so with hope determining, into those depths I dive With knowledge that alone of all, this loving will survive. On one occasion I met a Tibetan holy man, and stood in a queue to receive his blessing. As we drew near, those before me lowered their heads and bowed, but I dared to stand up and look him in the eyes. And I saw straight through them to that selfsame ocean of infinite love, unmistakably the same as I’d seen it before. That light, that very light of love which had recently and so powerfully burst in upon my life was indeed the “Light that lighteth every man” (Jn.1,9), and as I gradually became less worldly in my perceiving, so I was more able to realise it. Through several years of depression, it lightened my darkness; and I was comforted, on this and countless other occasions, by the truth of which we had so often spoken: “Love is now” – i.e. love is the spiritual reality of the present moment, the absolutely here and now, wherever, whenever and with whoever we may be: You bid me recognise that “Love is now”, Confirming it and demonstrating how By looking, presenting, giving straight to me This master fact of love’s immediacy. When “Love is now” arises, love is wide, Dark desolation’s curtains fall aside,

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Times past and future melt into being here And simple realisation blossoms clear, That waving grass and sunshine, traffic noise, And all things manifest are joys And indications of your love for me. Most sure it is, supreme and honestly, That love so welling in your misted eyes, Flows over endlessly in rich surprise, Feeding my hunger with the wind’s caress And nature beautiful in autumn dress. But somehow, each of all these lovely things, Though lovely in itself and what it brings, Is passing empty too before my sight, Only indicative, lit by reflected light, A whispering of deeper, hidden ground, Where only, deep fulfilment may be found. As also with ourselves, all seen and heard Is but an outer seeing, outer word. Enough is glimpsed when deepened eyes reveal, To know the superficial from the real; This is no secret only for the wise, All lovers look into each other’s eyes And steadfast held when loving trust is found, Drink from that fountain head of love unbound, And finding there the essence of love’s light, Penetrate further to the infinite. Oh God my Saviour, and my love so dear, You’ve taken me so deep, so held me near, That through my daily living, shallow, far From those abundant depths, and where you are, I wander restless, fretful, until when This curtained absence may dissolve again. When oft with rising tears “I miss you so,”

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Your “Love is now” awakens, whispers low, “I’ll never leave you, no, nor rift allow, For always and forever – Love is now.” How our longings for Infinite God and finite creature inextricably mingle together. In this case, for me, the Lord appeared in a woman and, as I read back over these poems, I hardly know myself which I’m referring to. Not surprisingly, the full range of my human emotion, both pure and impure, rose up to meet it. I thought much of the significance of Jesus being taken visibly from His disciples in order to be with them always in Spirit, and also of other well known spiritual lovers – St John of the Cross, St Teresa, St Francis and St Clare. Spiritually, it was a wonderful time, and Spirit easily and obviously became the place to be. I spent more and more time in prayer, and that much less concerned with worldly ends.

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Surprise from Farming 1986

AS I MAKE this selection of my writings and wonder what to include or reject, it becomes ever clearer to me that the surpassing gifts I have – the things of most real value to pass on to others – are those descriptions of times when the curtains of ordinary, visible existence were drawn aside, and I was shown a glimpse of what lies beyond. In comparison, the rest of my life seems like darkness, or at least a semi-darkness, semi-death. All my adventures and (so called) achievements, the countless thoughts, the good and even wonderful events – all seem as nothing compared to these “moments of truth”, which shine out as lamps, guiding me home after long years of exile in a foreign land. *

*

*

From time to time I found work on various farms. It was not like having my own place, but I always felt better close to nature. As a complete contrast to the last three chapters, I include this piece, describing exactly what happened: Ed roused me at 5.15 to say that a cow was down with prolapse. It was October and dark at that hour, though not cold. I dressed and made my way to the slits of light shining from the dairy door. A soft rain fell, damping my shoulders as I slopped across the yard. It had been a wet harvest and a wet autumn, and the many movements of cows and tractors from the fields each mixed and 66

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moulded and added further to the mud. We, the men, grumbled and said they should do something about it, but no one did. Sliding open the door, I edged around the bulk milk tank, the sink and buckets and pipes. A familiar mess, a neglected room of regulatory hygiene and men’s don’t care, where automated cleansing pushed common sense aside and left, between the two, the stupid dirtiness that all men saw but no hand moved to clean. In the far corner, another sliding door passed into the parlour and the sudden warmth of cows. Quiet eyes turned and looked at me. A background of pipes, of rubber, glass and steel filled in behind the cows, but cows made home – cows made it seem all right. The strong pulsing “Tick, tick” of the milking machine filled us with reassurance which we, the partakers of this scene, all understood. We knew. Home and mother, milk and dung – yes, this was cows all right. Ed looked up from the concrete pit where he serviced the ten udders presented to him, five on each side, each swung between two legs and prefaced by a tail. Front ends squeezed together disappeared into the rattle of automated feeding bowls. He smiled at me. “She’s down in the collecting yard,” he said, “Can you prevent the others from standing on it.” I climbed down into the pit and dodged past the pipes and him to the far end, where steps led up again to the collecting yard. Here all was dark and quiet. Beneath the high roof, large, dim, black and white cows stood or moved in light cast from the parlour door. I looked at first in vain, wondering what Ed was referring to. She lay quietly on the concrete floor. She looked all right until … Oh gosh … in the darkness I just saw a vast extrusion, the size of a calf. Being near the parlour, cows stood around us, waiting their turn to enter and be milked. My sleepy reactions worked by themselves, fetching two bales of straw, and arranging them to shelter the prolapsed womb. I could do no more. Ed called through that he’d phoned the vet and we’d have to wait. Ed, of course, could not leave the milking – you can’t just stop that job. I sat on one of the bales and stroked the fallen cow.

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I remember that time distinctly. It was one of those when, with quiet mind, I simply was … was there. I sat in the quiet darkness and stroked the fallen cow. Others stood round about. Some chewed their cud, but most stood still. Now and again one came and sniffed at me. I’d feel the puff and heave of cow-warm breath, the dew-wet muzzle on my ears and neck. I love cows, I really love them, but love on this occasion was no liking love of mine but vast and effortless like stars, and silences, and distant hills – absorbing love – love that one could not name. From love, or itch, or curiousity, a head rubbed up and down my back and threatened to unseat me. I put a stop to that – but mostly we were still. And in that stillness undisturbed, in the union of no impediment, no need, no separate will, all was so beautiful. I remember the splattering of dung and urine and the joy, the utter loveliness of it, the total confidence of being of one nature with my sister cows. Did she, the fallen one, receive this joy, or did she give it me? I do not know. Sudden voices broke in. The vet had come. Break up, break in the scene. Nervous hoofs scatter on the concrete. “Hey, now! What’s all this?” The bales are kicked aside. “My God, we’ll have to get her up and out of this. Where can she go?” Slap, slap. “Get up! Hup! Hup!” A lurch, a swing, she’s up, unsteady but she’s up, her great thing swaying behind. We steer her through a side door into the dawn and an open barn. The vet tucks up his sleeves. “My God.” There are three of us now; the manager has come. Ed still milks the herd. We get a halter on her and tie her to the fence. “We’ll have to clean it,” the vet said. I fetch water, hot and cold. He swills and washes and pours disinfectant over the womb. In the clearing dawn we can see what’s happened. A womb is like a pointed, oval sack, fixed at the mouth and protruding back into the body. When the calf is born it’s meant to stay behind, and usually does, and the lining in which the calf was enveloped and the various connecting bits by which it was

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nourished, detach and come out as “cleansings”. Sometimes they don’t come out as they should, and go rotten and ooze out over several days as a smelly discharge. In this case, for some reason, the whole womb had emerged like a sock turned inside out and the un-cleaned cleansing (from the inside), now well coated with dung from the yard floor, draped the outside with a bloodstained mess. The whole thing was a yard long and as round as a football. To make matters worse, in the confusion when she first went down, some cows had stepped on it and their hooves had cut deeply into the soft flesh. The vet swilled water over it and poked his fingers into the deep cuts. “There should be a bladder somewhere,” he muttered. The general idea with a prolapsed womb is to push it back again. “I can’t put this lot back like this,” he said, talking more to himself than to us. “It’ll go bad inside her. If I amputate it, she’ll die anyway. I’ll have to sew up the cuts. I haven’t got my sewing things.” His strong young face looked out on the muddy field and turned back to the womb. He sploshed on more water and hopefully dipped the pointed end in the bucket. I don’t suppose he knew what to do any more than we did. He and the manager began to talk money. Suddenly they were on familiar ground. “If I go back and fetch my instruments I could sew it up and do a beautiful job, but it would cost you £100.” “And we’d lose the lactation’s milk, and be unlikely to get another calf next year, and there’s the cost of food meanwhile,” the manager added. “And she still might die.” The case seemed hopeless. “Oh well, that’s the knacker then.” They left, and I cleared up the buckets. She drank a little water, but perhaps, I thought, if her bladder was buried in all that lot, she couldn’t pass it out again. I didn’t give her any more. Breakfast, and the day’s work called. The knacker’s truck came at midday. It had an aluminium body, shiny, rattly, easy to hose

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clean – a sterile box for diseased and fallen stock, the casualties of farming. Of course, the work of littering it with a bit of straw and subsequently cleaning it out again, would increase the cost and block up the knacker’s drains. What if a weak and tottering beast slipped and fell? What if its knees cracked down on the sharp, unyielding ridges of the floor? What might it feel as it rattled to its death, a creature of space, of earth, of green grass fields, confined in a metal box? My God, the anger rose in me. Two men had already let her out and rigged up a couple of gates to guide her in. They looked alike, maybe father and son, in singlets and close cut hair. Their comments were brief; they had their job to do. It’s surprising how a cow in desperate straits can fight. We put a bar behind her haunches and heaved. They had an electric shock gadget, a civilised goad, a refinement from beating with sticks. She couldn’t win. The door slammed shut and she was gone. I think the manager was shocked; I know I was. I walked away alone across the field, tears rising in my eyes. And there it came to me. I saw. I saw heaven. I saw the shining world. I saw her soul ascend and be welcomed. I saw, I heard the blessed welcome. I heard the angels sing. I saw her, the blessed one, received and blessed … “Come my beloved, home, your trials are done.” And I saw the men, masked in their ghoulish cast, fall back in darkness. I saw that the manager’s few kind words, “Come on, old girl,” were shafts of heavenly light, as are all acts of kindness. I saw that all things are seen and counted from above – not one, not one is missed. I knew I had been in contact with an angel. I cannot really say much more. I’ve written about vision elsewhere. This one probably lasted only a few seconds – I can’t be sure, for one is taken into a new dimension of time – in fact, beyond our time. Vision is revelation. It’s like seeing beyond a screen. The gate is opened, and one sees. Realisation of what one has seen follows more gradually as it is absorbed and digested into one’s normal understanding. Then one adds names, and uses words and descriptions, but these must of necessity be metaphoric, for what one has seen is beyond words and beyond description. In my

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experience, love and vision are closely allied, for love, in its truest and greatest role, is always an opening process. For some weeks after this, whenever I told of the vision, I was brought to tears. I simply could not reduce it to the form of words. I remembered the Bible verses where Jesus says that in the Kingdom of Heaven, the first shall be last, and the last first (Mat.19,30;20,16). What could I say more?

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A Theme of Love 1988

S T I L L , H O W E V E R , struggling not to slide into depression, I attended a local evening class for writers, and produced this: I am asked to write upon a theme, but themes are far away. I have already pulled my subjects from this sea and sent them forth, a child’s creations, modified and made and childlike cast, like outworn dreams, aside. What now remains but love, the sea itself, tirelessly ready to fulfil the needs of time? Ah love, but love and love … a sheepdog runs across the field, alone, undisciplined, alert, alive. Head up, head down, he searches fun, a happy dog of dew-wet, misted, morning paws along the grey, stone, winter wall. I walk, but where my beautiful, where is love’s way? The gravelled road grips firm my rubber soles – such is the hold of her. Beyond the parapetted wall, the dale drops down. Grey robed in winter mist, love oversees. From mother watchfulness, uninterruptedly, her river issues, deep and shallow, flow. Such is the peace of her, love’s quietness born. And peace extended keeps the tree twigs still, where, hung in perfect safety, dew drops frame their own beloved as a gliding crow. Oh words and words, the vanities of words. Love needs no words, but uses them for man. Love walks in purity upon this earth; it sees no sin, but sees itself within the lives of all. There is the pain of love, for men of matter, knowing but love in part and 72

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that, fragmentedly, take down their eyes to earth, forget their origin, work to maintain their crumbling walls and live in fear of dissolution. Hence love has words and speaks to reassure. She speaks by inspiration, and to those hearts that hear. Blessed are those open hearts, the souls that see, who, walking the fearsome cliffs of life yet fear no fall, or fearing wonderfully, keep their faith secure. Love is not practical in worldly ways. Love’s works, when trusted, are miraculous. Lovers see perfect where the world sees ill. Love sees no darkness in the world’s dismay, nor follows on confusion. Therefore is love a loneliness on earth, unless it finds its own. We all seek love, as rivers seek the sea. Beyond the passage of our lives, we seek the infinite. We stand upon our hills, our high peaks of experience and gaze; we sit at home and muse. We dream, we talk, we write about love, even occasionally venture on its waves, but few dive in – we do not like to drown. Oh joy of drowning, losing, falling, pitching one’s all from every ledge of life and throwing oneself into the depths of sea. Thus do we fall in love. In losing we are held. Oh joy of being surrendered, taken hold. All that is known of love on earth … of home and heart and all things beautiful … here is their fountain found. Now, in this tea-time grey, the mist is gone, and with it love mysterious. Now it is far away. All is mundane and practical again – my love is lost and gone. How can they be so real, these times alone – so dead and dry? Oh what, what can one do? Patience, and wait, my soul. Sheep move across the window where the morning’s sheepdog played. Ever the changing scene reminds that nothing stays the same. All nature speaks of change, yet deeper, deeper, all remains the same. Two worlds, my dear – one constant, and the other come to pass. Here is attainment of the holy hill, the ascent from which matter falls away. This high limestone country where I live always reminds me of these things. Here, white stone, green grass complete the scene beneath uncluttered skies. Here it is big and clean … a man can breathe. The other day I spent some hours in tight, confusing,

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human company and became lost within it. Depression closed me in upon myself, throwing me from side to side in ever smaller worlds. At dusk I walked up here and saw, felt nothing but the chaos in my mind. After a mile or two I leaned upon a gate, and prayed for help. For some time I stood, listening to silence and quiet movements of quiet sheep, while stars replaced the tightness in my head. As I moved away, I felt companionship – a certainty of spirits, of individual, identifiable spirit beings living in that realm which, from our low position upon earth, seems up above us. All love it is – the whole night filled with love. I moved in love as fish would in the sea. Indeed, love is the very being and function of the heavenly realms, and they that dwell therein. Heavenly being is love, and love is being in heaven. How did I know that, as I walked, that conscious, real, alive and living love leant down and gave to me? As surely as any lover inclines to their beloved, so thus it was, and is. One sees, one knows, one feels by inner sight, inner whatever it might be; by means that in the normal currents of our lives remain unknown, but which, when exercised, explode the mind with their reality. Here, do we recognise the liberated soul, offering progress to our present time? Here, can we know at last our lonelinesses ended, and all the miseries of love’s rejection past? Here, where the heart is home … Must things created die to be released to their creator, or things illumined darken to awake to light? Oh love, I cannot, cannot die, or ever cease to be; but, passing through all things below, can only and forever grow. *

*

*

It may seem strange, after receiving so many realisations and confirmations of spiritual existence, that I should still have oscillated back and forth between confidence and despair. But that is what happened to me over several years and, so I’m told, it’s known to others also on the spiritual way. Clouds came in again, obscured the mind, and I was back in darkness. In some ways the darkness was even worse than before, because I had tasted something better.

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However, after some time, I was invited out to Africa. The expected arrangement did not work out, so, not knowing what else to do, I hired a little car and once more headed into the unknown. It was easier here; the sun shone, I carried my own water and food, avoided towns and soon found the space and animals I love. Again I must try and condense a long story and many memorable moments. I was alone, but kept a note book beside me to record what happened.

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Glimpses from Africa 1988/9

I W R O T E many pages of notes as I travelled, concerning my adventures, day by day. Against a background of spectacular and ever changing scenery, with no less varied animals and people, I found much to lift my spirits. It was also a period of political change, when everyone I met expressed their point of view. Referring to South Africa in particular, I liked most the widely quoted phrase, “A world in one country.” I was, however, already reaching out beyond these worldly cares. I knew that the world’s problems are seldom solved by worldly means for, cast into worldliness, we are ourselves their cause. From my own mini messed up world, I turned instinctively to what I felt was higher, better, more complete than me. Troubled atmosphere in the house so I went alone to a “Sing In”. An experience to remember. The Chapel is the crudest imaginable, corrugated iron structure – but out there on this blustery starlit night, with wall sheets flapping in the wind and endless veldt outside, rapt rows of shadowy, black faces, lit by a paraffin lamp, joined with a group of singers from De Aar, and never did I hear a purer song. Truly these people have that gift, and never, I am sure, did God more truly grace his Church. Sitting there in the darkness, I felt a quiet hand touch me. I looked to find a small, round object in an open palm. Whatever is it? White teeth smile and nod. I take it and find … a biscuit. I am totally resolved into a channel … like a huge irrigation pipe, pouring love into the world. It doesn’t matter if I sit alone 76

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and unnoticed in a dark corner – it doesn’t matter at all. Nothing matters except that love must flow – and love with biscuits too. While they sang “I want to be like Jesus”, a scorpion caused a sudden commotion by appearing in the middle of the floor – tail raised in brave defiance and dancing legs prepared. Some big man put his foot on it. Would Jesus? At the end, the pastor suddenly broke into English and, looking towards me, thanked me for being there. And one of the singers revealed that she worked at the store in De Aar where the kind manageress had helped me, and had a message for me; and finally, someone in an old car was waiting to drive me home. Why does it all happen like this? This was but one of many memorable encounters with African hospitality. I once asked about it and was told, “It’s because you’re open to us.” Maybe. But I felt it was more than that. Chance meetings by the roadside blossomed into instant friendships, introductions, invitations. I could hardly believe the warm concern of women – such firm, genuine handshakes from the men. They really meant it. Sunk in my own life, I’d lost this natural flow, and now discovered afresh the truth that we are at our best when most taken out beyond ourselves. Here in the “wilderness”, as never before, I felt an open access to pure, spontaneous love, which naturally touches, fills or floods into every capacity not taken by some lesser power and closed. As an adventurous young man, I’d always been drawn to wide, open and preferably wild places, but here, in keeping no doubt with recent moods, and experience of meditation, they took on new and ever deeper meaning. I liked to walk a little, stand, watch, sit and meditate, on and off, attention in and out, deeper and quieter – becoming part of Africa. It’s lovely here. I don’t feel at all lonely. On and on … it opens up. Mountains recede, but views … Oh, I don’t know, the air is so clear, one sees for ever. Not anything but space … brown veldt, unbroken, reaches to the sky. This vast reserve of emptiness. I have no words. One is reduced to describing the ant at one’s feet, for all else is … I think of an Australian poem, “The creaking of the saddle is the only sound I hear.” So here, once the engine stopped. Only the wind … this total HOME. Strangely, tears come, tears of relief … one feels so WELCOME here.

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A bushy cactus in flower, feasted on by bees. I kneel to share the fragrance and find ants, grasshoppers, millipedes – beetles, great and small. Last night the architect said he couldn’t take loneliness. Maybe one of life’s last lessons is – to be alone. Passed a family of mongooses with black beady eyes, looking up at me. We played hide and seek in a culvert under the road. Two hawks on adjacent telegraph poles. The road straight and empty, horizon to horizon. I grope to find the essence of these plains but … they can’t be brought within the human scale. It’s the wonder of clean space that leaves the deepest impression – and to this background of greatness to everything else, one can only surrender. Once more unbidden, tears arise … of thankfulness, and joy … in all this so much more than me, than human life itself. This desert country does have an effect. Connections with human affairs become very thin. The importance of man cannot help but diminish. To gaze into solitude from here is only annihilation – until one is lifted up. It can be wonderful. It’s always the falling back into person that hurts – that’s when fear and loneliness arise. All diminution of man is actually going home. As I walked back, I realised I didn’t want to return – no, not one bit, to the fuss, the emptiness of life that men call full. It isn’t full at all – no, not like this. I think of you at “home”, but with no wish to be there. Rather I feel pulled to bring you HERE. On the long tortuous journey into deeper spiritual fulfilment, it’s not, at first, at all straightforward to see that the enemy – the only one impeding it, is “me”. We may, however, be helped by situations where this most pernicious influence seems absent or, at least, is quiet. The impression given is consistently relief, perfection and a sense of welcome home. We can’t all come to Africa, of course, but once the principle is fully understood, it’s never far away. Did I understand here what was happening? I simply wrote of what I felt and saw. Nevertheless, looking back, it’s easy to see how, drawn ever deeper into what I so naturally loved, I was taken out of myself to such an extent that a strong sense of Spirit was able to prevail.



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Kalahari Gradually I learn to deal with heat. It’s important to rest, and seek shade, but also not to give up – to eat as well as drink, to stand up and move. I walk up the hill behind the parking place. No one else has come since my friends left this morning. I’m utterly alone. I saw the tracks of lions but, as I walk, I feel no fear at all – of them or snakes, or solitude. I must have drawn close to Africa in recent weeks, and now feel less of a stranger, threatened by things unknown. Here, life is clearly seen. God, love and purity are all so near … It is a love experience, akin to times of human love, but here … so deep and close, absorbing without end. So would I live for ever more. What else is there but this … where else to go? They say that mankind originates from this land, the Bushman’s home, but whether the actual land or not, this much is sure … here one lives close to the purity whence all pure things arise, and this is home. Yes, this and love – it is the same – beyond our noisy restlessness to perfect hold – the love that has no end. Beyond the hill lies emptiness, called desert – the beginnings of it all. I realise I’m walking carefully – not for caution, but because I am alive, intensely so – as are all things in this pristine land. * * * All burnt up and deserted … sand blows in the wind. In recent years, bush fires have devastated the few trees. Silence, but for the wind. Utter silence. A 30 strong band of wildebeest trudge past … heads down, strung out … leaders, main body, laggards … they look tired. As I get out of the car, they turn and watch me, but make no other move … no spring, no tossing heads. After a few moments they continue … trudging on. Something about them speaks so much to me. Where have they come from? Are they going to the grass, the freshness after rain? They seem so tired – yet led, not driven on their way. “How do they know?” we ask. How do, how do they know? One knows the answer here, for here – one is not

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parted from the guiding hand. These creatures have never left their spiritual home. Close to that hand their destinies unfold, and, close to that hand – they know. * * * A long way in emptiness … then grass, like ripe barley, and beautiful, unscarred camel thorn trees. A lone jackal, wolf like, loping alongside. Eagles. A group of hartebeest, resting under a tree. Wind and sand. Just wind and sand … and wind and sand again. This is the end of the road. Here the park ends at the border with Namibia and I can go no further. I’ve come 128 km from Nossob, and not seen another soul. I suppose I’ve never been so far alone. It doesn’t bother me. I’m glad to be here. I feel no loneliness, but rather a sense of home. Here, I could stay, but do not need to. In a few hours I shall return. Like good meditation, this is deep release, deep everything really, that one finds within … deep peace, deep love, deep rest … companionship with Spirit, and brotherhood with all. It is here, and I will return as one always returns home. It is here, and I know it, and it’s the end of this fretted world, and home and peace and beautiful. And like the elephant, knowing when its time has come, we shall come here, to home. And like a child, crying because it wants to go home, so I cry now because I am home, and I cry for all those homeless who have lost their home. One cries here because there’s no reason not to – it’s all released, forgiven. A colossal bird flies down and walks the plain, but now I look for it, it’s gone. Was it a desert bustard, crouching on its nest, or angel visitation? For now, I think of both, for all becomes significance and gift. Here in this heightened, holy place I feel so close to where creation comes from. Here, in this purity … one sees. * * * Two vultures … one at roost … the other circling, circling … higher, lower … almost unmoving flight. In this great stillness of the midday heat, it circles, waiting … for life’s one certainty … for both the solitary, bull wildebeest under the tree, and the solitary man beside his car. But the circling is not sinister at all … it’s too pure, too beautiful for that.

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I stand on a high point and, facing east, watch clouds sailing in from the desert … bringing that sense, and more than sense, on desert scented air. As I watched them, and was opened to their beauty … to blended death and loving care of desert … I felt afraid, with fear of my unworthiness, before … before … What can I say? That somehow my own life doesn’t measure up. And then forgiveness came … the gift so beautiful, and … peace of it being so. Do I convey my thought? Do you understand? And maybe that’s what desert is … the end of our doing, the end of man’s trying to get it right – and final surrender. But surrender not conquered, but only by love. Willing surrender in all one’s faculties – for this is how it is. Speechless before the evening … in pure wonder … I think of those at home, and that these messages will arrive about Christmas time. “What went ye out in the desert for to see? A reed shaken by the wind?” “Oh God, before whose altar …” God grant me the abilities to share all this. * * * I was laying out my camp bed in the open, under the stars, when a most beautiful, little owl flew in, and still perches now, on the tree just over the car, looking at me. Is she a messenger from you, my dear ones? Here, all things work like that – I sent this love to you, and here comes owl. Next morning. An unforgettable night. Pure, clear, beyond anything I’ve ever known. Stars … my little fire glowing, the owl nearby, and peace … peace … peace. I woke to a bellowing roar … deep, thrilling, WONDERFUL … My God! For a long time it went on … seemed to be speaking, pleading … moved around the camp … Surely a lion … It FILLED the night, completely taking over, compelling attention. Another, softer voice answered. So near … only yards away … Could I hear their breathing? Thrilling, thrilling, thrilling … and the stars … the silence – darkness … and that sound. Nothing disturbed the peace. *

*

*

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Woke early and thought how long it is since I’ve been depressed. I’m so full of space, peace, beauty – and interest too, but that’s of a much lower order – there’s no room for depression. I find not one thing to offend. A dozen ostriches in front – a few buck chewing the cud. So quiet it is – just gentle wind and birds, big dragonflies. A jackal drinks, with springbok unconcernedly grazing alongside. I can almost touch them – it’s the closest I’ve been. Many unbelievably delicate fawns – such finely made ears, eyes, limbs. When playing or running they bounce and spring with stiff legs, leaping high. At a distance, as with flamingoes, you don’t see their legs. I stay still, parked in shade. All round they settle down to rest in midday heat. Several ground squirrels only feet away. A gemsbok stands so free, so right and peaceful, swishing his tail – and a great vulture, tremendous wings half spread, neck turned and clear outlined against the sky, completely covers the tree on which he perches. Hartebeest and gemsbok … 30, 40 together, big creatures, almost eland size – I could watch forever. But that is creation in its purity – unfolding wonderland. The sense of failure, of wrong the other day, was not because I’d done anything wrong, but simply lost wonderful freedom. The freedom of these creatures helps restore one’s own. Something disturbs them, and they run. First a few, then all together – dust and hooves in perfect harmony. Again they settle. 50 wildebeest, 10 yards away – take no heed of me. Their “wild” look comes from fringes of hair. Close to, one sees only grace, shine, health, beauty. Is it all in the eye of the beholder? A vulture motionless, wheeling high above, brings to mind the completion he represents – an angel of death conveying us home. Here, this constant reminder of our end is – yes, completion. There, up there, the soaring flight into Spirit … unworldly beautiful. Like Beauty and the Beast … the ghoulishness transforms. Roasting sun. Can’t do much more than stand. Where every ant, each leaf bears its significance, so too does every footstep, every thought. Locusts in the car, and stuck in the radiator. Three light sandy coloured lions, black lipped, with open mouths panting

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in the heat, lie by a waterhole. Big white teeth are clearly visible. I get an impression of enormous strength, of power – yet so relaxed. Their faces are distinct, unlike the herd characters of antelope. I’m told they’ll lie till evening. Gemsbok wait to drink – and I wait too. I have no wish to name these animals, relating them to man, when here they come, a drift in sunlight of slender legs and stripes, and moving play – bringing these desert slopes to their fulfilment – their timeless as it was in the beginning. I know I sit here watching something right. God saw what He had made, and it was good. It is. And that’s why in watching we are lifted to something nobler than our norm, and flow more easily with life and love – because we have no reason to refuse. Coming to open country, green from recent rain, I’m surrounded by thousands – tens of thousands, everywhere I look … feeding, bouncing, running … as fresh as the first day of creation. Again I feel such pure and right intention of it all – and find myself crying as I write – and know not why. Two jackals play in front of me, chasing each other round the bushes. Of course I do know, really, for it’s freedom, freedom – free, unhindered flow. These creatures in movement which, from a distance look like tides – individually, are made to move, to run, as birds are made to fly, and we to love and be happy, and without it we are incomplete, the music of our lives unsung. Is this why these shine so, for their spirits have never been marred, imprisoned, beaten into some unwilling compromise with life? Here, they still shine free. Many lions, leopards, cheetahs, hyenas – all the predators, prey upon these herds. Near a waterhole, on soft sand, an extraordinary experience – I walk barefoot amongst their many tracks, and touch with my own toes the imprints of a lion. Conventionally English, should I excuse my often being in tears? It might seem foolish, yet, so we are conditioned to behave. What is it to be free? Does any body know? Here, I write of animal freedom, which evidently touches mind and Spirit, too. Who has ever plumbed the depths of freedom? Who dares say he sees life as it is? We only see more clearly than we did before and, taken at times beyond the “every day” –

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beyond the held in mind, the fences and the forms – find that these things no longer hold, and so it flows … and flows. There’s deep significance in landscapes still unmarked by man. Do we realise at all how subtly offended we become by what we see – by fences, for example, and negative attitudes? We get so used to accommodate, that we hardly recognise offence, or the state of not being offended. We accept the abnormal as normal – which it isn’t. Very occasionally in life we may be sufficiently blessed with purity to reach … perhaps what I feel now. Have I ever really felt such space before? It takes so long to relax. We do so in stage after stage after stage … and I wonder if we ever fully reach it? Isn’t relaxation, trust? Letting go – to trust in God?



Namibia Those first desert experiences were in the Kalahari. Later, I crossed over into Namibia and fell, if it were possible, even more deeply in love with desert there. My notes express the silence, beauty and sense of goodness which I found, and the sadness with which I left. Now, 20 years on, I realise more fully that the purity of desert represents the inner heart, and the emotions it aroused foretell the soul’s return to God. The deeper the stillness, the more complete abandonment of agitated “me”, the more perfect does the world appear. In absolute stillness, the human race, as such, runs itself out and ceases to exist. It reappears from time to time with beer and 4x4’s but makes no lasting impact – wheels upon the sand. It’s replaced by pure being or, in a desert context, stillness. This is not dead, but fullness of life, ageless, endless, changeless, the origin and destiny of all. It is, in fact, the “being” beyond the earth of which the world is made, which looks back on earthly life from Life beyond the grave. It’s plain to see in desert, as is also its nature – “home”, love, goodness, which show in contrast, the misery of mortal sin, exiled to seek what life it can, only because it’s lost its paradise in God. Certainly, the remarkable behavior of animals, and the kindness of people which I met, speak more eloquently than words, of a blessedness, seldom encountered

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in ordinary life. Stillness, silence, beauty, space … are these the same as God? I love the verse “Be still, and know that I am God” (Ps.46,10). Without end, the depths of stillness – without end is God. Spirits rising. Mountains all around. I’ve some descending to do. I try my brakes – a bit late now to discover they don’t work, but they do. What an extraordinary place. I can’t be quite the first man here – there is a road, but it feels like it. Red, black rock – trees in a dry stream bed, bird song, silence. Always silence. Silence. Timeless, waiting … I begin to get the feel of this land. It’s no use fretting for life. This is the place of diamonds, of fire and rock and timelessness. Further north, they’ve found footprints of dinosaurs, 150 million years old. It feels like that here. Silence … yet not unkind. Somewhere, far far away, there’s a world of Christmas cards and parties, of changing hope and need … but here … timeless … timeless peace. Before me … but I have no words … it gets too big for words. So I send you the silence, and fullness behind the eyes. I sit, I stand, I watch, I look for jewels in the gravel. I’m unwilling to move on. Here … I could stay. Before … I look, as at the seat of gods … compelling me, reducing, then uplifting … and someone else has loved this too, for, far below – a farm. That, somehow breaks the spell, and lets me move, but movement is not freedom … it comes from lesser worlds. How rich it is for those who dare … how kind beyond the fear. This land is full of surprises. In this lonely spot, after 4 hours travelling and only seeing one other car, under a lovely spreading camel thorn tree, someone has provided a table and bench and a rubbish bin. I wander a long way looking for diamonds … a prospector … always searching for the perfect! Amazing view of the end of these mountains, the Zarisberg, disappearing into a sea – not of water, but of sand – the coastal desert. * * * A wonderland of sand and stone – each stone a miracle, each shadow razor clear – a gloryland of death – yes – erosion, desertification, and as welcome and beautiful in its way as the first day

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of spring. How ancient it is. Each stone could have lain here undisturbed a thousand years … one’s own soft flesh not part of it at all, yet here this kindness once again … this loving care. Silence. Space. I feel at home. * * * I watch gemsbok (desert antelope) – so beautiful, patient, quiet and dignified – assuring me that, in this farthest corner of the earth, God knows and loves and cares for his creatures. Though I was to die here in my unsuitability, I would look at them and know that all things are all right. One sees them in the emptiness of sand … walking, standing, sheltering under the few trees. A deeply moving testament … to what, I do not know … except … to life. * * * I sleep on my camp bed, outside, within a little wall. Already it is home. It hasn’t rained for ten years, but at times mist blows in from the sea, leaving enough moisture to maintain some life. Large beetles live on the sand, acacia trees bear pods, and coarse grass grows in hollows where it can. I hear faint scurrying at night, which I presume to be mice rather than the soft footed lizards – but maybe not. It doesn’t bother me. I feel at rest, absorbed and welcomed by this lovely place. I wake at 4.00 to a sky full of stars. It never seems to get really dark here because of the starlight. Like with all features of this land, being clear, being pure, there’s no impediment. The stars, the dawn and you are bound together with an ease and naturalness which is and always has been. It lightens as I drive, revealing dunes unearthly beautiful … each form so clear in shades of orange sand. Mountains of sand, continuing in line … in wave on wave. Huge dunes, far greater than anything I’ve ever seen before. Words fail, but I think of desert prophets who first wrote of God, inspired by similar scenes. Majesty, power, glory, might … and it’s all here … so close to magnificence, it merges into God. It’s not belief, but fact. *

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I was tempted to explore a fearful, dark ravine, at each bend aware of timid thoughts like: Lets play safe; go back to what you know; be satisfied with what you have etc., and then the voice of adventure pressing on and leading to ever fresh discoveries. It led to a thrilling encounter with a gemsbok, face to face. He was feeding from a wild fig tree, but scampered off, showing me the way out, past a dry river bed, and other animals also – springbok and ostrich. It’s the greatest comfort to find wild animals. Immediately, the desolate is made companionable, and it’s nice to be on foot, which makes one feels much closer. No wonder the bushmen feel a family connection with all these desert creatures. But … how much of life is like this – nothing venture, nothing win – and how important it is to keep venturing into the unknown. Desert life is stripped to simplicity, clarity. One sits here on the bed rock on which all further mortal creation is founded … even that far off conglomerate of man. Does it really exist at all but as a passing cloud, a revving of imaginary engines? Here I sit like a baboon on my rock, completely happy and at peace. What’s valid here is valid everywhere, and what is not, is not. Desert is infinitely rich because of its emptiness. Our capacity for desert is normally not very big because we are accustomed to relate more to treasures that fill the heart, than to the heart itself. It’s like every “great” human experience, but greater than any because there’s so little here to mark its boundary, no human burrow to scurry into when the going gets tough. Here one meets the super-human experience of saints, the nearest condition on this earth to free Spirit – the infinite absorption into God, and here we may be literally burnt and purged by fire into perfection. All in the mind, of course, not in Namibia. Stones, stones, stones and sand. Yesterday a group of ostriches ran alongside and close to my car – one kept near for a long time. 50-55 km/hr without effort. A lovely graceful sight, over rough gravel. Sad thoughts at moving on, and that such high experience cannot be maintained – but glad the abiding impression of these desert places is quiet reassurance, rather than passing drama. Evening light on the mountains … the eternal message, ever more total goodness. * * *

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Left with tears in my eyes. I don’t know why. The kindness of the warden, arranging for me to go to the next place and concerned about my food and petrol … the thought of gentle gemsbok, weakening with starvation until they fall and die. The desert so deeply touches its likeness in myself … the extremes, the all or nothing … that which so often does not fit with human affairs and which here is utterly at home. Here, I am not silent in a room full of noisy, uncomprehending people … but silent with Silence. I’m on a high plateau now, roasting hot, escarpment on my left. The scale stupendous. 150km with neither car, nor man, except a solitary shepherd with a flock of karakuls. Saddened to think of this – the main “business” in this part of Africa – baby lambs slaughtered for their skins, and wild life destroyed to make it possible. I visited one of the “farms” – a picture of desolation – miles of aridity, uncared for and forlorn. But … if sorrow’s great, space is so much greater. Eventually to a well made gate where someone has painted a zebra on a board. Immediately a sense of care – immensely moving, and I drive on and upwards in a mist of tears until … here, a doe kudu, licking herself under a thorn tree … and all I do is cry … that such peace and gentleness arise amidst these stones, and some men have the means and sense to save it. * * * Early morning, on foot, I meet with more kudu, a couple of buck with twisting horns, and does and youngsters, all just there, regarding me, and quite unafraid. It makes me feel so ashamed when wild animals run away, as if sensing that I am some sort of unclean evil, unqualified to enter their own pure domain. I write this, by the way, under an ebony tree – smallish, scaly-barked with drooping, feathery leaves. Up a precipitous animal track with donkey-like hoof prints, to emerge at 2,000 metres. Yes … distant across an awesome chasm, 4 or 5 grey, indistinct in morning sun – too far to see their stripes, but heads down, moving slow. I walk as quietly as I can, but move loose stones. They pause and look towards me, then continue as before. Lesser mountains stretch behind, and far, far away – the sands of Kalahari. I divert to climb the highest point, reminded of

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the Sierra in faraway Peru, and … Goodness! Right there in front, two mountain zebra with their tails to me, two sideways on, heads turned inquiringly. I stand transfixed, amazed at the effect of their camouflage in this dazzling light, and pink and ochre stone. A snort over my shoulder – I almost feel the wind of it – and there’s a head and shoulders staring at me from below the edge. Disappears with a gallop of rattling stones and reappears cavorting round the others who stand still but all now watching. It must be the stallion – he has them off with him, but not far – down and up a little hollow, where they stop and look back, and then walk quietly up a long slope before me, picking at bushes as they go. A stallion, 5 mares and a foal. I sit in the sun, watching them, and think of you reading these notes, and hope I convey something of the light and space and above all, the freedom of these lovely creatures. Descending an ankle breaking ravine to a series of waterholes – round a bend – a dozen kudu. Oh, so lovely, graceful, with large ears and gentle feminine faces, and again, this extraordinary experience, and honour for me – that they are not afraid. For a long time, we just look at each other. Suddenly a loud barking roar and they scatter. Whatever is it? Leopard? They are here, though rarely seen. I move quietly on solid rock but seeing nothing, settle down to wait. More barks and hoots – the mystery solved. Baboons, dozens of them, a whole troop, sweeping over the ridge towards the water. On seeing me they stop. Then, unhurriedly, come on – 100, 150, all shapes and sizes – mothers with babies clinging to their backs, and big old dogs. Woof, woof, hoot, hoot, they scramble over stones, more lovely in movement than in appearance, but … today I’m full of nature’s benevolence. In 5 hours scrambling over this most rugged of terrains, I’ve hardly seen a trace of man, and feel like the first one since creation. * * * Oh, these mountains are lovely in their morning light. Towering, majestic, vaster than ever as I drove away – yet, awesome as they are, all these great things also convey to me – shelter and kindness. Benevolent gods, caring for their children. I remembered the laughing togetherness of “Safari Tours”, and thought how, in

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the great silence of these lands, the noise of one’s own life does no more than emphasise the fearful scale of its isolation. It is fearful to be separated from other people, but worse to be separated from silence. Silence endures when people pass. We live in a fool’s paradise of noise, of mutual affirmation of our non-existence. Meanwhile, silence waits. Eventually, these vast scales wear away one’s pretences. One knows nothing, one can do little. One’s existence only counts as part of all – a gift, a Grace, given and taken from beyond one’s understanding. One does not really have any life of one’s own at all. One’s validity and substance, strength and knowledge – all these are of the silence, as is one’s peace. There is no other. * * * The stoniest of stoney wilderness, and this great eroded chasm down below. Not a green leaf to the horizon in any direction – no, not one. A very few desert shrubs, but dormant and lifeless. Not one flower, nor any sign of life, though sparkling stones enough to lure a crowd. I look in vain for even an ant, and then, to my amazement, a locust flies up – but he could have been blown by the wind. Gosh, what a land. Mile after mile after mile of stones, stones, nothing but stones – then gradually to mile after mile after mile of sand, sand, nothing but sand. Incredibly, saw six zebra, legs lost in a sea of mirage, but six zebra all right, a few miles from a windmill. Whatever do they find to eat? And 30 or so ostriches, scattered about. But … beautiful, beautiful, so beautiful … this desert. *

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I was not at all worried when my little car, which was old and not made for desert travel, broke down on Christmas Eve. There were rocks nearby. I climbed up and found a cave. Alone and quiet again, I remember Christmas and think of you at home. This desert experience continually unfolds living proof of spiritual teaching. I am so deeply quiet and at home here that my links with you seem far closer than they might be if I was actually at home. Here, there really is nothing in the way – no inhibiting factor. The welcome in which I now feel so deeply enfolded is not

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distinct from me, and having of course no end, is instantly extended wheresoever it looks. By reducing the part, one does become the whole and thereby partakes of the most powerful and influential of works. Although I’ve written and spoken and known this for years, and practiced it through meditation, the reality of it here is more than I’ve ever realised before. It really is so, and does work. I feel with you, and I am with you – always. It is only not so when one thinks and feels separation. It is difficult not to think separation at home, where one’s whole life is geared around it, and one is continually fed with that belief. Here it is otherwise. One is held in greater arms. There is less food for separation, and so it is easier and more natural not to be. In this life of desert simplicity, I cannot remember ever feeling so empty of self-will, which surely is more than anything else, a sign of frustration – it’s because we are basically not happy. It’s not that life here is empty. No, on the contrary, it is full of being where I am, of seeing and doing with great clarity the things to see and do. But much more than that, one feels a natural merging with all that surrounds – an absence of subject /object, an absence of fear and anticipation, of past and future – and in their place an upsurge of gratitude, of happiness, of step by step trust. But much more than that too – the space, the silence draw one beyond and into depth – depth of distance, depth of stillness, depth of feeling, emotion. Here, depth is so much greater than superficiality – vastness so much more obvious than being small – timelessness, than passing time, and lawfulness, order, so much more evident than chaos. Surrender to life beyond oneself is not a loss but a gain. In every way it is improved. It’s so much easier for one thing – one follows rather than forces. Surrender is part of desert because desert is not a “neither one thing nor another” compromise in the middle … desert is extreme. So one goes from surrender to sun to surrender to shade, from surrender to thirst to surrender to water. The scale is too big to be little, and one’s own part in it is too small. Here you can only merge with the Creator. I wonder why I was brought here for Christmas day? Was it the ultimate present, the ultimate treat? A real cave in the real desert. A day of utter

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simplicity – of God naturalness. A taste of hermitude. It’s lovely! A day for gratitude, and love for all. I cannot doubt but that the whole sequence of clutch breaking and being brought here after several weeks’ preparation by ever-widening space – is intended. I’m about 100ft above the level of the plain, under a great overhang of rock. I’ve brought my bed up here and sit now beside it, waiting for darkness. I face north, to you – thinking of you this Christmas night – all of you, dear ones, with whom my life is joined. I haven’t washed for two days. I don’t like going to bed sticky with sweat but it can’t be helped – I must preserve my water for drinking. Shall I tell you what I had to eat: Breakfast – 5 spoons of dry cereal, 1 spoon dried milk, soaked overnight with a few sultanas. Lunch – Biscuits and peanut butter, 1⁄2 small raw onion, an apple. Supper – Macaroni with oil and salt, another apple. Oh, and my friends this morning gave me a sweet biscuit. There’s been no fresh food since Maltahohe except for a few apples and onions from the German’s farm. Water to drink – sometimes with honey. I’m very fit. Too dark to write now, and the first star. Bed time. A pair of black and white desert crows (ravens?) roost on a ledge nearby. A large bat flutters in and out, and some rustling creature scuttles along the rock – but all so kind. Rock, height, space and star – I lie in bed content. I wouldn’t change this for a palace – and all for free. It’s as absurd to think of this as opting out of life as to condemn a released man for not still being in prison. Here one sits at the gate of the immeasurable reserve of Spirit. The goodness of God is so great that where a clear channel is opened to it, it is impossible but that the greatest amount of good must flow. Man always tries to do good works on his own without awaiting the divine will and usually gets it wrong. Here, one is reminded of the other way. It’s a kindergarten school of return to simplicity, of first principles, before our life becomes so complex we can’t see the wood for the trees. Boxing day. Up early and refreshed. After an hour or so of meditation – I hear movement, and open my eyes to a desert fox

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… Oh, you lovely, lovely thing. Sand coloured, with delicate little feet and face, large ears, long bushy tail – quite unafraid. I watch but make no move while he sniffs around, looks at me and patters away. A gift indeed. Quite high with happiness. Never was fox more beautiful, yoga easier, standing on my head more natural; the dawn tints, the rising sun more joyful to behold. * * * Next night, as I meditated, the fox came again, coming so close I could have reached out and touched him – fairy like in movement. Sticky and uncomfortable in bed, though eventually I settled. The fox returned, and the bat flew around. Woke to glorious moonlight flooding directly into the cave, marking its craggy outlines, and the whole vast desert outside with breathtaking wonder. Wild, wild, wildness, but not threatening, in purity untouched. I lay spellbound, utterly at peace, with not a trace of ghostliness, or evil, or fear – knowing only total goodness, trust. Soon after this, I had a dream that my mother was ill. In Spirit I knelt down and put my arms around her, absolutely knowing that I could not have been any closer or more completely with her, had we been there together in body, 10,000 miles away. * * * Imperceptibly, the desert lifts one to a very high, free and pure mode of living. There it is natural, for it is natural. It is only on returning to the world of man, that one realises the offence of fences, of properties, labels and human conditioning – all marks of separate lives. Fresh from home (desert), one remembers that none of those things are there, but only being. They belong to another world – a world of man forgetting. Being of its nature so still and everlasting, one needs to be equally anchored in that oneself, to be at home in desert. The deeper one’s own stillness, the more wonderful it is. In this way, it seems like a foretaste of death – absolutely blissful, if prepared for it – alien and frightening, if not. * * *

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But now space … and space, and space beyond all measure, where, in nothing, I so readily find all. Loneliness, and even silence, is left behind. Only space. I have no more wish for identity or function, but only space. Infinite absorption. I care not if I never speak again, for there is no communication in speech. I care not if I never do any more of what the world calls work, for that is the blind labour of ants. The only work is love, and love is space, and space is love. Amen. * * * Through these long periods of silence and solitude, I discover more about the principles taught through meditation, and in particular about levels and depths of rest. I keep thinking back to those days in the desert – certainly the Christmas days, as some of the most, if not the most significant of my life. I could say greatest days, in terms of being released from my own small encirclement of habitual chains, and so being open to expansion. I wonder if anything else I experience will be comparable in importance. Ahead lie animals, travel, people – interest in plenty, but that’s not what I really want – being too full of diversion. It’s not the total selfabandonment of desert love. The world easily talks about these things without actually knowing them from experience. How could it be otherwise? We are such infants in our understanding, and usually talk most when we know least. It is, I think, impossible to appreciate the extent of human confusion except from a position of complete simplicity. I wonder if it is even possible to reach that degree of stillness in places where the very atmosphere is charged with disturbance? Once established, maybe, one could retain it, but it’s in attaining that the desert helps. I don’t think one can just get up and go (or return) to desert – and I mean the depth of desert experience, like plucking God out of a bowl of flowers. It isn’t like that. One must be brought to it. I see now that my long journey up from the Cape – several weeks alone, with stars at night and space by day, was a preparation for the greatest privilege and gift of my life. In no way could it be my own achievement. The only gift, the only privilege is God … the only work, the opening of our lives. *

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Ahead, indeed, lay many more adventures, with and without animals, and some unpleasant, which look up from my notes and ask to be retold. Maybe, one day, they will be, but now they would distract from the purpose of this book. Some few, however, are entirely relevant. * * * Seen from 150 km away, it threatened to engulf as I approached – an awe inspiring monolith, arising from the plain. I climbed far up in search for ancient paintings, reported to be there. Beneath a fearsome downfall of gigantic, sun-baked boulders, in a cave, by a pool, with flicker of lizard and cloud of yellow butterflies for company: I meditated there, in that cool earth, feeling again the security of stone, the comfort of a cave, and went back to the time when rocks were soft and pliable and beat with the same pulse that they now enshrine … and hence their kindness now. Oh yes … it all dissolved. I often remembered this occasion in later years when more frequently taken beyond time. I like the graphic way it was presented – reminding as it does that, in melting the hardness of my own heart, the hardest of conditions surrounding me, melt too. Did ancient Bushmen also sit in brotherhood with stone – in common ancestry, immeasurable man? * * * Having moved on from the desert, and, after close and prolonged watching of many animals, including elephants: I drive home on the verge of tears, with the intense feeling that that last sight was given me – seeing those eyes watching me, knowing and then allowing me. That’s it – they allowed me in – not because I was sitting in a car and they didn’t know I was a man – that’s silly. That may apply to other animals, but not to elephants. And I wondered and wondered … was that first great bull which frightened me so, a sort of trial? And that last elephant … so quiet, so great … almost as though he was a Spirit … Are they angels? Why was that sight given me … that multitude … without an end?

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Who was the springbok – like a herald there? And the lion – the guardian at the gate? Am I just imagining? But why, but why? I felt I was surrounded, almost “held” by elephant … almost – or is this taking it too far – loved by elephant. Or is it that these great creatures, knowing love like us and living in purity like this, pervaded by loving in their own lives, harbour no reason to withhold it? I see as though still before me, the look in a cow elephant’s eye – the first one I saw with a baby calf. Before she went down to drink she stood beside, and looked at, me. I have known that look before – or if not the look, the feel of what was in her and was then conveyed – the well beyond all depth, of love beyond all limit … boundless, endless love. I don’t mean that this time it was given to me, but neither that it was not given. It was just there, in her capacity. The misery of human love is that often, but not always, the capacity is there, but for one reason or another, it is withheld. * * * A great bull elephant, alone. Oh, majesty in solitude before the reeds and sky … each move, how dignified, this lordly one … how could he not be free! One watches and becomes … ennobled by his being, quieter in his presence, partaker of his strength. Thank God, thank God for elephants … all creatures, angels all.



Return to Kalahari I then had a period back in “human” life. I keep trying, and am interested in, and do love people but, like a bubble under water, I can’t seem to live in a purely human world, nor really believe in human problems. At one level of existence, they are real but, at another, they are not, and the work of dissolving them at one level is not the work of the other. As I thought about where I’d been, I wrote: How glad I am for that experience. Space, silence, solitude, purity, cleanliness … I don’t think we ever really know these things in

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ordinary life … the pure elements … pure sound, pure colour, pure air, though at times we may approach and have some relative sense of them. We spend our time arranging and rearranging impurity, which is probably why we so seldom get it “right”. Pure love? Pure happiness? Cleanliness is next to Godliness. I have known instances with people when it has been clean. Feb 14th. Woke clear and early, knowing precisely where I am, and what to do. In this environment I have become confused. Talk and TV, human preoccupations, planning and politics, heavy food … these are not conducive to clarity. Town life, noise, and perhaps above all the insidious effect of reading unwise words, draw me away from my own centre and undermine spiritual practice. And although I do it to be sociable and accommodating, the effect is to end up true neither to myself nor to anyone else. It is good to know, to understand the human situation, but hopeless to get drawn into it to the exclusion of space and light. Then it merely becomes one darkness with another. A true healer doesn’t waste his time analyzing his patient’s darkness, but lifts that dark to light. So clearly now I see the work of prayer. It is the book of life, only beyond words. It’s every sort of human activity, firstly in “spiritual” form, but finally – in origin, as SPIRIT. I talk with a friend but he does not understand. It’s useless talking like that. This book I’m reading – it expounds Africa, but only within a dark, narrow and confused perception. It’s an account of confusion, of Africa in a mess; and if that is what one sees, that is where one works and what one tries to change. But, seldom does human effort reach its expectation, and why should this be so? It’s not that our efforts are wrong or wasted, but rather that in our great wish to achieve, we concentrate too much on too small a vision. There is never a conflict so great that it is not held in peace; never an injustice not contained by law, never a hatred cast outside of love. How are these virtues found? Just like my confusion last night, human consciousness always gets lost in situations smaller than itself. One has to let go – like a balloon – to raise up and free one’s mind. Like picking up the centre of a sheet – the higher one

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lifts, the wider the spread. One must rise up the mountain of consciousness to see the world below. * * * And so, back to wide horizons, and the endless road. Bare feet in Kalahari sand. That’s better! I’ve stopped for an hour in a generous lay-by, cooked my supper on a little fire, rested and stretched and quieted down, filling my gaze with clear distance … listening to grass and wind. The occasional lorry sweeps past with, usually, a friendly wave – well, that’s nice too. Even my paranoia with fences … it’s all part of it, I suppose – 1989 and where one is. It’s quite terrible to realise that wherever man lives and farms, there are virtually no wild animals – except in special parks. Knowing from experience, what could be here, the destruction is beyond belief … you don’t see even a vulture … just a few hawks and little birds, a few ground squirrels. And today, I saw a couple of tiny steenboks trapped between the fences on the road so, when I passed, one threw itself blindly into the wire. This sense of death, of man’s dead hand – it’s terrible, you know – really awful – and the guidebook expects me to go and admire Kimberley! I’m more confident now … rather my bare feet in Kalahari sand. * * * An extraordinary drive along the south edge of the desert, into the western sun. I know something great has happened to me – yes, that must be it. I can’t write now. I can’t come down that far, to little words. I’m still there, held there, held in un-utterance. Only the glow fills me. I close my eyes to return there. Before ever man fell down, this was and is and ever shall be. One sees it here, utterly, utterly pure – as pure as air and light – no, that’s bringing it down – before the air and light. These are only pure because of that, of what’s before – before the light. But one knows it here, through the simplicity of elements – before the elements confuse. Do you understand? It’s pure and open – not hidden. It completely overrules all else. Almighty and most merciful God. One feels, one knows – it’s so close, it breathes my breath, it pumps my blood, it’s all my food – the whole being of my life. A footstep behind me spins me round to see a startled girl – but that’s another

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world, way, way down a long ladder … down there. And gradually I too settle, but keep returning, and the twittering of birds comes into my listening. My God, my God, I can’t ask where I’ve been – I know where I’ve been. Oh, never was such a knowing before. And still I’m held, but lower down – down here in the heights of meditation – here, which is as far as we can go, before the gate, before the throne, before we’re lifted up. My God, what I have seen … For a long time I am held, beyond all need to move; feeding from life up there, living from life beyond – powered by that life, known by that life, made by that life, belonging to that life. All else is burnt away. It pulls but has no power. My will is still held, connected. I am not separate. My God and I are one. What can I say after that? I’m thrilled and excited. How can anything possibly go wrong when one lives there? Truly, the only thing that can go wrong in life is to lose God. I wrote that 25 years ago, and I write it again now – plus, plus. As I was driving along, I was full of yearning for it, for the desert, the space and holiness of it. The miles flashed past and inwardly I cried, “No, not yet. I want to stay here,” and I kept looking for places to stay but there weren’t any – just the fence and the long straight road. And coming at last to the outskirts of Upington and a sheep fattening feed lot, and human things – like with that Kimberley business, I felt the pull of “ought” towards the world, but didn’t want it, and then it happened. And then it was dusk, and I had to move fast to get to the camp site before dark, but I remembered the way and am now back on exactly the same spot where I camped last time I was here, at the start of the great adventure. And it all seems significant – the circle completed, and I feel my journey done, and I know what I came to Africa for, and the Kalahari and Namibia are just up the road and my friends for ever and ever, and now I know the way. I’m full of peace and happiness and gratitude and can’t quite believe it happened, but it did! And I’d even cooked my supper this afternoon so it was ready – I would not have been able to do it now after dark, and I’ve never done that before. Did God plan even that detail? I saw it, you know, I saw, I really did. And there was

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something else as I was driving along, feeling myself taken into the greatness. I thought of the silly things I write – that I wrote this morning about Afrikaners and freedom – as if I know! Rubbish, most of it – just ideas, playing with clever words because there’s a bit of paper in front of me and I think I have to write. Really, I know nothing, I am nothing, and I can do nothing of any worth myself. I think I’m a lonely man, but gosh, those living out there in the bush – they must lead lonely lives. And do you know what? To make my joy complete – I’m sleeping once more beneath a camel thorn. And I didn’t intend to come this way – I was turned back at Schmitzdrif. I absolutely know now – one has to see through life to see God. It’s all like a screen, and the fuller it is, the more difficult to see through. That’s why attachments to possessions are such impediments – they get in the way – one can’t see through. The “world” and all that is too far down the scale. One has to get beyond it. And man, of course, is almost totally distorted. One has to see the divine light in him, but that is usually the last thing to be acknowledged. When it happened, I stayed – I think I did – with my eyes closed. The world had no light at all. The light came from “there”. I only opened my eyes to write. I use the phrase “see God” because that’s what it’s like, but of course one only sees a glimpse of what’s there, like seeing into the door of a furnace. Moses and St Paul were blinded by what they saw – I only closed my eyes. But it doesn’t matter. Much or little, the quality is the same. March 3rd Another cold night, but slept wrapped in happiness, in total faith, and woke early to my dear brothers, the stars, those ever faithful heralds of heaven – who also know. My mind is full of praise like, “Oh God before whose altar the planets wheel and turn”; “He’s got the whole wide world in his hand”; “Whose service is perfect freedom”. The most obvious fact of creation is this fountain of Grace pouring down upon us. Imagine the greatest possible thunderstorm breaking over the veldt, and it’s like that, only infinitely greater, and not dark but LIGHT. And what happens in ordinary life is, that we are turned away from all this, so we don’t see it. We see only our shadows, so we are in darkness and ignorance, and that’s why human affairs are such a mess, and

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no matter how hard we work we work in darkness and never get it right. And one of the hardest things to overcome is our fear that if we don’t guard our own interests, we will lose. So we erect fences and lock doors, and worry about food and money and employment and safety, and do terrible things like destroying nature and each other to maintain our security. And we simply don’t realise that all the time God is pouring down providence upon us, and we don’t have to live like that, but can turn to Him and trust Him and His angels and they will see us right. How absurd to even think of finding one’s own work, when the only work is to know God, to align oneself with Him, to let that power work through us … After one’s been borne up, one is lowered gently, slowly – so gently as not to be bruised, and it’s all so gentle and done with such care, and you feel “they” know exactly what they’re doing with you. Shopping in Upington, and post, and phoned home. I’m always a bit uncertain what to do with visions (me doing again!). One meets such cynicism, indifference, downright disbelief … you wonder if it isn’t better to keep it secret. Other people’s spiritual experiences can so easily become offensive – a sort of one-upmanship, an “I know better than you”, or a “Why are you shown these things and not me?” which are all so far from the original experience that one is at a loss to respond. Hence to silence, but one cannot keep silent – not absolutely. It makes a mockery of all else when the one treasure above all cannot be given, shared. So at least I record it, and it’s there, and you can take it or leave it as you like. And the other thing to record, while the experience is fresh, is how one falls from that high state, back into what we call normality. It happens so subtly (like falling asleep) that one isn’t aware of it. One’s attention is simply taken – by shopping, by telephoning, by one’s own process of living; by thinking about the experience and thereby bringing it down to one’s own mental level. Deep happiness remains – for a while – a knowing that something wonderful has happened. One’s knowledge is that much reinforced, and life compelled to adapt to fresh criteria of understanding … *

*

*

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Soon after this, I camped where the Orange River, flowing through the desert from mountains in the East, pours over an escarpment into a great gorge: I love these stars. I lie on my back under the open sky with the sound of water, continuation of water, and dark shapes of trees. The water has hummed, roared, vibrated like this from … from … all the age of Africa, from dinosaurs, from the rising up of rock to the going down of the same. All by water, by softness, by woolly fleece of mountain reedbuck; by baby soft, breast soft, soft to lay one’s face. Water and stars … I sleep to stars, I wake to stars, glowing stars, shining stars, the space of stars. Stars are welcome, stars are home, the home of home. Stars are close, they hold you close – there’s no difference between you and stars, no complication, no separation. It’s all simple with stars, like with the desert, desert simple. At rest with stars. This is the face of love … open, simple, giving … no end to stars, no end to love. Love, stars, God and desert – four words to man, man who messes it up. Poor little man! How man is loved, did he but know it. To be here, to be simple, to be loved … by stars and water born … to be with God is the entire answer to life. My feet burn with the bites of ants – I struggle not to scratch and don’t succeed. Music of frogs. Softness … soft to surrender to … The light of stars, the love of stars, beaming down upon us. Stars’ evidence of love, stars showing us what love is … things being, things giving of themselves. Not thrusting themselves forward, nor yet witholding … but shining, shining like the stars, shining with the light of God. Stars and water never change; no more can love. * * * I wonder if there exists a human heart great enough to hold the love of God? If all the hearts in all the world were put together, they could not contain it.

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Homesickness AND SO I came back to England, back to a world regulated by man, where I was once more quite unable to find either work or dwelling place, except in prayer. Those simple desert days of feeling so totally welcome and at home, did not at all fit with the circumstances of my life here. Unable to make connections, I fell ever more a victim to depression. Searching for work, I wrote this on my CV. ADDITIONAL INFORMATION

There is no category on earth where I feel I belong, no form that can hold me. Therefore I seek expression for my freedom. Because I feel this freedom, I can help others to freedom. My sights are cast not backward into definition but forward to the infinite. Don’t fence me in. I will not be contained, labeled, categorised. I am a free Spirit, bound only to love. I live only to love. I will do anything for love. Grant me a channel for my love, and I will give my all. Not surprisingly, no one offered me a job! I felt sure I had something to give, but I could not find any outlet, or channel for that giving, nor anyone to companion me. To one sympathetic friend in Africa, I wrote: One of the most common mistakes in life is to equate love with women (or men) – I write of the opposite sex, and in particular, with marriage. I find people surprisingly limited in their preparedness to love, concerned rather to be busy, to fill their emptiness with 103

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multitudes of small – small thought, small talk, the sandwich bars of life, a haste to nowhere and a nothing found. The essence of love is always space, expansion, inspiration – an invasion of greatness into one’s heart, one’s mind, one’s energies … it makes no competition with the press of life. Love waits, though part of me ever longs to be devoured … by love. I walk the hills of my childhood, but the places that seemed so great and liberating then are now so small; the ideas, the philosophies that lit my searching mind – they lie as last year’s leaves; my books, they gather dust … Caged eagles craving in my breast. The power of that reach becomes all-compelling, driving me to break the final barriers, to burst life’s last restrictions … and be free. Freedom, Spirit, space, unbounded love – that’s all that’s left of life worth living for. They’re all the same – the Ocean, yes the OCEAN, and I will go there, totally, and be devoured, drowned, utterly consumed. Will you come too? But no, of course she could not come. companionship to God is God Himself.

On this journey, our only

* * * Some time later, I once more saw Love in the charismatic eyes of a young teacher, and followed it, a star of hope, to San Francisco in America; and there, once more, I crashed. My pride, aggression, falsity were ruthlessly exposed. I felt a monstrous, evil worm inside, completely filling me, and knew not how to deal with it. Deeply shocked and terrified, I fled into the wilderness. Once more, I feared I was going mad. Again, quiet nature steadied me, and fresh impressions brought diversion to my mind, but long I wandered, inwardly and out, adrift between Spirit and ordinary life – remote, unknowing, unstable and, at times, quite dreadfully alone. I felt that at this last supreme opportunity I had miserably failed. Then, fearing to slide ever further down the slippery slope of despair, I took a job as cook at a little gas-station cafe in the Mojave Desert.

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It helped enormously to have some structure to my days but, after nearly 5 uprooted years, quite besides dealing with this new found monster, homelessness and loneliness kept pulling me down. I longed for love. Space, silence, solitude relaxed me, but I seldom felt complete. Among people, quiet reason and spiritual confidence all too easily gave way to comparisons that left me feeling nothing but a misfit in the world. I could see no future whatsoever – no real work, or any settlement of where or how to live. Waves of can’t cope panic this morning … ridiculous fears and anticipations … trembling. I rest my eyes on sun-tinged distant mountains. I must not give up, go under … just keep going … one step at a time. Self esteem gets so low, but it’s all so silly. Other people who’ve done far less than I, talk endlessly about their achievements and I feel ever more a non-event. I feel such need of security … of some pattern to life and relationship, for routine, and knowing where I am and that I can cope with it. Some twittering birds recall me to reason. I long for English spring – for home once more – but where, where, where? I walk down to the road, stand in sunshine, come into the present and the panics subside. Much of my past spiritual confidence and easy familiarity with God, has gone – the things I thought I knew. In a way, it’s been one more love affair shattered – and what is left? The poetry and hope, the building up, the future … all shattered and gone. Just empty trembling left – and nothing to hold on to, nowhere to go, nothing any longer even to believe in. In a few minutes the café will open. I’ll be back to the stove, with eggs and bacon … pancakes. For now … the twittering birds. How could the same man who had those wonderful experiences in Africa, now be reduced to this? It’s only looking back that I see how I’d again fallen into personal desire – personal problems of personal life, all centred upon “me”. Of course … it takes more than a few months in Africa, half a lifetime of meditation, or even the penetrating gaze of a realised man to clear out the cancerous roots of egoism. What remains has to be exposed, seen and dealt with – bit by awful bit. It goes on all one’s life. And the higher you fly, the clearer you see, the more will be revealed.

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How else could the wonder of spiritual love, unity and home be lost? Having tasted so deeply of such wealth, it was the absence in my life I missed, for – separated, blind, confused – I’d obviously lost touch with what I knew. A sheep astray, I wandered far through outer circumstances, amongst other souls as outcast as myself. Did I, or ego “I”? What took me there? What was, or is, the worm? It must have come from the bottomless pit of life the wrong way round, devoid of light and hence, impossible to know. Attempting to describe it, we end up telling lies. See how it sucks us in, devours us if we venture near. Is it the devil? I shudder as I write these words and, having looked, shrink back with horror from the dark abyss. I looked and understood – I saw what happens when we turn from God. We lose Love – lose the Light and, functioning through ego, project our shadow travesties instead. These show us what we’re not but all too easily can take (mis-take) and make believe we are. Doing so, of course, we get it wrong. Isolated, bound but insecure, we can’t explain – things go from bad to worse and, having deprived ourselves of Life, this sorry substitute for Man must die. Is this not where we find ourselves, but – do we need to stay? We have the choice. Let’s choose to leave it and return to something safer where, at least, it’s clear to see. I never did lose faith or the good practices I’d learned, but on and off for years the devil had power to overwhelm me. What gave it power? What else but my belief? I see it now, thank God, with more experience than then. Oh, false, inverted “me”! What empty pride, what misery you brought to bear on those who bore with you. How is the monster overcome and slain? I look and think expectantly – it springs to life. I turn away, ignore it – and it dies. Not surprisingly, in view of past events, I could not rest without a sense of God. With few respites, I lived a void without it – unsatisfied, alone. How extraordinary! My ego had created its own shadow world, in which I searched hopelessly among its “little bits, sometimes” for the totality I craved. But now, the teacher’s lesson had gone deep, and led me to ever deeper questioning my muddled life. This rather incoherent passage describes one more, small step in understanding. I don’t say it’s the whole truth, but it sets a scene. Struggled in dream through many, many layers of loneliness, rejection and much fear of what seems my inescapable disease –

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the ever encroaching and tightening stranglehold of isolation, disconnectedness and emptiness. Surfaced about 3.00 a.m., with glimpses of clarity. The fact is that we are alone – all of us – empty and alone, yet few people fully face it. Our ego – for that is the source of all our troubles, projects out into the world its own reasons for existence. Egos feed on other egos; like egos support like. Social, political, artistic egos, religious egos, introverted, extroverted egos, bird watching egos, romantic egos … they’re all ego, all self manufactured ego, and society is literally a mutual, self (ego) admiration process, where all support illusions of their own validity. In fact it is nothing, NOTHING – but huffs and puffs upon an empty stage, and people fight desperately to maintain this illusion because unless one has some sense of real, spiritual existence, one has literally nothing else, and death i.e. end of ego, is the greatest possible enemy and thing to be avoided. Poor lonely ego emits its phoney cry – subconsciously maybe, but nonetheless imposed on all around. No wonder, people turn away, as we all do from the falsity of everybody else’s ego cry unless it happens to coincide with and reinforce our own. Then, we respond wholeheartedly, and build up structures and societies – mutually believing ones, that always exhibit the phenomena of 1) being of no interest to those whose egos take a different view, and 2) being transitory. To FACE it, means disintegration of this bogus life – accepting the awful, terrifying fact of one’s ego nothingness … it has to die away. Quite besides the abandonment of all one’s dreams and so-called realities, comes the realisation that it’s a life long deception … a NOT IT. It’s abandoning the tender sweet of success as well as failure and despair – the idealism, and striving for the good, the true and beautiful … and that’s the hardest of all because it seems so good, so important … it matters … it’s our ego’s way of making the world a better place and life a worthier thing – but it isn’t true. It’s all ego, me, mine … a dream of our own making and imagination. It dies at death and, to be free, it has to die down now. “Without me, ye can do nothing,” Jesus said. It’s big stuff, isn’t it – and not for the faint-hearted? You need to be serious. You’ve got to want it – though I don’t think ultimately

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one has any alternative. Actually, like with me now, there’s always great relief when one does face it and, instead of desperately but blindly working to maintain one’s separate existence, let’s go and let’s God. Paradoxically then, our rejections and failures in this life become our guides and helps for the future. But it takes courage. Struggle on J.B. – and all those souls, who fight the good fight. As in Africa, I kept a note book. Besides many observations on American life and accounts of our work in the cafe, page after page records how I fought with anger, fear, depression, yes – and humour, too, endlessly questioning the fate, which left “me” loveless, homeless, useless and alone. Was life really so barren? I had my distant dears, but so vast and selfcentred was my longing – that was how it seemed. And then, at times, I came through to something more humble and appreciative of others, realising my own faults and finding at least a modicum of peace. I include here two more pieces, which explain how the longing far exceeded worldly need. For I knew about spiritual fulfilment – yet incompletely, and at times could lose this too, and then faced as though redoubled, the emptiness of life apart from God. Night brought the terribles back again – nightmares of anticipation, doubt etc. Awful, inward screaming – for what, I cannot say. It feels like insecurity – not for money, or place or job, nor any thing or even person, but of the heart I suppose – a Home to rest the Heart. Later on while still dark I remembered a prayer, repeating it over and over to keep the dreadful things at bay. It worked, and I woke with fresh courage, and independence to go on. * * * Woke to loneliness stretching back throughout my life and forward to the future, and only mocked by contacts that touch not the depths of soul. Therein is life’s loneliness, and I suppose most people get by because that depth is unrealised, and life gets filled by little, passing things and hence diverted. And like that pride etc. we simply do not know it. If we really knew the extent of our loneliness, our separation from Love, the bubble of nothing on which we live our lives, our stupidity and ignorance and

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helplessness – how could we go on? The parable of the Prodigal Son, says all. Outside of God, those who feel secure and confident, are only so within their prison walls. Are not opinions but expressions of our ignorance? And the smaller the vision (or prison) the more solid and certain seem the walls. Beyond is only faith. It feels quite Job-like sometimes … being shaken like a spiritual rat in a trap … and I won’t give in. My obstinacy will demand its own understanding every inch of the way, no matter what it costs. I’ll come through all right one day. In theory, it’s not so hard to identify ego and the cause of our disease, but will or can we let it go and die? I am the one who keeps it in existence, and only I can stop adding fuel to its fire. Its foolish pride ever tempts us to look for our needs in the wrong place i.e. among the shifting shadows of this man made world – and not with God. Can anyone withstand it? Do all our efforts more than scratch the surface of our sin? But what we don’t or can’t control, we can ignore, and disinterest is as powerful a weapon as any at war with its dark ways. Meditation helps by simply going beyond but, after being vividly shown such dreadful evil coming from within myself, I was so thoroughly shaken that its gentle comfort needed something more. One evening after work, I walked far away up the side of the valley and, as I remember, sat there on a rock with my head in my hands. I must have been at about my lowest point. And someone came and stood beside me. Jesus. Invisible, but absolutely sure. I’ve never doubted it. It took some time to sink in. Life at the cafe went on, but inwardly I gradually improved; and from then on I felt a new sense of safety in Jesus. * * * After some months, I’d earned enough to hire a car and tour the Western States. As a young man I’d been a cowboy myself, in Australia, and always loved the life. Now I saw where it all started and it did me good, clearing my mind with magnificent landscape and pure, uncluttered space. Usually, I slept outside. Arizona, New Mexico Been on the road a week. Another cold night but slept OK, waking

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to the comfort and companionship of stars. Oh, stars. You call me from remoteness yet I feel you close, imposing no conditions, no expectations or achievements to be failed. To lie on my back beneath clear stars is to be as much at home as I ever feel these days. Something about me dreads indoors – especially shut into motel rooms. Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas A sort of magic took us as we bumped along, stopped and got lost … in the glory of freedom that unfenced prairie is. Range upon range upon range … mile upon mile. Glorious with spring flowers … gloriously green … glorious with wind and sun, and free in all directions. Yes, as I write – that’s it – the no direction, no restriction, no possession … all ways are right ways, God’s way – no right, no wrong, no this, no that – for ALL is open, ALL is free. Oh, it’s WONDERFUL. Nebraska, Dakota, Wyoming The prairie gets lovelier and lovelier. I feel quite drunk, in love with it. I don’t feel I could ever be sad or lonely up here. At 6,000 ft, I cross into South Dakota. Oh, let me never forget this scene … and yet there’s nothing here … but space, and purity and the goodness of God. Just grass and sky. And the “Goodness of God” is only my expression – being too obvious for words. Yes, nothing here … and all one’s soul desires. Where further can one go but Heaven? Before me rise the Black Hills where, traditionally, Indians go to make their final preparations for the life to come. They say, there’s nowhere more beautiful on earth. Far, far beyond … I’ve quite lost all ability to put it into words. Far back, in freedom, steps an antelope, but … seeing its freedom, I can say no more. Freedom in bounds, as it must be in this world, but as pure a vision of it as I have ever seen. I descend to fences and the mess of farms and, after that climax, come sadly to a feed-lot of fattening cattle, whose melancholy, captive eyes reproach me for the paradise we’ve lost. Oh, I don’t want to come back down to earth, and the loneliness of being a man. I don’t belong here. I have no place at all among

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“amusements”, claiming my attention. Don’t fence life in … don’t ever fence it in. It is, I think, the most terrible thing a man can do … to fence in freedom, starting with his own, and then – inflicting it on others. So often I’ve felt this descent – coming down from mountains in the dawn – down from stars, from love of angels to the world of man – unable there to find the place I seek. And yet I do. It’s always love, and only love. There’s nothing else. Love of people, love of things, love of the very stones beneath my feet … Love that’s too great for mortal flesh to bear. Yes, as Indians know, such places and experiences prepare our souls for Heaven. At this time, coming to myself again, I no longer fretted for the false values of ego but revelled in being free, open to whatever came my way and richly rewarded in return. After those miserable months of psychic confusion following my time in San Francisco, it was grand to be back with animals and open range, and straightforward sorts of people who understood it too. I loved the prairies, and – from grieving for their countless slain, rejoiced to find several remnant herds of buffalo, carefully maintained. I learned how Indians traditionally lived – humble, uncovetous, leaving few traces of their lives on earth, but naturally close to God. One raw, spring evening, high up in the Rockies – with lingering drifts of snow amongst the trees, I met a bear with her cub. And then, at dawn, before such wilderness as now we seldom see, I thrilled beyond all telling to the bugles of a thousand elk, half visible in mist below. I write these notes, and hear them still. Immortal times! Foretastes, echoes – callings of a wild that is not “wild” at all, but mystic, perfect, origin and – home. Civilisation seems irrelevant from here. When was it that I died, and was reborn? An age, or days ago? There, on the far side of this same lake … in timelessness. I’d watched and watched – entranced, on holy ground, by steel-blue waters, rain mist over snows and cloud – held, where motor cars and voices had no sound. They were outside – I was in, before the world began. And then I was lowered from a long, long way away, yet part of me still there, and something in me cried and felt my

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heart beat deep and soft and low. I knew it then … that this is how we die and are reborn. Part of me longs for a warm hand. Part of me knows I can never be fully of this world – or ever belong, but only caught in time, desire and need. Then we look at these scenes as pictures, from outside … of moose and mountains, waters – arctic cold, and migrant elk reminding us of life we cannot live, a love we cannot hold – but only as a gift beyond ourselves. Indians call it the Happy Hunting Ground. I feel so gifted to be here. The cold retreats – the gift remains. Ahead, grey shadows of coyote slip across the road. Geronimo and his people (who fought the settlers), when exiled to Florida, longed for the sound of coyotes. Brought back to prison at Fort Apache in Oklahoma, they heard their cries at night and felt comforted. I remember now, I woke last night to their wild, wild chorus, coming, it seemed, from all corners of the forest as they all joined in. The brotherhood. I slept to the cry of a wild bird – a diver or an owl, maybe, and woke upon it too. It is, you know, quite wonderfully home. I think of the early trappers and explorers, who lived out here – alone. Oh wilderness, I’m leaving you, but only for a while. I will return. * * * Descending through the deserts of Utah and Nevada Space offers to include us too, yet life requires we live its grandeur on a lesser scale – and love forever though for only days – as pure, as patiently, as great in heart as this. Oh, desert … Oh, space, you great teachers … Oh, stars and wind and wild … you lift me so high, you fill me so full – you always answer me. The road leads down. I do not want to go. And then, being reassured of all I held most dear, with sad but thankful heart, one more adventure passed – all too brief, and not quite as novel as it might have been – maybe. It brought me back to what I knew, but life was moving on. I dreaded returning to homelessness in a world which no longer held me as it did, but could not stay long with the high, wild and wonderfuls I found out here. Indeed, the road led down. Spirits rose and fell. However, on the plane home, in spring 1990, I managed to write:

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It seems so natural to be up here, in space – not in the aeroplane of course, but out there floating, flying in Spirit – no, not floating, not flying but being Spirit. That’s why we (some of us) can’t bear to be fenced in – because it isn’t natural. This is natural, this is home, this is where I belong – not down there on earth at all. Why should I go back to prison except to finish some task or live out some sentence? Then I’ll come back here where we all belong, and be FREE, and expand for ever and ever because only this heart is big enough, and there are no more silly fences or properties up here, but only FREEDOM and endless, endless LOVE. I love space. I could look out forever on to space. For me, space is not emptiness but fullness. Space, love, freedom – all that I live for. Most people sleep – some even close the shutters on their windows (I refer to passengers on the aeroplane). I’ve never been more awake in my life. There’s not much left of me this side of the window – I’m out there. Why should we ever descend below the clouds again, to darkness and despair, driven by our loneliness to seek love where we may, to build our temporary homes … except to tell of what is known up here? Nothing of this has an end. Temporality is only down there in the cycles of earth – but it’s hard for us to see. We forget … we get so small we can crawl into holes … little safe, dark holes and, often, like snakes, not even into ones we’ve dug ourselves. Little fields, little boundaries and homes, and then we may move into bigger fields and boundaries and homes, and even bigger ones. But freedom is no fences, no boundaries at all. There’s not one tiny piece of barbed wire in all of heaven; not one bit of paper saying we’re this or that; not one rule or duty or obligation or possession. And this is FREEDOM. And because heaven is infinitely so, anyone who does try to fence it in can only fence himself and bump, bump, bump he falls down the long, bumpetty ladder to embodiment on earth, and all its other fenced in bodies. * * * And then it was back to see-saw depression and the same sense of homeless aimlessness – at least in the outer world. The Jesus experience was there, but sort of dormant. Gradually I came to feel ever more

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grateful for what had happened, and acknowledged the truth of the exposure. I don’t suppose I would ever have realised it on my own. Some months later some Christian healing friends prayed over me. I remember my body beginning to tremble, and then being thrown to the floor, convulsing and crying out as the revolting creature was expelled. Whatever was it? One idea expelled by another. I see that now, but isn’t it amazing how real it seemed? Now I realise more clearly that this is exactly how we suffer all human misfortune, disease etc. It’s all in our mind; conceived, born and sustained by our belief. And freedom comes either with belief in something higher and better, or with ever fuller realisation of our true estate. I can still feel now how my mouth stretched so wide as if it would split for this monster, which seemed enormously bigger than my mouth, to come out. But what came out? A monster? I never saw one. Or a monstrous belief? * * * I had never ceased my practice of meditation, nor doubted that it led to God. It was already as total a devotion as I knew how. The Jesus experience did not bring in any noticeably new spiritual impulse, greater depths or intensity, but rather seemed a reassurance, reconnecting me with my Christian roots, confirming that I’d been in the right direction, but gently introducing a specific, personal and “salvation” approach I hadn’t had before. It seemed highly significant that, although I had not sought in particular for Jesus, He came, as Saviour, to me. Gradually, my practice adjusted itself to become the Jesus prayer. *

*

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Still worried about having no place in life, I wandered one day into a place for the unemployed – a Job Centre. Someone there suggested Higher Education. I didn’t even understand what that was, let alone consider it as something for me but, having nothing else to do, I went back for an Open Day. And there, a representative of Nottingham University said I was eligible for their Russian course. Russian? That roused my interest. I am half Russian, through my mother, though I’d never learnt the language. I wrote for an interview; applied, and was offered a place. *

*

*

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I include this essay here, because it illustrates how much I longed for freedom. I wrote it on a preliminary course, while waiting to start at Nottingham. One great impediment to spiritual progress is the way we accept, and find relative contentment within, the limits of this world: “Men are born free, but everywhere they are in chains.” Not half! And how true do I consider this statement today? Absolutely – the last bit – though I question how freely we are born. I suspect there’s quite a bit of carry over, brought from previous time, latent beneath a baby’s innocence. Does the word “today” imply some expectation that it will be different tomorrow, or that freedom is now more widespread than in Rousseau’s day? I doubt it. Have any of us ever met a free man – one truly, truly free? I’m not sure that one can be free, and remain man – not man as we know him. We may at times, I think, catch a glimpse of it … enough to show in comparison, our bondage, but real freedom must surely explode our ordinary lives. I think back to special meetings I have known – the sort that, offering insight to a world beyond, one never, ever forgets. I remember a young Apache Indian, on his reservation in Arizona, who met and talked with me beside a stream, and left me wondering and touched by privilege. When I ask “Why?” I find an absence of what I might normally describe, and any words I try to form can only say, “Not it.” Even now, thinking back, I find myself close to tears for, though I know not what it is, yet also I know and treasure this more deeply than anything else. Freedom is like that, isn’t it? It cannot be held or known or described yet, like an inner compass needle it unfailingly guides our hearts’ longing to itself. Eventually, I think, we find that nothing else is big enough for love, and nowhere else is ever really home. And there was a woman, who, with rings upon her ears, shone pure with love before the cloud came down. She opened the gates before me wider than I’d ever seen, unto the beyond and the beyond whence all pure things arise, and there I saw that love alone is their freedom, their beginning and their end. Such meetings change our lives. Remembering that realm, it seems incredible that we should live normally in a place of love

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withdrawn, where, for safety’s sake, or fear, men take possession, and bind the unbindable within their own poor chains. Oh freedom, freedom. I don’t think we can ever surrender to limits, once we have seen beyond. Here, in our own creation, are we not known by our limitations – recognised and assessed by those very demarcations that fence us in? Our freedoms are seldom more than changes to fresh pasture. To be beyond limit is to lose all identification … to merge with the nameless, the formless, the no thing and no where. It far transcends the mesh of man’s learning – his thought, his creations and his dreams. It’s ironic, isn’t it, that we become imprisoned in our learning? The very means of broadening our minds becomes also the cause of our bondage. I look through university brochures and find not one reference to freedom, though their very name implies the universality we seek. Instead we are offered the partialities, the classifieds, the this and that of man. Oh God, my heart rebels! Oh freedom, give me strength. Chains, chains, chains and chains – chains of learning, chains of choice, chains of behaviour and civilisation and “Lets all be nice to each other” – gentle chains and savage chains, of good intent and bad, and even to free us from other chains – but chains, and chains again. How my heart bursts to be free! In silence and resignation it screams; in reasonable acceptance it screams. I cannot abide in the safe, kindly puddles of this world. Freedom is freedom. It is not anything that anyone proposes or gives or does to help. I sit at my desk on this damp summer morning and look out of the window. A white bullock picks about beneath a cherry tree. Imprisoned in bullock nature, he functions as he must, as does the tree, the cloud and all things else besides. Always beyond is freedom, the high, clear, upper air of life – the super consciousness with room to breathe, the place with space to grow. It’s big, it’s quiet, it’s always there. Perhaps that’s why, in this our present age, unaccustomed to space, to silence and consistency,

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we tend to miss it, seeking to ease by rearrangement the intolerable constrictions of our lives … to find we’re still not free. As moles released to sunlight, scurry back to earth, so too do we, taken beyond the normal structures of our minds, experience fear and seek but to return. Dare to be free, bold hearts! Don’t fence me in! Yet – how we all long to be held, known, comforted and loved. Though love indeed be the end of our journey, this love is not love bound … its very boundlessness destroys the limits of our lives. The path to freedom can become very frightening; and the lonelier, the more devastating that life is found, the more we shrink back to the familiar – taking refuge in identity and institution, in provision and matter and our own works; sleeping the well known sleep of comfort safe within our chains. Then, space was exchanged for a student’s room, and my mind – more accustomed to consider nature and think its own thoughts, was filled with works of other men from books and bits of paper.

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A Time of Study AN D SO, at the age of 53, in the Department of Slavonic Studies, at Nottingham University, I started learning Russian language. I still have a thick file containing some 35 essays, reminding me of many other subjects which I studied. They range from Russian geography, history and economics, to her relations with China and Eastern Europe, Soviet politics and the war with Germany. The Department, however, had a literary bias, so, in addition, I found myself considering the thought of many different authors. I soon picked up a recurring theme, of fundamental importance in Russian life, which, from the time of Peter the Great in the early 1700s, attracted attention towards Europe, and divided thoughtful people between so-called Westernisers and Slavophiles. This represents the intellectual movement to science and modernisation, contrasted with the primitive, close to nature traditions of a peasant based society, inspired by simple Christian faith. Head versus heart, in brief. I could relate to that. It was the essence of my own life too. I was excited to discover that the two halves of the human brain also correspond to this division, and saw how imbalance between them is reflected in society. As I learned about Russia’s disastrous experience with communism, the epitome of intellectualism – thinking it knows how to organise, improve and lead people to a better world – and realised how Slavophile instincts governed my own life, I also appreciated more deeply the responsibility of what the School of Meditation called “work” in the wider, human field. Not surprisingly, I found it irksome to fulfill University requirements of “Western” style research and reasoned argument. At one point I burst 118

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out, “I am not here to fill the dry compartments of logic, but to use every corner of my Russian heart. Why exclude the best part of me from my work?” I was comforted when a tutor told me, “You do not come to University to learn wisdom.” No, indeed. The essays are not windows of realisation, but primarily products of thought, referenced and contrasted to other thought. However, the literary essays in particular include much digest of my own recent experience, used to assess the texts I had to study. Transitory and eternal, the vanity and divinity of man, the real amidst the unreal – true love or not so true – these themes occur in all great literature, and I enjoyed the opportunities to expand and balance my own subjective views with new objectivity. On Pushkin’s Captain’s Daughter, for example, I wrote: If you are of a mind that distrusts complexity, and suspect that many words seldom bear much truth, then the discovery of Pushkin will come as a relief. In contrast to much Russian literature, his work is simple and brief. The Captain’s Daughter is, on the face of it, a jolly good tale. One may well read it through and enjoy it without reflecting on the wonder it contains. But the deepest messages of life are like that … unobtrusive, subtle … like grass, like wind, and like the unspoken glance of friendship between men. This is what makes Pushkin great. He is great, as the sky is great … because he is not messed up with little things … little egoistic, interruptive things that appear more important than they are, and make ordinary people feel they cannot understand. One may read what one will into a parable. Being a true reflection of life as it is, it has meaning at many levels. The message of The Captain’s Daughter, the relationship between the seasoned rebel Pugachov and his young friend Grinyov, is there if one does not deny it. It is known as we read, yet, if we use words to define it, we reduce it. We can only refer back to the story, and the story itself does not say. Yet it is there, in the same indefinable way as in a Rembrandt portrait. It tells you more certainly than any analysis the measure of Pushkin, the measure of sky reflected in the sea, the measure of life as it actually is. And, miraculously, it is conveyed through Pugachov, and such is the artistry that one cannot see how. There are no long speeches on consciousness, on

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spiritual realisation, on detachment from this tragic comedy of life. It is all conveyed with a nod or a wink. This man, the seer not the seen, strides through all history, yet Pushkin sees no need to pretend he is consistent and so isolate him from the rest of us. This man has doubts, has brutishness, and knows not why he’s here. Portrayed as a villain, he emerges as divine. If he, then all of us, could we but see it too. *

*

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In Anna Karenina I found echoes of my own recent experiences. Anna loves too much for the world in which she finds herself. In contrast to her misdeeds, Tolstoy tries to find an ideal of married love, but he is too honest a novelist to deceive either himself or the reader. None of his characters measure up. One by one their loves are compromised for respectability or family expedience, or simply wane with time. Only Anna is left – lonely, desperate but true, unable to sustain a worldly life – abandoned to follow her own fate, and remain forever beloved in our hearts. Maybe we should look at unlawful love in another way … as love beyond, not contrary to law. Of all the characters in the book, Anna had the greatest capacity to love, to be, and give herself. But Vronsky (her lover) could not do likewise. He kept something back – his horses, his freedom. Had she given to God, she would have been sanctified. She gave to mortality and perished, burnt herself up against incomprehension. Or did she? Yet that is the story of love. Total love, unlawful love can never be comprehended by a partial world. Love, being God, can have no law but love, and love made man is crucified and slain. Love grieves; love bleeds. Anna dies; her love lives on; and poor old Levin muddles on with his thoughts. It is not really an opposition, is it, as much as a level, a different level, a different creature? An eagle, or a chicken; a free love, or a tame? Levin’s philosophies cannot lift him so high. Even when he himself realises the “pride of intellect, which nearly ruined him”, he lacks the fire. It comes briefly in his meeting with Anna, but Kitty (his wife) soon makes him toe the married line!

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Strange, isn’t it? Tolstoy tries so hard to make Levin attractive, valid, a leader of his time, yet, contrasted with Anna, he lacks the one thing that really matters. Family life with Kitty seems so lovely, safe and civilised … the children are brought up, the farm improved … they are good, they are kind … they even find God, after a fashion. Yet Anna makes us cry. What is her pathos but her very humanity? She loves and fails. She loses her son, her husband, her lover, her reason and, at last, her life. She leaves nothing for posterity but her bleeding heart. Did Tolstoy intend to portray Christ, or was it just that, being a true observer of life, he should inevitably do so. Levin, the ideal, the thoughtful, even the visionary man, gives way to heart. She, the fallen sinner, the Magdalene who loves much, remains … we know not how. Is it a question of family (implying lawful) life against unlawfulness, or of greater and lesser love? To Karenin (Anna’s husband), the legal-minded, love hardly enters. He is not attuned to his heart, but to law. He considers the legal status of his son, of Anna and himself, not only in civil but in Church law … the latter, in his view, being crucial to spiritual wellbeing. He does care; at times he cares very deeply, but is simply not on the same wavelength as Anna. They should never have married in the first place. So Anna wept for the hopelessness of her position, knowing she could neither ever escape the consequence of law, nor stay within it. For Anna, love being unleashed, became total; her need, a total dependence, lacking which her life was finished. So love the saints. But they, loving Christ, are safely held. Anna loved Vronsky, who turned away. This, we call unlawful … maybe … until we reflect that “God so loved the world, He gave His Son”. For Anna, happiness depends on loving. When love flows, she lives, but the flow needs a channel, an object d’amour. Kitty loves too, as do the others, but for them love is less total. Love takes Anna beyond herself, beyond law, beyond the comprehensible. That which had charmed when safely channelled, became a fire released. St John of the Cross describes love as fire, consuming what it burns. We will never fully understand love for, as we approach it, our very understanding is consumed. However

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much Tolstoy tries to win us to his own moral conclusion, from law-breaking Anna to righteous Levin, it doesn’t really work. Those who love like Anna will be burnt, and – those who don’t? How will they ever know? * * * In earlier novels, Dostoevsky had, like Tolstoy, tried unsuccessfully to portray ideals of human goodness. In The Brothers Karamazov, he depersonalised this into the testament of the deceased monk Fr Zosima, and the one word, which sums it up – unity. All else, one feels – the polyphony of character and point of view – is “not it”, but simply a journey through the realms of separation which, on examination, prove themselves insubstantial, ephemeral phenomena, unworthy of our trust. However, I conclude too soon. For the sake of that appearance, I too must enter the lists of illusion to expose the ghostly foe. Significantly, the first section speaks of monks. For Dostoevsky, they are the upholders of truth. In contrast we have the secular humanist, isolated in his desires, even while pretending to exercise benevolence and improvement in the world. Fr Zosima makes much of unity, inherent among Russian people, and the threat of isolation – of self interested business, science and reason, destroying traditional communality and faith. Again and again the novel repeats the theme of the individual cut off in his separation, isolated in his fears, suspicions and desires from an open, loving relationship with others. It is a state common to almost everyone portrayed, underlying their tensions and resulting violence. What is the basis of society, if not self interest? What is the foundation of that unity which dignifies service and dissolves the bitterness of social distributions? It is spirituality; and nothing so liberates human Spirit from the divisive bonds of egoism and selfishness, than the blessed virtue of humility. Russia’s special tradition is shown to be humility, the key to unity and her own particular greatness. Long before they erupt in social disorder, the seeds of discord are sown in human hearts, and there only can they be resolved.

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Fr Zosima opens up to wholeness, where the only consciousness is love, and all things contained therein are loved. Such love casts out fear – even fear of sin: “Brothers”, he said, “don’t fear man’s sin, but love him in it. Seeing sin, we have the choice to take it aggressively, or with humility, in love. Always choose humble love. Decide once and forever, and you’ll win the world. Humble love is a mighty power – the mightiest of all.” This is really the hub of the book … the triumph of humility, though it is not triumph as the world sees. Leading us through the obscurities of semi-conscious half truths, half understandings, half bits of one thing no sooner expressed than replaced by another, Dostoevsky introduces his pools of light … oases of simple, straightforward kindness, which we comprehend and remember in the confusion of claim and counter claim. But in isolation these events are not enough. Fr Zosima warns us to be watchful: “Every day and hour, every minute, walk alongside and observe yourself.” Watchfulness will bring us to the realisation that we are neither perfect nor separate in ourselves, but part of One, and each a part of all. “For as soon as you become sincerely responsible for each and all, you will immediately see that that is how it actually is – that you yourself are cause of each and all.” So, can we judge? The previous line answers us. Only in so far as we are separate, locked in a consciousness of separation that, Fr Zosima concludes, is hell. How much easier hell might be, he says, if it was actually hell fire, an external rather than internal pain. But where one cannot love, one can be loved … though even that redemption is frequently refused. Reaching its conclusion, the book returns to Alyosha, Fr Zosima’s disciple. He is too young to represent his teacher, he makes no speeches or judgments – he simply has not collected the mental baggage that spoils the lives of others. One great moment in his life is described when he was overwhelmed, as by divine

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visitation, with tremendous, open, outflowing rapture of his heart. Because he carried that holy space in his consciousness, others could enter also, draw close to him and not feel threatened. Neither doing, saying or thinking anything, he yet brought Grace to others. Alyosha proves that spiritual teaching works, but proof also arises from the tempestuous life of his brother Dmitri. He does not escape anything through innocence. He gives his love to riot, to sensuality, to things human, temporal and unreliable, which inevitably let him down. His love energy roars in disappointment and turns violent. He adores his lover, yet has quite enough hatred to murder his father. At his trial he’s unfortunately deprived of the saving witness but, while summing up, the perceptive prosecutor wisely describes the extremes of Russian character, comparing it to the immeasurable breadth of Mother Russia herself, and concludes that all live there together, and are needed for fulfilment. The book is tragic, but wonderful in scale and non-condemnation … being of the same wholeness as Fr Zosima’s testament. Dmitri is a slave of his extreme emotions, yet once caught and sobered by confinement, he becomes gentler. He cannot bear the cold reason of philosophy but comes to understand the contradictions in his own nature, realises his guilt, condemns himself and is repentant of his sins. He is accessible – his exile will be softened, his redemption helped by love. Dostoevsky has a soft spot for Dmitri. He has a Russian heart. *

*

*

With the Russian philosopher Shestov, I found much in common. When I first heard, a few weeks ago, that Lev Shestov rejected reason and went beyond thought, I pricked up my ears. This sounded like a man of my own kind. In page after page he knocks over the skittles of contemporary belief, defeating reason with reason and philosophy with philosophy. He himself is disarmingly simple and clear, pointing out

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for example, how much of man’s life is spent asleep, literally at night and figuratively during the day, behaving unconsciously out of habit. Naturally, in such an automatic state, the mechanistic theories of reason, of recipes, appeal; the possibilities, the risks of the unknown are fraught with too much fear. Knowledge, in this case, becomes a necessity … knowledge not only of our raison d’être but, of every detail deemed necessary to live our daily lives. In turn, this crystallises into fate. We believe, project, perpetuate and become ruled by it. It becomes a monster, which we must slay to be free. Shestov is not against reason for ordinary, practical life, but only when it usurps God. And the attribute of God he most frequently quotes is, “For whom all things are possible.” This cannot be equated with the restrictions of law. If all human affairs are bound by causality, by necessity; if thought is determined by reason and law, then there is no freedom, and no place for divine intervention. In a long series of writings, Shestov works through the well known thinkers of his time (he was a contemporary of Lenin), undermining their rationalist assumptions and establishing that only beyond the limitations of thought, in the abandonment of knowledge and rediscovery of faith, lies that state of mind where we can live once more under the direct influence of God. Living among intellectuals, Shestov is perhaps at his best when clearly identifying and fearlessly attacking the monsters of knowledge and rational thought … the clever devils of our lives. His warnings should be displayed in every university and library. Too often, the men of faith cannot or will not tackle the scientists and intellectuals at their own game. It is typical of our times that Berdyaev, the more Westernised and humanist philosopher, directing men’s interests to attainable ideals, is more acceptable and widely read. But he, like Tolstoy, could not surrender his own intelligence. Shestov goes further. He takes us from humanity to Spirit but, to follow him, we need to face what he called the “leap of faith” into the “cloud of unknowing”, and thence, if so allowed by Grace, to the upper air beyond. There we learn by realisation, and the heavenly host bear witness, that life directed from the Source is quite other than human rationality on earth. Being not

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bound by the same laws, its works, seen from below, appear miraculous. What, for example, could be more miraculous, more contrary to law, than the forgiveness of sins? But this is an intellectual essay, so I must return to earth and get back inside my thinking brain, though “What for?” is a good question … few things seem more limiting, once one has been outside. Shestov hardly mentions Russia, but stands in the tradition of the Slavophiles. His antipathy to too much logic and law is typical, as is his “failure” to fill in the detail of how to live by faith. Of course it comes from within, but a Westerner would still look for a recipe. In the same vein, and unlike Berdyaev, he was never attracted to Marxism, and still less to the revolution. Though greatly influenced by Dostoevsky, Shestov takes us beyond him. He brings all Dostoevsky’s loose ends together in his leap to faith, but he will never be well known in the same way because, by transcending thought, he has eliminated himself from widespread human interest. Dostoevsky, however, will always be endlessly discussed, for his images are grounded in the perennial field of human problem solving. Unusual in his ability to see, analyse and systematically demolish the idols of the mind, which lie at the root of offending Westernisms, Shestov used the rational techniques of the society he lived in to work his way back to fundamental faith. This was not a sudden visionary conversion, neither was he a born mystic, but he was extreme … he would not compromise. He learnt, and proved his point by eliminating untruth; he plodded the long, hard road of reason to the end. In a later, historical perspective, Shestov may well come to be seen as more influential than he is now. His own emphasis on the impossible makes it easier to understand how quiet thoughts from abroad, or even silence, can do more to influence the course of life than whole libraries of books and ranting words. Once the possibility of faith becomes real to us, the world may appear quite different … becoming, for example, a reflective mirror image, not the real, and we see how the first can be last, and humility our greatest strength.

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Did five years of study bring me closer to God? I cannot really say. It brought me close to Russia, and helped to steady me after the rather wild emotions of my recent years. It brought my heart and mind together, reconnected me with people, helped me to see things in a broader context and realise that others, too, had wrestled with life, love, morality and that most persistent of questions “What should we do?” It certainly was a contrast to my time in the desert, though it brought me to another – the desert of human godlessness, exemplified in particular by Soviet Russia, though “Western” materialism runs it a close second. It really marked the end of my solitary wandering. I could no longer go to Africa for space. From now on I had to find the spiritual within, perfection in the world of man, and expanding realisation, as further chapters of this book will tell.

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Fresh Life in Russia From 1991

AFTER F IVE years at University, I emerged with a degree. I’d been too busy and interested to be depressed and, thank God, that particular trouble had disappeared along the way. Now, with fresh reason to live, I gave myself to Russia. It wasn’t difficult. I’d never felt close to the world of man. I didn’t know why, and the reproach of others that I should be more involved, didn’t help. Now, in Russia, for the first time in my life, I felt among my own people – who thought and felt as I did. I remember the pure joy of standing e.g. in queues at bus stops, sharing the cold and weariness, and feeling I belonged. I knew instinctively that everything I’d struggled with was known to them, and similarly, that all the heights and depths of their own lives was part of me. I couldn’t not love them. I understood why I always seemed such a misfit at home. In at least half of my nature, I was simply an exile from my own land. As I search for the roots of my own spiritual experience, I keep returning to Russia. It was amazing, but hardly surprising, to discover how much of her history, daily manners and religious expression is reflected in myself. My mother came from Omsk, in Siberia, and was sent here to England, at the age of 19, in 1923. She’d lost her family, lost about everything – cast adrift like millions of others, in the chaos of revolution. In order to protect us, her children, from the traumas of her own experience, she rarely spoke about Russia, nor taught us the language, but sub-consciously in character I took after her, and now that I stood for the first time on 128

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Russian soil, it all burst forth. After my first visit in spring 1991, I wrote: Russia is full of heart. I think that’s why other people often find her hard to understand. There’s an oft quoted verse that’s worth remembering – it’s translated, of course. You cannot understand Russia with the intellect; You cannot measure her by ordinary standards. She has her own particular and special ways; In her, you can only believe. That heart easily overflows. It leads her people to excesses and extremes, yet endures and endures and endures. You don’t see many old men in Moscow streets. 20 million were killed in the last war alone, and goodness only knows how many more were lost in 1914-18, and in the revolutionary wars and long, long years of purges and relocation. There’s not a family in Russia who hasn’t lost someone. You feel it still – everywhere. It grips your heart, it makes you cry. It’s in their songs, it’s in their lives, and in the legions and legions of head-shawled old women who sweep the streets and stand in patient queues. And is it all failure? What happened to the noble idealism that inspired it all? Is it so much human folly, now swept past and gone? God knows. Historians will write about it. Generations to come will probably wonder. Yes, it did all happen. I stood before Lenin’s tomb, and yes, it’s really there, and so are the gilded domes of the churches, and long-booted, fur-capped soldiers. Gradually I pieced together 70 years’ abolishment of God, the substitute of Lenin for Christ, and a utopia in this world for the hope of a better one to come. With the whole-hearted fervour so typically Russian, these people took everyone’s dream of a more just and kindly world – and loved and forced and dragged it into existence. One stands absolutely amazed by what they’ve done. I know nothing, in scale, remotely comparable, though one remembers the gathering of our own strength that took place during the great wars. Russia sustained that fight when others ceased. She fought the Germans, her own poverty and backwardness, her fearsome climate, the wickedness

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and confusion within her own ideals, and the millions that protested and disagreed. Now the heroics are fraying at the edges. One feels exhaustion. Western TV undermines the belief that everything Soviet is best. The idol falls. That’s what I found so heart-breakingly sad. That so much effort should ultimately fail. Though also it’s the lesson we all have to learn – that we are fallible, that life cannot be compelled, and that most of us, sooner or later, find we need God. In the Kremlin gardens, beside a black marble statue of Lenin, stands a bowl of red roses; not far away, a constant flame burns on the tomb of the Unknown Soldier. In a children’s playground, I found two tree-trunks carved into life-size figures of a mother beseeching her young soldier son. These things are Russian, straight from her heart, and you know they’re eternal as Russia herself. “You cannot understand Russia with the intellect.” Now, the restrictions are lifted, and there’s standing room only in the churches. Once more tired bodies can gaze upon their dream. Bibles are sold in the streets, and religious programmes appear on TV. These people loved their Tsar, they loved their revolution; they have to love something. Without it, they go flat. Their artistry, their creativity is emotional. But I wouldn’t trust anyone who says it’s “this” or “that”. The more I experience life, the less certain I am about anything and, for me, the Russian scene more than most others, defies analysis. Something stretches, though I know not what; something has to embrace all that colossus of grief. Readers who have known only half their family backgrounds will understand how important it was for me, to find my Russian roots though, as love for Russia deepened, I also found her cross. At first, it was difficult to grasp the language, and find suitable accommodation. I also had to face the frightful consequences of Revolution and Civil War which had so deeply affected my mother, destroyed my family, and been passed to me. I soon realised that Russia’s trials did not end there, nor those of her children, but continue for all of us, up to the present day. Later on I came to see this cross as one more of many worldly debts or attachments, which we collect in life, and have to overcome, let go, work out or bear as we evolve to Spirit.

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My mother died in 1992. Each day before the funeral, I sat with her in the morgue, feeling her spirit gradually withdraw, and then in Russia, I found her again. In countless ways her Russian spirit showed. I remember wide-eyed little children, copies of herself, with songs and games; migrating birds flying south before the snow; warm, Russian food. I watched with amazement as Russian women cut up vegetables and folded their linen, just as she had done. Of course – why not – she was Russian, too. I followed the trail to Siberia where, one day, in a little chapel in Omsk, I remembered my “lost” family and was quite sure they knew; were glad I’d come, and that the spiritual contact was made. It was all a clear lesson to me that, in Spirit, things are not as they appear from earth. In the early ’90s, following decades of isolation behind the Iron Curtain, few Russians had travelled abroad or even met a foreigner. I was a novelty, an object of interest – swept along on a wave of invitations to visit young and old, and teach in different schools. Adults wanted to hear about the West and my Russian connections; children were avid for stories of my adventures around the world, encounters with animals and life as a farmer. Effortlessly, obviously, we had so much in common. I’d never taught in schools before, nor worked with children, but I soon learnt. This all brought me much happiness; it was so good to feel wanted; my Russian heart at last had found its own, and flourished under the attention. Between 1991 and 2005 I went to Russia 16 times and stayed over 51⁄2 years. Mostly I lived in a small town about 100 km southwest of Moscow, which became, and still is, my second home. I wrote this piece for a class of children, exploring the roots of genius in English poetry: Genius has been described as: Ability to hear the Word of God. What does this mean? Let’s look at the verb “to hear” … to hear the Word of God. To hear means, first, to listen. Many people do not listen. To listen, we need to be quiet. We need to let our minds relax and be open, and turn away from the usual chaos of thoughts and words that rush round and round inside our heads. Then we can listen, and then we may hear. But what do we mean by the Word of God? Let us listen to words of three poets: Byron, Burns and Shakespeare. First, Byron:

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There be none of Beauty’s daughters With a magic like thee, And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me. Music on the waters … Have you ever heard music on waters? Have you walked by the river on a summer evening … been alone there, quietly listening, and heard the silent calling … of angels and fairies, and things so beautiful they make you cry? Like music on the waters … Listen to Byron again … She walks in beauty, like the night … Can you feel the stars, the moonlight on water … the soft, still music of the Word of God? Genius is ability to hear the Word of God. Listen to words of the Scottish poet, Burns: My love is like a red, red rose That’s newly sprung in June, My love is like a melody So sweetly played in tune. Simplicity – that is another mark of God. The words of God are simple, and sweet. They are never complicated, never unkind or ugly. Listen again: So fair art thou, my bonny lass, So deep in love am I, That I will love thee still, my dear, Though all the seas gang dry. Though all the seas gang dry, my dear, And rocks melt with the sun. Yes, I will love thee still, my dear, While the race of life is run. What lovely words those are … known and loved by millions of people throughout the world. Why are they so loved? They speak of eternity, don’t they? Of love that never changes “Though all the seas go dry, and rocks melt with the sun.” That also is the nature

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of God … love and eternity, and true love between man and woman is a reflection of this eternal love of God. We can only speak and write words like that when our hearts are open to the love, the word of God. Shakespeare also speaks of eternal love with the words: Let us not to the marriage of true minds admit impediment. Love is not love that alters when it alteration findeth … Here, he introduces us to the word “true”. Truth is that which never changes. Shakespeare expresses the greatness and diversity of God. Imagine him standing on top of a high mountain, or in a space ship, looking down on all the history, changes, tragedies and comedies of human life. He sees it all, and somewhere in the work of Shakespeare you will find descriptions of all human experience. Yet he writes from a point beyond experience, from a place of eternity, where he too listens to the Word of God. Fear no more the heat of the sun Nor furious winter’s rages; Thou, thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages. Golden boys and girls all must, As chimney sweepers, come to dust. Here, Shakespeare reflects on death – the great equaliser of life, which we all must face one day. Note how he uses the word “home”, and how this poem conveys humility, gratitude and peace. Works of genius, being inspired by God, partake of the nature of God, so they last for ever, and are understood by all men, at all times. They do not age, but are always fresh and new. They feed our deepest needs, are not affected by fashion, nor limited to any one race or language. Most words, most thoughts and worldly experiences, come to pass. We live them one day and forget them the next, but works of genius stay with us throughout our lives – nourishing, and responding to, the deeper parts of our minds which, in turn, develop into spiritual awareness. Works of genius deepen our understanding of life, and lead us to God.

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As my understanding of Russian improved, I started reading simple children’s books introducing Orthodoxy and the Bible. I admired the gentle, but serious and uncompromising way in which it was presented. Gradually I advanced to the Gospels and daily prayers. I found this exercise of re-reading well-known themes in another language most helpful in bringing out fresh meaning I hadn’t seen before. Similarly, attending Orthodox services brought me into a fresh appreciation of the Church. It usually starts the evening before, with a half-hour walk to the old village. The town, as all post-revolutionary towns in Russia, was built without a church, without any religious practice or education. This village church was ruined, desecrated, used as a stable, but enough was left to be repaired, and now it serves not only the few old parishioners who remember, but the new, shy and unpracticed from the town who are still discovering the lost traditions of their native faith. In winter, we walk through snow, leaving behind our large, concrete blocks of flats to come to old houses looking more like what you would expect in Russia – built of logs, and enclosing neat gardens behind their wooden fences. Though here too, new and wealthy business people, seeking to escape the pressures of city life, are building modern homes. Showing from a distance above trees, the dome and belfry with their gilded crosses shine bright and new, but everything else about the church is poor. Few people have money to spare. Wealth belongs to “new” Russia, not the old. You bow and cross yourself three times at the gate, and then again at the door. A few beggars wait for alms. Inside is bare … no seats, a concrete floor, a few heating pipes and thick double windows to ward off the cold … high, grey walls beneath the dome, and a few icons gathered from goodness knows where. This is no palace, no subsidised and artistic heritage … it’s nothing but love arising from the ruins. They’ve come to it and left it in their tears. Russia is full of tears. It’s normal to buy three candles: one for the dead, one for the living, and one for the celebration of the day. Then, if the church is not too full, you go round and greet the icons. You get to know

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them, they become your friends, and you stand before them … but I think we never stop learning how to live with icons. A Russian church is not designed for bodily comfort. “Christ suffered”, they say, “and so should we.” They take religion seriously. The two hour evening service is considered necessary if you wish to receive the sacraments next morning, and you are expected to read the long preparatory prayers at home. Those ready to confess stand to the left and wait their turn. I was nervous at first. I had never confessed before and did not know what to do, or say. I watched the others but could not hear their words. The priest was kind but I felt I’d made a fool of myself. Only afterwards did I feel relief … that in spite of all my foolishness I was not rejected, and that repentance too, in this world, is a process without end. The congregation is mostly women, bundled in winter clothes – with thick felt boots and woollen shawls. Everyone knows it’s the women who keep life going in Russia. You see their bent backs everywhere, bending to work or to carry, as they do to pray; tending to fields and streets and markets, their houses and children … and the church. So often they’ve lost their men to war, to waste, to drink. Here, they bend over candles and their prayers. You can learn much about Russia by watching her old women – Mother Russia, Holy Beloved Mother. I watch them in church, feeling myself too big and awkward but somehow, within myself becoming small as they; feeling the love of our Saviour for their humble souls, bent down by lives too hard and cruel to bear but indestructible in faith. “The sacrifices of God are a broken Spirit: A broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise.” So they read each morning in their prayers. Russian winters help one feel the fragility of life. In the cold darkness of the church, there, from shadow and candlelight and the floor, wet with melted snow, we look to the illuminated icon of our Lord. Here, in Russia, a true friend may be called “A light in the window”. It means a warm heart waiting by the stove – and hot soup, too. The arched dome of a Russian church signifies the everlasting arms of God coming down to shelter His children, like as when the priest spreads his mantle and we crowd together,

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crouched like chicks under the shelter of their mother’s wings. The vaunting spires of human aspiration, characteristic of western church architecture, are not accepted here. In Russia, humility comes first; the self-sacrifice and tenderness of mother love. The icon of St Amvrosia by his tomb in Optina tells us that of all things, we most need a more sincere humility before God and each other. Before Liturgy at 9.00 next morning, there will be half an hour of prayers, or a special remembrance for the dead. It is all done standing, close together, with an intensity of feeling that brings one easily to tears. “Tears wash the soul,” they say. I’ve heard it described as “throwing themselves at God”. But then, so much in Russia is extreme, and feelings too go from devotion to despair. No family has escaped terrible consequences from the revolution. That awful guilt and suffering – it’s just there, in all of us – it’s everywhere. And when we remember the dead … O Lord, have mercy on us, sinners. And all this is remembered each time I see one more new cupola, or cross, or quiet women sitting in the market places with stalls of holy icons and literature. And there are Sunday schools now for both children and adults, and religious programmes on radio and television. Churches are usually well attended, indeed, on festive days you may not be able to get in for the crowd. You can speak without fear; and those, lucky enough to have a church bell, can ring. And that’s enough for now … that in Russia today, for all her sins, we hear her bells again. And in our little town, plans are formed to build a new church in the main square, next to the music school and library, and across the road from the department store. And I think, nearly everyone is glad. I felt great love for this little church and its people, who seemed so like my own kin, and wanted to participate in the worship. It was a happy day when, in 1997, just before my 60th birthday, I was formally included. No doubt this helped my own prayers but, more noticeable was the way in which life now branched out into even more varied human connections. With the many friendships I’d made through teaching, I found myself on a tide of loving and being loved such as I had never known before.

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Fresh Views of Faith I SPENT many hours deciphering the old Russian language, known as Church Slavonic, used for the long and complicated Orthodox prayer and service books. Through it, I discovered much that I had not previously appreciated, and in particular, the significance of our Holy Mother and the saints. I loved this work, which led to a sort of maturing of my faith, and brought me much fresh confidence in it. I watched the way Russian people approached their many icons in Church and home, and gradually overcame my shyness and did likewise. It did much to foster a sense of relationship with the saints pictured, as well as with the Saviour and His Mother. She, in particular, is represented in many different roles as Mother, Provider, Healer, Comforter – both, sharing in our life and yet, beyond it; providing countless themes for contemplation. What are the distinguishing features that qualify her to fulfill the divine role? What can we learn from Her, and try to imitate in our own lives? For me, the principal message is – humility. She teaches me constantly that in our endeavours to connect with the true, creative and healing authority of God, our own absolute submission is required. “And Mary said: Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to Thy word” (Lk.1,38). Queen of heaven, full of Grace, So free of self that God Himself gave birth in You And thus, by Your humility, Incarnate, came to save the earth. 137

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I falter to address these words, How can it be … from me to You? But, Mother to the Lord of All, You are our own dear Mother, too. Forgive me this presumptuous verse Which tries to touch Your mystery; Let it be sanctified by love And offered in humility, That, as I ponder what to write And choose my words and change my mind, I may draw nearer in my heart And deeper understanding, find. The pure in heart their God shall see, And You found such high favour, Not only were You given sight But bore our Blessed Saviour. Oh, Virgin pure, into whose humble heart, No barrier to God was found; Help us submit our own wills too, That we in our lives also may abound. By Your humility we see Pride’s victor, by surrender won; Most weak yet strongest, least of all, Being nil, God’s will, not ours is done. You raise my vision from the world, Your purity absolves my soul, You bring my stubborn heart to yield, And graciously, You make it whole. By Your example, Queen of love, Assured and comforted we may Let hearts be melted, trust affirmed, And proud resistance fall away.

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Such holy, perfect Mother love Accepts each sinner as Your own pure child; So far above us, yet so near, Dissolving evil by Your manner mild. Oh, wondrous, holy Queen of Light, The height of all things loved and sought, With You within my heart, my woes And all things dark dissolve to naught. Oh, peace and loveliness, Oh, freedom’s joy, Love beyond love, light of all that is; All in a Mother’s eyes, beyond all pain, Self-sacrifice, eternal bliss. Holy Mother, close to God You stand And, lifting all souls to You, intercede; Thus we discover that, through You, We find deliverance from every need. And it is right to pray to You, Beloved Mother, hymned and praised, And honour Your humility, By which from sin we may be raised. Oh, lift me, take me from my sin, Abandoned to Your heart to fly; By Your unfading light to live, And ever in Your love, to die. I include these two poems with some hesitation. I distrust my own cleverness with words, as much as I do that of others. Compared to moments of realisation, my attempts to be religious, both in word and deed, seldom ring entirely true. In one case it’s spontaneous, simple, uprising from itself. It stands on its own feet. While the other is a complex creature of God and man, evolved and corporate – something we are taught, and acquire from others. However divinely inspired it may be in origin, religion invariably suffers from the interference of lower, human minds (not least of which – my own), which require its

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formulation into words “For the letter killeth, but the Spirit giveth life” (2Cor.3,6). As later windows will show, the whole world of human mind, appearing as intellect, thought etc., is far below and subordinate to Spirit. The poems, being a mixture of both, illustrate where I was at this time. Although, as I now see, they are inferior to real insight, they remind me of themes that need to be remembered as we struggle to find our true direction. And besides, who am I, to dismiss the strivings of faith, which help us onwards to our goal? Jesus, there is no experience Known to us in heaven and earth, That You do Yourself not live through, Sharing with us from our birth. And Your holy mother with You, Woman’s lot she knew and bore Through the agony of child-loss, Now beside You evermore. Only sin, contrary pulling, Turning us the wrong way round, Puts divisive blinds between us, Makes a god-less world unsound. Jesus, source of all that’s holy, Good and lovely, true and wise, How can life be lived without You, How can human hope arise? If our life is not successful, Dragged by failure to despair, Lead us to the secret chamber, There to whisper, “I am near.” Blessed are those, You said, who sorrow, For they shall Your comfort know; Blessed are those forgiving others, They shall be forgiven, too.

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Nothing, no one is rejected; Crucified, You demonstrate Sin’s effect in face of goodness, Sacrificed there for our sake. Soften, Lord, our stubborn nature, Destroying the very good we crave, Allied with You we help ourselves And help the world You came to save. Goodness cannot fail to conquer, Stemming from the source of all; Creator of the world, our Saviour, Born a baby in a stall. Jesus, let my work be only, Every minute, every day, Be with You in thought and action, And to You, unceasing, pray. *

*

*

9th February 1998. Early morning meditation. Wave upon wave upon wave of indescribable, quite boundless love. I know what is happening. A spiritual womb or muse has touched and awakened me, allowing a flow of what was held before. It’s wonderful to feel new life and creativity arise, words forming of themselves, inspiring, soaring my spirit ever higher, deeper into the Infinity of Love. It’s the very opposite of restricting, personal dependence – a spiritual ocean of utter safety where part of us may drown, but only our fear and limitation. This “excess” of love, which human capacity can’t cope with, can /must somehow be channelled to the Divine Heart so that, in whatever way our human arms cannot, the Love of God fulfills. At night by the river, the instant I remember – you are there. No more apart, you walk my very steps. And even – Oh Lord – back in the flat – the icon of Our Lady on the wall – she too, is you. I cannot look. I sit a long time covering my eyes, knowing that before me shows a wonder, which I am not fit to see … until at last

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my hand moves, and – slowly returning to normality, I dare to look – but long sit still. It did happen. Of that there is no doubt. The icon connected – and there was a spiritual radiance so powerful arising from it that I, sitting opposite, could not look, and, being also aware of my own comparative darkness and confusion, had to cover my eyes. I remember the thought – to look or not to look, but there really was no choice – my arm was held – I could not move, until after some time, things began to return to the dimness of ordinary sight. I knew something wonderful was shown. Now, looking at the icon, I feel we smile, sharing a secret, and prayers to Our Lady leap into new meaning, a reality not known before. So often, we pray, but don’t really believe. It’s amazing that this icon, this figure is actually active – as though she stepped out of her frame. No, not “as though” – she did. The effect was this blessing on life – brought out of our hands into Divine attention – and so miraculously blessed. * * * I count myself fortunate to have seen, or be close to, several human deaths. It’s always awesome, but I remember them as the most instructive experiences possible regarding what we are, and what we’re not. To feel and witness the withdrawal of Spirit from the body, both before and after death. As a farmer and countryman, I’ve always been familiar with death and, indeed, after my share of tears, I grew to love it. It seemed such a perfect answer to the struggles and weariness of life. I could not see that human death was any less natural than autumn leaves, nor could I share in the generally expected grief … At one death, I wrote: It’s wonderful to feel the clean Spirit. The body of sin falls away. All the old bluster … gasps away. The cross stands nearby to receive the soul, but will it go; will it return; is it free? Repentance is the freeing.

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Pure Spirit. Pure love. When this activates the body we live rightly – Thy will be done. There is no sorrow for the body, the ego. The mercy of God is that it goes; it had, and has no real existence. It is not real, and all its reactions, attachments, repulsions are even less real. Prayer is surrender. In pure prayer, the individual – all this – has no existence – there’s no recognition of it i.e. its pain or thoughts, at all. Peace comes with freeing, with acceptance and surrender. Breathing quieter now, after 6 hrs tormented rasping. There’ve been no responses. Even so old, so weak and tired, the power of the body has fought for life. Corrupt, diseased, monstrous – but only a paper tiger. Rest in peace. * * * I also include here this extract from a piece written about Evgenii, a young Russian soldier, martyred while serving in the Chechen war, in 1996: What is martyrdom, and why is it so important? Once we become awakened to the possibility of spiritual, i.e. eternal life, we are faced with a constant choice: to believe in a transitory world, the flesh and the devil, or not. No one pretends it is easy. We are surrounded by temptation to live by the standards and demands of the world and, swept away by its influence, our usual state is forgetfulness, or ignorance of anything else. The martyrdom of Evgenii bears witness that the spiritual world exists, that faith in God is stronger than anything that happens in this world and, when acknowledged and put into practice, quite literally, overcomes it. How? Not with the “arm of flesh” but by raising consciousness to a level that sees over and through the appearance, freeing us from our accustomed bondage to that which, to our physical senses, usually appears so real. This ability of martyrs to rise above the world, even to the point of superhuman endurance of pain and so-called “death”, places them in the very vanguard of the Church. Everyone who overcomes in this way, overcomes for all. Raising our hearts to Evgenii’s martyrdom, we raise ourselves and

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everything around us; as indeed we are all and forever raised to freedom by the supreme overcoming of Our Lord, if only we accept it. Evgenii calls to our own generation, bereft of sound tradition, bewildered by modern culture and the lack of anything better. He brings a message of hope, of true direction. In saving himself, he is now able to help others. War in Chechnia, like all wars, starts with the devil. The work of salvation requires us to realise with what we are fighting, and face up to it. Both the attractions and horrors of this world are deceptive, enticing us to believe in them, but not as real as they seem. Unless we are watchful, we all too easily get drawn in, lost, and even consumed. Without spiritual help, we are doomed to failure. These dragons of illusion writhe about the foot of the Cross, but The Lord’s face is serene. “Fear not,” He says, and “Follow Me.” Similarly, the example of Evgenii draws us to rise above the awfulness of war, entering not into futile reaction with the ghostly foe and thereby, forever keeping it alive, but letting it wither by neglect. In this world which loves itself and its own and never denies itself, martyrdom is the supreme act of renunciation, but unattainable except by Grace. Hence it is known as a Mercy of God. “Resist not evil.” Contrary to all human understanding, the power of God is perfected in our weakness. Humility, and reliance, not on ourselves or on other people, but on God, is the way to bring our souls to salvation and our troubled world to rest. * * * Quite unexpectedly, in September 1999, it happened like this: Awakened one morning – a burst of delight, I find You beside me – Oh, joy at the sight, And straight to your welcome, Jesus adored, I throw myself utterly, Master and Lord! Greatest of all, but, who can comprehend? Comes to His creature as a simple friend, Totally loving, and – how can I doubt That, our own love is accepted, and mutually sought?

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So, heart into heart of all can merge, And we find the harbour where all ways converge. Effort and discontent – our restless fighting, Cease and dissolve away – uniting. Here, if we will it, is our home “above”, Fount and fulfilment of our need for love; From this and by this are our lives made blest, Here and here only do our souls find rest. However the mysteries of life may seem – As struggle, blessing, dance or dream, In You, their Maker, do they rise and fall; Being one with You, we are at one with all. There is no “other”, it goes out of view. There is no language but the praise of You; No world of separation, darkness, need – In You the dark is lit, and superseded. Away, unquestioning, the details flee – Nothing else matters – only You in me, Or I in You – I know not which way round, But only that in You, perfection’s found. Lord Jesus Christ, our scriptures say: It’s true – Speechless and humble I am brought to You; Brought now before Your cross, in tears, I kneel, More loved than I can ever understand, or feel. How could I write this if I did not know? How imagine, if it were not so? A veil has been lifted, a vision shown, An insight given, and a secret known. Thus is it unexpectedly revealed To inner eye, or “eye of heart” unsealed. Age and decay bounce up with heart renewed, To start the day rejoiced with gratitude.

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But, when mind is darkened and You’re no more seen, Grant me faith to believe what’s been, So I see more clearly the effects of sin, Preventing access to Your Grace within. And to persevere in the work of prayer, Encourage us, with Your presence near. To all Your people give Your love to know, And through Your servant, may Your mercy show.

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The Work of Prayer BUT NOTHING I found could replace my practice of inner prayer. For all their expressiveness, words remain words, and this prayer is such a blessedly simple and effective way of attaining Spirit. It is for this reason that, although I have loved and participated in many Churches, I do not feel I belong to any in particular. I like the definition of Christianity as “not so much religion as relationship”. That’s what I’ve also felt about it since Jesus came to me, that day of ultimate despair in the Californian desert. For me, religion is not the vanguard of spiritual life, but more a back-up system for my forgetful and errant humanity – anchoring, confirming and expressing in words what I discover beyond words. The symbol of a cupola or spire pointing to and dissolving in the invisible is apt, for religion itself dissolves in its ascent to Spirit. Beyond the finest subtleties of art or sound, Eternal providence of God is found, Wherein a soul may innocence extend, Surpassing knowledge, without want or end, Save only finding evermore, and more, It’s own belonging … unity … and more. Deeper, yet ever deeper, Oh my Love, my Lord, In You forever, my whole heart outpoured Beyond all worlds, abilities and powers, Beyond all measure … any sense of “ours”… Beyond description yet, quite simply, here; In which we rise, and fall, and disappear. 147

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The “everythings” we find on earth are not this way; There’s no comparison, no way to say. I lie awake at night, the rain outside, The windows of my soul are open wide … Away I fly, away with God to be – Oh joy – to leave the body, and be free! Where do I spend the time (what time?), I cannot say; What happens in long hours alone, and when I pray? I feel within myself a deep release, And midst life’s conflicts, live a greater peace – So clear it is, and yet, few words I find, To share with old realities now left behind. Worldly knowledge, ways of life, work and world affairs Are echoes of a distant life and cares, But now no more, like children’s toys long since Confined to nursery cupboards and the dust; Treasure on earth corruptible, subject to thieves and rust. The world’s necessities are now no more my needs; I eat its food, but food no longer feeds. I feel a distance from the worldly day; Apart, unknown, as if it’s turned away Rejecting this … unwittingly deluded; To which I call, but cannot be included. Who understands but You, Oh Lord, Yourself incomprehensible, Beyond all our beyonds, yet apprehensible; Who bridges the unspeakable beyond and here, With us, Your Church, Your body … house of prayer. May we, as one, fulfilling each our vision, So do Your will on earth, to merit heaven. *

*

*

I’d been happy teaching and discovering ever more about Russian life, but time came when I’d done enough. I only really wanted to be quiet, and pray, or talk about God, but could not quite see how to arrange it. Then,

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one night at prayer, I seemed to receive an instruction to go and pray in a certain church – not the one I usually went to. Joyfully, I did so. For 2 hours or more, every morning when the church was quiet, I would stand or sit as unobtrusively as possible, and pray. It immediately gave me a sense of doing what I most wanted and was able to do. At other times I started just being aware of stillness in public places. Again it brought me the feeling of doing the most important thing I could. My interest in prayer grew, and soon I began to think of it as the sole work and purpose of my life. Although I’d already been practicing for some 30 years, I had also expected to have some worldly task. Now I moved into a new phase of commitment, realising that this was itself the entire work I’d been searching for – being a nothing and no one myself, but ever more wholly given to God. That, at least, is the aim. I don’t say I achieve it, or even that it is possible, so long as we remain creatures of this world – but we can try. I often ask myself, “What is prayer; and how does it work?” I realised then, and see even more clearly now, that it evolves constantly with one’s own spiritual development and, whether we ever fully understand, I do not know. To some children whom I’d been teaching English, I wrote: You are very dear to me … indeed, I feel you are part of my life and, being separated from you, I miss you. What can we do? For life so often separates us from those we love. Well, we can think of each other, look at photographs and remember and … even better, we can pray. I wonder if you pray? When I was seven, I was taken from my mother and sent to boarding school. There, we had to go to church every day and there, as an unhappy, lonely, little boy, I learnt to pray. “God bless Mummy and Daddy and Tania [my sister] and Fred [our gardener] and Sammy [our dog].” I did not know much about God then, but, the words, repeated every day, comforted me and made me feel connected to my beloved, but faraway, home. Now I am older, I pray with different words, or more often – silently, but the daily action and the feeling of comfort is the same. I pray for you, my dears, and I’d be happy to think you sometimes prayed for me.

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Prayer for one another is like holding hands as we cross a slippery road. If someone slips, the others will hold him up. In our lives we slip and fall not only on ice but into bad actions, bad habits like deceit, laziness, thoughtlessness and so on, and, even more unfortunately in our materialistic age, we ignore the existence of God. Prayer helps to keep us on the right road; it unites us to God and, instantly and in Spirit, even though our bodies are thousands of miles apart, it unites us with one another. * * * As my reading widened, I was surprised and delighted to discover that the inner prayer – Jesus prayer – I’d been practicing so long, was well known in Orthodoxy. At least, there are many books and references about it. Traditionally, both in Orthodoxy and as I already knew, this meditation / contemplative prayer – whatever you call it, is taught individually by an experienced teacher; that is, if the student is fortunate enough to find one. I do feel blessed that I had the opportunity to learn this way and, moreover, under the guidance of a fully realised man. It’s not so easy to learn from books but, it is also true, that the best way to learn to pray is – to pray. Orthodoxy has overwhelmingly rich traditions in almost everything connected with spiritual and religious life. One may find oneself immersed in detail without end. Maybe that’s why my instinct for freedom keeps me at a distance, but there I find that Orthodoxy has a tradition for that, too! I like the many examples of monks (and not only monks) who withdraw from prescribed and conventional ways to seek God, silent and alone. I wrote this for a church group: It is significant that the Orthodox Church should mark the beginning of her New Year (1/14th Sept.) by honouring the work of St Simon Stylites who, having started as a monk, withdrew to explore even deeper levels of prayer and inner life by settling himself on top of a pillar. A traditional way of exploring the inner world, approved by the Church, and quite probably used by St Simon, is the Jesus Prayer. When practiced persistently, this draws the attention inward, away from outward impressions, through the thinking and imaginary

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levels of mind to the silent depths of heart. There, one may discover infinite union, the ocean of being, beyond both mind and body, which is realised to be the true (i.e. unchanging), spiritual self, or “I am”. Though attained by letting go, or passing through outer things and, in particular, the activities of “me”, the inner world is found to be not empty or static but the very “treasure of good and giver of life” that informs everything else. Indeed, all that seems partial or contrary in our experience of the world, is made whole by going beyond. There, even prayer is resolved into union for, within realisation of Oneself, the whole of creation also is contained. Using the name of Jesus is a great safeguard but, nevertheless, exploring the inner world can be confusing to the inexperienced. For this reason, at least in the early stages, guidance is recommended. * * * As I discovered and learnt more about such men of prayer, this brought considerable encouragement to me in my own efforts. * * * Saint Tikhon – the name derives from the Russian word for “quiet” – was a 15th century monk who, for love of solitude, left his monastery to live the life of a hermit. In summer 2000, I was taken to see where he had lived, and then wrote this article for our parish magazine: What did St Tikhon do over many years, living there in the hollow of a gigantic oak tree, alone – in the depths of the forest? To our outer, worldly way of thinking – not much. He was, apparently, just that, which he was, and there, where he was. He leaves us his legacy of actual being … being present before God. He dwelt in prayer, but what really is such constantly prolonged prayer? Are we also able to pray likewise? Even now, after 500 years, we feel St Tikhon’s prayer acting upon us … but … how? Here, now we sit, and probably … on the very spot where he himself once sat. The same wind blows through the tops of pine trees, similar no doubt to those, which grew then, and the waters of the little spring, dug out by him, still flow.

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Time stands still. What is 500 years? We can imagine that, in his prayer, St Tikhon, motionless beneath the trees, far transcended passing time, and merged with eternity. That same eternity which we ourselves experience when we collect ourselves, focus away from our scattered thoughts, and come into the present moment – the stillness where God is ever present – the eternal presence of God. Prayer is said to be the means of creation. But how? From our own experience we know that, when we pray, we leave aside our own secondary and imperfect (sinful) creativity, and open ourselves to the creative providence of God. Hence, the appearance of miracles. The deepest, highest prayer is the fullest surrender of ourselves to God, the most completely whole-hearted devotion to Him. In the final analysis, we do not know how to pray, and therefore say, “Teach me to pray. Pray Thou Thyself in me.” Pure prayer, in actual fact, is not our own doing at all, but God’s. And we become as empty vessels, opening to Him. * * * In the darkness of the wooden bathing hut … fear … like sudden death. The cold water throws me naked before God. In a moment, all my pretences fall away, and then … again I’m in sunlight, in a rapture of cleanliness. * * * It’s hard to believe that our suffering and sicknesses are not real, until we find ourselves in a state of cleansing, and witness their disappearance. One moment, they are – the next, they’re not. As shade cannot exist before sunlight, the words of the prayer remind us: “Let God arise and let His enemies be scattered.” And this means that the solution to every human problem consists of recognising that there is no problem, except in ourselves and our determination to believe in it. Relief comes with the banishment of that belief, and then, all is seen to be the Will of God. Oh, how easy to write these words, but how hard sometimes to live by them. It’s well known that realisation of our sin does not come all at once. It requires persistent watchfulness. But, the

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deeper our prayer, the clearer we see, and are therefore more able to free ourselves from that deceitful interference, darkening our inner eye. Pilgrimage to holy places, and prayer in the presence of saintly lives, usually helps to clarify attention, bringing us to the simplicity of the present and freeing us from the weight of so-called worldly cares. Doors may open without impediment, and we can find ourselves unexpectedly happy. Again home … attention returns to quietness, ever present. Remaining in quietness helps us to understand that the entire world of change is contained within us. Here, the sense of duality, which constantly drives us to search for objectives outside ourselves … disappears. Sitting here, wondering how to finish this article, I am dissatisfied with my words … I feel their insufficiency, either for prayer or to express myself. Remembering St Tikhon, quiet in the forest, I only feel able to be here, quiet, like him. I listen to traffic on the road; look at my hand holding a pencil on the paper and, returning to the present moment, recognise myself as the immobile witness. I look up at the icon of St Tikhon on the wall beside me, and it seems that in the depths of silence, the possibility is given, even to us, to draw near to him and, through him, to immerse ourselves ever deeper in Infinite Goodness. Sunlight outside the window, shining on the leaves of a birch tree, fills me with sudden joy. Such was our pilgrimage … pure and clear, like the waters of the holy spring, and we … experiencing ourselves renewed. * * * Oh, blest communion unseen, Of saints, who through this world have been, And now rest glorious, but still Observe and know our ways, our will. Oh, saintly friends, companions dear, Help us to feel your presence near, And constantly reach up to take Your succour, outstretched for our sake.

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Help us to know, help us to pray, Show us what to do and say; Teach us to be with you as friends, And keep us straight, as God intends. By your examples, holy guides, Inspire us to amend our lives That, passing through this world, as you, We may be raised to heaven, too. The best things in our lives are free, And need not new technology; Pure hearts have always seen and met Without the use of Internet. A world which has no saintly light, Knows nothing more than wrong and right; But human mind was never meant To waste itself in argument. The blind do but themselves confuse, And we also, free willed to choose; Depending which we heed the most – The clamour, or the heavenly host.

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Approaches to Union

I LOVED M ANY people in Russia, and it was hard to keep parting from them. It helped, however, to develop my understanding of, and reliance on prayer, which, itself, more frequently merged into spiritual union. To members of our Church, I wrote: Beloved Brothers and Sisters, Already a month has passed since my departure, and I want to write about how I now feel the impossibility of being parted from you. This is an understanding, which constantly confirms itself with me. And how? It is said that every parting is a mini-death but, in Spirit, we know, everything appears the other way round. It’s only from our worldly point of view that we appear to say “good-bye”, go abroad, and age, and die. As we gradually learn to “lay aside all worldly cares”, it becomes ever clearer that, in Spirit, these worldly appearances lose their validity. As, little by little, we ascend the ladder of self-knowledge, and wobble between recognition of our identity with eternal, spiritual presence, and our usual conviction that we are separate, physical and mortal, times come when the One, in actuality outweighs the other. Then we know that, regardless of outer appearance, spiritual unity really and truly is; that this is – us, and in that realisation, we cannot be separated. St Seraphim of Sarov reminds us that the aim of our Christian life is: Attainment of Spirit. Even to a small extent, this is not 155

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beyond our capability. Strange to say, my own inability to converse freely in Russian, and the inconstancy of my being with you, have helped me relate to you more spiritually, not be afraid of silence, and to find love there, where it cannot be taken away from me. Let us encourage each other to watch and pray until we also attain that unchanging but ever effective ocean of spiritual love, from which we will see that all the changing, outer world takes place within us. Then, our wish never more to be parted will, in actual fact, come true. With greater confidence, we will be able to loose our attachments to outer and transitory life, which only comes to pass, and live as we are meant to live … eternally … in Spirit. *

*

*

I had two memorable experiences, which put me further on the road: In Chichester Cathedral. 22nd Jan. 2000. Deep, effortless Jesus prayer; wanting it, yet effortlessly; sinking into it – joyously, willingly letting go all else. And then there is no more any direction, or any other to pray to, or for. Prayer dissolves. There’s no more “anything” emanating from me. Pure consciousness. Prayer for others is pure consciousness too. That is “their” reality, as it is “mine”. There is no “other”; no other beings, states, identities, problems; neither any sensation of time, or body. All is the one consciousness within which we usually think we are separate – plus all the consequences of that. How does one attain it? We have to come out of what we are not i.e. the separation. How? By repentance i.e. first seeing (observing), discriminating, and then letting go (renouncing) that which holds us burdened in separation i.e. sin. By not feeding on it i.e. on our, or others’ expressions of it, but by feeding on what comes from pure consciousness i.e. scripture and works of the saints. By calling on the name of pure consciousness i.e. He that is without sin i.e. without the illusion of separate existence – Jesus Christ, who has the authority to

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dispel delusion and restore us to His light. “Abide in me, and I in you” ( Jn.15,4). *

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This happened during evening meditation: mantra ( Jesus prayer) becoming very fine; listening beyond lost differentiation, merged, became one: I am One, the One, that One, the only One. This is all there is i.e. the totality of everything. It’s primal being – One, conscious, undifferentiated being – and I am that. The first, the only sin is thinking, “I am not that” – i.e. separate – and that anything is “not me”. Then I need a Church, a prayer, a Saviour; but these are only to bring me back to the point of letting them go too and re-merging, realising once again what I am. Everything is within me. There is nothing else – no “other”, no other place to go to, or thing to know, or do, or achieve. Things, events (time and space) appear and disappear – happen within my consciousness, or knowing. There is a body called “Mother” which appears to be dying; but the process, seen from here, is like that of a car, passing from sight along a road. To enter into the appearance, become attached, identified, is the “Fall”. Once more to discover Oneself, is to know, or be Oneself, and that of everyone else, too. At first, doubt about losing this (the experience described above), made me lose it, and thereby see the process. Coming back to that finest point of listening and surrender, restored it. Having supper took the sharpness away. Afterwards, picking up a book to read seemed not quite right, putting me in the position of enquiring for what I’d just been shown more vividly than any words could tell. *

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How is this transmitted to the world, to help, or free others? This is the great question, and I hope that some of the realisations I’ve recorded in subsequent pages will help to answer it.

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And now, having filled in the background, I come to what I call more specifically windows of realisation. As I explained in the Introduction, these notes have mostly arisen spontaneously, without thought, appearing in the mind as attention surfaces after deep prayer, and requiring only to be written down. They are in chronological order, and interspersed with a few articles also written at that same time. In addition, I include some brief commentaries to explain what might otherwise seem to be obscure, and provide some personal narrative to help keep our feet on the ground.

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Even the Eagle THE WINDOW S in this chapter arose over a period of some years, in very differing circumstances. Life was unsettled between Russia and England, with prayer still emerging as its central feature. Readers may notice that I’m now using the word “prayer” more than “meditation”. People tend to have different understandings of the two words. For some, “meditation” means a form of thinking, or even worse – something not Christian. I stress that the inner practice, which I was originally taught, has never fundamentally changed. However, as I have already explained, after my Jesus experience in the USA, the initial repetition adapted itself to become the Jesus prayer. In fact, meditation as I was taught and practice it, takes one beyond thought and leads directly to union, whereas conventional prayer remains in the realm of duality. But words are just words and mean what we think they mean. Effective spiritual practice by whatever name goes beyond words. “Prayer” is the word used in the Gospels, and associated with Jesus. I like it and use it, though sometimes, to embrace all understandings, I write meditation / prayer. Readers will see the results for themselves. Even the eagle dissolves into the sky. This is glorification – when every last shadow is made light. Pure consciousness, pure Spirit – the love that beareth all things, endureth all things and never faileth (1Cor.13,7-8). In this, all and everything arises and dissolves – the was, and now, and ever shall be. A million blessings. Joy without end. *

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This happened while concerned about changing relationships: Too tired, I suppose, to sleep last night, I lay for an hour and then sat up and prayed. Then slept. The only marriage, the only longing, the only lover – the one that never fails – is Jesus. Woke at 20 to 4 and straight back into prayer. Both X- and Y- there, in deepest indissoluble union of the heart, forever, like two of the most fundamental aspects of my own being. Z- too, but she somehow newer, less established. This is the real bond, infinitely more real than anything in the outer world which, from here, appears small and insignificant. Then, wonder of wonders – an inner shift, a further letting go, and one or two others, another, and then everyone, every race and person, animal, creature, every element and crumb of earth unto the furthest star, included, in my heart, in me. *

*

*

Every “thing” is no “thing” from Spirit. It’s all known to be Spirit, just as the many colours in a rainbow are known to be nothing more than different components of light. Creation is modification of the primal substance – Spirit, appearing first as light and sound – the Word. There is no law in Spirit except the law of One. Law arises from Spirit as we can see in the arrangement of the spectrum. Everything revealed in Spirit is clear, open, simple and coherent. There is no darkness, no confusion. Darkness belongs only to those who stand, as it were, with their backs to the light, in their own shadow – exercising their sub-creative gifts as the powers and works of darkness. Spirit unceasingly pours forth its abundance of all things needful, but unless we, being children of darkness, turn round (repent), how can this reach us from behind our backs? *

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In Spirit, all is one and is seen to be one. There really are no separate people associated with it. But the mind’s eye sees a world of different people. How can this be? It seems that an aspect of mind detaches itself from the unity. Looking inwards in Spirit, the world show disappears. It isn’t there at all. Looking outwards, it

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reappears. As we re-enter it, the quiet mind of meditation starts thinking, calls itself “I”, becomes disturbed, finds itself with questions and problems. *

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All problems in life arise because we forget the fact that we are SPIRIT. In Spirit we are neither cold, nor wet, and certainly not separated. Spirit solves everything. Spirit needs nothing – is whole, complete, perfect, as is also the world which it sees. Body and mind are its servants – instruments for its use in the world. Unlimited by time and distance, it unites everyone and everything in itself. This inward or spiritual union is the real indissoluble “marriage” to everyone – especially to those able to respond. *

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*

During my visits to Russia, I collected many commonly used and widely available little “household” icons, and one in particular, a copy of the earliest known representation of Jesus, from the St Catharine monastery, Mt Sinai. On this occasion I do not remember being consciously focused on it, but it must have been in my mind. Miraculously, the last non-existent, non-barrier is imperceptibly dissolved, and He is there. What, who is there? In appearance (though there is no appearance), like the Mt. Sinai icon – the gentle, all knowing eyes. I wonder to use the word “smile”, but this is for ever. I in you, and you in me. Love. Pure, total love. To love and be loved granted in total fullness. And there one is – for ever. It is extended gently, as if not to shock me, to the Lord Almighty, all embracing, transcendent in heaven. The Father, Son and Holy Spirit – so it is. There is no time – no need to return at all. Only the lightest contacts remind me of the “world”. It is good to be unattached. One returns to outwardness, but the inwardness remains – the quiet, knowing smile (beyond a smile) of the icon. “I am all that ever has been, and all that ever will be; I am all that you have ever sought or wanted – and you do not know me.”

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Through the jungles of self-this and self-that, we come at last to self-abandonment to divine love, and the end of all our problems. *

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Prayer – like the finest oil of spiritual consciousness, subtly penetrating all the hard, unyielding corners of the world – hard heartedness, fixed and locked in attachments, identifications, limitations, denials; releasing pains, relieving fear; freeing the captives; enabling what had seemed impossible, to be. But there really isn’t any world “out there” to be prayed for i.e. a separate “you” and “me”, as there isn’t another world of God to be prayed to. It’s all within me, united and comprehended, in my own heart. *

*

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So often, holding someone in awareness, or prayer, seems so feeble – almost nothing, but occasionally, when Spirit is realised as reality, the source of everything, the real power house, and the world – a phantom nothing, then that action, prayer, is confirmed as the most powerful act of all. “The prayer of a righteous man availeth much” (Ja.5,16). What is righteous? “No one is good, but God” (Mat.19,17). Righteous prayer requires that ego completely disappears. *

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One cannot do anything out there in the world of crystallisation, fossilisation – where “The dead bury their dead” (Mat.8,22) i.e. the world of physical and mental limit; for it’s only by returning to unmanifest, creative Spirit that we align ourselves with true, healing recreation. *

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*

Appearance … it’s what appears, and this challenges us all the time to believe in it – superficial beauty, sickness, matters of “importance” – but they are all appearances. Behind the surface of appearance lies the real world of no division, no time, no appearance. Here we meet the saints. Here demands of appearance lose their hold – the “sick” person is known as pure, spiritual reality that

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“appears” sick. Appearances surge up, demanding acknowledgement, but they are only appearances – and nothing more. * * * Awoke, reborn, into pure awareness, utterly effortless – not any thing, but total simplicity of being, containing, freeing, lifting everything. “Watch and pray,” we are told (Mat.26,l), and we find, at such times, that one becomes the other. Here, awareness is all – to whom, what can one pray? I am that. All effort seems far, far away, as in another world. Here all is open, all is possible, but there’s no desire. Freedom, quietness, completeness, joy of being … the sound of pencil on paper, ticking clock, and wind. Only to be here now is all and everything. There is no sense of time. Taking off my glasses, bare feet on the carpet – is pure creation. The only effort is to be – aware. * * * The sole purpose of my existence is to be where I am and what I am. In comparison, desires, fears, happenings in time, are irrelevant and only to be observed without reaction. From “I am”, pure awareness, called love, radiates and embraces the whole world. The entire work is to be at One. Apart from that there is no impulse to go anywhere, see anybody or do anything. * * * Taken so far, far beyond mind and body – no sensation, thought at all, yet all creation known within me. Surprisingly, some sense of being a separate spirit – impossible! – completely disembodied, free to move anywhere but separate – homeless. Not nice. There must have been some mind impurity left – enough to feel separate. I’ve never felt that before – it was like a warning. Further earnest prayer brought me through, so it seemed, higher, higher to the very …. but quite indescribable in words. Jesus prayer all the way – closer, more united and made one, it seemed, with the very Lord’s heart itself. “Don’t ever let me be separated from you again.” A million miles beyond mind and body. All that worldly life – a faint, distant echo, as memory of childhood, but – still remaining, an ability to “hold” i.e. be aware of others, knowing them also as pure

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Spirit and not their ailing separateness. Indeed, the one prayer is that all might know this too. How long I was there I do not know. All sense of time and space dissolved. Unusually in the morning, my legs started aching, so I had to move and stretch them, while gradually returning, yet still Spirit. Remembering last night’s lecture, realised how the establishment Church may tolerate, so long as it isn’t challenged, but will always tend to crucify the free “I am”. There is a basic tension – its head may reach to heaven but its feet are on the ground – as indeed I am myself, with my body /mind and worldly identity, which fight for their survival. Church is like our spiritual mother, womb; in it we are nurtured, from it we may be born into the freedom of Spirit. Once born, it can restrict. * * * Only to be with God, in awareness of spiritual presence; the only thing that really matters. Outer details of whom, if anyone, one is with, or where, fade away into insignificance, as do all aspects of separation, illness, loss, desire etc. Before God’s radiance, all else dissolves as mist before the sun. All is seen, not as the world that was, of me and others, but now of God, in perfect oneness. It is now a real possibility to be this outwardly as well as inwardly. In fact the call comes to be there now, out in the street among the crowd. The person is seen in his pure being – pure movement, pure colour etc. – the “sin” not seen, as darkness before light. It’s no longer people as such, but God appearing as people – people in, and of God’s spiritual substance. Cars, street, rubbish – everything is only God. * * * In Spirit, the relationship between the one who asks for prayer – “Pray for me” – and the one who prays, is much, much closer than anything that is possible in the outer world, e.g. marriage, in the land of exile. Being behind the screen of this world, prayer becomes a holding, as by an invisible string, of those prayed for – like reins on a child, lest it runs off and hurts itself – falls off the edge of the world into outer darkness. Depending on whether we are ourselves in unity, connected to the source of life, prayer holds

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all united – unites with God, those who are estranged. Mostly the holding is one sided – the held being unaware, but when mutual, then it becomes like the smoke from two fires, rising and merging as one; and when we appeal to the prayers of saints and the Holy Mother, then all rise up together. * * * I realise clearly now, and alternatively experience, two worlds. One, where most things, people etc. are outside of oneself, and life is a continuous effort of “me” accepting, rejecting, trying to do, change or be something i.e. rearrange bits of separation. In the other world, everything is experienced inside oneself. It is entirely without effort or desire, and things are seen to happen of themselves (by Grace). Knowledge, for example, is revealed, not learnt. The key is observation from the mind at rest (humility), which also brings realisation that one’s separate “me” is a self-willed, ignorant imposter, the very cause of separation and trouble (pride). In the all containment of Spirit, prayer for “others” is automatic. Comprehending the whole world within oneself, and being oneself open to divine Grace, the only impediment is rejection of it. To help the world, my entire task is to remove the impediment of “me”. * * * From deep meditation, going through the list of people to pray for – all is contained, utterly contained. All that ever has been, is, or will be, is held in one indivisible unity, one conscious containment. From here it is impossible to separate, impossible to die. All that is delusion and not it. The consciousness is myself. All that I’ve just seen is within me, my consciousness, except that it isn’t “my” but “the” One consciousness, One Self, which is me, and everyone and everything else, too. When people are dying, saving bodies, i.e. postponing death to die another day is unimportant compared to saving souls. In knowledge of unity, neither birth nor death disturbs the one eternal life/consciousness. Awareness of this is eternal life. Only ignorance (sin) dies – “The wages of sin is death” (Ro.6,23). *

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It’s as though, after living most of my life in various compartments of a large block of flats (being various components of my mind), I’ve now come out, and am dwelling on, or somewhere above, the roof. Here, all the effort of maintaining those separate states of mind is now superseded by reliance on One Universal Providence. The choice now is no longer to live in the comparatives of Russia or England (at that time I was living in Russia), but either to stand in conscious awareness of the Presence of God, or accept the universal belief in birth, death, poverty, sickness, problems and things to do. There’s nothing else now to strive for but to put off the last remains of separation, and to merge with God. Oneness is the only real relationship, but from imagined separation in our apparent world, oneness appears also to separate. The tension to unite is love, but in distortion, love becomes “my” love, “my” self-interests etc. Hence trouble. * * * I still worried about my relationship with the Church, which I felt stood somehow opposed to my new discoveries in prayer. Was I or wasn’t I a part of it? Past conditioning still pulled me to accept its authority, but fresh realisations saw it in a new perspective. 10 to 5. Sat to meditate. Suddenly taken up beyond the farthest star and sort of sat there, rock like. Saw all within me – my body, far away and very small, no more mine than any other – the Church, the hosts of heaven, the universe. The early morning world went on, observed, within me. I did nothing – was just there – as now, watching my hand writing – effortlessly. I had been concerned about the Church. This seemed like a gift of reassurance, confirmation – that this is how it is. Sat there 2 hours. It was very clear that both the Church in the world, and in heaven, or at least any remaining acts or differentiation in heaven, are contained within the witness who is beyond all, including the act of creation. With me as the observer, detached and doing nothing, it works and rights itself, by itself. Mind too, was seen – like a suspension, in which all this appearance we call the world, or “reality” takes place. Like a great cosmic dew-drop containing

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things both visible (from the earth) and invisible. And all this somehow my imagination, as I see it – the vision given to me with my particular worries about the Church. So everyone else has their “world” too. We create and become possessed by our own worlds. But none of these worlds are really real. Only the Self (the Witness) stands beyond mind and sees everything else as an act within it (movement in consciousness). * * * Desire to help the world is transformed by realising its existence within the radiance of God, its only source and sustenance. Then this realisation itself is found to be our prayer.

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Notes from Stillness FOLLO WING A recent meeting in Moscow, I was asked to write something about stillness, and how it came to be so much part of my daily experience, even in the centre of a great city. I do so gladly, for I love to be still, and it is good to find others who are interested in the same thing. Stillness is not, of course, the end in itself but an ever expanding approach for anyone who seeks to deepen their understanding of God. As I have wondered what to write, stillness itself has seemed so much more real and reliable than anything I could write about it. From stillness I think about those who might read this article, and instantly it leaps all barriers of time and space between us … instantly uniting. That, however, may not seem so obvious to all. I must try to use words to express the inexpressible, but nevertheless trust that the same sense of stillness, which surrounds me as I write, will be with you, the readers, as you read. Stillness is still, but definitely not static; it always leads to the beyond, and opens up ever subtler levels of the unmanifest. We could also refer to it as the unchanging reality behind movement; the unity, or Spirit beyond all separation. Those words may sound impressive to us, but for them to become really useful we need to find stillness in actual, practical, daily experience. How do we begin? Naturally, we start with the body, standing or sitting as convenient, and allowing it to come to rest. However, we soon find that if we still the body, we continue to experience movement of the 168

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mind, i.e. thought, and the more we try to stop thinking, the harder it becomes! The real work, we discover, is to overcome this uncontrolled movement of the mind. Not without reason is it called the Unseen Battle. Let me first write a little of how I came to this work. At school, I received a traditional Christian education which did much to focus my mind in that direction, but it was not until I learnt to practice inner, contemplative prayer at the age of 27 that the invisible dimension of Spirit burst into my perception of reality. Before then, I had usually felt closest to God in conditions of space and solitude. In fact, I travelled far and wide to find them, and felt that the pressures of civilisation were, in general, destructive of what I held most dear. But as I learnt how to turn attention inwards, passing through the thinking levels of mind to follow the prayer into the inner depths of heart, I discovered with joy, an infinitude of space and peace within myself. What a marvellous discovery that was … love, freedom, joy, fulfilment without end, all opening up within myself, and totally independent of outer circumstances. I no longer had to look for them outside. Of course it takes practice – long, patient practice, but, even so, I asked myself, “Why does not everyone realise it?” Well, that, I came to see, is the story of The Fall, and man’s long pilgrimage back to find the lost Kingdom of Heaven within himself. Certainly, I discovered (and continue to do so, for the adventure never ends), realms of Spirit far beyond what words can express or human eye can see (1 Cor.2,9). In a sense, all the words ever written about religion/God, and all the churches ever built, can only be like pointers showing us the way. Ultimately we have to go there ourselves. By their subjective /objective nature, words can only express duality; to find unity we need to go beyond. The old saying: “Silence is the language of the world to come; words are instruments of this world,” is true. It may seem difficult at first, to be still. It takes practice, and certainly the practice is helped by the complementary practice of inner contemplative prayer e.g. the Jesus prayer. The requirement

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is for full attention, inside and out. Each helps, and is actually a reflection of, the other. As we turn in, we commonly encounter thoughts, feelings, multitudinous diversions within the mind. A helpful analogy is clouds in the sky. Normally, we live beneath them, unable to see beyond unless they themselves move aside to reveal the blue sky. Inner prayer, properly practised, is like an aeroplane. It takes us through the clouds of the mind to the clear blue sky beyond. There one is beyond limitation, beyond change. And this is discovered within oneself without need to change anything in the outer world. “The kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17,21). The time and space of earth are far below, but when we return to the airport, or our daily life, once more they take control. We may remember the infinite unchanging for a while but then we become attached to, immersed in the things and events around us … and forget. It is most interesting (and enlightening) not only to listen to words from stillness, but to observe. What do we hear, and see? Well, a moment’s practice is worth more than my trying to tell you. Listen, and see, for yourself. Does not sound and appearance take place within your listening and looking? Exactly. And does not sound and appearance constantly change? What then are we? What am I? The ever-changing movement, or unchanging awareness? Maybe you answer, “Both.” OK for now. Keep with the stillness, listen and look. Much more will be revealed. The key is attention, or being aware, both inwardly and out. Maybe we think we already are aware, but if we watch closely we will see that much of our life is spent in an inner chaos of undirected thought, feelings etc., expressing themselves in a torrent of equally chaotic words, which, in effect, hold us in a sort of mental prison. Awareness of what is happening immediately creates a space between you and the object. The seer is not the thing which is seen. Fuller rewards, as I have said, require practice, but much can be realised if only we turn in the right direction. “Watch and pray” (Mat 26, 41). Jesus says “Watch” even before “Pray”. If we listen and look with full attention, bringing ourselves from past or future to the present moment, and gradually expand awareness, it is quite

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easy to be aware of stillness, even in the busiest situation … stillness that is beyond, and yet includes all sound, all movement. With practice we may come to realise that there are, in every situation, two conditions, or worlds, which we can experience. One, which never changes, is always there – an infinity of pure being, and another, whose nature is constant change i.e. the “world”. If, at the same time, we practice inner prayer, or some comparable way of self-realisation, we find that we consist of exactly the same conditions ourselves … an inner, unchanging, ever present presence, and an outer ever-changing appearance. The inner world is not something that we have to create or develop – it’s already there – but it needs to be realised. Eternity, and transient mortality exist side by side. Yes, we can accept, believe this intellectually, but full realisation is totally practical … I repeat, the key is attention, or knowing what is in your sight. Whatever we do, wherever we are, we can practice being aware e.g. here and now, as I write these words, I try to be aware of the point of my pen on the paper. We can be aware of our own voice speaking, our thoughts thinking, our feet on the pavement as we walk; of cooking and cleaning, being tired or cross or happy. As we step back in awareness from our identification with these things, we see that life does not cease to function e.g. the washingup continues, but now in freedom. The hands know exactly what to do. We simply watch. Life becomes less a matter of “doing” than of “being”. And gradually, imperceptibly, our sense of what we are moves from this separate “me” struggling to survive in a difficult and often hostile world, to that same pure being of everything and everyone … God in all things, the pure “I am”. Spirit, or “I am” is real. We live in it like fishes in the sea, but seldom realise it. Why not? Because we create a sort of inner, mental, “me” based world of our thoughts, feelings, identifications and attachments which obscure our perception, imprisoning and cutting us off from the real reality. In order to become what we really are, we need to come out of this substitute or unreal creation of our own minds. How? The words, icons, symbols etc. of religion may help. They are like travel agents, telling us what’s there, and showing the way. But to really find Spirit we have to actually

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let go and come out of the conviction that we are mind and body; realise our true, eternal being as that which is beyond them, and see that they are but instruments for our temporal and outer use. It’s as though we have two houses: a little house with bars on the window, not much light, not much room to move, and in this house we live our lives. We forget that we also possess another house, wonderfully light and spacious, with all our heart’s desire freely available. If only we could remember this, we would never be content to continue living in the little house. With stepping back and observation from stillness, we may begin to see the situation. With practice we may come out of the little house; and with continuous practice we may draw closer to and even dwell in the great house, and then we will never want to return to our previous restriction. How does stillness arise? Well, it isn’t by stopping movement – that’s impossible. Even in the remotest desert, something stirs, and most certainly our minds continue to think. No, stillness arises when we let go of our identification with, and attachment to, movement, including that of the mind. The way to overcome thought is not to fight it or try to stop it – that just creates opposition. A much better way is to simply see it, step back and become disinterested. Starved of attention, it dies down by itself. Anywhere and anytime we can practice stillness, and in fact it becomes a way of purification … pure 100% seeing, listening, or simply being, without anything extra. For example, seeing rubbish as just rubbish … as the sun sees, without addition of personal comment, criticism, judgement. It is wrong to think that if one lives in a busy urban area, one is at a disadvantage. On the contrary. It is often in such areas that one feels the need for spiritual space and peace, which is the strongest motivation to practice. Those who live in quiet surroundings often suffer from inertia. Once one has discovered stillness, for example, on a Metro rush-hour escalator, holding all Moscow in perfect peace … it has its own attraction! How does all this help the world … help others? Brought up in a society that values visible human help above spiritual experience,

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I have asked this question many times. The answer varies with one’s point of view. Most of us start by seeing the world’s problems as real, and their solution dependent upon man. But when we pray deeply, or become deeply aware, we pass beyond the weight of personal responsibility … we surrender it, and sense a closeness to that “Source of good and giver of life” from which all things arise. This is indeed the real creative and re-creative power. Before it, our separate “me” dissolves. But if, in the presence of Spirit, our own “me” is no longer real, neither is anyone else’s. The apparent separation of the world, with all its associated problems, is seen to be not true … an illusory deception created by our own minds … a sort of dream. And whether the dream be good or bad, the answer to every dream is to wake up, see it for what it is, stop giving it life by believing in it, and watch it dissolve as mist before the sun. Actually, before we start being of use to others, we all have more than enough to do clearing the windows of our own perception (see Mat.7,3). Otherwise, we risk being one more case of the blind leading the blind, and both falling into the ditch (Mat.15,14). In those precious moments when our vision clears, and everything is seen existing in the unchanging reality of Spirit, or total stillness, then what we call “life”, including people, can be observed as a miraculous, make-believe theatre, in which we play, but also become totally identified with, our parts. If, from this state of self-deception, we then try to influence others, it is clear to see why things go wrong. It may indeed sometimes be appropriate to help our neighbour with earthly food, but much better, and of more lasting benefit – the heavenly food of Spirit – awakening, or salvation from this mortal dream. Words, words, words … if we listen, we soon realise that words always sound in stillness. From the beginning of the world, all the words ever spoken have sounded, and sound, in stillness. And if all the words, then all events also … all action and appearance. Stillness never changes. We know it, and yet we don’t. Nevertheless, as purification reduces the interference of “me”, so stillness, Spirit, love (as described in 1Cor.13), and the essence of what we truly are – “I am”, are seen to flow indistinguishably together.

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Well, this reads like a summary of my life. It seems so easy now, so obvious and simple, but that’s after nearly 40 years of practice. I haven’t mentioned Jesus by name because my own personal encounter with Him as Saviour came late in life, and that’s really another story. I am wary of getting confused with religious / spiritual language. It is easy to delude ourselves … to speak in theory or from books rather than from real experience; to think that truth lies here or there or with some or other person rather than within ourselves, though of course, to begin with, it may seem so. I am accustomed to use general words like “stillness”, “awareness”; others prefer to express themselves in a more specifically religious way. I do not suggest that what I have written should be compared too closely with religion. That is not my intention. Comparison often leads us to fall into the trap of duality, and thereby lose the essential third point of unity, or stillness, in which all ways converge. I offer these notes only as approaches that have been helpful to me … deepening my devotion to God, and explaining my place and function in the world. I would be glad if they were of similar help to others. From my own experience I can confirm that, as one is taken deeper into Spirit, the many different strands of religious insight, and the different words used to describe them, do come together. Simplicity does replace complexity and, exactly as we may experience all the noise and movement of Moscow contained in stillness, so we may contemplate, with infinitely expanding horizons of consciousness, all that has ever touched our existence; all, it seems, that it is possible to contemplate, within oneself, as One.

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Observations from 2003 FO LLOWING THE “instruction” received in Russia to go and pray in a certain church, I started going also to our local parish church in England for my main morning meditation. It’s not far from where I live, across a road and up a hill – a quiet, pleasant walk before the traffic starts. I love my few minutes with the night sky in winter, and dawn in summer, and then, 2 hours later, having done my “work”, I come out into fresh morning air, birds in the churchyard, and a view over our little town in the valley below. The School of Meditation taught the importance of sitting with a straight and upright back. For many years I was able to sit in the lotus position. That seemed ideal, but my legs won’t now bend as they once did. I often wake at night and meditate sitting up in bed, well supported by a firm backrest, which I find very satisfactory. Then I go to the church for 6.00. It’s empty at that hour so I let myself in and sit in my usual place in the chancel, not far from the altar. I don’t consider myself a very “churchy” man. I don’t join in much with Church activities, though I take communion once a week. I feel my contribution is more through meditation / prayer, and my solitary times in Church are, if such were needed, a sort of public witness to it. Silence and obscurity do not, however, generally arouse much interest. I used to worry more about the need to communicate. During my first 20 years of meditation, I was quite active teaching, speaking and writing about it. There was still some personal desire to do so. But now I feel all that is necessary happens of itself through Spirit. It’s marvellous to discover Spirit though, in my experience, the adventure never ends. After 175

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40 years I am still discovering ever more how to surrender myself and let the Spirit act. It takes a long time to realise to an ever increasing degree, the extent of “my” interference, the secondary nature of creation, and the primary, all perfecting, creative power of Spirit. Once realised, it completely answers the perpetual question, “What shall I do?” – though again, it has taken me many years to be able to write that with the confidence I feel now. Becoming more spiritual is advantageous in every way. I should write of pure Spirit, because much confusion can arise in impure conditions, which are actually admixtures of mind in Spirit. I do count my blessings that I was so well taught in the School of Meditation. All thought and mental activity – the “Clouds of the mind”, must be passed through and let go in ascending to the clear, upper air of Spirit. After a night of dreams, I wake up, but waking, wake only to another dream, called “life” – another level of dream. From there, I wake up properly – so simple, and there it is – pure delight of the awakened, disembodied, liberated Self – timeless, spaceless – nothing, and yet all. It watches. Dreams unfold – graduated according to the state of consciousness, from pure, eternal, to impure and hardly at all. Higher dreams of higher mind intermingle with lower dreams of the lower. Dream is creation – God’s and/or ours. Creation is the projection /embodiment of mental images – perfect, ordered and forever from God (man realised i.e. really awake) – semi-ordered, corrupt and temporal from man awake (by his standards), and disordered, insubstantial from man unconsciously asleep. * * * What is the Self? Beyond differentiation of time and space; beyond body, life and death, all is contained in me yet I am free. Kneeling before the cross to say the accustomed prayer, words don’t arise, for to whom do I speak? Speechless I look, and I am that. Self luminous, but without attributes – desireless, needless – completely self contained. Before me worlds arise and dissolve in their own time scales, yet I am free. *

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Without interference, or the interpretation of ignorance from “me”, creation is seen to be a miraculous perfection, which works, and heals by itself i.e. independent of “me”. And what am I? When realisation dawns, it is so simple, so clear, so immediate and beyond all doubt, that one laughs for joy. I am the witness, the one who enjoys. All creation is within me – indeed, is me (as a mental, day-dream picture is within). I am the bird, and I am the sky; I am the writer of these words, and the one who reads; I am the passers-by outside my window, and the street itself … the movement and the rest. I am all things, and all things are me, yet – as pure awareness, bodiless, deathless – I am completely free. Just taking off my spectacles and leaning back in my chair, I see it happening within me … *

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After not hearing 8.00 strike, and sitting till 8.30. What happens? There is no experience of anything, yet, when I’m asked, “Were you asleep?” I categorically answer, “No.” Sitting at breakfast feels like an unreal dream, from which I’ve been released. Now, I’m writing with, but then I was without any memory or experience of so-called “life”. It was as deep, dreamless sleep – but awakeness, in eternal rest. Even now, I feel inwardly unmoved, watching the hand write. Outwardly, Monday market and house cleaning day move into action; through the kitchen window, distant hills remind me of ages past, but acts and age don’t touch … What? Where? Nothing, nowhere, but here and now, beyond, unqualified. *

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Pure, weightless, spaceless, timeless being … each and all inclusive, though itself detached. From here, raindrops continue to fall and thoughts to think; things happen round about, but the disturbances of life do not disturb the peace – they are contained. From here, the activities of separate personalities out there in the world can be observed, but

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here, centred, all is one and at rest. Mind cannot see the mind so can never really understand, but from beyond one sees how it works – creating belief in its own personalised self and imaginations, which then become its body and its world. But however real and substantial these appear to the individual, from here they are illusory. Quite naturally, one comes to see the unchanging as real – the change, as unreal. And this leads to a different understanding of prayer, when, with the illusion of “me” dissolved, there is no longer any separate being to pray or pray for, or separate God to pray to; nor is there any wish to control the unfolding nature of events observed. How can there be, when I myself am one with the Creator? All is seen to be the will of God, and God, the source of all goodness, is known as the very healing for which the world craves. Desire to help the world is transformed into desire for ever deeper integration with God i.e. longing to remove every last impediment of “me”. Nevertheless, when individuality and need is there to be prayed for, prayer is to affirm the true, spiritual estate and disregard the apparent, mortal “dream”. Perceiving the world within oneself, yet also realising that one (and everyone) is completely free from it, sheds light on everything. * * * There’s a large crucifix hanging just inside the back door of the church. I usually stand or kneel before it when I enter and say the “everyday” prayer used by St Filaret of Moscow. In translation it goes: “Lord, I know not what to ask. You alone know what’s needed. You love me more than I could ever love myself. You see what I do not. Father, give your servant that, which I am unable to pray for. I seek neither cross nor comfort, but only stand before you with my open heart laid bare. See, and do with me according to your will. Strike down or heal, lay low or raise me high. Silent, reverent, unknowingly before your holy will, I give myself into your hands and wish for nothing else. Teach me to pray. You pray yourself in me.” Over the years these words have become less personal and, at times, seem rather on behalf of all creation. The Crucifix always has something to teach us. Now that I’m older and have seen much that can happen

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with spiritual “lost sheep”, I do try to keep close to the “Good Shepherd”. I feel He keeps me safe. Standing before the altar, I still speak the words of prayer but find myself not below, looking up, but above, looking down. Words come to an end before that fact which neither fear nor humility can deny – the stream has found and lost itself in the ocean, the lover in his Lord. Deeper and ever deeper one may go: Deeper, yet ever deeper, Oh my Love, my Lord, In You forever, my whole heart outpoured … And there, beyond even the deepest longing of the heart, one may rest in pure consciousness i.e. one is conscious, but there is no manifestation, or consciousness of anything. Therefore it is indescribable. How do I know? It is known only after returning again to the world of comparative consciousness – to knowing of this and that. Then you know you’ve been beyond. In pure consciousness, there is no thought, no body. Returning back, they reappear, but are seen to be phantom creatures – illusory bodies of illusory mind, which come to believe themselves separate, to “live”, suffer and die as do all “others”. Each seems real to the other, although this is contrary to the evidence of pure consciousness. * * * I feel myself ever more released from this sojourn in mortality which we call “life”. The release is only of attachment /identification. Otherwise, embodiment in the world continues the same for its duration, and appears within oneself. The witness of “I am” becomes established in its original, pure (bodiless), blissful, spiritual and unchanging self. How is this known? Because when it happens, it is so clear, obvious and natural that it cannot possibly be doubted. Being so for me, it is so for all. Recognising it in myself, it becomes more evident in all – “The light that lighteth every man” (Jn.1,9). *

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Seen once, and then again and again. It comes with such a blaze of recognition that all else is swept aside – a super evidence of super life, not really identifiable as the outer person, for it’s beyond that – beyond the personal. It’s immediately obvious as what’s real about someone, beyond whatever customary appearance shows outwardly – so much so that the outer person is hardly seen at all. And it’s the same in all … that’s what’s so wonderful … one beloved person is seen in another … is the other person. There’s no difference, it is one person, one real person, one Self in all. And it’s so beautiful, so everything one longs for, that one cannot but fall in love with it. Then comes the more difficult realisation that the one who hurts you is also the same – the hurter and the healer, the friend and enemy, the one where it’s seen clearly and the ninety nine where it isn’t – the same Self dwells in everyone, whatever their role. *

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From letters to an old friend: “We are one, united, indistinguishable one from another, a million times closer than anything that can be obtained in this yes /no mortality. Mortal life is our demonstration that we are not where we belong – at home. Why waste time in hope or regret there, where life’s only purpose is to remind us to wake up, see it for the dream it is, and the deprivation of something better. “Immediately, on sitting to meditate, you appear physically beside me as someone else; but, inwardly – you, she, God … everyone and everything, all living and ‘dead’, all are known complete in the one, same, infinite, intimate heart. This is perfect unity – of heart. All is me, and I am all. Then … in meditation … but I know nothing until an hour later, when, closing the window, I see rain drops on a puddle expressing inexpressibly perfect, total, tender love. Your love, Lord. You move my hand, hold my head, think and write these words. I am You, and You are me. All is me, and all is You, and You/me, I, am all.” *

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There is no longer anything that can be referred to as God, or anything that can be referred to as me, for all difference and separation is dissolved and both are one and the same. Nor is there anything in existence other than this, for all is this and can be no other. This is all there is – the “is” and “I am” of everything. * * * Infinite joy, inexhaustible love, complete and utter fulfilment of all one’s heart’s desires in every way. But there aren’t really any desires – it’s beyond all that. A quiet smile on my face of total peace. There’s no need now to write little notes, or seek approval or confirmation, or even to communicate. All is known. Quietly the pen writes while I wait for the clock to strike. Distant sounds remind me of creation, but anything of separation into different people, problems etc. is still far too far away to have reality. How will it be when I stand up and walk outside? What else can be but this? As I prepare to leave I feel a bit apprehensive lest I lose it, though mind is so still that I watch these questions, asked automatically, fade back into nothing. All thoughts, all questions – even about Spirit or prayer, arise from mind. Mind creates different images, people, situations, and then seeks means of dealing with them. But these remain mental images, within a mental world which, from beyond the mind are seen dispassionately, as one might play an automatic game, or view a museum demonstration of “What happens if you do this.” From timelessness, I see ages of time pass before me, all held in the present now – eternal memory. Nothing is lost. Soon I will leave the church where I meditate and walk downhill to home and breakfast. The body, like a clockwork toy, will come back to life. All will unfold before me out of memory. I will enter into it, and live the day. I sit listening, as the breakfast things are washed. All happens by itself – in, of, and by the mind – within the infinite smile.

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Dearest Nina, Children, Friends… FOR ONE of my “jobs” in Russia, I worked with a private teacher, Nina, who lived just the other side of our yard. She took small groups of children, whose parents paid for extra English lessons. We became good friends. She had a great gift for making learning fun, and soon realised her Englishman could be used to entertain as well as instruct her pupils. I loved it as much as she and the children did, and we kept in touch when I returned to England. Once again my thoughts turn to Russia, to your warm and welcoming flat, and the many happy hours I have spent there with you. Although now far away in space and time, I still feel very close to you in Spirit, and I thought I would try to write a little about how I understand the meaning of “in Spirit”. You will know that, traditionally, English people have fireplaces with a “live” coal or wood-burning fire in their homes, and love to sit there, by the fireside, watching the up and down, dancing movement of the flames. Sometimes, in the evening, they will turn off the light and just sit quietly in semi-darkness, enjoying the gentle flickering of firelight. If there are dogs or cats in the home, you may be sure that their favourite place will be on the hearth-rug in front of the fire. (By the way, have you noticed how close the word “hearth” is to “heart”?) Nowadays, of course, most people use gas or electric fires, or central heating, but nevertheless, many still have a symbolic fireplace and mantelpiece in their main room, where 182

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they put maybe a clock and some treasured photographs, which help to convey a cozy, reassuring sense of the “old days”. If you think how, from the beginning of history, our ancestors have gathered round a fire, it is easy to understand how deeply it connects us with security, peace and the comfort of being “at home”. The flames flare up and die down, but the fireplace, the quietness and the fire itself provide a background of continuity. It is deeply symbolic of life. Like the flames, all appearances in life … plants, animals, good days and bad, and even our own bodies, appear and disappear … they are born and die. The things we did yesterday are forgotten, and new ones come to pass. All passes down the river of time and becomes, as we say, “water under the bridge”. Shakespeare described it, in theatrical terms, as a stage: All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players, They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts. In our example of the fire, that “play” is the movement of the flames. But let’s turn our attention to the fireplace itself or, in other words, that permanent background in which the action of the play takes place. If we consider our own, actual, everyday lives we will soon realise that the play is visible, but the background – the real background, beyond even the apparent permanence of our town or nation, is invisible. We call it Spirit. Spirit is everywhere, but we are not always aware of it. The Bible describes it as that in which “We live, and move, and have our being” (Acts 17,28). If we were fishes, then Spirit might seem like the ocean. There’s a story of an innocent, little fish, puzzled by questions about life, who went to the old, wise fish and asked, “Where is the ocean?” Naturally, we look at the sky above us as representing the ocean of Spirit, stretching out infinitely beyond our sight, into space. Just like the ocean of water, the ocean of Spirit has different levels or depths, but sitting, as it were, upside down on top of us, those “depths” become “heights” and the surface movement of waves becomes the movements of life down here on earth below. Spirit

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is infinitely great, and yet capable of adjusting to every minute aspect of what we see around us. Think how tiny ripples play across the surface of the mighty ocean, and it may help to explain how every little flower (like a flame from the fire) arises out of its own background and counterpart of Spirit. Do you believe in fairies? Well, maybe, that’s just what they are … the nature spirits. And so it is with us. We call our spiritual counterpart our “soul”. As a fireplace contains the fire, so does our Spirit (soul) “contain” the action of our lives. It remains constant while all else changes, and does not die when the body dies. It is, actually, the most reliable part of what we are. Acquaintance with Spirit can be developed. We may, at times, feel a sort of invisible companionship, which some call their “guardian angel”. We may grow in Spirit; discover much, much more and, in particular, the fact that Spirit is really just another word for love. For Christians, Jesus Christ is Spirit, Love, King of kings and Lord of lords, and also, like a great cosmic fireplace, the beginning and end of all things … all that makes up the variety of life. This is why people who acknowledge Christ feel quite sure that, whatever the appearance of the flames, or “play” of life; whatever comings and goings we may experience, even to death itself, nothing but nothing can separate us in Spirit either from one another or from Our Lord. And so, my beloved family in Russia, as we approach Christmas and another year, I wish, above all, that we may grow each day in our realisation of Spirit, and in love for Jesus Christ and his wonderful world. The world is so full of such wonderful things, I’m sure we should all be as happy as Kings. And I’m sure you will now also understand why, when the time comes to end our letters and we wish to express ourselves in the best and most loving way possible, we may sign our names in this way: Your brother and friend, in Christ.

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Deepening Insights From January 2004

CO NC ER NING SPIR ITUAL books, I’m quite well read. At some time or another I’ve at least looked at most of the well known scriptures of the world, the best documented lives of saints and holy fathers of the Church – and a host of other sources of information, particularly those that fed my interest in meditation / prayer. Certainly they’ve encouraged and helped me to counteract the world, confirmed my own fledgling experience and led me further on. But although we may read about absolute consciousness, for example, or eternal life in the kingdom of God, what does it really mean? It cannot go further than belief or faith until one day something happens in actual experience, and we find ourselves using those very words to describe it. Then it moves into a new reality of understanding. Apart from the Bible, I don’t read much now. Neither do we have TV. I keep a small shelf of books before me but seldom want more than a few words. It’s similar with verbal prayer. I feel no need to fill my mind. As prayer now finds unspoken depths where even the name of Jesus is transcended, times between are best spent quietly, present where I am. And although I know many passages of scripture and other expressions of the Church by heart, and Shankaracharya’s teaching is ever with me, by the time of these notes I was learning to recognise even more immediate guidance rising from within. With indisputable clarity it shows the way. Where I can, I draw confidence confirming it with scripture, but even so, the message is often so outrageously opposite to ordinary thinking that many repetitions are needed for fuller realisation to sink in. 185

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In 2004, windows started coming more frequently. I can’t say why. I was generally quiet and happy, leading a regular life with walks in the country and several hours throughout the day, of prayer – but I don’t think that’s the reason. Some of the most spiritually productive times are also the most unhappy and disturbed. Being, pure being – the BEING in which the universe revolves, the being of each worm and person, and – I am that. Not the form of things as experienced, though they are my forms, in me. I am that which makes it all possible – the matrix in between – the space and substance. Although prayer exists in me and I, as being, can pray, it only works so long as I, a drop of individual being, remain apart from the ocean. I cannot pray while in the actual, pure reality of being because, here, I am not only the one who prays but that prayed to, and for. Eventually, all prayer must dissolve in union. From first awakening, all that appears, appears in the invisible background of being; all that sounds – in silence, all that moves – in stillness, all names and forms – in the nameless and formless. It’s simply a matter of where one stands and from where one sees. The finite, and infinite – both are there together, indivisible – the one within the other, but one is temporal, transitory, of itself nothing for it is entirely dependent on being, whereas being is sufficient unto itself. It’s just like in man – we can be creative, have hobbies, do things, have ideas etc. and put them into practice, or we can sit quietly, contemplate and rest. Our man-made creation depends on us but we are not dependent on it (unless we become attached to it). So is the great creation also. From further back, that’s how our bodies/minds come into being and, from further back still – the entire creation. Worlds within worlds … Ultimately, the whole thing depends on the prime mover, or primal being, I am – “Begotten of his Father before all worlds … by whom all things were made.” * * * We meditate to let go all traces, all qualifications associated with separate “me” and become reconnected to infinite /absolute pure consciousness. This then, free of interference from “me” and my

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doing, which blocks the natural flow, acts naturally as the recreative, modifying process that heals the world. It merges the tensions of duality into the harmonies of one; nullifies apparent death with eternal life, poverty /lack with all-sufficient providence, and fear, suffering, disease etc. with their non-existence. Healing is really the denial/annihilation of the darkness of “me” with its apparent, so-called powers. Losing “me”, we discover our own true nature, or Self – “Source of good and giver of life” – which itself, of its own pure volition, provides the answer to our prayers. * * * In pure consciousness, there is no thought or body of mortality. Returning back to the world, they reappear, but are seen to be phantom creatures – phantom bodies of phantom minds, each real to the other but both entirely creations of phantom belief in a separate existence – “me”. They appear to come into being, live, suffer and die, as do all others. Salvation, or liberation is to know it, live in that knowledge, and be free. Without personal involvement, and with the “sting” (belief in its reality) removed from death, events can be viewed from detachment – a tragic /joyful drama indeed; wonderful, incomprehensible, compelling our compassion, but always against the background certainty that nothing really changes. Just as each year, grass grows and withers upon earth, so are our human lives played out upon unchanging Spirit. What then is prayer? The question persists. Our world is too poignant a place to be dismissed as mere illusion. We feel responsibility, and desire to help, besides having the example “For God so loved the world … “ From Spirit, prayer is consciousness of all things within the radiance of God, their only source and sustenance. And then comes the awesome, but inescapable realisation that one is oneself that radiance in which it all exists. What does that radiance (awareness) do? If pure i.e. free from interference by “me”, it affirms the fact that man is made in the image of God i.e. Spirit, and is still as immortal and perfect as the day he was made. Whatever phantom appearance may be produced to the contrary, cannot exist before

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that light. Even after such clarity fades, we still have some degree of awareness. According to its purity it releases, gives freedom, peace, light, love – allowing the healing already inherent in every situation to operate. The opposite is endless imposition of “me”. * * * It’s all there – the “world” – in billows of thought, and things seen and heard – the disturbances of yesterday and now. Prayer too, but now transcended and behind. And pure detachment, perfect peace – the ocean of rest and reassurance. With this one may visit and heal the afflicted. In this, the “other” loses power – dissolves away. * * * As in ordinary life, so, in Spirit, one may turn inwards or outwards. Inwards is pure consciousness i.e. without any manifestation of anything extra. It is therefore indescribable, but is known to be complete, blissful and the source of everything. Outwards lies creation. Appearing in the ocean of consciousness, both mental and physical phenomena are seen as modification or movement – just as waves and currents, bubbles, ice and steam appear in the ocean of water. They rise and fall in the same way, remaining the same basic substance of consciousness, whatever their appearance. * * * From here, with eyes closed, deep within myself, the world is seen complete. This is light – there is no darkness. This is life – how can there then be death? I open my eyes, and return to the darkness of an early January morning. * * * It all depends on where one is, and with what one is identified. Spirit sees Spirit with spiritual eyes; mind sees mentally, and relates to mind; bodies, with eyes of flesh, see flesh. Mortality sees mortality; peace and disturbance likewise find their own, and God sees God. * * * As separate “I” dissolves to nothing by absorption into Spirit, so do I appear in everything else. Having nothing, I have all. Feeling

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nothing, I feel all. Having no life to call my own, I am free to enter, indeed be, every life, including the life of every act – pulling on my gloves, and a motor car in the distance, the creaks and silence of the church, an owl outside. Wonderfully not me, nor the separate life of anyone else, but one life, transcendent, all creating, all sustaining, invisibly knitting, holding all together so that, from here, life is seen as one whole, perfect organism – harmony, delight. * * * Spiritual prayer is to be in Spirit, see all things in Spirit, as Spirit; it is to know that all things arise from Spirit, have their being and welfare in Spirit, and have no existence apart from Spirit. This means total confidence in Spirit, which “orders all things well”. Anything seeming otherwise implies our not being in Spirit – hence, the “sin” is ours. * * * It’s all to do with putting aside mind /body, and being in Spirit. When it happens, it isn’t difficult but simple and obvious. One no longer wants to be asleep there, in mind /body – one wants to put them off and be free. One feels closer to God than to human relationship. Growth into Spirit means putting off even these last bits of knowledge and wanting to know. This is the uncreated; this is to rest in the beloved; it is completely free, but, nevertheless, a vestige of prayer, Jesus, the name of the beloved is there for reassurance. Spirit is (at) rest; the earth is without form, and void. Then Spirit may move on the face of the waters i.e. mind, and begin creation. Here one could ask and it would be given, but there’s no longer anything to ask for – one is complete in every way. Only perhaps (suggests mind) that all might know this too, but who and what is that which does not know? All is already in these (God’s) hands. * * * From the centre of one’s being, with mind at rest, the images of life present themselves before you. You see them, as it were, with the mind of God, in their original, pure, spiritual and immortal being. Seeing thus from light, there is no shadow; from eternity,

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no passing time. As described in Genesis 1, the creation that you see is “good”. This, as prayer, is the consciousness that heals – dissolving “powers of darkness”, allowing the inherent goodness of all things to be. * * * Being, Spirit, or consciousness is the basic substance, which, like air in balloons, informs everything else. Without it, they shrivel to nothing. Spiritual life is really just pure, simple being, without additions. It is the simplest thing there is. We could also call it Spirit without matter, life without form, light without darkness. Immortal, invisible, unbounded, unchanging – unknowable, yet the totality of wisdom – it is also the nearest and dearest, the very “I am” of all that is. * * * Prayer manifests at different levels. Physical prayer may be described as “good works”. Mental prayer works through the suggestive/creative power of thought. Spiritual prayer is not really prayer, for Spirit presupposes union. In union, the individual is completely surrendered to the will of God. Prayer at this level is better described as “being”, which, being beyond separation, is one being for all. In surrender to Spirit, we stop trying to save the world, other people or ourselves. The struggle is no longer ours – we come to peace, and letting go. Spirit itself takes us over and assumes responsibility. In Spirit, there are no “others” – they are seen to be contained in one being, as branches of a tree. “I am the vine, ye are the branches” (Jn.15,5). Spiritual prayer is no longer asking, but the practice of simple being. Abiding in the vine, I am, is a real possibility. As we lose our own sense of being “other”, we no longer see it and give it life as “others” – the illusion of separate existence is exposed. We see how we ourselves produce the false perception of separation, with all its unhappy consequences, and we ourselves dissolve it.

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Attempt to Clarify W HO RECITES the words of prayer? The mind/body standing below me. Who sees it? I, the witness, who roams the universe. I see all characters and properties of life as features of myself. All exists in me. I have no end. Gods, times, faith and unfaith, all things knowable and observable – of mind and body, all exist in me. This window came as the latest of many, which compelled me to face the fact of myself as universal being. I do not remember what caused me to write the following commentary. I must have been trying to come to terms with what seemed both incontrovertibly clear yet barely comprehensible, and rather alarmingly “out” of what might be considered normal. The ordinary nature of mind cannot comprehend, but that is the whole point. For spiritual insight opens up beyond mind – at least what we commonly call mind, and then that lower thinking part tries to arrange itself in order to conform. What is the mind/body? Seen from beyond, one thing is crystal clear – it may be “mine”, but it isn’t “me”. Mysteriously, it’s what I have been, and where I’ve lived, and when I’m not as free of it as I am now, that is still so. It’s recognisable as me, but is not really me. It’s a “me” believed in, but less and less – so now I see it as a sort of “past” – a fading album of memories, habits etc. – there to sit in my chair and write these words – to live life while it may, and then to die. Seen from Spirit, it defies explanation – as if confirming that, from here, it has no real existence of its own apart 191

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from what it’s given. To think of it pulls me back to where I no longer feel I belong. Why do I have this body, and how did I get involved? If the motive force of the universe is love, then, from above or below I must have wanted it. I cannot claim it as my creation – it’s far too wonderful for that, and yet I see it’s influenced by me. Why should I ever have chosen this body, knowing what I know now? I must have somehow “entered” it when I did not know my true spiritual self, or chose to ignore this “higher” state and, for some reason, like the Prodigal Son, had journeyed to this far off land. That would explain why it’s called a child of ignorance, or sin. How could I ever have exchanged the magnitude and freedom of my real self for such imaginary and pitiful limitation? Is there really some purpose in my being on earth – for myself or for others? Did I so much want to be a farmer? Am I here for a lesson? Was I sent, a labourer, into the harvest (Luk.10,2), or was it for me also, like Eve, a case of “The serpent beguiled me, and I did eat” (Gen.3,13)? I do not know and, after all, I do not need to know. Who can explain the wonders of creation? It is enough to know what I am, and be free of confusion with what I’m not. Whatever the reason for its existence, it’s obvious that “my” mind/body needs bringing into order with me as I am now – its spiritual master. Otherwise, not knowing who’s in control, it runs amok like a naughty dog. For old times’ sake I’m fond of it, but from here, Spirit, it doesn’t matter now what happens – whether it lives or dies, in poverty or wealth. I am completely free of it. It’s a marvellous instrument for functioning in the world, but I don’t need it at all apart from that. I’m not held or limited by it in any way except through identification or attachment, and by losing the sense of what I really am. Alone, without its master, sincerely believing in itself but, nevertheless, a deprived and homeless stray, it’s insecure, inconsistent, looking for fulfilment outside itself – sometimes assertive, even offensive in its own ways. Seen now as a servant, remorselessly clear, it lies at my feet like an obedient dog, but remains ready to run off should I cease to watch it. To whom does this mind/body address itself in prayer? We start as our own individual versions of the far off and separate little person described above, calling out to the Saviour, and gradually

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draw nearer, discarding as we journey all the vast, but imaginary baggage of possession, mortality and self-will that we call “sin”. It is repentance, or willingness to turn from this and let it go, which enables us, with the help of Grace, to rise unfettered to the realisation of what we naturally and really are. The Saviour is the Self, our own true self, but until we realise this He seems apart from us – a Saviour to be called to from afar. “I and my Father are one,” says He, the Perfect Man, and, “Be ye also perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect (Jn.10,30; Mat.5,48).” What is the connection between perfection and the one who, in this case, roams the universe? The question can only arise from imperfection still remaining i.e. sufficient of separate entity to feel itself unsure, and therefore desirous of calling on the name of God, and asking questions. Realisation of the one “I am”, perfected in being entirely surrendered of separate identity and self-will, emerges when this condition is fulfilled, although, as it is said, the door opens from the other side, and obeys no law but the providence of Grace. Doubts and questions are features of returning to the imperfection of our self-willed and mortal separation.

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What Really Happens Spring 2004

WHAT R EAL L Y happens to body and thought? Is the world real, or not? It can get very confusing. Sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn’t – at least that’s how it seems. And what is meant by real, anyway? I won’t get into a discussion. I prefer the saying, “With God all things are possible” (Mat.19,26; Ma.10,27). And in our own mini-creative microcosm, we too can “make” surprising things. The question is never really answered, for it depends upon our point of view. Fortunately, we do not need to know. The Kingdom of God is not of this world. In prayer we let go and pass beyond, into a consciousness complete, with neither doubt nor question. Looking at the room now, from a spiritual point of view, it’s easy to see that all names and shapes consist of the same invisible, eternal and unchanging substance, or Spirit, which appears as them, fixed or flowing, in varying degrees of modification. The important thing to realise is that everything is that same substance, including me, the observer. It’s only when we lose the spiritual oversight, that mind, uncontrolled, on its own, and forgetting its spiritual origin, believes itself mortal and separate. It then projects this false, impure belief, imagining other objects also as mortal and separate. Seen with the eye of mortality, informed by ignorance, they indeed reflect back an appearance of being so. And just as impure, mortal mind projects into creation this false superimposition of impurity and death, so may mind purified reverse the process. * 194

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What Really Happens

Immediately, on starting to meditate, it merges into One, the One, the only One there is – I am. The room is seen from One, as One. What does this mean? It is no longer subject /objects, nameable and separate, with different qualities etc., but now One, appearing as various features of the One. This is the only reality, or presence – invisible, but appearing visibly. There is nothing else. One could say – All is God. Instead of looking from here, or there, towards some other aim or entity – something to be known or achieved – there’s now only one way – from Oneness to Itself – One seeing One. We normally see the world of things inside out, but now it’s “face to face”. Now I, as One, look with authority, for this is causal – the causal world of real creative origin. It’s the depth of this conviction/experience, which has power over apparent contradiction. * * * Here we are – rays of light – but turned the wrong way round, away from the source of light, so that we look at our own shadow, and the images, not of God’s mind, but ours. What happens if we turn around (repent)? They instantly disappear because, without our turning away, they never existed in the first place. Death is simply absence of life, problems etc. – absence of light, loneliness – of love, restlessness – of peace. Time is absence of eternity, space – of infinity. All pours abundantly from God, “Source of good, and giver of life”, if only we will turn that way. Glorification is return to Spirit – matter, or mortality is to “fall” from (ignore) it into ignorance. Who imposes these limits? We do. Where do they exist? In us. What dissolves them? Turning back to God. * * * Nothing known is it, neither is anything sought for or desired, created or imagined by man. All this is left behind. One cannot even say, “This is it.” But as one gradually comes back from the depths of prayer to ordinary life, and begins to search for words, the first to appear are such as – indescribable peace and satisfaction, well-being, and – home. *

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Immediately, on starting to meditate – pure consciousness, extending naturally and without end. Mind and body are seen from a distance, as others also – utterly clear, pure, simple and obvious. Am I then like a fish in an ocean, or an ocean that contains a fish? The answer is clarity, purity, simplicity itself. *

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Compared to our mental imaginations and dreams, the natural world certainly appears a more real and solid sort of dream. But, in fact, from a higher level of consciousness, it loses that solidity and is also seen as an ephemeral image – by no means to be confused with the real reality of Being. What then is our response to the news e.g. that someone has died? So long as one doesn’t get thrown off the certainty of eternal Being, one hears and sees the world’s reaction but inwardly knows that nothing real has changed, and most certainly no one has died. An appearance and a dream have changed – that’s all. *

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As an iceberg is mostly hidden beneath the surface of the sea, so is this. Outwardly and manifest lies creation, in movement. Inwardly, unmanifest and still, is the ocean of peace, or rest – God’s rest (see Heb.4, 1-11). Here one loses awareness of outer creation – time, thought and body. It is comparable to deep, dreamless sleep, but isn’t sleep – it’s rest. One is conscious – infinitely conscious, infinitely at rest, infinitely where one belongs and at home. I can only write this on returning to the action of outer creation but, in this transition state, creation still seems far away, and I write from deep, deep rest. Inwardly unmoving, I watch my pen on the paper and wait as the knowledge of where I’ve been, and still partly am, rises rather like bubbles to the surface, to be written down. And just as after deep, dreamless sleep, one may answer the question, “How did you sleep?” “Wonderful.” So it is now. Straight from where it all comes – the source and potential, infinite – pure and wonderful. *

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Soaked in God within, He appears without also – holds our hands and sleeps beside us, drives in a car along the road, and ticks the clock. He is the mist upon the hills and winter sky, my sitting here to write these words – the thought, the pen, the movement of my hand – my breath, my clothes, my feet upon the floor – colour, sound – the angle of my head. All things are pure; all things are right. God is everything. Amen. * * * What is living in unity? When the whole day is seen as one unit, without division or separation, as if there’s no other way of seeing. As when, seeing trees or grass, one does not count the leaves. How does one stay there? By not allowing the mind to think of separation. * * * Eternal, perfect, Christ-like existence requires no body upon earth. Whatever bodies are, they are dying remnants, with no need to be replaced. Mortal life is a step out of eternity into time. * * * When hearts are melted, veils on eyes melt too. With spiritual sight all is seen from, within and as Spirit. There is no separation, failure – and nothing to ask or regret. These things belong to for-getting. Spirit is all for-giving. In Spirit one forgives and is forgiven. * * * Real prayer is to see and know the world from Spirit. Then death, insufficiency etc., known to be nothing, is dissolved by disbelief. Personal supplication to a Deity can only arise from separation. * * * How do these descriptions arise? At risk of repeating myself – the essence of prayer is “letting go”. By some effective, saving means, the mind is gradually emptied of its personal, and therefore impure, thought and will. Being emptied, it opens to higher influence, higher vision. Highest levels, beyond time and space, are wordless, indescribable, but may be realised. The process is comparable to when we similarly let go and sink

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into deep or shallow sleep – to rise again through layers of sub-conscious mind, called dream, before waking up. In deep prayer however, we remain awake and rise to higher consciousness, before the pulls of world bring us back through layers of higher mind. Here, we pick up familiar concepts and figures of speech with which to express the inexpressible. A mind such as mine, accustomed to Christianity, may use Christian terms, but these are always pointers to beyond. The Lord is met and communed with in Spirit. From unchanging Spirit, from that which was, is and ever shall be – before all worlds, all history – before the Incarnation as event in time – all is seen and known within Oneself. I am myself the way, the truth – the bread and water, body and blood, the resurrection and the life. As I am the one who now, consciously reincarnates back into my body, takes off his spectacles and writes these words before – with an all too familiar sense of reality, slipping back into the forgetfulness of ego, separation and the mortal world, so – a few minutes ago, I was “Alpha and omega”, and, “Before Abraham was, I am” ( Jn.8,58). The only difference is in the knowing. I re-read these words with some trepidation. Isn’t it blasphemy? Thus speaks the voice of fear. How dare I even think such things? Yet this is just the point, which over and again, these windows have revealed – that man as Man, the Image of One God, not “me”, is potentially far greater than commonly believed – and this can be, in actual fact, realised. * * * I wake up suddenly with complete understanding – knowing exactly how it works. Stillness, total stillness, is the required condition – total absence of “me”. Then things can happen. Total stillness is total openness, total allowing – without interfering “me” messing it up. It is the pre-condition of miracle – total arms wide open – total, unconditional love – total purity, which can only be without “me”. Oh! I laugh with joy. I saw it so utterly, utterly clear. One person, being ONE, in total surrender, allows pure creation to work unhindered. The whole problem is that we, thinking we know and can do, constantly mess up and distort. We, with our

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screwed up ideas of religion, of God, of how to do, change, be etc. We don’t know anything. Our knowledge is ignorance. Oh fools, fools, fools! That’s all we are. Our whole worldly existence is IGNORANCE. Utter stillness is utter surrender, is utter Thy will, not mine – Thy will be done. However noble we appear, our very embodiment tells the tale of our self-deception. There is no such thing as a pure person. Everything human is false from top to bottom. Humanity is disease, our very existence – a corruption upon earth. Humanity is sin – is inevitable death. We cannot clean it; we have to stop being it, stop deceiving ourselves by false belief in it. How? By complete surrender of it – complete stillness – end of “me”. The whole apparatus of personal and mortal life must die. Surrender means total detachment from it – from mind and body – in thought, word and deed – so that, when it reaches the end of its own impetus, it may be allowed to die out of itself. * * * There is no evil, death or unhappiness in the world as it really is. These things exist only in man and his impure perception, and disappear as he overcomes them in himself. * * * The entire direction is to be, first with, then in Jesus – totally, totally, totally. In this is complete sufficiency. Outside, it is impossible to know, do, or be anything adequately. Here – mind, body and world consciousness are reduced to a few faint and dying echoes, arousing no reaction. In this, prayer is answered and the world healed, for my false perception of it is dissolved. What were its differences and troubles but extensions of my own? Being taken out of them, like on awakening from a dream, they cease to exist. Rain drops, and the clock striking the hour, recall me to movement; the witness appears, and watches life unfold. * * * The best and highest prayer is the most complete union with God. This is complete absorption of the individual, and therefore

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completely effortless, free of asking and even willing, and only total, utter and forever One – at least for as long as it lasts. It is absolutely clear, and free of the dream called thought. How does one get there? The only effort is to let go of effort. When it happens, it comes of itself, in its own manner and time, and not from “me”. It is a gift of Grace, and – wonderful. Even my efforts to describe how wonderful it is, are flawed because they are my efforts. The only expressions that seem true are tears, which involuntarily come into my eyes. * * * Life is seen as a great river continuum, without any mental separation, or classification by “me” into names, things, beginnings and ends. All is continuous with all, like an everlasting symphony or indeed, a river, whose gurgles and eddies, colours, depths and creatures are indistinguishably part of it – absolutely all contained, without exception. It is a river of perfect joy, peace, and love, in which there is no bad at all. Bad, like separation, only exists in me, and is then reflected outwards by me, but it remains only in my own seeing. With mind at rest, our “normal”, personal and false assessment, which colours everything we see, has no existence. That is why no matter how many other people around us believe in fear, poverty, badness and all things evil, the pure mind in the midst of it sees only pure. Being, and seeing like this, it is impossible not to grow into ever expanding happiness. Anything otherwise is the non-seeing of ignorance. There’s no good thing that’s not already here. Creation is complete, and “good”. Our only work is the removal of impediments, which prevent our seeing it, i.e. the closure and calculation of our hearts and minds. * * * Each realisation in turn becomes gradually assimilated into consciousness as one’s normal seeing. At first, it’s as if we see from a distance through the windows of a great house, and then we visit, and finally go in and live there. Then it is that our previous life “out” in the world seems foreign and strange; and then it is that there’s less urge to express what one knows, for all that wish to

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write about it comes from the restive and personal mind one’s left behind. In Spirit there’s no need to write – One is. One sees then how certain minds, sensitive to Spirit, may catch realisation (inspiration) to compose, write, teach etc., but the pure work of Spirit is simply awareness, which is Spirit. This is putting it into practice, and even the best of words describing it remain but words. By the functioning of awareness, either inwardly in meditation or outwardly towards the world, one becomes invisible Spirit oneself. Without “me”, it is a state of total trust in God, who Himself, the prime mover, does all the doing, healing, guiding that needs to be done. * * * In pure (God) consciousness, there is no sense of body, age or pain. It matters not if body lives or dies. Belief in it – body consciousness – and its power over us, dissolves; and then comes realisation of “Thy [spiritual] will be done.” * * * Without effort or intention, pure being is realised, and all creation, visible and invisible, is known to be of it. As features, smiles and tears are known to be expressions of, but not a person, so is creation the expression of, but not Being. This – the simplest, least obtrusive of realisations – indeed, hardly noticeable at all, is, because of that simplicity, the more certainly the foundation of everything. Without attributes, wordless and unseen to human sense, it cannot be described but only known, realised as “I am”. This is the love and life of all, the one embrace, the shared in being of all created things – my neighbour as myself. Effort exists only up to here for, in being, all effort is released, and attachments are dissolved. We stand, as it were, on a bridge – innocent, benevolent and free, and watch life’s burdens, now no longer “ours”, being carried by the river flowing beneath.

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AS MORE windows have appeared, this book has grown and I’ve wondered if it was becoming too long. Would people read so much? Should I cut it down? The first part seems more interesting, outward and readable while the second, with “windows of realization” – while each one is distinct, tends to repetition. Looking back, however, I see how they arose gradually, multiplied and lessened as a unit, over a period – a rise and fall of revelation with a lifespan and purpose of its own. Each has come unsought and unexpected. Each has brought the wonder of anything new born and, as I have reflected on its meaning, so I have been taught and helped to grow in understanding. Some seem more significant than others, but I am reluctant to select, still less reduce them. Each one has certainly touched me. How can I know which may not find response among my readers? To give them more grounding, I would, if I could, describe the circumstances in which they arose but, unless otherwise noted, most have occurred while sitting still, silent and alone in Church or in my chair at home – with eyes closed, and often extremely early in the morning. The only variable is the attentiveness and “letting go” of prayer. Why were so many given? Doubtless, like drops upon a stone, to wear away hard crusts of ignorance and disbelief, starting with my own, that cannot, will not understand – before eventually we may be blessed with growth of trust in God. 202

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This section of the book will not enhance or interest a worldly point of view. Readers will find that familiar references – the Who, where, when, with which we define things, giving both them and us identity – are missing. As we grow into spiritual consciousness, this is exactly what happens – the fallen images of separate life are left behind, revealed to be a fraud. Mortality dies out – reality does not. This book will not uplift or enthuse “me” – nor will it wholly satisfy a thoughtful mind. It does however amply indicate that “me” surrendered opens up into that “treasure in heaven”, which ego can neither penetrate nor see. It may at first seem improbable, but as the process gradually unfolds, so gentle and self-evident, you wonder why it is not more widely understood. Troubles are all at the beginning when the murky mind of ego is still trying to include itself in Light. Understand this and the principle of “letting go” comes clear. Then the way opens to discover that the love, peace, joy and all heart’s yearning that elude us in this world, are waiting inexhaustibly in Spirit. This unlimited potential may at first feel as featureless as being “at sea”. The subtle depths, which seamen know and love, take some experience to be discerned. Nevertheless, nearly everyone loves a day at the seaside, even if the sea, glimpsed between diversions, remains little more than a background. It is enough. And so it is with Spirit. We take or leave it as we want and can. A restless mind, intent upon its own designs, will probably ignore it. A quiet one is already half way there. The Heavenly Kingdom may be likened to a great house, full of wonders – formidable maybe, at first sight, but whose many windows don’t forbid a look. As “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread”, caution takes us slowly. As they have done for me, the windows accompany a journey, whose meaning will unfold with every view. Read simply and acknowledged, with no requirement to accept them or reject, but held in view as one might remember visits to some famous place, they may remind us that this glorious and ever-present “house” is, in fact, our spiritual home. However, just in case, lest readers overreach themselves, it would be best to read in easy stages. Curiousity usually wants everything at once and to start with, I daresay, some will go through to the end but, even if

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they wanted to, who could take what’s given in that way? Even prepared by years of meditation, and being the blessed receiver of these windows, I still look back and find myself amazed. Only one such might have been sufficient, let alone a hundred. It’s not that the message is complicated – it’s utterly, utterly simple but our own worldly conditioning simply won’t accept it. I do beg readers who find the book too much, to lay it aside and wait a while – then try again – dip in, a little at a time. Please don’t try to swallow more than you can chew. It only results in needless indigestion. * * * Changes in personal life found me staying in a small flat in a decaying and unattractive part of St Petersburg. It was the first time I’d ever spent the greater part of summer in a big city, and my habitual distaste for it brought me to rely even more on prayer and simple awareness of the present moment to help me through. Standing amongst people, I am aware of eternal, invisible presence appearing as people, with presence itself being most evident. As changing features, expressions etc. on a certain face are all still recognised as being that person, so is this. I must be realising presence as myself also, to see it so obviously as others. *

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One may travel the world but remain ever in one place, which is the presence of God. One may see multitudes but relate only to one person, which is invisible, indivisible Spirit. One may pass through ages of time and life experience but remain detached, ageless and ever the same. One may know creation unified with, and/or within oneself, or outside oneself and separate. One is being oneself – the being and “work” of Spirit; the other is the “world”. * * * When pure being myself, it connects with pure being in everything. There cannot then be judgement or seeing of sin, so all this is dissolved.

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Constantly throughout the day, pure awareness brings spiritual wholeness to the world around. *

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As Spirit is ever free, new, fresh, clean, abundant and without limit, so everything it touches on earth is freed, renewed, refreshed, cleansed, replenished and enabled. And all this alchemy takes place in the miraculous faculty of heart, which holds and informs the world, and within which these mercies of God are realised. Seen thus, the very stones are lifted and rejoice. *

*

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As seagulls glide heedless over fearsome cliffs and chasms, so, safe in Spirit, being above and beyond appearance – no matter how threatening, we too may see all, know all and pass through unharmed. There it is that one’s little light may merge with the greater lights of saints and angels to make one’s prayer of more effect. But really, it is the surrender of oneself unto Spirit, and the world being seen in that light, that is itself the very peace, justice, health and wholeness previously besought in prayer. *

*

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It is only in mind, identified with body, that there’s something better to aspire to. Come into Spirit, and all the perfection one could ever dream of is found precisely there, in the here and now situation where one finds oneself, but independent of it. As seen from the world, certain people, places and things appear holier (more spiritual) than others, so we choose to approach the ocean by these various streams, or the sun by particular rays. But the deeper one goes into Spirit, the more one feels independent of these approaches, and sees them from the indescribable itself. *

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“Liturgy” is the name given to the main Orthodox Church service, which includes Holy Communion or Eucharist:

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After a night of prayer – at liturgy in St Elijah’s, the Church with all its practices, was known within me. I was not in Church – it was in me. Of course, communion through the mouth is of the body, for “God so loved the world”, but for then at least, I saw it all happening within i.e. below me. Holy Communion is for the healing of soul (mind) and body. Spirit is already whole – it doesn’t need anything else. How could I be more communioned (in union) than where I was then? The words were as flames reaching up to heaven but, nevertheless, remaining creatures of the world, from the world, for children of the world. Fr Igor summoned me to confess and be blessed, but it was a practice of “down there” and unnecessary, though producing blessed tears. Did bread and wine confirm communion? To partake, I had to descend into the world. *

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Insights, revelations are shafts of light appearing through the cloud. But times come when one is taken beyond the cloud to dwell in light. Then one sees and comprehends from light. It’s all light. We let go weight, and become light. Then everything is seen in light, as light. “I am the light of the world” (Jn.8,12), “Which lighteth every man” ( Jn.1,9). Like a rainbow is light, so is the world – a perfect harmony of colour and movement – a play of light, like sunlight on the sea. So are the books and objects on the table before me, before I start labelling, possessing, dividing. Then, from my own weight, they too appear to become solid and separate, and “Cursed is the ground for thy sake” (Gen.3,17). *

*

*

Seeing and feeling only God (Spirit), and everything and everyone around as Spirit. It’s so simple and obvious – it’s hard to realise it could ever have seemed otherwise. The mind is completely free of personal commentary and the process of labelling that creates the impression of a separate “world”. Today is a great occasion when the miraculous Tikhvin icon of our Holy Mother returns home from America. We walk with her in procession through the streets of St Petersburg. I keep the sense

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of the crowd walking, in Spirit, past silent, watchful faces of police. In the hot and stuffy Kazansky cathedral, there’s an immense crowd of mind and body, but above it, all-containing and utterly free – Spirit. Eyes travel upwards – from complex human splendour, human sound, to simple frescos below the cupola, and then clear glass letting through sunlight. It really is so simple. However does man get it so complex? But this is St Petersburg – the city of human invention and culture. Whoever could prefer human artifice to nature – but people do. Being in Spirit, I forget about weary legs, critical mind; I feel the pull back – both my own and of others (my companion feels faint), but am able to stay more or less in Spirit. Is it the strength of the icon – of the general belief in it? The service goes on and on – words and more words as the icon is ceremonially handed back to Russia. I get a bit weary and irritated, but try to stay in Spirit where all this seems unnecessary. I ask myself what the Mother of God really is, and the answer comes, “The highest prayer.” I was a bit shocked at first sight this morning, to see her enclosed in a protective box – a physical focus. How can she be so confined, being Spirit – except, of course, for our sake. In the cathedral also I keep feeling – she isn’t that object there, but the Spirit uplifting us. I wasn’t too upset when, although very close, we were not able to get close enough to venerate the actual icon. As we came out of the cathedral, a crowd was looking up at the sky, at an almost circular “rainbow” of white light encircling the sun. It did seem miraculous, as the weather was completely dry, and a real sign of our Lady’s highest possible, heavenly position – a first, visible image of light, a heavenly womb – reflecting and mothering “the Light” within its heart. * * * After visiting Valaam, one of the first and greatest monasteries in Russia, desecrated by the Communists, but now being restored to life – from the boat taking us back, across Lake Ladoga: There is only one life, and One that lives. Within it, desires, memories etc. rise up, claim and occupy a time and space, and that

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is what we call our individual and mortal lives; but it is all as ephemeral, illusory and unreal as flecks of light dancing their path upon the waves. Such is Valaam, the Orthodox monastery there, the whole history of Russia. Prayer is to be lifted up to see and be aware of it – to be free oneself, and so realise the freedom of others too. Forest, water, mosquitoes dream dance their cycles of time, and there the early saints went to pray. How did they survive? Discomfort and needs are all of mind and flesh; their influence diminishes with strengthening Spirit. Overcome in one, is overcome in all. Prayer for the world is to be in the dream, and yet not of it. * * * At times, prayer becomes continual God consciousness, in which even prayer for others is a form of impurity, for with God there is no “other”. Mind may still present images of other people and events, but also, and simultaneously, it knows that they are but ripples of appearance within the all-inclusive ocean of God. All is already known, loved and cared for – by God. So long as different names, events etc. are in the mind to be repeated, they will be, but then all settles into perfect rest. The slightest deviation becomes unwelcome, unless seen from that unshakeably rooted tree of (being) One, and known as the wind might stir its leaves. It becomes intolerable to think of losing this God consciousness, even for a moment. The enormous consequence of it is dreadfully apparent – the compelling work is to maintain it. Nevertheless, soon after writing these words, I am again taken and lost in weight and worldliness, until again – returned. * * * From Great Okhtinsky cemetery, St Petersburg: Seeing pictures of the deceased on their tombs – what do we see? A moment’s likeness, taken from a “life”, and fixed in time. A memorial to what? To all that we are not – but what the world believes. Doesn’t the sheer quantity prove the point? Countless

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thousands of so-called “dead”, fading from memory into the earth. Here is “Weeping and gnashing of teeth” (Mat.8,12). Feeding on dead bodies of plants and animals throughout our lives, to say nothing of nourishment on the “dead” works of mortal mind, we are in turn, eaten by worms. Nobody eats anybody in Spirit; nor does Spirit have teeth. What are our diseased bodies, and the unhappy, restless world we make around us? Corrupt expressions of perverted mind. As we have fallen from the pure estate of Grace, so we have brought our fallen perception of the world with us. Do we see clouds in the sky killing and eating each other as they change formation? Yet that is how we perceive fallen (mortal) nature. “Why seek ye the living among the dead?” (Jn.24,5). As our perception is purified and raised, so is the world that we project around us. *

*

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There is no condition on earth so awful that it cannot be transcended, as the soul, rising to salvation, or pure consciousness, discovers there is “No more death, neither sorrow, nor crying” (Rev.21,4). What then happens to the world? When the mental conditioning that produces it is abandoned, it ceases to exist, just as visual effects in the world around us change with differing conditions of air, light and observation. *

*

*

I have a childhood memory of lying on my back under a cherry tree in blossom, with singing birds. It was during the war; but I did not then know of war, or cherries or the names of birds, and knew only light and sound and peace, and utter happiness. A young child knows nothing of adult designations, until he starts learning and his innocence is lost. “Except ye … become as little children” (Mat.18,3). *

*

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In this dreadful place, the world somehow loses its meaning – becomes an amorphous blur of semi-sensation producing ever less reaction, save disinterest. Only endurance, and the life-line of

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prayer is left. How can I help, or change it? I find no answer here. It’s a place where I no longer belong, nor can communicate. And then the world fades away into non-recognition, where even familiar places and people give way to the one and forever home and identity of Spirit – here and now. It’s like a polluted river. I can’t do much to change it, except stop polluting. How? By ceasing to think contaminated thought. It’s like a motorway of traffic, flowing on under a bridge to its own determined end. How can I join in? It’s like looking down upon an ant heap. It’s not my world. How can I help it? To be aware, is to lift consciousness, is to make it available. Just as our negative thoughts create more tension, so does simple being aware bring peace. But these answers, though no doubt correct, do not entirely satisfy. Tonight my heart is full of sad images of the people around here – victims of poverty, drink, depression and poor housing – and tormented with the question “What can I do?” The need is so great, and my thoughts of help so small. But the question brings forth the answer. I can, by myself, do nothing (Jn.15,5). Time and again I’ve been shown that, when I let go, then situations are contained in me – not the other way round. The sadness of the world, the rubbish heap outside our windows, the bereft and depressed, the whole city and Russia herself, is within me. I’ve known the whole cosmos, let alone the sight before me, be contained. Lifting up myself, I lift – if I’m aware of it – the world. How do I lift myself? Oh fool! You can hardly lift your own body off the chair. Let go, let go … it’s your own ignorance that holds the world in bondage, indeed, creates the “world” – your blindness that creates the works of dark. Rubbish and poverty are there so long as that is what we judge and see them to be … not God. We can’t have both – serving both God and mammon (Mat.6,24). Yesterday in the park, a few young flute players so raised our spirits with their cheerful tunes. If music to mortal ears can have such an effect, how much more the infinitely subtler work of prayer? * * *

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At long last, I’m actually beginning to see the world the right way round. After a long and longing night of prayer, I see – so clear, obvious and easy, beyond doubt, and undeniable. Everything is God appearing – as sunlight, people, rubbish, sounds, a mother carrying a child. It all depends on where and what I am – in God, or in the ignorance of “me”. Nothing is anything by itself, any more than my thought or smile exists apart from me, and I am that Origin of all. This is it. If I pray, I am that; if I don’t pray, I am that; if I live or die, I am that. Wise or foolish, free or bound, I am that. If I struggle and try to understand or not, I am that. It’s not a matter of being or doing anything, but of realising once and for all the truth of what I am … Self-realisation. I didn’t do anything – my previous notes show what I’d been trying to do. It just happened. This morning, suddenly, I saw, and realised. I lost it a few times today, but not for long. It’s effortlessly there again – so gentle and easy, it’s almost (of course it is!) a non-event. Ripples of laughter rise up in me and love pours out to all. Here in hot, stifling St Petersburg, overlooking the rubbish heap where I saw two rats today, with depression, frustration and longing to be elsewhere. Yesterday, I felt I was going mad. I peg some socks on to the washing line on the balcony. Who does it? A smile of pure joy! Who, also, walks across the room to write this note, and now goes to the kitchen for supper … ? I notice my body and think, “How crazy! Whatever do I need a body for – knowing what I know now. The whole world is my body – a body for every occasion.” However wonderful it is, this body is the result of something past, of not being what I am, of requiring a separate vehicle to fulfil an imagined identity in time and space. * * * As changing cloud formations in the sky – so, the changes in visible life. We do not grieve for, nor hold on to clouds, but look beyond them to the sun. Learn from clouds, my child. *

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*

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In spiritual work, obscurity becomes a positive advantage. It is only human ambition that seeks recognition. Spirit needs no further witness but works unseen, unknown, as yeast in dough (Mat.13,33), or as the wind (Jn.3,8). Non-recognition is rather the distinguishing feature of Spirit and those who become spiritual. Nevertheless, as everything in creation arises from unmanifest Spirit, so the hidden work will in time be known (Lk.12,2-3). * * * It is obviously “higher” here. The “lower” world is that seen below. I hear voices in the next room, but there’s no impulse to join in. Mosquitoes bite my ankles but, from here, there is no distinction between them and me, or their hunger and my pain. * * * As prayer for an individual consists essentially of realising that the condition troubling him does not really exist, being a projection of separate and mistaken ideas in the mind; so, prayer for the world is the same process on a larger scale. Without belief in, and reaction to it, the world condition has nothing to maintain it, and reduces/dissolves as does a mirage when the conditions of light producing it change, and no longer do so. How then do we live in the world, without being active for our own survival? By letting things happen of themselves i.e. trusting Providence, as long as our embodiment requires, or while its remnant energy proceeds to work itself out (Mat.6,31-33). * * * How strange and alien it seems – coming back to the body after a long time without. Even breakfast seems an unwelcome demand, and further social requirements even more intrusive. The summer morning too, usually so compulsively attractive, arouses no interest, being seen as only a temporary and deceptive appearance – without any sensation of it whatsoever. Clouds gather, insects start biting, and so I return to the bother of itching and tiredness etc. and all the efforts required for the survival of bodies, which I had completely transcended. This is

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what the “world” is – the effort to maintain separate bodily existence i.e. houses, travel, work, shopping, relationships and, of course, the endless talking about it all. Outside the window, I watch the wind play with leaves of a birch tree against a summer sky. Around us lies the “world” and inwards, the summons is, eyes open or closed, to be ever deeper in the realm of rest. Downstairs, ordinary conversation reminds me how little correspondence there is between our respective minds. What can one do about it except, like the birch tree, allow the wind to play? Now, without reaction to the differences of Russia, England, or language, there is only one present time and place to be, and one language of silence. Phenomena of the world arise and pass, but I remain untouched. * * * God is everything; I am nothing, and anything of “me” remaining – is sin. The “world” is but our own “sin” repeated on a universal scale. To overcome sin, we need to turn back to God, individually and universally, inside and out. To see others “at fault” is but a reflection of our own. * * * Woke up with the clear thought that my personal life is coming to an end. What is personal life? That which is individually limited, fixed to, and expressed by “me” – in thought, desire, identification, possession of personal friends, home, function … Spirit is totally free, indestructible, timeless, painless. There’s nothing “fixed” in Spirit, as, seen from Spirit, there’s nothing fixed in the world below. All is seen in flow, as movement. I see wars, histories, rise and fall before me in perfect harmony as we might watch the play of wind or water upon earth. I’m hardly aware of my body or discomfort – there’s no desire to move – I could stay here forever, and would prefer to, but I know that a time will come for breakfast and movement back into the world again. This is universal life – the life of everything, for everything exists within

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and by it, just as, on a smaller scale, my thoughts etc. are seen to exist in me. Truly, individual man is a microcosm of this. From here, there is no wish to interfere, for the organisation is seen to be perfect. When we said “Heavenly kingdom” in the prayer after breakfast, I felt, “Yes, that is it.” I find ever less correspondence with our mortal life. Truly, “The flesh lusteth against the Spirit” (Ga.5,17). The two stand in opposition. One (mortal flesh) is the denial of the other (immortal Spirit). Belief in one is constantly challenged by the other. In fact, the desire to make the world more spiritual implies belief in it, which stems from our spiritual impurity i.e. we are not yet pure Spirit but still mixed up with mortal mind and body. The only true relationship from pure Spirit is pure i.e. impersonal love, which “Seeketh not her own” (1Cor.13,5). * * * The time comes when we no longer relate primarily to many and different with physical and mental means, but when the spiritual background of both inward and outward perception compels us to see and respond to life as One. Then the reality of eternity replaces time, changelessness replaces change, and a sense of completion and silence takes the place of words. Words are instruments of this world; they are creatures not of our closeness but of our separation from God and one another. * * * I wake knowing that my place is no longer in the heard and seen. If you want to find me, I am there where the talking and the searching cease. It was good to meet together, but it also demonstrates how temporary are such meetings, how unsatisfactory the sudden rush of excited words that rise but then are lost. The love I bear for you is greater than ever but, as our Lord had to leave his visible form to be with his disciples “always”, so do I feel now that the fullest way left for me to exercise that love, is through the unseen and unheard, which manifests through everything. It is the one love, one peace, one everlasting bliss we all long for, and the very closest thing to us, both inside and out. Realised or not, we live in

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the midst, the very heart of it. The fulfilment of life is when we have so let go whatever separates us, that we actually become that Holy Spirit which is everywhere, all fulfilling, and the source of good. Then our journey’s end draws near. We find our love, our purpose and our home. It is good to meet and speak, but it is better to be One. * * * St Seraphim of Sarov is one of Russia’s best known saints. It is said that he once spent 1,000 days continuously praying on a rock in the forest. After a hot, disturbed night of noise and mosquitoes, and hours of sleepy, uncomfortable prayer – I find myself in a state of deepest peace, as a great rock, unassailable in a restless sea. Did St Seraphim refer to this, as well as the actual stone, for his 1,000 days? This rock is all inclusive – not another world at all, not movement denying, but another point of view. * * * Transition to Spirit is so subtle, one is not aware of it. It is only on looking back that one realises how one’s life has changed. Religion and Church life is now “down below” and “within”, a director pointing towards this, as is all “life and death”. The eye of consciousness beholds – and that is all. We find it first while still basically “me”, but then come times when it becomes more me than “me” – and the marvellous realisation dawns that “I am that”. This consciousness beams and penetrates everywhere. The realisation that Spirit is the active principal of life comes slowly, as the centrality of “me” retreats. At first it may seem a wonderful but rather vague and indefinable “space”, but then ever more all-pervading, all-fulfilling, all-sufficient; and it becomes ever more obvious that this is what governs, heals, fulfils the world. When facing problems of the world, and the question “What can I do?” the answer now is to side step on to the certainty that Spirit

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itself is the answer, and to submit the situation totally to it. And the more we do this, the more we feel the satisfaction of doing the best that can be done to help the world and others. *

*

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As excess of sleep, food etc. holds us in bondage to our flesh, so does talking hold us prisoner within the limits of our minds. St Amvrosii tells us “Talking is a bad habit. Much evil comes of it.” Excluding the rare occasions when talk is spiritually useful, it is usually an exchange of egoism, a complete waste of time and energy, demonstrating our attachment to passing phenomena, and our ignorance of anything better. *

*

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Woke up clear in mind with the words “I simply refuse to be parted from you.” Our parting from those we love is only a deception of mortal eyes, as is death and all other appearance of imperfection and separation. Dying is to leave this world of mortality for the real world, where there is “No more death, neither sorrow, nor crying” (Rev.21,4). As Christ had to overcome the world, so are we called, by purifying our hearts and minds, to overcome the false perceptions which hold us captive to mortality. Then we also will be able to say “Lo, I am with you always” (Mat.28,20). The common belief that we meet our nearest and dearest after death, in heaven, is fulfilled by realising that in Spirit, we were never parted from them in the first place. *

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From the deep silence of Spirit, human converse is a turning into the blind confusion of personality, and semi-death. The whole sequence of human civilisation is seen to be a dance of death. Whether we do good or bad, we die; hence, we are saved by faith. From Spirit, birth and death are but the rise and fall of different patterns – God puts things up and down (Ps.109,23). It’s only we, with our fallen vision, who see birth and death as real. *

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One sees, senses the descent of man into the prison hell of “me”, which then talks of itself – grumbles and pities itself, from forgetfulness of its true and better estate. Prayer gives access to the fountain source of life; the worst thing possible is to be deprived of it. *

*

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If only we more fully realised our dreadful condition, incarcerated in mortal mind and body, drowning in the ocean of death that we call “life”, then we would cry unto God day and night to save us. We would eat, drink and sleep no more than is necessary; we would turn away in disgust from idle talk, regarding every moment spent forgetful of spiritual salvation as a sort of involuntary suicide. *

*

*

The world is running headlong to death. There is no need to die. We are not born to die, but to wake up and find eternal life. So long as we believe in death, we bring it into being, just as our belief in having porridge for breakfast, brings that into being. And so it is with illness, suffering – all the events of life. It is no less tragic to die of old age in a comfortable hospital than to die in war. No one should die, but we will all die unless we work for salvation i.e. repent. How do we know if we will die? Do we believe in it, talk and think about it as something real? Then it has power over us – and similarly with disease, unhappiness, poverty etc. As we rise up into the light of Spirit, then these illusions are seen for what they are – powers of darkness, and they cease to interest us, lose their reality, dissolve away. *

*

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As a wave of consciousness rises, falls and breaks into a thousand bubbles, so is our mortal life. Believing in our individuality, we are the bubbles. Boasting of our doings, we measure the cosmos by our moments in time, until it all dissolves away. *

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The work is no longer just to be present, or even feel the Presence, but to be Spirit. Then, where and with whom one finds oneself becomes secondary, as the pictures and portraits on the walls of a house are secondary to the house itself. One lives in the house and enjoys, but does not dwell in the pictures on the walls. What really are we? The master of the house, or the image on the wall? * * * Early morning: 3.30 -5.00. One. Being with One, as One. Then all creation passes as expression of One, without commentary or reaction, for there is perfect trust. Nor is there need to communicate with anyone, for what is “anyone”? It implies a separate being, as if a wrinkle were different from a face. One does not even notice a wrinkle when absorbed in the whole being. These comments arose in the first and last moments of prayer. The “dive” was deep and long. What happened in between, I cannot say, but here I sit, quite unable to find words but still basking, as it were, in the radiance of perfect being and bliss. To wake up from a dream is to know you’ve been dreaming. Similarly, to wake up from the world is to be completely free of it. Fully alive is to recognise and be free of what is only half alive i.e. mortality – transitory and partial life, knowing, being and happiness. * * * It isn’t enough just to swing from evil to good – that’s still the battleground of the world, and any victory there is only temporary. Real overcoming is to rise into the clear, upper realm of Spirit. There we may find the immortal divinity that can look death in the face and say, “No.” What happens to it? Like a bucket of worms, it continues to writhe, but remains bound within its own limitations, and loses its power over the liberated soul. * * * The choice is no longer between different aspects of this world – in place or person, but simply between the world and Jesus.

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Actually, with practice, it isn’t so difficult. Jesus gets bigger – the world smaller. All effort towards God brings us closer to Him and times of indescribable happiness. Then we may see God everywhere we look and, like when sunshine pours from behind a cloud, the world appears transformed. Then, there’s no more darkness. * * * Why are we not in God? Because we look down, not up, and think of earthly things – indeed, because we think. God is not thought, nor earth. He made them – they in some measure reflect Him, but He is not them any more than a man is his work. To be more fully in God, we need to go beyond.

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A Russian Pilgrimage Solovki, August 2004

IT IS NOT unusual for those people who seek a deeper communion with God, to distance themselves from their fellows to pray, silent and alone. Who knows how many live and die that way? But some attract a few followers who, of necessity, develop some organisation. This process is well recognised in Orthodoxy, and certainly, most Russian monasteries have started this way. It is worth remembering that the communal living and elaborate church services familiar to pilgrims, are often the very conditions the founder figures sought to avoid. Russia’s northern forests are indescribably beautiful when seen from a bus window, but surprisingly hostile once you step outside. Growth is often impenetrable; marsh, impassable, and countless insects eat you alive. It’s easy to see why early travellers preferred to float past on the many connecting rivers and lakes. Thus it was that in 1429, monks from Belozersk came to Solovki – a group of small islands in the White Sea, not far south of the Arctic Circle. What started as a simple hermitage developed into the greatest monastic fortress and administrative centre of Northwest Russia. However, following the Revolution of 1917, this was taken over by the Communists. It became the first of many “Gulag” slave labour camps, and a place for the extermination of priests. About a million prisoners were sent here to work and die. Many haunting reminders of those dreadful days remain – of plagues and executions, of mass graves, of every kind of horror inflictable by man on 220

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man, of desolation and distance from civilised life, and of passed souls known but to God. Now, again, monastic life is reappearing; one church functions, and many pilgrims come during the short summer, but conditions for them remain very primitive, and the overall atmosphere is – grim. Having to face the facts of those men and women, starved, frozen, worked and tormented to death is a huge exercise in faith. In Spirit no one dies, we know – in God all live. But, Oh my God – my ears still echo with the groans; imagination sees; my heart still cries. Throughout all Russia, there’s hardly a family that was not affected. But time has passed and life goes on. Whatever was it all? Some nightmare dream? One is forced back again and again to search for what is real. Some 200,000 priests, monks and nuns were killed. Why did it happen? Some years ago, when Patriarch Alexei II was asked this question, he replied, “To cure us of a monstrous pride.” It’s an answer to remember. I don’t suppose he referred only to the Church, but that’s where my mind became focused while on Solovki. Why was the Church so hated? What goes so wrong to arouse such anger in the people? Forgive me if I offend, but I feel compelled to look for reasons. They are etched with blood into the stones of Solovki – they are part of one’s experience there, and lessons for us to learn. What causes us to so rise up against our brethren? The question is as old as history, and it seems a part of pilgrimage that we all have to answer for ourselves. The sins of the Church are nothing new – they were clearly described by Jesus, and are no different today. The monster pride is always there, lurking behind the show. It’s easy to see the sins of others, but what about our own? What is the basic pride? Is it not that we think and believe we have an existence separate and apart from God – an ego; which manifests as “my” mind and body, an imaginary creature of time and space, limited, corruptible, mortal and, above all, concerned for it’s own survival? A monstrous pride indeed, and don’t we hang on to it! Call it sin, pride, ignorance or folly – the basic human error is that I am mortal, separate mind and body, and not the spiritual image

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of God. And so long as we believe this, so we will have monstrous, distorted ego minds to plan every device of evil, and monstrous bodies to play them out – get diseased, tormented, and to die. Do I need to list what happens, to both Church and ourselves? I think not, for this is exactly what the ego loves – criticism of others, justification of itself, and belief in its reality. It doesn’t help Spirit to dwell upon the flesh but, how do we get out of it? Like a universal hypnosis or dream, it holds us captive. Yes, us. As much as those captives of the Gulag sat inside their dungeons, so are we captives of belief in our mortality. We have to wake up and see it for what it is, in order to be free. Solovki is a place where whatever spiritual understanding one has is put to the test. The dream, if a dream, is only too horribly real. On one occasion, the unearthly clarity of northern skies, unfolding dramatically above us, like improbable illustrations in exotic travel brochures, reminded me how, in Revelation, life itself is described as a book (Rev.20,12). As pages are turned, we see Russia, England – pictures of Gulags, icons of heaven, our own lives and our deeds both good and bad. What happens to them when the page is turned? And what are we? The reader /witness – or the one described? All these events in our memories and imagination are terribly real and important so long as we believe and hang on to them, but times come when we stand back, let go, and realise that all that mental burden has dissolved away – just as a dream, when we wake up. Then, questions of religion dissolve away with everything else. Meanwhile, the world rolls on, and within its ever changing scenes, individual souls continue to live out their own personal dreams. Eventually, it is said, every creature wakes up, or comes to salvation – but that’s another story. I can only tell you mine, and how I coped with my pilgrimage to Solovki. In the museum, faded photographs of prisoners are like a chapter of life past. Forgetfulness is said to be a mercy of God, yet the disappearance takes time. Inwardly part of me still weeps, and why not? These things hang upon us as having a life and power of their own (albeit demonic), and it takes effort to bring them to

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Absolute Being, surrender them, receive absolution and remission of the sin (of my ignorance), and realise that nothing real has died. * * * Pilgrims were celebrating the “Triumph of Orthodoxy” but I could not join in – no, not in that seen and spoken sense. To me, the victory seemed incomplete. The old, red star of Communism now lies bent and rusty in the museum. Cross goes up, star comes down, and I feel the ancient boulders of which the church is built, heave a patient sigh. They’ve seen it all before. One has to get beyond. It’s not much use putting faith in one lot of men, one temple, or set of words replacing another. I recall an event in church early one morning, when monks lined up with their backs to us. Hidden behind their long, black hats and cloaks, nothing human was visible at all. No more man, and – silence. In that moment, for the first time in Solovki church, I felt unthreatened. Indeed, God save us from ourselves. All things temporal and tangible need to be laid aside and transcended if we really want to be free. The very Church traditions, yes, and priests themselves which inspire us at the start of our journey, can become psychological barriers in our progress to spiritual maturity, though, God knows, it can be worse without them. Although each liturgy warns us against putting our trust in “Princes, or any child of man” (Ps.146,3), we do so again and again – and who is to blame if the priestly ego swells? If I found the Church on Solovki unsympathetic, it could hardly have been otherwise in the circumstances. Perhaps it has to be Church Militant, standing up for itself inside the gigantic walls of its prison fortress – demanding recognition before the dreadful past. Maybe it has to push itself forward with extravagant decoration, an answer to everything and insistence on being right. But as I stood listening to the never ending words, I felt, God forgive me, history repeating itself. Did not similar dogmatic voices lecture similar leg-weary prisoners standing in the yard outside? And are not similar queues which then waited fearfully lest refused their earthly bread, now waiting at confession for priestly sanction (a Russian requirement) to eat the bread of God? At times I could

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take no more, and had to go out, where quieter assurances of grass and sky took me beyond the sullied world of man. And so too, I must admit, did several shining faces in the crowd, and I’ve only to remember them to be ashamed of my bad thoughts. Deception, however, did its work in me. Both then and afterwards I fell into criticism; seeing sinister parallels between persecutor and persecuted in dress, screens, images, authority; confessions in the name of Christ, or anti-Christ; threats of retribution; conform – or else, and “them and us”. There’s nothing one ego loves/hates more than another, and in this sewer of conflict I was too engulfed to see any better. There, at that level, there doesn’t seem much to choose between so-called “good” or “bad”, which alternate automatically like night and day. Mysteriously, it seems, spiritual progress requires us to be confronted with these situations in order to get beyond them. If we don’t, we get dragged down; but if we do, then, in our own being raised, we may lift others too. It can be misleading to equate religion too closely with truth. At best, it’s but indicative – a mixture of human sin and divine origin like every other “child of man”, and subject to error and destruction. As history shows, Church Militant is only too capable of being its own monster of pride and persecution. The true Church is not a creature of earthly material and human speech at all. It’s no more its earthly body and thoughts than I am mine. As explained (Mat.16,15-19), its foundation is recognition of the “I am, Thou art” of man. Peter, as personality, failed, as we all know. Peter, and each one of us, recognised as “I am”, is an indestructible rock. Did 200,000 Church personnel destroyed affect “I am”? I am alive, or I am dead, is still I am. The only thing that “I am” can lose is the monstrous pride /distortion of believing in a separate existence. In our quest for identity, forgetful of our spiritual selves, we so easily lurch from one system to another – from politics to religion, and lose our simple being, in between. Forgive me if I offend. I know there’s time and place for all these different things. I never cease to be grateful for my own early schooling in the faith,

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but now I am old and have less need of show. The words, the practices that led me onwards then, are now behind. Now, like the early pioneers of Solovki, I choose silence and solitude for prayer. But, finding such contrasts there, within myself – how could they be contained? Such beauty of nature, such sorrow of man; such titanic proportions of the struggle between good and evil; such love and hatred of the Church. There’s no escaping the fact of one’s own responsibility. The more we open ourselves to union, the more we bear the sins of others too. It’s no use blaming “them”, for they are “me”. There can be few places on earth where the darkness of man and the goodness of God are so starkly presented. The pilgrimage organisers warned us how it would be – how easily we might find ourselves angered, arguing, depressed. Certainly I have seldom, if ever, felt these polarities of man and God so agonisingly opposed, yet both within me, tearing my being apart. Dare I say that in those tortured hours, I felt closer to Jesus on the cross, and, looking to Him, knew He also knew. I find no reasonable explanation of it all, no justification that makes sense, except to “Follow me”. And being thus lifted up, how can one be offended? It’s all so human and childish and understandable – so utterly forgivable, if only we don’t take it too seriously – hence those millions killed. And I have to come back to the question “What is real?” Dream of a Gulag, dream of heaven – it is still a dream. And so with all so-called tragedies and events, both great and small, the work of Spirit is to be Spirit, see from Spirit, and remain Spirit in the face of every appearance of any other power – every frightening, horrific, pleasing or desirable image the world may present, demanding our submission. “Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve (acknowledge) them” (Ex.20,5). But we do, don’t we – and to none more so than “me”. In this world of delusion, like goes with like for “We know not what we do” (Lk.23,34), but the spiritual struggle is to dissolve “me” by surrender to God, and awakening ourselves from sleep (Ro.13,11). *

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A few hours across the sea from Solovki, there’s a neighbouring island called Anzer, which was also part of the Gulag. Here, in 1712, appearing in a vision, the Holy Mother told St Job to name a certain hill Golgotha, and build there a Church of the Crucifixion. It was later discovered that this is on exactly the same longitude as Golgotha, Jerusalem. Consistent with its name, and as part of the policy of profanation, the church building itself was used for imprisonment and martyrdom of priests. How many died there, no one knows, but even today, on this hallowed place, a self-sown birch tree grows in the shape of a cross. In the heightened atmosphere of pilgrimage, such miraculous happenings seem quite normal. There were saints also on Solovki, and their tombs are in the church, but I found the place so smothered in the struggles and agonies of man that I never really got through to them. However, as we returned from Anzer, on a magical evening of clear, northern light, we saw some whales. It was most noticeable how the whole company of watching pilgrims burst into spontaneous joy. It seemed that by then, we’d all had enough of both the wickedness and righteousness of man, and were only too ready to throw off that oppression and respond to the glories of natural Grace. Watching the pristine beauty of the White Sea – the harmony of water, cloud and sky, I was reminded of angelic singing, with one heart, one voice. This now included us, renewed, awoken – we ourselves, as children freed from monstrous dreams, no more bewailing the forgotten past but rejoicing in creation as it really is. Who could not love the whales, the seals and birds – the lovely, lovely sea? Even as I write, I cry – that such extremes are in the heart of man. And thinking of that time, I’m quite sure I was closer then to the spirit of Solovki’s saints than when I was trying to do what I thought was expected of me before their tombs in church. * * * And now I find myself lifted up, and taken far, far, far beyond the “me” and mortality of man – indescribably, wonderfully free; infinitely One; supremely and forever, consciously alive; being

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beyond and above, and not below at all. From here, indeed “What is man, that thou art mindful of him?” (Ps.8,4). As whales and waves arise and disappear from sight, so – man. If we are a microcosm of creation as a whole, and wake in the morning, shake our heads and say, “I’ve been dreaming”; then, where have we been at Solovki, but through a nightmarish and miraculous dream? The world asleep, still says, “They’re dead,” but here one knows they’re not. Indeed, there’s no more “they”, but One; nor death, but sleep and dream. Here is resurrection of the “dead”; here, “My son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found” (Lk.15,24). * * * During the long return journey, we passed through Kondopoga, and found there an ancient wooden church, with a sweet, simple icon of the Dormition, and a little, old lady caretaker. With thoughtful, unobtrusive service, she opened the shutters to let in the light, and did all that was necessary. After the struggles of Solovki, all was quiet, unpretentious, gentle – warm, pure and natural as wood itself. I was reminded that faith, in its maturity is always kind, modest, and “Seeketh not her own” (1Cor.13,5). There’s something about wooden houses and churches especially dear to a Russian soul, and it’s not hard to understand why. Even the Communists had not destroyed this one. Instinctively, I stroked the hewn, log walls. Here, there were no priests; modest icons and church equipment were hardly noticeable in the dim light; no voices broke the peace; nothing was demanded or thrust upon us. It’s so much easier to love humility. After the forces of Solovki, the relief was immense. Here was faith in the mature sweetness of simple knowing, with no need to assert it. Here was a Church where I could give my heart – and it brought me to tears. And then, after Kondopoga, we came to the monastery of St Alexander Svirski, well known for the fact that his body has remained undecayed, since his death in 1533. It was impressive to see but, for me at least, not what really mattered. While pilgrims prostrated themselves and read their prayers, a conscious presence filled the space – both with, and watching us. He was; he is. And outside too, he is. He was, as us, a body of earth; he is for

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evermore – present, timelessly present, but completely awake, free, and beyond creation’s dream. What are 500 years to a fully wakened soul? And being near his awakeness, even to us in earth, the grass seemed greener, flowers brighter, a little bird crossing the path – more perfect than before. This was presence – perceptible, familiar, and home, but here confirmed and emphasised with particular power, and evident to all. Is this not sanctity, and demonstration of eternal life? This was there, and this is here and now. There it was focused and brought to mind, but it extended and remained with us, merging into Spirit already known, and now. What are we doing if we honour a shrivelled, dark thing in a box, and ignore the glorious freedom beaming all around us? There or here, the presence is – both his, and ours, and that of all … as, back now in England and writing these words, I reach out inwardly and touch it, know it, am it, recognise it as myself. This was/is Church transcendent and forever; another world from the battles of Solovki, where men argue and fight and ever will do. This needs no walls, or words of man. From here, the monstrous phantoms of proud flesh are seen for what they are. There’s no more need to believe in them. They never were as real as they appeared, and now, detached from our belief, they pass away. Here, beyond time and space, there’s no more need of bodies, decayed or undecayed, for consciousness is free. Knowing its own freedom, it knows that all is free. Only here (if we must name it) is Church Triumphant. Now, both Gulag and Church on Earth lose their significance and fade, for they existed only in the human mind. The strife is finished and the work is done; the dream is over, and we come to rest. * * * This article was not one of those that flowed by itself. I found it extraordinarily difficult to write; struggle, struggle all the way – at least at the beginning – exactly as we struggle with evil. I was trying to discuss causes and effects – as if I knew – and getting mixed up with my own prejudices. And then I realised that discussing the dualities of the world is always confusing, because

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the basic subject-matter is unreal. Even if we only half believe in them, we try to make sense of a world of shadows. Back home in England, and once more on the Derbyshire hills, we sat, one sunny afternoon in peace. I remembered Jesus’ last words of peace – “Peace I leave with you” ( Jn.14,27). Deeper and deeper I felt the peace, the endless peace. Nothing, but nothing could be not at peace, but only the wilfulness of restless mind.

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REA DER S M AY wonder that I don’t make more reference to human influence in my life. I often wonder myself! The fact is, I was born and brought up in an isolated house in the country. It was during the war. Father was usually away, and we kept to ourselves. Apart from my mother and sister, I had few close contacts with other people. My interests were farming and animals, and my playmates – our dog and the natural world where I lived. To me it has always seemed a perfect childhood but, in 1945, at the age of 7, I had the rudest of shocks – I was sent away to boarding school. How could I suddenly be interested in sport, motor cars and competition? I hardly knew what other boys were! Yet here, according to ideas of the time, I started the process of being made a conventional and useful, social creature. It wasn’t entirely successful. I could not join in. This new human world seemed alien and hostile. Whenever the possibility arose, I escaped to nature and, in chapel, soon discovered comfort in the privacy of prayer. It’s understandable that people, accustomed to a man made world, should turn to social religions and human words as guides, but it doesn’t have to be like that – at least, not only that. Mother Nature also breathes of God. I love this little verse: The kiss of the sun for pardon, The song of the birds for mirth, One is nearer God’s heart in a garden Than anywhere else on earth. 230

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However, I find no pattern of requirement. Grace comes in many ways, and uniquely to each of us. I’ve written of my discoveries with meditation, Jesus and the Church, but – Mother Nature, Mother dear, earth beneath and sky above, you’ve never not been there to love; with changing seasons, year by year, the first to give and last to share; whose perfect purposes bear light – God’s beauty on the walls of life. When travelling recently, I’ve noticed how many people sleep, read, talk, draw curtains and generally show little interest in the natural world about them. We so very readily confine reality to our own conceptions of creation. At times, I’ve been the same. As a young army officer, I remember reading the social pages of newspapers so I’d have something “interesting” to talk about! What a relief it was when the School of Meditation advised us, “When you have nothing to say – say nothing,” and I stood quietly at a party, confident in the newly discovered stillness of my inner self. How much more I’ve learnt from many years of life upon the land. Once known, the perfection of nature is always there to counterbalance man. Long ago when I worked in business, before going to South America, I remember attending a meeting in a hotel on the outskirts of town. The subject was Special Offers. It was a tormented time of life, when I felt myself torn in conscience between duty to man or a nebulous something I could not define. After some time I could bear the discussion no longer. I walked out into a misty autumn night and along a road, which took me to newly ploughed fields. And there, overcome by some indescribably deep instinct, I dedicated my life to the land. Was it a wise thing to do? I do not know. But it’s what happened, and for many years life followed that direction. Looking back, I do not regret it. From “Nature knows best” it’s only a short step to trust in God. It’s much less obvious in a man made world. The best teaching or religion can only function up to the limit of the describable i.e. within the realm of mind. Beyond that we come to Spirit. Spirit has no need of words – it cannot be described – but it can be made available. How? By purification – e.g. pure walking, pure sitting, pure religion, pure anything which removes the impurity of “me”, and so enables pure consciousness to flow. All personal effort to teach etc. is infected by that effort and

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becomes aggressive, producing reaction. Pure consciousness, like grass or clouds, teaches of its own humility, without self-will, and no one is offended. Pure prayer needs no directing but, like a river of pure consciousness, will find its way where it will, and enter wherever it finds welcome room. * * * Pure prayer is the same as Grace, for the individual becomes as a pipe or mirror, channelling or reflecting it. It’s not a doing, but being. Prayer, giving attention, being conscious or aware, are all the same process, the perfection of which requires being 100% awake from the deceptive dream of separate existence. In other words, it’s total surrender to the will of God. It may take place inwardly, with eyes closed, holding the world within oneself, or while outwardly attentive. However, for Grace, by whatever means, to operate effectively, our repentance i.e. turning to face it, is required. Otherwise, it’s like being loved by someone from behind our backs. * * * I see the landscape before me as an animated postcard, a familiar and beloved friend, but smaller than usual, for the feeling is not now me in it, but it in me. Here I have entered, lived and worked … grown old. Now I lean on a gate in autumn sun, looking at raindrops on the grass, at peace. Now I am ageless, still, completely free of my body life – unaffected by pain, by damp, or heat and cold – at one with everything. We turn to see a squirrel coming down the lane towards us, unafraid. It stops so near that we can see the hairs on its face, diverts a little to one side, and passes by. * * * We visited a bookshop in the country, this afternoon. Later, that evening: Out there on the far horizon of Spirit, it seems that there’s a bookshop, with many thousands of books – a kaleidoscope of tragedies, comedies, events and human endeavour. There stand people, absorbed, transfixed – laughing, crying, and building up their own imaginations on top of what they read. This is the “world” of man.

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Outside the shop, grass grows, clouds sail past in the sky, sheep graze the fields. This world is closer to reality. And way back here, observing all, am I. My companion, sitting opposite me, moves in her chair, and it is I who move. A distant car drives past with my energy. My body yawns and thinks it’s nearly bedtime, though I am far beyond being tired. There is no separation. I am all, and all is me, yet I am free. * * * From here it’s easy to see how separate existence comes into being. It’s through “my” ignorance rejecting – thinking that anything or anyone is not me. It’s all illustrated in the microcosm of my individuality which, for now, I’ve laid aside. From where I am here, being the all-inclusive macrocosm, I can see how that rejection is as absurd as thinking of one of my ordinary thoughts or limbs as “not me”. How could one of them possibly run off and proclaim itself independent of me? And even supposing it could, its independence would be unreal, and it would wither and die, just like a severed branch in the parable of the vine (Jn.15,1-6). * * * Continuing to see no separation. In the park – movement, yes, of bodies – appearance, but my mind is quiet and not naming, describing, commenting on them, and thereby, separating. Like leaves, ducks, fish in the river, people appear, but not separated. Reality is the one all-embracing consciousness “I am” – nameless, ageless, indescribable. What then is personality? What are hostages, casualties, victims of every sort but those caught up in the general deception of being separate? We ourselves impose it and have it imposed on us from the day we are born, and our whole life is lived under the burden unless and until we can shake it off. Is not the great forgiveness, the fact that this universal mistake eventually wears out and dies? Meanwhile, the best thing we can do is to look right through every evidence of mortal separation to the One. * * * Realisation is fully awake – present, but completely free of the dream of life. It’s like standing on the bank of a river. To be born,

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is to fall in and “drown” – to die, is to come out. In between, life is a process of undergoing varying degrees of attachment /identification, which then may affect what happens when we die – e.g. we may want, or be compelled to return. Salvation is to wake up. From the dream of daily existence, we fall into deeper dreams at night but, from real awakening, one is only relatively more or less fantastic and unreal than the other. How earnestly we should cling to the Saviour and those awakened, liberated souls – saints, that shine as guiding beacons through this night of deception we call “life”. Pure prayer is also being fully awake. Its penetrating beam knows that the conditioning, which holds the world deceived, is just a dream, and no more than that. Is the consciousness of being awake sufficient to defeat that of being asleep? It happens every morning when we wake up, rub our eyes, and gradually come out of whatever we’ve been dreaming. So, as we approach real awakening. Is the consciousness of no pain, no death, no limitation, sufficient to defeat the conviction that there is? * * * There’s no sensation of body at all unless I focus there; nor involvement with mind, which seems far away and below, as one might look down on clouds from an aeroplane. Nor is there any sense of Jesus or God, or “I am that”, or identity, or anything to pray to or for, because all such concepts are of the mind. The world recedes to the background, as one might be aware of distant waves breaking on the sea-shore. What is here? But it doesn’t mean anything to say “here”. It is not describable as place, or time, or this or that, or anything created. It’s not created – being independent of, and beyond creation. “As it was in the beginning …” How do I know? Because I’m infinitely awake, alive and whole. If creation were dissolved, it would dissolve to this; if it were a great cosmic dream, and I the dreamer, I would wake up to this. It’s pure awareness – absolute, and bliss. * * * Prayer now approaches Grace, which is itself the radiance or consciousness of God. It happens through the vehicle of awareness.

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Whereas we, with our impurity, still in some degree block it – “prayer of the saints” indicates that they, being purified, offer no impediment to the natural flow. * * * When we see someone walking along with eyes cast down, we may say, “Where are you? Wake up. You look as if you’re in another world, or lost in thought.” This is exactly how a more fully awakened (realised) man sees us asleep in our everyday personalities, identities and roles in life. What then for him, is real life? It’s the all-containing, invisible, unchanging “background” in which we, enclosed in our mental and physical image, live and move and have our being (Acts 17,28). When he looks at or thinks of someone, he sees the freedom and not the limit, and that, from this level, is the action and release of prayer. * * * As I think how to finish a letter to a beloved friend, I realise the impossibility of ending any real communication. Only words, times and bits of paper end. And that takes me to include other friends for where, in love, does one end and another begin? All are one … one being. And so, the whole world scene – recognition of One overcomes, overrules and simply replaces the multitudes of belief in separation. Name and form, condition, location, all lose significance and fade away as mist before the light of Spirit. From Spirit there are no problems – no one is ill or separate. Prayer from this level is completely effortless for it consists simply of knowing that, in the reality of One, all is perfect and at peace. * * * It now seems entirely natural both in prayer and “life”, to dwell behind the screen of outer appearance. It is a place of light, without differentiation – hence without problems, questions, experience and description. If you ask what it is, I answer without words but with a quiet smile of absolute content. Prayer, in fact, is no more than being, and functioning from, here. *

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There comes a time when there’s no more need to understand the world in any way. Our compulsion to understand has a “curiousity killed the cat” effect in that it draws us into the world, to become involved and get lost in it. Such was Adam’s “fall”. Isn’t this forsaking the world? Not, really. From here, to be in the world would be like going to the farthest point of my little toe and seeing, functioning, understanding life from there. * * * This morning, at this moment now, emerging from deep prayer, it’s clear and simple to realise that the entire creation is, has been and always will be within me – a product of my own mind. This is one answer to the question, “What am I?” Creation is “me”, but I am not it. How can such an inconceivably vast wonder be in me? But neither do I know how my hand holds my pen, nor how my mind thinks thoughts. After all, what is personal mind? It’s like grabbing a handful of air. So long as we hold on, it seems to have an entity, but when we let go it merges again into the whole. And such indeed is personal life. It is the surrendering of our hold that, in actual fact, expands and returns us back into that universality of being, mind and body, which we always are before we get fixed /identified with a mere handful. Then, the whole universe is ours. * * * From here, in so far as I’m aware of them, all situations, conditions, existences “out there” – all events in past, present or future time – which seem very peripheral, are comprehended as, in and from unchanging One. Disharmonies are harmonised; disturbance brought to peace. All contentious dualities e.g. the American Presidential Election, are seen like two horns on a cow’s head. The Oneness completely dominates my point of view. * * * Prayer becomes completely effortless abiding in One. The world circulates within me, just as the inner functions of my body. The comings and goings of birth and death have meaning only to

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separation. To communicate, there’s no need to visit, speak or write, except as the world requires. It’s impossible to be any closer to anyone than through union of Spirit. * * * In the space between waking up in the morning from the unreality of dream, and preparing to meditate i.e. pass into the infinite reality of transcendence; the question, “How do you feel?” refers only to a relatively narrow band of experience called “life”. *

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What happens in Holy Communion? Does bread and wine change its nature? Yes and No. It changes according to our belief and/or point of view. The Liturgy says, “Having wrought the change by Thy Holy Spirit.” From Spirit it is obvious that, not only ceremonial bread and wine, but everything is Spirit, but these words are spoken from and for our fallen understanding. In Spirit there is nothing that is not already the “Body and blood of Christ”; nor is there any distinction “Thou art, I am” , for both and all are One. In Spirit, nothing can be made more or less spiritual than it already is. The only thing that can change, or needs to change, is our own non-realisation of it. From the depths of Spirit, One emerges into consciousness, first as mind, and then as body and world. Is a dream of different substance from the mind that dreams? If so, where is it when the dream is past? So it is with creation. All is God consciousness, and there is nothing in existence apart from that ( Jn.1,3). What are water, earth, the fruits and creatures that we eat, but God made manifest? Is our breath not the breath of God, and our every act empowered by the Almighty? Holy Communion focuses our attention on a particular act, “Do this in remembrance of me” (Lk.22,19), but is any least of seeds, ground and broken for our bread, not God in body sacrificed that we might live, and any least of meals, partaking of it? * * * From Spirit, everything is seen and known to be Spirit, appearing as all the wondrous diversity of creation. Man gets it wrong

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when he falls into this appearance, identifies with it, becomes attached, desires and then, from that, interacts with others similarly afflicted. Hence arise conflict and disturbance of natural perfection. Nature also is affected, distorted, and seeks to restore her balance. What am I? Evidently, the one who sees, and then – who falls. * * * We say that people are identified with their work or hobbies but actually, before then, and in exactly the same way, we become identified with our separate will, which then manifests as our false, unreal or “other” existence. From there we forget our true, original and spiritual being. * * * There is a third point of simple, non-reactive awareness or immobility, which maintains itself as One in the face of every division. * * * From below we call it Presence of God, or Unity of Spirit, but now it has become Spirit. Body aches and yawns in its place, while here, I know neither pain nor weariness, but only utter, conscious freedom. It’s like being the wind, the air we breathe, but this is Spirit – the animating breath of very life itself – the life of all. Being this, all in willing communion are likewise, raised. * * * As a child plays/creates in his nursery, or a man in his workshop, so is creation a product (imagination) of mind. Beyond creation lies the uncreated. This is the realm of rest (Heb.4,1-11). Attaining this rest in meditation is a bit like when, after a day’s work – I write as a farmer – I would straighten my back, look out over the field, think, “That’s a good job done,” and then walk home to tea (Gen.1,31; 2,2-3). But now, in this case, during meditation, it’s creation that I leave behind, and the rest or home, is Spirit. Then, there’s no more need to feel, think, do or be anything; because all the feeling, thinking, doing and being, necessary for

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creation now takes place by itself – perfectly adequately, and independently of me, but observable within my mind – from rest. * * * It is only being so unstable in ourselves, that the world, in contrast, appears substantial and real. Rooted ever more deeply in the rest of eternal being, the very rocks are seen as but a passing show. * * * After deep meditation, it is so, so clear that the world of things seen and heard is not it. In every way, this world is outer, superficial, crystallised – a crust, a skin or container (though the object of attention); while the inner being, in contrast, of content and all meaning, smiles quietly to itself – unseen, unheard and usually unnoticed, but Oh, so wonderfully known. Writing letters, speaking, seeing people – all ordinary communication, seems ever less satisfactory, clumsy and incomplete. If I were a nut, it would seem that ordinary contact is now from and by the shell, while the inner kernel remains apparently passive. But it isn’t really, for it’s the heart, and in its depths, the more real, complete and satisfactory union is achieved. Only there, within, do we find the perfect peace, and unbroken love with all. * * * Although consistent in what they reveal, and gradually, but ever extending the depth of realisation, windows vary in their scale and impact. This was certainly a “big” one! Between 4.00 and 7.00 a.m. 27th Nov. Beyond of all beyonds – how else to be described? Names, thoughts, powers and differentiation into powers … of God, of gods or not-gods … whatever mind, of man or revelation can devise, dissolves in the Beyond. This is the closest, sweetest, most intimate Me of me’s … the simplest of simplest … ultimate of ultimates … I am of I am’s … freedom of freedoms … the beginning and the end of all. There’s absolutely no doubt. It’s the ultimate clarity, the innermost simplicity, utterly indistinguishable … here, now, in the tiniest formation of these letters on the paper, and then

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in the self-same essence of the uttermost cosmos. Joy of joy, One of one’s, Love of loves and All of all. Where further can one go, but once again – beyond? Here, in the simple joy of sitting in my chair – with all, and all and everything … within … beyond. This is the joy of living in freedom – of washing my face, and being beyond; of walking up the hill to the church, and being beyond; opening and closing doors, entering and leaving very life itself; of doing or not doing, being one thing or another and, throughout it all – beyond. Is the owl calling from the moonlight, any less than me? Or the church clock striking … my footsteps on the road? Beyond beginning and without end, I never was not, nor was anything, anywhere or anytime not me – not known, conceived and loved in the beyond. Images of life draw me back to thought, but discipline of meditation returns me to beyond. Images continue to arise and fall – some attract me, some repel. So, temptation continues but, for now, the effortless reality remains beyond. Sudden interruption breaks in. Attention is taken; I am pulled into creation; access to beyond becomes disturbed. Now, no longer so easily and naturally there, I must hold direction by memory and appeal to the Saviour, withstanding by practice the invasions of thought and creeping forgetfulness. * * * Long before anything recognisable as a person appears in the world, there is pure being. Similarly, with Jesus, and all of us. There is no division in pure being, but only One. From below, and looking up, we first discern and appreciate it as love, peace, freedom, presence or pure consciousness – or as “I am”, the Resurrected Christ, the Self – or as heaven with its heavenly hosts. But in essence, all are One. * * * Freedom is unmistakable – utterly, childishly simple and easy. Difficulties arise later, when it’s lost. How can I describe it? In freedom, one is free. From what? From identification with separate “me”. Every thing is experienced from an observer’s

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point of view, as before, but now without the weight of personal attachment. So, one is free. Free from fear, guilt, desire, ignorance; free from age, pain, mortality; free from body and mind. One is, in fact, “Unspotted from the world” (Ja.1,27). From here, Spirit, like the wind, may “Blow where it listeth” and visit those “Fatherless and widows” separated from their Father God and Heavenly bridegroom – Christ. Even in an old man’s body, freedom walks through a crowd of people like a child, skipping along for joy. Wherever it looks, freedom sees freedom, even though those “in the world” feel all the weight and weariness of being their separation. * * * Joy, love and perfect peace, right in the very midst of life. The striking clock reminds me I have another quarter of an hour. Outside the church where I meditate, action, and the day’s work wait. For now, I drink bliss, inexpressibly deeply, from the unquenchable chalice of perfection’s rest. * * * There are two completely different perspectives: one, from below, looking up – the other from above, looking down. From below, there are alternatives; even ways to God are varied, and heavenly features seem divided. From above, all is seen descending from undivided unity. Worldly life can seem like a cage of mice, running this way and that, building nests, having babies, feeding, searching – whereas, outside, from stillness, One sees it all as a whole, in its own, all-inclusive peace. * * * Total love, total freedom … That which one seeks, one finds and, having laid aside all impediments, one becomes (as it were) an openness through which these qualities may pour. But that which is really sought is beyond these qualities, and takes one to the wordless and quite beyond description. And yet … one knows. And knowing … without knowing how … so comes the realisation … “I am that.”

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The Higher One is Lifted Winter 2004/5

I F THES E windows seem at times a bit disconnected, it should be remembered that their continuity is the practice of prayer. Persistently, unceasingly, every day – morning, noon and night, inwardly and out – as often as can be remembered, the mind needs the discipline of turning to God. There’s no alternative. Without it, the world waits to swallow us. Prayer isn’t always easy. Oh no! Days, weeks can pass when practice seems dry and unproductive; the body / mind can be unwilling, tired, uncomfortable; faith can wither, thought wander; attractions of the world can smother love for God. One needs determination to keep going, but it does become easier. Difficulties are mostly in the early stages. I wouldn’t say it’s beyond normal human capability. It depends what one wants. For me, it’s been a labour of love. From the very beginning there’s been reward. Shankaracharya describes it as a mountain of sugar, which we first discover grain by grain. I’m ashamed that I cannot repeat the simplest, best loved prayers without attention straying. Can anyone? Nevertheless, we find even our feeblest efforts are rewarded. Oh, the immeasurable mercy of God, and the poverty of man, dependent for success on his own works “Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it” (Ps.127,1). Most practice of prayer is patient plod – and I could add – the habit of early rising. I’m grateful to farming for teaching me both these, and also for developing the trust that “Man proposes, God disposes.” We feed and cultivate the soil; we sow our seeds in hope and look after them as 242

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best we can, but no one knows what the harvest will be. And so we pray – it’s important to practice – but results depend on God. The main impediments are thought, dream, self-will – the self-made mental luggage of impure ego mind. Usually they are just distraction – though sometimes tempting with desire. Occasionally one may have to contend with horrible, frightening demonic appearances, which need every weapon at one’s disposal. But we should not despair. “At the name of Jesus every knee shall bow” (Ph.2,10), which experience confirms is true. The more we can off-load the better. Orthodoxy calls it the unseen battle. Like swarms of flies, these irritants persist, tireless in assault. You never really win but, by practising indifference, you get spaces. That’s when you see, and go beyond. The higher one is lifted into purity, the more one realises the extent of impurity in both one’s ordinary, mortal life, and the human world. They come to be seen as a total fraud – a roller coaster to nowhere but death. What can one do? The struggle is unrelenting. At every opportunity (as if having a power of their own) the forces of the world rise up to seize us – and so many and devious are the means employed. Always and everywhere, one must try to be on one’s guard, i.e. awake, and aware of what’s happening. Help is available from those who have overcome the world, but only if we turn that way. God helps those who help themselves. The great Saviour, Jesus, stands ready, near, to lift up all who turn to Him … who call upon His name. * * * There’s no more need to speak or write or visit in order to communicate, for all takes place invisibly within the heart. Here, beyond sorrow and separation, memory instantly brings the closest possible, and perfect, union. Whether with beloved soulmate or lowly worm, the relation is inseparably One. If life was a bird, you – to whom I write these words – would be one of my wings, and I cannot possibly say which, because there is no other. *

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Just as, after sleep, one wakes up into the continuation of daily life, so, after the freedom of prayer, I slip back into the prison /identity of personal/separate existence. Whatever is it? A wilful caprice wished by a disobedient child? An adventure, born of curiousity, desire? A lesson to be learned – or a combination of all these? It has its own momentum as I see, watching the hand writing these notes, but for now it seems rather strange and foreign – not really me at all – and certainly hard work compared to the effortless freedom of being beyond. * * * Finding myself in Spirit i.e. Being in Spirit, is complete perfection; completely free of body, mind and world, yet also most sweetly, discreetly and completely present. So it suffers or enjoys all human and worldly conditions, yet itself, being undivided, never fails (1Cor.13,4-8). * * * Why do I write a letter to an apparently distant body and “another” mind, when the fact of unity is so much more obvious? Expressions of separation bring it into being and confirm its existence, while the work of prayer/awareness, i.e. letting go separation and returning to unity, brings the healing of One, not only to oneself, but to all responsive within that perception. * * * The whole process of grief, insufficiency, struggle takes place “down there”, in a place where pure “I am” is not realised, for it’s all mixed up with illusory identities, which act in a false, make believe world of their own creating. * * * In Spirit, all forms of creation are held in their spiritual form. As I do not have to kill and eat in Spirit, neither do animals. Hence, Isaiah’s vision of the holy mountain “They shall not hurt nor destroy … “ (Is.11,9). Spirit no longer hungers or thirsts, but is its own abundance. * * *

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When the mind is fully soaked in Jesus, to the domination, if not the exclusion of all else, “Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and today and forever” (Heb.13,8), what is the result? It means that – I write at the time of earthquake floods around the Indian Ocean – while yet existent in transitory life, all responses /reactions are to and from the unchanging eternal/invisible. It means that individual personal relationships, events etc. give way to an all-embracing sense of One, or, to put it another way, distance and separation in time and space give way to the immediacy of spiritual union. In fact, there is ever less interest/attention paid to the mind /body world about me; nor does concern arise for the things of the world, for the sense and all-sufficiency of One are so much greater. This makes me think of the “Second coming”, because the more realisation of it strengthens, the more it comes with power and great glory (Mat.24,30). Why do we not see it? Because we are asleep – half dead – and so living, half dead, that’s what we see and relate to in others. To see life as it really is, we need to wake up, and pray as though our lives depended on it, which indeed they do. * * * I did not even try to describe it. I only record here that, on 29th Dec, after long hours of prayer, both before and after sleep, I was shown … but I cannot say what … which made all these previous revelations seem but beginnings. Only for a moment, it seemed, something appeared, which brought to mind the words – City of God. * * * Whenever we experience imperfection, misfortune, dissatisfaction, we are ourselves at fault, for we are seeing the wrong way round. It is a summons to return immediately to God, from where we will see rightly and stop feeding the false belief. Looking from above i.e. from Spirit, the situation is always all right, because whatever takes place at ground level, the spiritual person /essence is seen to remain intact. * * *

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Without divisive, personal interpretation, the apparently scattered fragments of life remain parts of the whole. Nothing is lost or destroyed, but changed, to re-emerge. All that happens is seen within, and as, the Will of One, or God. * * * I find myself ever less interested in the outwardly seen and heard. When pulled too much into them, I feel wrong. The draw now is to dwell ever more in the inner sanctuary of silent, unchanging Spirit, and take all my references from there. The longing for God alone is sufficient, for this brings us to liberation from the body, and a perfect, God’s eye view of the world. * * * Last night, and again this morning, fully awake and detached, I am clearly not my body or any one else’s, alive or dead. World news speaks of 150,000 victims of the earthquake but, from here, I see that human lives are but temporal droplets from the ocean of consciousness, and it’s they, and only they who, feeling themselves separate, fear their dissolution. To the rest of the ocean, it’s obvious that drops or bubbles are just that, and have no need to fear, for their appearance is temporary and will soon revert to its original state. Whatever happens they remain indestructibly what they always are – Spirit. This is not divided, but One – One eternal, conscious being, including all those thousands “dead”, grieving and trying to understand. And all this takes place within me. Waves can rise up and destroy the whole world but I am totally unaffected. How then do we explain Christ “suffered, dead and buried”? It’s the body that undergoes the action. My own pains remind me that I, too, have a body, subject to the world, but I am not that body, nor bound in any way. And if that is true for me, it’s true for all. How may this realisation affect others? Is this not explained in Jn.20,22-23? From the peace and unity of Spirit, we may release or retain i.e. increase or decrease belief in the separate existence, suffering and death of others. *

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It’s absolutely wonderful to be free. There are no disadvantages at all. All aches and pains are left behind. You can see the world with its problems, and bodies dying, from complete freedom, from far beyond it, as though you no longer have a body; but you can also live in the world, in your body, in freedom. From here, in Spirit, it’s no loss at all to lose a body upon earth. From Spirit, in fact, there is no loss, or gain, for all is seen to be in flow – a cosmic pulse, or “in and out” of breath, an interplay – as a farmer might watch the ever changing, ever the same, seasonal patterns, ever recycling themselves upon his farm. Coming back, I am reminded of my own body and the fact that it has desires – including its own survival. If these are followed, then, once again, we get bound into mortal life, so it’s best – one way or another – to work them out of the system or overcome them, before final release (death), so there’s nothing to pull us back. * * * Within awareness, worlds can be created, modified, destroyed. And just as we individuals are able to create imaginations in our minds, both enjoying and suffering them, so do we repeat the patterns of absolute consciousness. But there’s no need to create or be aware of any thing. Awareness is complete unto itself. Who/what is the original consciousness? The question, like the secret discovered in a children’s game, produces a response of pure delight: Oh Master, my Lord, my very Self – only and for ever to be here, now, with You! * * * Realisation begins to dawn that I really, really am free – for good, not just for moments, and have no need to keep on returning to mortal bondage. * * * There are two dimensions, clearly seen, down below on earth – one of space, from here to there – another of time, from past to future. And there’s a third, not always recognised, ascending into incomparable expansiveness, which seems in contrast, perpendicular.

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What is mortal life? From here, in Spirit, it seems so small, it’s almost a nothing – a merest passing of an idea, or moment of forgetfulness – a tiny insect of motion upon the surface of a ball. And then the ball itself is dream dissolved away – replaced by others – worlds innumerable. Then a picture flashes into mind of a sheepdog puppy playing on spring grass, with daffodils – as if to show me how precious life is, and remind me how “God so loved the world”, and that “The very hairs of your head are all numbered” (Mat.10,30). * * * All human thought and talk is actually a series of barriers, imprisoning free consciousness within the boundaries of concepts, expressions etc. It indicates a bound identity. Similarly with human “doing”. The original creative power, the prime mover of all things, is not specified by doing, but remains in the realm of pure being. * * * From 3.50a.m. Being in Spirit. In Spirit, all, all, all and everything is comprehended from, as and in Spirit, and all questions are resolved. The world is known as a complete unit, functioning perfectly according to its laws, within absolute freedom, consciousness and bliss. Amen. * * * At times, it really is so simple to be One immortal Self, and watch legions of personal and mortal selves ( including “mine” ), change and decay around me. * * * When realisation of One thoroughly supersedes belief in division and death, then that becomes our creative input into the world. The scale of One is universal so, like a mother hen covering her chickens, realisation of One covers a multitude of lesser beliefs in separation – so called “sin” ( Ja.5,20; 1Pet.4,8). *

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Emerging from the infinite and forever heart of God, into the children’s playground of this world … “What is creation for?” I ask. The answer is a twinkle in the eye. * * * If we repeat and believe in the problems of the world, they are perpetuated where “The dead bury their dead” (Mat.8,22). We need to come back to LIFE, abundantly available, but impurely embodied in our corrupted world. Anything born into this world is half dead already. Birth is a sentence of death; and the whole world is geared up to this false and fallen nature. It’s a past – an expulsion from heaven. That which cannot tolerate the freedom of Spirit is expelled by its own volition, as a sort of spiritual excrement, to become its own desire. Life is before birth. We cannot become more spiritual, but only less forgetful of what we already are. This is the state from which we need to be “saved”. To dwell in the world is to dwell in want, because that is its cause and foundation. Spirit is the original fullness of which the world is part. To help the world by means of the world is the blind leading the blind. In every case, real help is by Spirit, awareness of which raises the level of consciousness over error and forgetfulness. It releases their hold by disbelief in them, and assists others, if responsive, to do likewise. “The truth shall make you free” ( Jn.8,32). *

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From (in) Spirit, I remember people and events, wars, tragedies in the world, and ask, “What can I do?” The answer is, “Remain in Spirit.” Spirit knows that everything is Spirit, and, notwithstanding whatever appears to happen in the world, remains unshaken, just as the church where I am now sitting stands firm while its doors are rattled by the wind outside. Does the church’s firmness affect the wind? Probably not. The wind has its own laws. Does my sitting here, hour after hour affect and help the world? I do not know. Mind questions, wriggles, postulates, subtly implying its own reality and demanding acquiescence. The

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very question, “What can I do?” pulls me into it. But Spirit needs no such answer. Spirit is its own surety, its own rock and witness in life’s shifting sea. * * * What is it – to pray with a soul mate? It’s two columns of smoke, blending effortlessly as they rise, expanding together to dissolve in glory. It’s tears of joy at all that love is not on earth, now fulfilled in heaven. It’s One being, held in total safety, in total freedom, whichever way one looks. What are the disappointments of our lives on earth? They are no more than dust upon the mantelpiece of time. * * * Just now … but timelessly so … in Spirit … it seemed I was in Paradise … in a natural landscape, but spiritual … surpassing beauty, with creatures … animals and plants, in Spirit. I saw no hurt, or fear, or destruction, for all was Spirit. And I had companionship, as of one taken from myself, but not other, for I was One. I saw no other, nor needed to. I had no need. I moved, but felt no pain from earth. The creatures reminded me of creatures we know on earth, but I cannot definitely describe them, for neither they nor I had come “down” to description i.e. name and form. We were beyond it. And there was fruit … but no sensation of taking and eating as on earth, for all was (satisfied) in Spirit. * * * Here is an ocean of infinite wisdom, infinite love, infinite everything – the creator and sustainer of all things, visible and invisible. And here am I, a drop, inadequate in every way, with the face of an old man looking at me out of the mirror – destined soon to die. However could I have felt myself complete with only a drop of wisdom, life and love, trying to cope with the world? However could I have so obstinately hung on to that drop’s existence, esteeming its very separation and difference, while also longing for all the fullness of the ocean? But this is what we do. *

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It is so simple to sit here, deeply at rest, and be instantly, perfectly united in Spirit with whom and whatsoever comes to mind. The world of separation seems ever less relevant – a mere, dream phenomenon of man. Beyond mind, with or without awareness of the world, union is uninterrupted. It’s One … without a second. *

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Very readily, these days – especially at times of prayer – without any special effort, I find myself in Spirit. It is completely natural. In Spirit, every aspect of creation within one’s awareness, can be observed from freedom i.e. unaffected, ageless and without need. In Spirit one can move wherever one wills – visit, and communicate. It is clear and obvious how we “fall” from this natural state into mind and body. The world’s misfortune is no more or less than this mistaken identity. *

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Spiritual prayer is to know that everything is Spirit, takes place in Spirit, and is but temporal modification of Spirit. Spirit recognises itself, and with that, all is known complete. *

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In the cattle market, this morning, I was no longer a person trying to be still, peaceful, comforting etc., but stillness itself. As now, I am no longer a person trying to be spiritual, but Spirit itself; not “me” sitting to meditate, but the pure unsullied act. While sitting, I hear wild geese fly past. Mind sends out a flutter of interest, but I, as “I am”, prime mover of all things, remain immovably still. Personal effort is superfluous to the action of pure Being. Who is able to describe this? Mind thinks, hand writes as something further back – a Higher Authority, directs (Is.55,7-9; Jn.5,36;9,4;10,37). *

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In meditation, one puts off (lets go) the false, secondary creation of fallen, human mind (the person), and rediscovers the original and

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spiritual “As it was in the beginning”. Here, once more, one is “naked” i.e. unclothed of mistaken and corrupt mind /body identification with “me” and, therefore – “unashamed” (Gen.2,25). * * * 3.00a.m. Woke from upsetting dreams, to pray. Instantly, I find myself in Spirit. Spirit knows that everything is SPIRIT … completely One and perfect. Disease and disaster cannot affect Spirit, for they are only appearances of lesser powers. From Spirit, they can be seen, analysed, dismantled and known for the nothings that they really are. “Boo hoo,” howls the wind under the door. The mind thinks, “Demons,” and remembers childish fears. But now I am a man, and I know better. It’s exactly the same when one sees from Spirit. The fabrications of mind are known to be that – and only that. From uncontrolled nightmares, I return to serenity. A cut on my finger still hurts according to the flesh. It’s uncomfortable to hold my pen. It flinches with pressure. But I, the Master, can smile to myself. Pain is in me – in my experience – but I am not in pain. The wind still howls; the world’s images still play; the clock moves slowly on. And all is held in peace. Spirit knows there’s nothing to be excited or depressed about, and nothing to fear. Mind creates and dissolves images, but everything remains eternally Spirit. Confronted by death, we may say from belief “In God, all live”. But now, it’s myself as Spirit, which sees and knows it, too. * * * Returning to Spirit is utterly natural, and simplicity itself. It’s simply coming back to our own, original nature, which we so often and repeatedly forget. Like on waking from a dream, or returning home from a journey, all is familiar and in place once more. All is as it should be. We don’t need anyone else to tell us. We know it for ourselves. When we find it, we find ourselves back at the formative hub, the seed, the central point from which it all springs. All that is “out there” arises from here, and when you stand here, it is simple and

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obvious to see. You see it for yourself. And you also see how easily we fall into this fascinating wonderland of creation – “out there” – become attached, identified, possessed by it, and “lost”. And it isn’t really dramatic or a great event to return, because it’s so simple and “as it always was”, and you can hardly imagine or remember how it could ever have seemed otherwise. * * * As a duck in water, so I’m in the images of “world”. They splash and play around me. I move in them – eat, sleep and think. Yet, as water falls from off a duck, so do I remain completely free.

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Beyond, One Comes to Rest Spring 2005

I STA ND AT the entrance to a motorway service station, and watch the crowds draw in. Many faces have a predetermined look, and I wonder where it leads. First – the toilet? And then to maintain something of free will in the jaws of standardised refreshment? How we run as sheep to the slaughter, yet fight to preserve ourselves. Consumed by media and motor cars, human fodder for desires of man, defences harden as we sense the world’s indifference. Whatever are we? I watch from One and see reflections of Oneself, each wrapped in layers of self created “me”. How it struggles for existence – for its vaunted human rights. It’s because we’ve forgotten that we’re Spirit, and got ourselves mixed up with separate egoistic ideas, and flesh, which needs housing, feeding and goodness knows what else from cradle to the grave. And all the time, our natural spiritual selves are absolutely blissful life, which doesn’t need anything! This is how we find ourselves, but we don’t have to remain there. How willingly we might welcome personal reduction if we really believed in salvation of the soul. Here’s a modern parable. 250 ml. of water, sugar and chemicals, costs £1. A litre of more or less natural milk costs 65 pence, while as always, the best things in life are absolutely free. Every work of man is worse for our wellbeing than those of God. In principle we see, we know – but can we get our lower selves, our wilful ego natures to accept it? 254

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It’s easier to see as the detached observer of a crowd than in close personal relationship, where both seer and seen are in the soup together. I wonder what look I had on my face when, as a young man, I determined to go to South America. I knew nothing then of “letting go”, of going beyond ideas. I thought I had to suffer. The only freedoms I knew were freedoms of the world. My father felt he could do no more with me, but a kind friend sent this message. I didn’t understand it then, but I do now. When all is said and done, in the end thus shall we find: He most of all doth bath in bliss, that hath a quiet mind. When I returned and found the School of Meditation, I went down to London to be taught the practice. As my animals needed feeding next morning, I had to catch the late night train back home. With time to spare, I sat in the waiting room at St Pancras station, closed my eyes and followed the instructions I’d been given. And inwardly it opened up. There and then I found space and freedom such as I’d always dreamed of – within myself, and realised I no longer had to search the wide open spaces of the world to find it. The goodness of spiritual awakening is so obvious, it’s tempting to confront the world direct: Wake up and see. But the old maxim, “Let sleeping dogs lie,” applies also to the lower nature of man. Mindful of my own long years of practice, and the slow evolution of spiritual understanding, experience counsels a subtler approach. Besides, realisation shows that all desires, including the wish to influence others, arise from separation, and dissolve away together with it. Humanity may slumber, twitching in its dreams, but nature awakens when its time is right. Spiritual thirst develops slowly. “You can lead a horse to water, but cannot make it drink.” As I drove along in the car this morning, I realised there is no solidity in anything. When we look at the world, what we really see is our thought. Even the stone pillars of a church are seen as a thought image, extended and solidified in form, but with no substance of their own. It depends on our understanding of ourselves. If we identify with ourselves as separate entities, then that is what we see around us … other entities. As we let go that

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fixation, so does the world around us appear more fluid, less determined and divided. It’s our own thought (attention) which brings our body into focus (reality). In deep meditation, we may completely lose any sense of it. Gradually, as we progress spiritually, our separate body sense diminishes, and so does our sense of embodied humanity. It’s replaced by realisation of Spirit. The whole structure of humanity as we normally see it, is based on separation. The more separate we are, the more real it seems. But as we let go … let go … just like a dream, it all dissolves away. * * * Suppose someone tells us an obvious untruth. Do we believe, and fight it – giving it attention, and thereby existence? Isn’t it better to simply ignore it, and let it die away? The same options apply when we look at the world from a spiritual point of view. Bodies appear before our mortal eyes, corrupted and divided, whereas spiritual awareness “sees” a continuum of Spirit. Which do we believe? * * * At a funeral, I feel closer in Spirit to the deceased than to the living. It is they who, enclosed in separation and their sense of loss, are actually the “dead”. Spirit, being the basis of all that happens, watches the action … compassionate, but unaffected. * * * Ultimate freedom … love unlimited … but this is how it starts, not ends. These are words and understandings of my own mind … already lost for words. It explodes to this, but in the sweetest, gentlest way … with the melting of every last resistance … more like a puff, a sigh, of ultimate release. All imaginable love on earth … it but foreshadows this … or might be a half-forgotten remembrance of it. And if one could possibly conceive of such love being sufficient … beyond it one comes to rest … but quite beyond description. I’ve never been more perfectly what “I am”, yet I have no mind and body to cling to … at least, not in the old sense. My new body

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is the universe … with mind of perfect joy. But even that’s not so … for that’s now left behind. There’s no direction anymore, but … if there was, the potential in every direction is equally infinite. It’s simply everything that is … but not defined enough to be described. How is it to return to earth? Morning sun shines through the window. Icons on the wall smile at me. And I, sitting down to write these notes … smile too. It’s only some time later that I can ask myself why we don’t live “there”, but in this “opposite” world of all things measured and partitioned and, in comparison, so small … so much sunshine, so much love, and only so much life. What prevents us enjoying the fullness so obviously available? Does anything, apart from the countless determinations of our own will? What is the devil? Is it the will of an “other” that may affect us? But, in fact, without our own acquiescence in the first place … how could we fall? How is such realisation attained? We cannot command higher influence, but it depends on our readiness to lay aside self-will. Our own self emptiness opens us to the Grace of Self fulfilment. *

* * While the world experiences and discusses issues of separation, Spirit knows it’s One. Beyond here and there, or past and future, all sequences of space and time are held contained in One. This is “Eternal Remembrance”, which keeps within itself, all that happens in our passing lives. As an old man, watching indulgently while children play, I find myself with a new task … which is to affirm Spirit in the face of all that denies it. Does someone travel far? He remains present. Does someone die? He lives. In gain or loss, there is no change. Does time fly past? It is forever now. In agitation, all is held in peace. From a spiritual point of view, who are the hungry and thirsty, sick and imprisoned (Mat.25,35-45), but those deprived of spiritual abundance? And how do we meet our responsibility to provide

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for them? The bread and waters of spiritual life are provided already, but we seldom partake. Can our own contribution make any difference? I open my eyes to invisible presence, filling the space where I pray. It’s all the food, drink and visitation one could ever want, but until it’s realised, it might as well not exist. Realisation brings it into consciousness … and there, like a meal ready on the table, it waits for us to feed. *

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Unchanging, and ever present – but this is not static, or a tedious state. On the contrary – the changes of life can be enjoyed without shaking the foundations of one’s own existence. The underlying stability of oneself, and everyone, is guaranteed. Change gives the play – the school of life. *

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Spirit, or spiritual life, is neither mind or body. It’s absolutely free, and crystal clear. Body walks across the road … mind thinks … and Spirit is aware. Self-realisation, or salvation, is … to be in Spirit. The aim of meditation, of prayer and religion, of every truly directed human endeavour, is … to be in Spirit. Spirit is selfsufficient, independent of the world. It’s awake from the shadow dream of lower nature. As first spring flowers appear – isolated heralds in the murk of winter, and then green gradually spreads to cover the whole earth – so is awakening to spiritual life. *

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First, there’s Spirit. Then, thought arises, and thoughts become things. How? If we hold our hand before light, the shape of the hand casts a shadow. That’s exactly how creation works. Thought modifies the pure radiance of Spirit, and the resulting “shadow” appears as a thing. We then, being ourselves a mixture of Spirit and things, look down and become further engrossed in other things … finding ourselves with more and more burdens and less and less light, life, Spirit. But … we can return. *

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Far, far back here … beyond time, yet also present … undifferentiated Being receives back into itself and reissues, as it were, droplets of its own. Without separate “ones”, there is no name or form. All that belongs “out there”, in the world of creation. Remembering a relative, long since deceased, I realise he’s either here, back home where he belongs, and now, as indistinguishably One as I myself, or else may still be in some intermediate state of mind … but actually, it’s all One. Full recognition of One, automatically cancels out belief in “other”. It’s only our adventures in the imaginary world that make us feel apart. No matter how often a child wanders in its mind, it remains held by its mother; and so it is with Being, the heavenly shepherd, and us, the wandering flock. “Living” people seem furthest away … out in the world. What is the world? From here, as I write, it gradually reappears as familiar patterns of sight and sound, but remains, in comparison, a far and foreign land. The “I am” that I am … still, all containing One, while slowly forming these words … slowly re-emerges … with some reluctance, to fulfil demands of time. Back in my own room, I look at the many icons of different saints, looking outwardly at me, with unworldly, timeless faces. And I “see” them, am them, from behind … inseparably One. * * * Returned to One, original and spiritual, the remnants of (my) earthly embodiment can still be watched “below” … rather like an empty skin … with complete detachment. * * * It is totally clear that I am Spirit, “Which is everywhere and fills all things,” and not the body/mind, which remains like outer skin. I am the content, and not the container. As air in a balloon, when released, returns to air and merges imperceptibly – being One with it, as it always was – so is our return to Spirit. Our body /mind is the balloon skin, a formative idea, which when given attention (life) expands, and when deprived of it, deflates to nothing. Prayer /meditation is the gradual process of disassociating

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ourselves from this false identity. When that’s achieved, it remains only to be One Spirit, and withstand further intrusion /temptation to believe otherwise. As dead skin and bones do not feel pain – neither does pure Spirit. So what is pain? It must be due to some tension of false association. Here am I, still walking around in an old man’s body, knowing that the body is dead, and Spirit completely free. But the remainder of past identification, not yet worked out, keeps us together, and so I feel some pain. * * * It becomes ever more obvious that Spirit is what I am, and where to be – and when realised, there’s no more doubt about it. But just as often, I slip down into forgetfulness and find myself back in the world, thinking of the past, concerned with everyday cares etc. It needs unremitting work to resist the world, lift thought heavenward, and give oneself to Spirit. The very best experiences of life are but foreshadowings of spiritual perfection. When Grace/Spirit comes, it takes you by the hand and leads. Then it’s easy – everything’s done for you, and personal effort ends. From Spirit, there’s no more need to know anything at all about human ailments. These are the science of darkness. Spirit knows only perfection – and there is no “other”. But until then, it’s up and down all the way. * * * Nothing whatever of this world is necessary to Spirit. Pure elements e.g. the sky, and for some – religion, may bring us close, but even they are left behind. There’s no more need for books, or images of any kind, for all is open and revealed. The works of man are past. It’s so good to be free. It’s simply wonderful. From love unchanging, attention turns with compassion to the world. It sees events passing, like cars along a road, enclosed within themselves, from past to future. What can it do? It writes these words and sends them forth – leaves of eternity upon the paths of time … invitations to pause … to lay down burdens … and be free. *

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Suppose you are present, here and now, with someone else who is not present but lost in, and talking about some thought of his own. You see how the thought gives rise to words – body expressions follow, and the process may be taken into action. This is exactly how we fall from spiritual origin, into the world. We call it being born, but actually, from Spirit, it’s death. Our so-called “life” is this fall into the consequence of thought. As a child, I had a powerful desire to be a farmer. When I grew up I became a farmer – worked hard, loved my farm and way of life, became thoroughly identified with and attached to it, and then went through a long, painful process of losing it. Now, looking back, I see the whole process from start to finish from ageless, timeless freedom. Certainly, the world is beautiful, and our lives may be happy or absolutely dreadful. But from Spirit, the whole thing is a repetition of the pattern of being either “here”, present in Spirit, as it actually is, or “there” in a world of our own imagining. And because Spirit is One, each of the myriad “lives”, composing all human history, is but one of One’s own thoughts going off and “doing its own thing”. How benevolently now I see it all! Indeed, One holds the whole, wide world in hand. * * * Today I watched a duck standing on the concrete floor of a wire cage, looking out on to soft, spring grass outside. Here was a creature, perfectly made for its natural home, absolutely powerless and bewildered before the devices of a captor mind, higher than its own. Is not this how we find ourselves before the works of “evil”? What can we do? For we ourselves have succumbed to temptation and fallen into the lower, creative order of our body/mind. “Resist not evil,” we are told (Mat.5,39), lest we fruitlessly break our wings upon the wire. How can we help/pray for others, trapped and troubled in the cage? What does Jesus do? Having endured, for our sake, the world’s cage, he rose above it, and now stands in His natural freedom to save others. He shows the way. We first have to see clearly (Mat.7,3-5; Lk.6,41-42). We have to save, or rather – be saved, ourselves. Then we will see. Otherwise, we

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are just two ducks gazing through the wire together – companions, even comforts in trouble, but not much use to save. Once freed however, we no longer impede, by disbelief, the fact of freedom. One comes to see the problem as – not so much body trapped in a cage, but Spirit trapped in a body. How can free Spirit be trapped? It can’t. We deal only with delusion, or nonrealisation, of the true estate. * * * What are we, but a mix of thought upon a form divine? From across the street, I look at a crowded market place and see Spirit, with imaginary figures of forgetfulness – called people, being other and elsewhere than what and where we are. Upon Spirit, as on an artist’s canvas, appear first – the pure elements, then the objects and creatures of creation. Finally, like a mirror on the opposite side, to complete, love it and contain it – the reflective witness, man, made in the image of the Creator, and also named “I am”. Yet, in between – upon absolute, undivided wholeness, float mortal images, thinking themselves into separation, and distinguished by being apart. How could pure being possibly find itself mixed up with such confusion? The other day, my companion, sitting opposite, said, “Where are you?” I was away somewhere, lost in a thought, and the absence showed in my face. I was not here, but there, in a world of my own creating and, for the moment – spiritually blind. Pure prayer/meditation is pure being. By total surrender of our own world, we become (return to) that original, to which the impure creature prays. Pure prayer is unwavering awareness of the One. * * * As mortal images are superimposed upon the divine origin of man, so are pain, death and corruption superimposed upon that original and perfect nature over which, in the beginning, he was given dominion (Gen.1,28). Every bird pecking a worm to death – every broken, bleeding twig, is a direct consequence of my sin. “Cursed is the ground … “ (Gen.3,17). As we gradually realise

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ourselves to be sons of God rather than sons of man, so is nature around us released from the destruction of our fall (Ro.8,19-23). * * * Why is stillness so important? Absolute stillness is absolute surrender, is absolute, “Thy will, not mine.” It is the end of “me”. In stillness, the busy, little engine powering my own world, dies down, and that self-made world, being no longer driven and maintained, shrivels away to nothing. The burden is released; the self rediscovers freedom. In stillness, the real world continues to function perfectly but is now freed of “my” interference, so every thing is accepted without question and realised to be the “Will of God”. We spend so much time trying to get it right, but thinking and talking about enlightenment is as much a “me” activity as anything else. I myself, as a separate entity, can never be enlightened or realised because it is that very “I”, which is itself the cause of the trouble. In stillness, it dies down and, behold, the light is seen. The whole human world consists of this personal make-belief superimposed on the natural reality of creation. From stillness, it is seen for what it is. Deeper stillness leads to deeper perception and thus, progressively, delusion is dissolved. It starts, of course, with one’s own world but, being released from this, an ever widening circle is found to be Oneself. Release of one precedes release of all. Ultimate stillness is freedom for all within the human world, but we are also free to ignore it and continue with our own. The world continually pressures us to say, do or be something but, contrary to worldly thought, we are never more creatively and effectively active than when most deeply still. Having removed the obstacle of our own inadequacy, we thereby allow natural creativity to function unhindered. The less of me, implies the more of God. “Be it unto me according to thy word” (Lk.1,38). Stillness is the end of “me” and it’s works, and the whole dark apparatus of human activity on earth. It doesn’t just stop, for it has its own momentum, which has to run its course – but we stop

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adding fuel to the fire. Once found, complete stillness is so natural, and the “me” performance, seen from stillness, is so unnatural that we think we’ll never fall into it again, but of course we do. Stillness doesn’t mean the end of action, but action becomes spontaneous, natural, with no trace of personal attachment. One’s own mind, with its servant the tongue, is a negative asset when it comes to understanding life as it is. Coming to stillness is a process of purification. A still mind, completely free of thought, is pure – and sees purity. In stillness, all impure thoughts etc. associated with “me” fall away, and the mind returns to its pure and natural function – reflecting the Divine. Every time we look at the world with a really still mind, it’s as though we’ve never seen it before. We see it as it actually is – as One, and perfect. As dreams at night create their own world, so do the workings of uncontrolled personal mind create their own fantasies, which then embody as personal life. When this personal, or human mind is understood to be the two-faced menace it is, then there’s a new willingness to lay it aside and come to the clear, reflective freedom of stillness. In stillness, we demonstrate as little as possible, our false and mortal nature. From below, this may seem confusing – wheels within wheels, and worlds within worlds – and thoughts of mind add further to the muddle, but from above, with mind at rest, it’s all seen clear and simple. How comparatively easy it seems, at times of Grace, to go beyond the mind – but how impossible otherwise. Without help how would we ever escape the infernal entanglements that drag us ever further from the light? How indeed would we even know that such light exists, were it not for the Saviour, and the testimony of those who, by the gift of Grace, have seen? What is reality? Awaking from our usual dream, it may seem like the first call of an early morning bird – but that goes back, and back. Life is a series of phenomena, one upon the other, and each perceived according to the mind of the perceiver. Rather than knowing what the real world is, one sees what it is not. It is approached by elimination. Even the subtlest attractions of

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creation act as a sort of snare, claiming our attention, and distracting from the ultimate beyond. By going beyond, we don’t really lose anything except attachment to the claim of our perceptions. Creation is here to be enjoyed, but love goes ever back to the Creator. The old man’s body now sits stiff and tired, but he is also the chorus of the morning birds, the lambs and blossoms on this tide of spring. Individually, we can only and imperfectly reach those within our mental and physical compass, but as deep stillness merges into the perfection of Spirit, we contain the world. There is an ocean of love. And on it floats a little boat – the world, bobbing up and down. And prayer is an invisible link, a shaft of awareness or light, connecting with the Source. It’s laying oneself into the hands of God. At all times, while yet upon this world, someone somewhere must pray, lest the boat should drift away. Where to? To outer darkness. * * * I see clearly that my own creation – my personal humanity i.e. my mind and body, is pollution upon earth. It’s immense relief to be released from the burden of believing in them, and having expectations of them beyond their capacity. How can the imperfect reflect the perfect? Now, I’m discovering the real benefit of thinking and doing less, in favour of simple being. In every way, I feel more right and useful as I come out of identification with the person, and approach to what I now realise I was in the beginning, as God made me – Spirit – infinite and One. * * * Every single problem of human life dissolves with realisation, “I am Spirit.” * * * As I walk up the road to the church, I have a sense of all things around flowing past me – a river of shapes, colours, impressions – but indivisible and insubstantial. If I pick something up and say, “It’s a stone – I’ll do something with it,” I enter into that flow –

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identify, divide and react to it, and in the process may lose my own free perspective. If I don’t “fix” it in my mind, it remains unfixed, infinitely fluid and adaptable. Just as we can be aware of our own thought, we can see the world from a higher point of view as God’s thought, with addition of our own. In fact, it’s a movement of pure consciousness – called thought – an ever changing 3D river of inter flowing impression, appearing as the “world”. The whole world is but modification of consciousness. And what are we, but gatherings of thought – increasing, decreasing as we’re swept along. “We”, that is, as we think we are. And how many am I, here, now, who sees it all? What can I be, but One? * * * What is matter? It’s not knowing that it’s thought. What is thought? Movement in consciousness (or mind). “The Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters” (or mind, Gen.1,2). As wind upon the surface of water produces the visual effects of waves etc., so does thought upon the ocean of consciousness. Original creation is spiritual thought. Then, by our fallen perception, it appears as matter. * * * Normally, we seek space, quietness, freedom etc. away from people, but today I find all of it in fullest abundance right here in the midst of crowds thronging the busy tourist /market town where I live. And I’ve never felt more sure of doing the one thing needful, not only for myself, but for the world. This is spiritual food, without which we hunger and thirst, and with which our satisfaction is complete. Is it love one seeks, or peace, joy, safety or eternal life? From here, all these features are contained in, and indeed synonymous with stillness. The entire motivation of human existence is to find that which it already has, and is. Today, I’m no longer in the world, looking for something outside it, for the world exists in me. I’ve become used to watching and realising that, although I am not my personal body and thoughts etc., they are given to

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enable me to live. This is now extended to the wider world. This whole world is my body, given for life. After seeing the world in Spirit, one wonders how one could ever “lose” it, for this wider awareness is so obvious and right. But the very act of writing this note puts me into thought, while I wonder how to express it, and steals me away from that purity of Spirit. * * * In Spirit, time and distance fade away. One is instantly united with whom and whatsoever may appear in mind. There’s no need for words and meetings in the worldly sense to convey the influence of One. Nor is there any impediment to union, but our own unwillingness to turn. Spirit sees Spirit. While mental images remain, they appear from Spirit as one might see window frames – conveyances of light. Spirit delights, and hardly sees the frame. As limits fade away, light comes to Light. As people, we see, name and talk about images (or frames), and thereby try to reach the light. But Spirit, pure Spirit, sees only light. Impure Spirit sees a bit of both! If, however, by focussing faith, it’s possible to realise the body of Christ i.e. Spirit, imaged in a piece of bread, it’s simply natural extension to realise it in all. * * * The relationship of Self to the person /body is similar to my taking up a pen to write this note, and then when finished, laying it down again. I am neither pen nor body, but they serve a need. * * * Creation pours down like the cascades of a great robe. With the Lord, the Source, we are safe and at home, but out in creation we are apt to get lost. We are a microcosm. In exactly the same way, we get lost in our own creations – our ambitions, delusions, depressions and fears etc., and we need to come back home. The Self, I am, has no name, no identity, no need and no fear. All this belongs to creation. * * *

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Oh the relief of going beyond words, beyond books and bits of paper – beyond thought, and all that Babel of the human mind! It’s so easy, so free and wonderful, I never want to go back. And it’s everything one could possibly need. I lack nothing, absolutely nothing. I’m infinitely more true, wise, adequate and useful in every way than when lost in that quagmire of intellectual ignorance, with which we think we know. I never need to read another book. Why not? Because I’m with the Author of all books, and moreover, the most wonderful of all – creation, life itself. *

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Understanding of prayer changes so subtly one is hardly aware of it. Prayer is now synonymous with being, though it could also be described as “awareness out”. It is no longer something I “do”, but happens of itself, just as a tree radiates out the fact of being a tree. People, events are seen in Spirit. Life seen without Spirit is empty – like empty bags, but now it’s with their natural content of Spirit restored. What previously appeared separate, deficient, worthy of pity, is now, with Spirit, One, complete, coherent and fulfilled. It’s obvious, isn’t it, that when Spirit is withdrawn, we die? Thus, with our fall from spiritual awareness (or sin), death comes into the world. Conversely, we return to life.

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On Redemption I ’VE REC ENTL Y translated a number of letters, written by members of my family in Russia during the 1920s, when revolution, civil war and persecution were tearing the country apart. They were the last contacts we had before all contact ceased. My mother, Kcenia, kept them hidden away. She was not one to lay her burdens upon others. The people named are my uncles and aunts. This essay began as a sort of summary … but grew. Well, that’s it. Those are the letters from Kcenia’s little box, and that’s the end. But, of course, it is not the end. It has to be redeemed. The extraordinary thing about this story is that, in Russia, it is not at all extraordinary. It’s entirely typical. And, as Nina wrote – for many, many others, it was worse. Understandably, Russia struggles with her past. Why did it happen, and what must we do now? Uncle Volodya (Sept. 1925) wrote of repentance, but what is that in terms we understand? Why did it happen, and why particularly in Russia? The events compel one to seek for answers, and the seeking leads ever deeper into the whole enigma of life, and how we meet it. And what is redemption? How does it work, and how can such horror ever be redeemed, and what part, if any, do we play? Once I started going to Russia, it didn’t take me long to fall in love with her. I felt I’d found my own people. But any love for Russia soon brings the burden of her Cross. Why, why do such dreadful things happen there? How can a nation, capable of such 269

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sublimity in love, be also plunged into such depths of sin? It’s a question countless people ask. And not infrequently one hears the answer that in the great, universal drama of mankind, Russians have a particular destiny to bear the human Cross. Certainly, no study of Russia can ignore the profound effect of religion on her life. It’s not always publicised abroad, but in the daily, albeit subconscious behaviour of her people, it is soon apparent. Kcenia, for example, never made a show of religion, and felt no need to define it. She had, however, an unshakeable belief in “something” beyond the world of man, and a corresponding instinct and distaste for human humbug. Her way of life, and in particular, her death bore witness to maturity of soul. Russian character is certainly moulded by the extremity of its natural conditions. The country is too big, the climate too severe to be easily overcome by man. And as any look at traditional Russian icons will show, Russian thinking strongly identifies with the Holy Mother – “Be it unto me according to thy word” (Lk.1,38). The passive, patient and long suffering feelings so aroused, with their low level of personal assertion, make Russians both open to divine assistance, but also vulnerable to demonic force and abasement by their fellow men. Historically, they are used to functioning collectively and under authority, and when, with the revolution of 1917, their leaders changed from nominal allegiance to the traditions of “God’s Word” into secular government and social engineering, Holy Russia, at least, submitted Christ-like to her Cross. Russia was an easy victim for the architects of communism. Russia has borne it all. Well, times move on. Some part, at least, of families remain; religion, culture and traditions revive, but redemption presupposes something more. Who am I to attempt an explanation? I hesitate to try even to express it, but there’s something about Russia that very easily brings one to tears. It isn’t just selfish sadness. It seems to be there in her very bones. Russians call such tears a second baptism. They say they wash the soul, and esteem the benefits of “tearful” repentance. I remember watching from the train window, an old woman at Omsk station. She must have been saying good-bye. As the train started she began to run after

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it, crying and stumbling, stretching out her arms, her face completely stricken with despair. Some things don’t change, do they? It seemed then such an echo of Russia’s tragic years, when hardly a family was left intact, and 100 million prematurely lost their lives. I think now of Nina saying good-bye to her father at the same station, as he left for Chita, and of his parting from Vladimir the year before. Russian distances are too far to expect a quick return. What can one do? What might that old woman have done? I can only guess she had some humble image of the Holy Mother in her home, and at least some recourse to the Infinite Compassion. St John of Kronstadt (who, in 1901, visited the College where my family lived) wrote that when Russia ceases to pray, she loses her strength. How else could she survive? There’s a different icon of the Holy Mother for every human need. They were banned, of course, during communism, but every Soviet war memorial carries an image of a grieving woman. Both Tania and Kcenia suffered from depression, as did their father and sister. Many people do. That too, at times, defies analysis but, as beloved Uncle Volodya wrote, we each must bear our cross. Many are those who, for the most part unselfishly, unseen, fulfil the Divine Law, and bear the burden and the guilt for others. But how far does that lead us to redemption? Time heals one sorrow, but then comes another. Where is the end of it? What does it mean … “Redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ”? What is that, in relation to stillness? Is it not stillness itself – the movement of the world, the changing scenes of life returning to stillness? They arise from stillness; stillness accompanies them throughout their existence, and they return to it. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end … Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today and forever. Stillness is the peace that passeth understanding – being, that is, beyond mind – the rest eternal beyond time; the peace “not as the world giveth” (Rev.1,8; Heb.13,8; Phil.4,7; Jn.14,27). How is it that the magnitude of Jesus Christ can apparently be reflected in our own experience? But we are required to follow the Lord, and in however imperfect measure we do, it must be so.

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Redemption of the world is linked to our own coming to rest (in stillness). What is our share in the divine work? Our own surrender of “me” is the most useful, most significant thing we’ll ever do. When we stand outside unity ourselves, then it seems divided – we have different shades of meaning, and we feel “The Lord” and “me”. But the more we surrender, the more it merges into One. The Redeemer is I am. Responsibility is inescapably One’s own. How can one person’s prayer affect so many and different events in time and space? They are all but light arising from one source. Out there in events themselves – identified, attached, one may become a “lost” sheep, wandering on one’s own. That’s where, “incarnate”, we suffer and are buried. But One person, in Spirit, can see perfectly clearly that millions and millions of apparent “deaths” are not really dead at all. What happens at sunrise and sunset? The focus of light changes, and the world transforms. That’s how prayer works, too. By changing the focus of awareness i.e. by “letting go”, all is enabled to right itself naturally, without fear of loss, or pain. But contrary to that, human determination usually holds on to its problems. What is world work, world prayer? There cannot be a healed, or better “me”. “Me” – that is, the mortal, ego image imposed on the divine – itself is the disease. The human world, being but a multiple extension of “me”, is one great disease (Ro.7,14-8,13). “Flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God” (1Cor.15,50). We don’t just want a better disease, but no disease at all. Nature shows what happens. Man’s body goes to the grave, and all the concrete in the world is again reduced to earth. Grass is the healing of civilisation. The end of prayer is not some man-made alternative, but return to God. All bad is man’s leaving God – all good, returning. Man’s entire purpose is – return to God. Once back with God, there’s no more good and bad. Alongside the river lies the park, with dogs, ice-cream, and ducks to feed – and games to play. Sitting with eyes closed, I hear distant traffic, sounds of people, cries of children in triumph and despair. As ripples of individual experience, they lap into Oneness to be unified – and return to play, made whole. Unified in

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stillness, it’s we ourselves that actually fulfil what the prayers and symbols of religion ask and indicate. Communion becomes, and is, the universal fact. All is God. Only man denies it. But if he turns (repents), the whole chain effect of denial begins to change. Although only half understanding how it works, I know there’s nothing I can do of more importance. It brings me right back to those words whispered to me on an Andean mountain, 40 years ago – “To make whole, be whole.” While swifts circle high in the setting sun, ducklings catch flies on the river below. All is angelic. All – perfect. All happens of itself. But fresh grass lies crushed beneath my feet. I feel the fate of flies. What can I do? The measure of my sin is marked upon the innocent. Humanity is a lesson in the consequence of pride. I cannot roam these lovely meadows without doing them harm. I love grass. She’s healed the GULAG slave camps of Russia, and forgives my clumsy feet today. Every leaf is a mini-Christ, or we could say a member, or the body of Christ – teaching us the Way. Gently, unobtrusively she covers our misdeeds, and heals the wounded earth. Well named, the “forgiveness of nature”, she bears no grudge, and brings no harm for harm. Often despised, rejected, trodden down by man, she too, most humbly bears the sins of others and, ever faithful, dies to rise again. Dear grass. Dear Lord. How is it that at one time there’s death and sorrow, and at another there isn’t? How can all be perfect, and imperfect? How can humanity be both an agent of healing and goodness, but also described as a disease? What’s right, what wrong? In fact, it isn’t a case of one or the other, for both have their rightful place, and what we see depends upon our point of view. There is a ladder of consciousness from earth to heaven, with many steps or levels, and as we ascend or descend, our perception of, and participation in, life changes. From higher levels, everything, including “lower” worlds, is seen as One, Spirit, whole and perfect. “Death” is transition – change from one form to another, without loss. But from down below, in the realms of separate embodiment and personal possession, the same process is one of painful deprivation, and appropriate action will seek ways to assuage it. It can seem

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very confusing because, like a yo-yo, we slide so easily up and down the ladder. As we fall into a lower, limited order of consciousness, which includes ignorance and death, so we bring our fallen projection of creation with us. One moment the horrors, the suffering of life are only too terribly real, and then – the perspective changes. Forgiveness is always a release from a lower state of identification – often experienced as sin, or problems, into a higher freedom. In every case redemption is – return to God. When we, in our entirety, return to God, then sin shall be no more. Then, transgressing feet will no longer bruise the grass, nor ego mind offend. The healing of others, and all human misfortune, starts with ourselves, and the realisation that we, on our own, can do nothing ( Jn.15,5). We need to abandon trust in ego-man (Ps.146,3) in order to receive the radiating spiritual Grace which we call forgiveness. “Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Mat.5,4). The more wholeheartedly we turn in repentance – imperfect yet forgiven, the more we savour peace. Redemption is forgiveness, and return to peace. * * * Once found, the outpouring of Grace is so surpassingly allsufficient that to live by any other means seems quite unreasonable. Prayer becomes a receptacle. It really is like stretching out an empty bowl for “The Grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit,” except that there’s no need to ask, or define it in any way. It just pours. Where to? It’s simply available, like sunshine, for anyone who wants it. Like a glorious sunset – it’s just there – for anyone who looks. And there’s no need to even think of a bowl, for one’s own open heart is the only thing needed, and when that’s open to the whole world, too – well, it’s easy to see how connection with the Grace of God is made. * * * Increase, decrease is of this world. In Spirit, all is once and forever complete as One. Any lack can only possibly arise from lack of God. * * *

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The church altar stands between two tall east windows. Under certain conditions of morning light, it appears to “dance”. The usually solid structure dissolves into a shimmer of light. If I approach and touch the altar, it’s as solid as usual, but 10 paces away, again it’s dancing light. Which is real? In prayer, just now, the whole world trembles on the verge of extinction, and dissolves … being replaced by others … countless worlds, millions of faces … people. It’s all within the Self, which is, and sees, and knows. I am the creator of it all … just as “we” create our own little, personal worlds, so does “I” create the all. I dream the smile, the frown, the worm, the stars. All numbers are multiples of me. Of course they are! I love my worlds … I enter and leave them as I will … create, dissolve and recreate … play or don’t play as it pleases me. All is my will. I write as now to “you”, but are you not an image of “myself”? * * * The Self doesn’t even have a possibility of incompleteness unless it creates one, nor any body that can die. How do I know? Because I am the Self. Here, now, I realise it. In my mind I can imagine anything whatsoever. I can create and become it – or not become it. Realising it myself, and letting go even more remnants of “my” being separate, I merge into greater Self. It’s totally simple and obvious. All prayer, religion, worship, and in fact all everything ends with Self-realisation, because Self is the originator. Where can one go beyond that? One is Oneself all that is … creator, destroyer, and all things in between. But nothing is really created or destroyed, any more than smiles and frowns, good thoughts or bad, dreams and desires are created or destroyed. They come, take form, increase, decrease and pass within the mind, within the Self. Nothing is gained, or lost. How can it be? If I doubt it, my own immediate experience of my own mini-self proves it to be so. I was a farmer, but now – I’m not a farmer. I was young, but now – I’m old. I’ve been happy, I’ve been sad – and through it all, I remain exactly the same. How does one improve “bad” thoughts, actions or worlds? How

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do we modify the things we’ve made ourselves? Cannot the Creator of all worlds do likewise? How does a parent treat a selfwilled child? He goes off on his own. He learns by mistakes. But our Heavenly Father’s home ever exists to return to and if, after tasting, he turns away from the transitory and limited kingdoms (pleasures and pains) of the world, he inherits the kingdom of the all. * * * Last night we watched as an owl flew, silently hunting over summer fields. The soft, pure, effortless perfection seemed to enter into us also. Early next morning: Pure prayer is complete abandonment of will to God. Mortal mind and body remain quiet, and take no part in it. Therefore such prayer is effortless, limitless, and completely all fulfilling. Being beyond measure i.e. beyond time, space or any recognition of separate existence, pure prayer is not “for the world” (Jn.17,9), for the world is nullified by non reaction. Nevertheless, at One with God, it cannot be other than the greatest benefit to all. * * * John Butler quite ceases to exist, though he can reappear again as a sort of “memory”. What’s left is no “thing”, but One, pure, absolute and conscious, complete in every way – and sparkling clean.

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Of Life Unlimited SPI RITUAL “HIGHS ” are often met by corresponding “lows” which, one comes to realise, are always associated with ego “me”. Typical are unwelcome events, upsetting moods, and many varied “thorns in the flesh” ( 2Cor.12,17). Orthodoxy calls it temptation – the temptation being to believe in and hence magnify these powers opposed to God, giving them undue place and influence in our lives. In fact they serve a useful purpose, demonstrating the infirmity of mortal life and our total dependence upon Grace. Experience teaches us to take them in our stride – and keep praying. As the old song goes, “Pick yourself up, dust yourself down, and start all over again.” The worst condition is spiritual pride – when the ego, self confidently pushes forward, vaunting and preferring itself, to its own deeper deception – quite forgetting that it is a self-made product, a shadow inversion of the Real, which cannot do any good thing whatever on its own. Do I live up to the heights of these windows? No, of course not! But it does become harder to deny them. Old habits of thought and life continue but, imperceptibly, new understanding filters in. I can hardly claim it as my doing. It seems much more a process of Grace, in which I’ve been led, guided, even pulled along the way. The only real decision is to obey the impulse when it comes – to try to remember, and practice. This is not, however, always as simple as it sounds, for the world can easily steal us away. The “tempter” is both crafty and deceiving. One needs to be watchful. Little and often seems better than trying to force one’s way. A measured, moderate lifestyle helps keep mind and body under control, and not too invasive of spiritual work. Patience is a certainly a virtue – and practice makes perfect. 277

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I draw deeper, and ever deeper into stillness. Paradoxically, it’s the most thrilling adventure one could possibly have. I love it, love it, love it, and each time fall even deeper into love. Tonight, it’s every skill I’ve ever acquired being fine tuned to the finest possible pitch, and then transcended, to become the Master of mastercraftsmen, maker of bird song, clouds and valleys, and all the loveliness of flowering grass, in love with summer breeze. * * * As a child is master of his toys, playing or not playing as he wills, so is the Self the master of His creation (toys). I am the master of “mine” – you are the master of “yours”, and so on up to the Lord and Maker of all things, visible and invisible. In each case greater self is realised by releasing identification with less. At each stage, life is seen to be less limited – more perfect. * * * One – oneness is light. It has no burdens, no weight – no darkness at all. It stands as it were at the apex of the triangle /pyramid of creation, and sees all perfectly co-ordinated within itself. This “seeing” is itself the answer and solution to every “problem” or “matter” of lower creation, for these exist only in ignorance (unawareness) of its light. Dark, and the works of dark, dissolve in light. From light, body/mind appear as shadow – before they disappear. Whoever would choose to dwell in darkness or nonexistence? This light is not at all blinding, but the ultimate of gentle tenderness and home. The only blinding that occurs, comes from tears of joy. It reminds me of Psalm 27,4: “To dwell in the house of the Lord … to behold the fair beauty of the Lord and to visit his temple.” There’s still some faint memory of world. What was it for? Shall I return? But to which one – which world, which age? They stretch out behind like a line of bubbles, or else – pop, pop, they disappear. Going back might be like going out into the garden to rearrange or gather flowers. But would I ever return, were it not for the habit of breakfast? Flecks of thought drift in, reminding me of “life” but, having no clear question or answer

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to apply, they drift away. A sense of “ought to be there”, subsides into being here. Morning sunlight is welcome, but only a shadow of real light. As levels of consciousness, light and shadow have their successions, too. This room where I sit is home, but not my real home. Through the window, I see my neighbour go out to fetch his newspaper. He’s real enough in this world – but our conversation, like our lives, has limit. I look to the icons in the quietness of One being, and find there the only communication I really understand. From above, from light, creation appears to “fall” into relative dark and limitation, while from below, the same process in reverse ascends through stages to enlightenment. *

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We take the car to watch sunset from the hills, but I’m filled with longing only for beyond. Neither curlews calling, nor hayfields in flower can hold me as they once did. This whole wonderful creation is now seen as preliminary to indescribable beyond. And what is there I feel, with straight, certain longing of my heart, but, on this most lovely summer evening, can only say, “No, no – not this, not this.” *

*

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Creation is usually seen measured, formed, defined. According to limited understanding, that’s what makes a duck a duck – a man, a man. But to stand by the river in the freedom of deep stillness, i.e. without reaction to the ever changing forms, which we call “life”, is to see not water, ducks and trees – but God. What is the “world”, but limits? Beyond limit, while still standing in exactly the same place, we may find the limitless kingdom of God. *

*

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With fuller realisation of “I am not my body /mind”, it becomes clearer that everything else also, is not the thing it once appeared

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to be, but appearances of One – of God. With disappearance of separate ego, the apparent divisions of other lives, also melts away. One sees through all, to One. In fact, creation becomes, in all simplicity, yet wonder – God. Wherever I look, whatever I sense, inwardly or out – whatever is – is God. * * * As a child I would ask, “Where do we go when we die? How can there be room for all the people? What do we do there?” Now I smile at the questions, for there is no “place”, no “people”, no “thing” to do. All this belongs to what dissolves away, as do descriptions, questions and experience. Isn’t it boring with nothing to do? Oh, no! Once more back in the world after long, but timeless “prayer” (which also somewhere back dissolved away), I gradually remember the church where I sit – the little town and day, my life and body – and a sense of time. What was there? Where have I been? No thing, no where. But how then explain this peace and love I feel – complete beyond complete, content and home – the sense of belonging “there”? All arts and comforts, joys and wonders of the world are but shadow droplets of Divine origin, which cannot itself be spoken of, but only loved, and shone. * * * Pure prayer dissolves into pure consciousness, which is the perfect, natural radiance of God. It is free of even the slightest thought of being of use or influence to others, or helping the world, for all that comes from ego. Even “being a transparency for God” is suspect. The only task left for one who prays, is removing any last impediments of “me”. What happens then? How can our doing nothing, be of use? We can see it in operation through nature which, unimpeded by man, always heals, beautifies, restores. As a young man of 20, I wondered what the world was like before man “messed it up”, so I went on a long sea voyage to find out. Before the pure magnificence of skies and ocean, space and silences and stars, I felt

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the greatness of God, and the nothingness of man. However could I then esteem my part in it? In Australia and the South Seas, I saw the effect of white men’s invasion on land and native peoples, and realised how easily a natural lifestyle and the sensitive balances of nature are destroyed. I remember the sadness with which I returned to home and civilisation, and the question that arose, “What can I do?” Life experience teaches us that “Nature knows best”, though we may long resist it. Successful farming, like all craft, learns to work with nature, rather than against it. With my own farm and way of life, I tried to go back to nature, but could never go far enough. In ever greater degree, I saw that I, myself, am the problem. I myself, as body/mind, create it, and I, as Spirit, watch it pass away. Now I see that the real back to nature is – return to God. * * * The news is full of terrorist bombings in London. What calls it “terrorist”, but me? All labelling, judgement, fear and personal reaction arises from separation, where everything is assessed by how it affects “me”, and other “me’s”. Beyond this, One sees One. A ripple of movement appears and disappears along the stream, but nothing can disturb the rock-like peace of One. All is seen, all known, and nothing is condemned. These things must be. They happen under law. Good works bind up the wounds but, at the level of personal reaction, nothing is resolved. Life continues as fragile as before. One “thing” produces another. But from beyond, it all takes place in One. Even though I’ve now had many experiences of being beyond the world, I still sometimes ask myself, “What can I do?” – and find no answer. I turn to God, and am reminded, “Trust, and come to me.” And doing so, my ego and its world dissolve. The world of man is millions of egos, all believing in their existences, claiming attention, and often aggressive when denied it. It’s “there” when I’m not “here”. It’s the product of ignorance, of not knowing any better, of being spiritually asleep and falling into a dream. Waking up into the light of One, “my” world dissolves. One may still see it operating over there in “others”, but it’s known to be

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unreal. Compassion may make you weep, and it does what it can – but so easily falls back, and is fooled and lost itself. What do we see when we look out on the street? Many different people, or a many bodied One? What do we see in a terrorist attack? Them, us – right and wrong – or One? What are all histories, geographies and worlds, but the infinitely manifested One? One sits to write these words. One sees. One chimes the clock. One coos the pigeon, caws the rook. Two people come to mind – but only One. Oh my beloved One – all things are You! Oneness embraces the whole thing. But when differing egos expand into mutually offensive policies, and interact, then – Whoomf! It explodes, it breeds a result – a “child of the devil” ( 1 Jn.3,10). And that is what makes the world grow. Being an image, a result, the world is produced by imagination, and maintained by belief in it. Just as a worry or pain may be founded on sheer fantasy, so is man’s world a product of ignorance, which disappears when knowledge of his true, spiritual status is restored. It’s not very effective trying to resolve conflict out there in the world, if the basic causal consciousness remains divided. From Spirit, division first arises, and in Spirit it returns to One. One sees One, and doesn’t react to division. Then, as different features in a picture or stones in a wall are not seen apart from the whole, so do the multi-faceted components of life appear more One than many. Worldly agitation arises from ego. One consciousness is not disturbed, any more than an observer on a rock is shaken by a storm at sea. It’s so simple – but we don’t see it until we reach a certain stage in coming out of our separation. Then it’s clear and easy. Overcoming evil i.e. personal, limited separation in oneself, enables consciousness to rise to include – first, the immediate situation of family, neighbours, locality, world and so on up to the ultimate unlimited of cosmic consciousness, and union. At each level, greater spreads of separate events are seen as the work of lesser powers (darkness), contained within the greater power of One (Light). Works of separation always make life smaller, more divided and restricted, while following the ever less limited way

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to unity, brings liberation. The sons of man are many, but the son(s) of God – are One. The aim of prayer and of all religious practice is Union – i.e. to get back so close to God that there’s no more God and “me”, but One. Is it possible? Certainly it is, as the examples of many saints and dedicated men of prayer bear witness. Adam, remember, in the Garden of Eden, was one, singular. Separation into plurality marked the beginning of the “fall”. Adam, however was not flesh and blood, but Spirit – made in the image of God. One Spirit. Actually we are still, and always have been, One Spirit. Our fall is into ignorance of it. Hence we speak of darkness, sin and limitation. When realised, it’s obvious that all thinking, talk, knowledge, culture – human life, is LIMITS – little parcels of life tied up in limits. However can we be so deceived? We actually believe that inside the parcel is “nothing”, and so it is until we take off the wrappers and see for ourselves. Then it’s known as life, life, LIFE itself. It’s only after repeated experience of life unlimited that we gradually come to realise, even while still in a body, that there’s no need to go back into identification with it, and the real fullness of life is life not limited at all. How clearly I now see that we spend our entire lives in vain pursuit of these limited objectives, whereas by letting go we might attain the all. Well, I did myself, and it’s only at the end of my life, that I’m free enough to see it, and be determined never to go back to that prison world again. * * * Can one see a terrorist attack without personal reaction? Then the incident produces no further sequence of results and dies away of its own accord. Resist not evil (Mat.5,39). What we see as people are but shadows of spiritual ignorance (or sin). None is really “better” than another. There’s no such thing as a “good” man or human deed, to counteract a “bad” (Lk.18,19). All men are both (shadow) sinners and (light) divine. We are born into sin, and from the day of our birth we fall deeper and deeper into it until we start

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the reverse process of undoing the belief that we’re our shadow body/mind. Sin ceases when we cease to believe in it, create it, and look right through it to the Real (light). * * * The soul soars – but far beyond comparison with birds. Even the word “soul” implies a thing that no longer exists. Freedom is absolute. Transcending the person is transcendence of all limit. There is no loss of anything at all, except of limit. The world of limit, with all its effort, seems utterly alien, unnecessary. It’s the difference between wandering, half lost and hemmed in by the high hedges of a maze, and being up above it – like a bird, who sees everything perfectly clear. The only doing remaining to be done is – undoing, releasing the worldly knots of limit. How can this treasury be shared with all? It’s like trying to take a bone from a dog. The more we anticipate loss of our identity, the more we hold on. Summer sunshine shows a better way. Then people come naturally, to open and relax. Inner spiritual sunshine – the light of being, or love, is also awareness. Inwardly, spiritually, unseen, the effect must be the same. * * * Last night, an old friend appeared, as if ascending, with pure heart, to meet with joy, before uniting in Spirit. Had she died? How incomparably pure, perfect, eternally complete – the heavenly “marriage”. Spirit barely registers “alive” or “dead” on earth, but rejoices at the “sinner”, which comes home. * * * Beginning to understand what it is to love One God, I also realise the awful extent to which I have not loved Him, but my own thought, creativity and world. And I still find it difficult to be resolute. Oh, the long-suffering, the patience of God, as He waits for our return! Today, in the face of some quite ordinary problems, and then seeing two bees on an autumn flower, I feel the extent of my unknowing – my almost total ignorance of anything. Even the

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insects know what to do, but I feel the most inadequate creature in creation. It helps me, however, to surrender even more to God, and doing so – in giving myself as totally as I possibly can, I realise that whatever faults and problems I carry in me are also given up. They become God’s problems not mine, and then – of course, all being in God’s hands, all is managed for the best. How perfect! And how dangerous man’s thought that he knows, and can do. Everyone has their ideas and imagination to perpetuate the “world”, and “I” – my goodness – how I’ve done it too! From above, it’s easy to see how “ordinary” life is nothing but limitation. Bodies imprison; breathing marks the sentence of our lives; our noblest thought but captures a wave and pulls it within the compass of the mind. Named, classified and limited ourselves, we impose the same on all around us. How foolishly we esteem embodiment in earth, instead of repenting of our fall. By condemning ourselves to destruction, we likewise influence the world, and “The whole creation groaneth” (Ro.8,22). There is actually, nothing preferable to the self-abandonment of meditation/prayer, for every desirable image, which presents itself in limited form on earth, has its pure, unlimited original available in Spirit. Whatever wants and divisions disturb life “below”, heaven’s joy has no bounds – all is loved and at peace. In fact, everything considered unpleasant in the world is proof of its spiritual non-existence. In realising the fuller stature of oneself, one becomes One. One sees all within Oneself. When walking in a crowd, for example, it’s a bird’s eye view of Oneness and freedom, from which self-will is seen like a dog following its nose, pulling away into separation. One Spirit is heaven; self-will makes its own “hell”, and the street level mixture of both is our purgatorial school of “life”. * * * The world’s substance shrivels before my eyes. When God comes into focus as the primal factor, the world is seen second, as a product/reflection of Him, and seems in contrast, insubstantial. Although the same world, it is completely changed. No one tries

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to change a reflection in the mirror, do they? You change the one who looks. That’s exactly how it is. The natural world is a perfect reflection of God, but the man-made world reflects imperfect man. One is imposed on the other. We cannot help our imperfect world “out there” except by perfecting/purifying ourselves – and then we find perfection all around. * * * Life becomes an almost constant longing for God. All else is secondary and shadow. I cannot command it but, restless without, can only wait His Grace. There’s no more expectation of comfort or reliability in man, nor desire for the things of creation. For now, the world seems like a fall-out, a deposit, or consequence – a marvellous order of things including the “disorder” of man, but I feel ever less moved to participate. From here it’s a dying echo, or a half-remembered dream. * * * When far from God, we call upon His name; when nearer, we feel it, and then, all sense of being apart entirely fades away. There’s now no more of “me”, or you, or mind to make a world, but only pure, unbridled joy, in light of One. I’m free to return (to the world), or free to stay. One here, One there, One is the same. A remnant of time unfinished calls me back to my seat, to write this note and smile. The world returns around me, but there’s no desire for it. All that is stilled. We go to the seaside today. I think of it as an old friend – once so exciting with its space and waves, but now both world and sea remind me of revisiting one’s old school. It’s a place to smile at, to be grateful and remember – but no more to stay. At a marine aquarium, I watched a turtle issue a cloud of excrement which, being immediately dissolved in the water, other fish continued to imbibe. In miniature, it seemed to represent the whole vast biosphere, from pure elemental influence of sun and rain, to our own bodies’ disintegration into food for worms. Isn’t the entire creation a similar soup of spiritual, mental and physical expression and consumption? The mystery of our fall into

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mortality and fleshly appetite, somehow infects and casts the whole thing down to our own inverted struggle for existence, and then brings hope of subsequent redemption from it. How simple it is, yet so easy to forget, that these words are the mental digest of this experience, and here am I – standing outside the glass, observing the fish, the whole creation and my thoughts, and being completely free! *

*

*

We often climb the steep path up over the golf course and through the woods, which shelter our little town. On top we emerge to open pasture and fine views – south over hills and dales of the White Peak, and then round to heather moorlands in the Pennine north. Beside some pine trees and the scattered stones of a Neolithic fort, they’ve put a bench. Sheep graze the ancient turf, and many a small and secret life is sometimes seen. In quietness of mind, desires are quietened too. In Spirit one rests in self-sufficiency. With less need for earthly goods and nothing in the heart but love, the gentle dominion of man’s first estate draws near. How distant now – the struggle for control, though plenty grow the prickles of its “thorns” (Gen.3,18). Farming knows well the cost of fallen man’s dependence upon food. At his demand, all nature is deprived – with axe and plough developed to ever more dehumanised extremes, and multitudes of blameless creatures sacrificed for sin. Giving to exhaustion, Mother Earth supplies us with the best she can, but what, apart from Spirit, can restore the soul of man? The descent from light, beneath dark trees, and past the mild artificiality of golf to the competitive bustle of the market, always seems symbolic of our “fall”. The grace before meals reminds us that, in being grateful for earthly blessings, we should not forget the Kingdom of Heaven. *

*

*

What is the best that anyone can do for “me”? Ignore “my” existence, and turn to the real, the free and spiritual “I”. If it’s so for me, it’s so for all – which means the human world (2Cor.5,16). Salvation leads from limit to the limitless. How could so many saints (examples to us of perfect unselfishness), turn from the world to

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live appararently silent and solitary lives? All questions of how to help others, of what use am I etc., arise from separate and limited consciousness, and dissolve away together with it. We need not fear the passing of the world. Do we regret a dream, a day? They pass to re-emerge – each one a wave upon the shore. Regret marks the limit of our sense of life, our fear of the beyond … * * * The significance/difference between times, conditions, people, melts away – and with it the desire to “do” and influence, for all is seen complete. It’s only out there, in the playground /theatre of creation, that worlds begin and end. * * * Spiritual work is unseen, unheard by mortal sense. It consists of realising, from ever higher and broader levels of consciousness, that everything is One. In the absolute concord of beyond, the only “will” is God. However, finding ourselves within the drama of our separate lives, prayer also has its part. How can it be more effective? Only the ego could ask such a question! Ego man acts as a barrier to God, preventing the action of His all-perfecting Grace. The more ego can be surrendered, attachment reduced, consciousness raised – the more that light can shine. As we reach beyond our limits, prayer actually prays itself out of a function. It’s replaced by realisation that one is Oneself the fulfilment of all things. As in Communion, the pure action of Spirit is believed to transform material bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ, how much more is the matter of humanity transformed by spiritual vision. What happens? At first the mass of flesh seems lighter, misfortunes less grievous, divisions and possessions less divisive, until the world is no longer a weighty “vale of tears” but a spiritual dance, wherein the former disharmonies of human life are seen as harmoniously as the inter-flowing formations of a sunset. Sin, like beauty, exists in the eye of the beholder. Creation, as first made is “good” (Gen.1,31), and neither my own nor anyone

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else’s imperfection has a place. Sin never was as real as it seems and, in the absolute perfection of Oneself, it literally ceases to exist. * * * In Spirit, everything is Spirit. “Nature red in tooth and claw” is a reflection of fallen man’s own bloodstained teeth and hands. In falling from Spirit into mortality, he brings his own fallen perception of other lives with him. But in Spirit, it is not so. In Spirit, pain, destruction, death have no existence. How wonderful! I suddenly realise I’m still a farmer, but in a cosmic, spiritual sense, with the whole sad world my farm. It’s in discovering my own spiritual wholeness, that the wounded earth is healed. I caused the trouble in the first place, and I, by my own return to God, cease to obstruct its natural correction. By watchfulness and prayer I must try to maintain a spiritual level of consciousness, for I see the consequences of my fall. That’s what my purpose is – and the wonderful destiny of fallen man – to be freed of obstruction – a window, not a wall. For all my vain, wilful folly to be forgiven – completely surrendered, burnt up and forgotten in the divine, pure light of Being. O the wisdom, the immeasurable providence of God “Who dost govern all things in heaven and earth”. How could I have imagined that my own early attempts to make the world a better place, were a school of preparation for what I see more clearly now? They were not wrong. They just reflected the level of my vision at that time. * * * How might realisation influence the world? How is light conveyed? We see what happens with sunlight and clouds which, being of a lower order to light, still have their place. Sunlight is welcome, but too much can burn. Clouds protect the earth. We understandably worry about the ozone layer and global warming, for its effect upon us. Similarly, as spiritual liberation transfigures earthly form, and spiritual life transcends mortality, concern for mortal survival makes us hesitate, resist and draw clouds of disbelief upon the possibility. However, each realisation, each break

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in our own clouds, raises the general level of consciousness available to all. Each turn to God, all laying aside the weight of worldliness, enlightens. Being divinely burnt up and consumed is glorification, with no regret for ashes upon earth, but – who is ready for it (Lk.9,62)? * * * Approaching fuller realisation, I no longer stand below looking up to heaven, but look down from above. There’s almost complete detachment from separate existence. Released from identification with “my own” body/mind, all creatures are equally Oneself. Life is no longer seen “upside down” from a fallen point of view, nor are images of bondage carried in one’s heart. Restored to immortality, all is known as perfect as Oneself, though compassion feels for those who feel “apart”. * * * Each time I meditate, my own world is transcended, forgotten like old clothes – it ceases to exist, until it re-emerges out of memory. So it is with all worlds – all of them. They have no real existence of their own, for they are imagined. It’s marvellous to be free. I feel so light, so almost weightless I could fly. There’s nothing lost except the weight and limit – nothing to regret at all, for in freedom I’m more closely united, more able to love and enjoy than ever is possible “below”. Having no need itself, Spirit makes no demand. Being free, its gift is freedom. Being love, it loves; being One – unites, and being inexhaustible – it never fails. Once the knack is found, it’s completely simple and natural to see One, not many, and be One, not “me”. In a crowd, for example, there’s no personal reaction, however much may be going on all around. It’s both so much easier, with no part to maintain, and enjoyable with nothing to lose. Life unlimited (eternal life) is exactly the same as life limited (mortal), but seen from an unlimited point of view. At first it’s seen, but then it’s known …

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Released from “myself”, I find a universe. I’m an iceberg but not cold, for I’m not in a body to be cold. I’m in rocks but not bored, for I have no sense of time. I’m with snakes in the jungle unafraid, with no body to be bitten. But I am the iceberg, rocks and snakes. I’m all bodies and no body, all things and no thing. I’m food to be tasted, swallowed and chewed, but I’m also the eater, the taste and the chewing. I’m chicken and I’m egg – before birth and after death. I’m beyond and not beyond – I’m the lie, the doubt and “separation”. Wherever I look I greet myself. I’m all, yet none of it. I’m policeman and terrorist, the healing and wound, the forgotten and the known. I’m least of the least and greatest of the great, yet have no size or age. Everything possible to be conceived arises out of me, for how else could it possibly be so? There’s a likeness of Myself, a wilful thought, which loves creation but likes to do things his own way. Being born a man, he lost Me, found himself inadequate and caused some disturbance – but he now comes home. “How could I ever not have known it?” he – now the writer, asks, while I, the Master, smile. Will wonders never cease?

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Russia Autumn 2005

WHEN I F IR ST went to Russia in 1990, it seemed a mysterious and frightening place. Now, on the eve of my sixteenth visit, there seems actually no need to “go”, for it is all within me. Then, I had to learn a new language. Now, at least with those who understand, the only language needed is silence. Years ago, life consisted of different times, places, people and things to be explored, assessed, accepted or rejected. Now it all seems like a river flowing through me, while I remain detached, unmoving and completely One. What has happened? I’ve let go some limits that kept me smaller than I am. It really is not accurate to say I’m in St Petersburg, Russia, or even in a mind and body of my own. For today, at least, I’m much more in the Self – invisible, unlimited and conscious being. Going out, the city moves in perfect, conscious peace. I feel awake, but look at people who seem contrastingly – asleep. As usual, I ask, Why are so few apparently interested, and how can this treasury be shared? But the judgement and question come from separation. Transcendent in being, I am the peace, the higher consciousness, knowing all is in God’s hands. To walk through a great city, to see and experience everything that’s there, and yet remain detached. To be with people, listen to conversation and be completely still. To have on offer this most precious of gifts, invisibly opening the cages of a million captive souls, which of itself seeks out those who want it, yet never 292

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intrudes into the choice of those who don’t. The doors are open to unlimited freedom, yet all remain free to chose their own world and image of themselves, and apparently perish through their own self-will. * * * After 3 hours of “prayer”: “Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?” “I stretched myself right out of my skin.” So, what remains – being stretched right out of it? As a schoolboy might have problems with a particular subject, maybe once a week, so the human world with its problems is reduced to something very small. I return unwillingly, but even here in St Petersburg, am cheered by little birds and sunlight in a tree outside. From so far beyond, this whole great city of human endeavour occupies only a narrow band of consciousness. Below, one may escape to the comparative unconsciousness of sleep – above it, stretch to realms unlimited. Prayer lifts up, worldliness pulls down. It’s as simple as that. * * * Realisation deepens that I am the Self, and not one of countless reflections dancing about on the waters of life. And with this realisation comes the final answer of how to help the world, for withdrawal of “my” effort and interference in the process allows the most pure and unimpeded access between all-perfect Self and it’s reflection. The question only arises from “my” dissatisfaction, which itself arises from impure perception. How is it possible to sit in our yard, on a debris of drink and cigarette ends, and feel such overwhelming joy? Because the glory of the Self is so infinitely greater than the mess of man. A solitary ant crosses the ground before me. So, the angels of nature are ever at work to restore the earth, and even could man conceive a world destroyed, the Self eternally renews. When everything is seen in and as the Self, then only satisfaction is obtained. There is no adverse point of view, nor comment thereupon. In the suburban train from Baltisky station, I absolutely

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burst with love for everything and everyone, seeing only their perfection, and myself in joy. It pours out over all. There really is no other reason for existence. What stops the whole world being flooded with the perfection of God? What impedes it? Nothing, but people’s incessant preoccupation with themselves. Peace, perfect peace, and joy, perfect joy … the fullness of every abundance lies available, awaiting us on every side, and the only thing preventing our enjoying it is our own determination that it isn’t. It now seems entirely appropriate, and the most beneficial thing possible, to say and do ever less and spend ever more time, inwardly or out, in simple realisation of the all-fulfilling Self. Nothing else is remotely as important. Otherwise, words and thought usually display repetition of ego foolishness from the past, and excess action – intrusion into the natural happenings of life. It confirms the advice, “Don’t say or do anything that isn’t necessary.” An open coffin lies in church this morning, containing a young man, while his mother and other mourners grieve beside him. The two worlds are exposed, and crystal clear. In one there’s effort, gain and loss, separate people with bodies, desires, weariness and death. But none of these affect the Self at all. With spiritual sight, it sees, it knows and participates in life, but remains completely free. The only apparent difference between participants is in their realisation of it. What is the Self? It’s Spirit brought to a focus, or focussed to a principle, of which Spirit emanates the fact. It’s universal I am, the Cosmic Christ, by whom all things are made – the primal fact in whom all subsequent hierarchies and events unfold, differing in role and form, identical in Spirit. If creation, and man in particular, is God reflected, then Self is the reverse image. It’s there behind every projection, the light behind appearance, stillness beyond movement, eternal beyond change, complete before fragmentation, and when we repent, are forgiven and returned – home from our sojourn in the world. It’s my little selfish self back to its universal, spiritual home, from where it’s clear to see that, as I

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myself am the foundation and maintainer of “my” world, so is the real Self the origin of All Worlds. Realisation is like a change of focus from one side of the projection to the other. Life was formerly seen inside out, or back to front, and one searched for the invisible God from creation. In realisation, the invisible Self is known as your own first principle, and creation seen as subsequence. First steps to realisation consist of faith, and partial glimpses or windows. Fuller understanding comes gradually until finally one actually finds oneself behind the screen, no longer looking at windows from outside, but inside, looking out. At first one briefly visits – then periods extend – it becomes easy and natural to dwell there. Is there just one screen, one house with many windows? Who can say? Realisation tastes, partakes, eventually unites, and only the measures of description end. * * * Only tears in my eyes bear witness of getting up early in the morning, sitting to meditate, and immediately being absolute and conscious bliss. All, all and everything, including all individualised heavenly beings, known, depicted, worshipped and argued about, arise from this. Unapproachably beyond embodiment in time, I sit here clothed in flesh – being complete fulfilment of what I am, you are, and every creature known or unknown is. Two hours later I hear porridge being stirred in the kitchen, and open my eyes to a tall, grey block of flats in St Petersburg, and September wind withering the leaves. * * * The human world offers constant challenges to believe in its problems and desires – to enter into that world to “help”. How does one deal with it? Exactly as one deals with thoughts in meditation. If you enter into them, they only expand and steal you away, but if they are ignored, or seen through, they die down and eliminate themselves. The same process applies to the appearances of mankind which, after all, are only thought personified. By

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maintaining as pure awareness as possible in oneself, more pure being is seen in life around. I must have touched a deeper point of pure being in myself, for suddenly it becomes as easy to know that everyone is God (pure being), as to know that they are flesh beneath their clothes. And this makes it even less realistic to pursue the path of help “out there”. Instead, it becomes a process of reverse elimination – raising consciousness to a point where “problems” melt away. * * * Pilgrimage is a common feature of Russian religious life. The level of interest is high. Because of the distance between places, and general lack of facilities, many churches and monasteries will expect to receive and provide for groups of visitors. More formal, organised tours by bus and train, operate at minimal expense and comfort, but Russians are stoical in hardship and expect pilgrimage to include a measure of self-sacrifice. Typically rather rushed affairs with much travelling, brief visits and loquacious guides, we get taken to places we would never otherwise see, and certainly build up an historical and contemporary picture of the faith. I cannot speak for their spiritual content, which depends, of course, on the pilgrims and how they react to what’s provided, “Be it unto you according to your faith.” Most visits are connected with saints. Russia has many, and Orthodoxy makes the most of them. It’s always inspiring to see where and how they lived, and learn about their lives. There’s usually ample opportunity to venerate the customary holy objects, and partake of holy springs. In addition, for me, pilgrimage provides precious views of more ordinary Russian life and landscape. After 36 hours shaking in the train from St Petersburg to the Crimea, I find myself in deepest peace, having more in common with stars over the Asov Sea, than with anything on earth below. Why seek answers where I do not dwell? Our brothers in heaven see all, know all and, keeping silent, shine. Who am I to seek another role? Sevastopol is built around a beautiful, natural harbour of surprisingly clear water. During a tour, the guide speaks almost exclusively of man’s achievements, dates etc., prompting the

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reflection that this is how we normally see each other – ignoring the glorious original, before we dress it in our mortal rags. How vain seems man’s boasting of his history and deeds, when in fact they only illustrate the extent of his fall from paradise. Even churches, with their shrines and rituals built around the lives of holy men, remind one of human interpretation, rather than the pure, natural simplicity of being. From below, man inevitably envisages holiness and ways thereto in terms of his own fallen image, but from above, in spiritual freedom, he’s no longer centre stage. After constructing one of the greatest temples of his time, wise Solomon realised that “all is vanity”. Seen from Spirit, all human work “in the sweat of his brow” – his cities, monuments etc. are not his glory but his shame, his proof of not living the divine life for which he was made where, “In the image of God” and “Better than the angels” (Heb.1,4), he neither toils nor spins. What are angels? They which, without separate objects of their own, serve the divine will as winds blow, waters flow and above all, absolute bliss consciousness is absolutely, conscious bliss. Just as 30 years ago I realised that the less I, in my ignorance, interfered in the workings of nature, the better went my farm, so do I now see that man really is the entire problem. It starts with his fall from Grace into mortality, and continues thereafter through all the history of civilisation. Angelic forces of nature ever work to teach and heal the damage, but we are slow to understand. As the train left St Petersburg, I noticed an old Soviet slogan “Glory to Work” (of man), which echoed sadly along the route in the now pathetic decrepitude of Russia’s brutally forced industrialisation. Life lives by its own laws, and teaches us as it will. The prospect of mankind’s self destruction is only the extension of our individual deaths – the wages of sin and the ultimate lesson. Oh great angel of death, help us to learn from you that our home and destiny is not in earth. * * * Inkerman. Today I had a wonderful half-hour in a small chamber church, hewn into rock, at a monastery founded by St Clement. I find nothing “new” in such prayer except the ever new, but a

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powerful, reassuring confirmation that my own efforts converge with those of previous generations. I cannot say much else. There’s no personality, no difference or similarity to describe, no sense of anything “human”, no appeal to higher being, but only a sort of ultimate melting of whatever stands apart and willing merge into the One – timeless, bodiless and universal. It was only afterwards that I heard about the relics of St Clement nearby. They lie in a similar cave chapel, in the simplest of wooden boxes, over a threadbare carpet on which one kneels. He was acquainted with Sts Peter and Paul, exiled here from Rome, and martyred by drowning at sea. His relics were miraculously recovered, so they say. Did his influence affect my prayer? I do not know, but I like to think so. They come and tell me it’s time to go. But tears arise – there’s a bus to take us away – compulsively talking bodies, and movement. How rightly they say that the influence of one saint spans all time and space. How small and temporal we are – how nervous of the depths of prayer. The little church was so modest, and the box of relics – small and plain – with their bit of old carpet. If I hadn’t been told, I wouldn’t have known they were there. A chamber of skulls reminds us “We were once like you. You will be like us,” but it’s slow to sink in. How gossamer fragile our grasp of reality beyond our own. How incalculably great the work of prayer that can lift a responsive soul to so great a magnitude of life – that brings our human exile home – and how tragic to see our refusal to return. The monastery is so small it’s hardly noticed, with one solitary monk watching us depart. On one side, a railway thunders past, on another, a main road – and cavernous wine vaults, the next stop on our tour, advertise themselves nearby. Hidden in humility, this tiny chamber of holiness, a veritable child in the manger, has been destroyed and vandalised repeatedly over 2,000 years, but still contains the world. How indifferently it all sweeps by; how easily we turn to wine, and lose eternal life. Wine waits to swallow us, but I can hardly bear to re-enter the world. For a long time I resist the tour, standing compulsively still,

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with closed eyes, wrapt in eternity, before gradually being brought to compromise. I think of the cave at Bethlehem, and this humble hole in the rock, surrounded by worldliness, where even my poor soul, ascended to heaven, is received. * * * Seen from the Self, human embodiment is a fall into ignorance (limitation), and personal conversation – utter folly. There’s no need for human thought at all except to work out past errors. The world of man is an unreliable, ghostly, self-made phenomenon, a veritable pit of self destruction, a slippery path whose only end is death. Happy the one who finds his true identity, I am, the exit to eternal life. * * * Clearer Self-realisation brings also a clearer understanding of its denial – sin. Without support of the One, we could hardly bear exposure of the other. Providentially, we normally live in only semi-consciousness of both. Sin, as I see it now, being the totality of man’s behaviour, turned away from God, believing in himself and imposing that on others – is so dreadful to behold in its utter sickness that indeed we could not bear it on our own. We don’t have to. Self is revealed in countless ways, and in particular, for those who accept it, through our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. After many years of thinking I did not know how to pray for others, I’m more confident now in my natural feelings – grief for rubbish, for example, strewn over lovely landscape, tears for the wounds of history, and love for the humble feet standing around me in Church. In lifting myself, I lift my burdens also, and all that’s loved – and failed. From the human point of view, everything starts with doing, but spiritual development takes us from doing to being – and that applies to prayer for others, too. In Spirit we become them. We don’t pray for someone or something else. Transcending “me”, we transcend “others” too. One is – and that is all. * * * A glorious day across the sun-baked plains of southern Ukraine, with my farmer’s heart stretched to the horizon in all directions

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and filled to bursting with this lovely land. Oh how I love the land – the space and earth and sky – and enormous fields, in stubble or fresh tilled, and sweet villages with geese and sunflowers, goats, melons, walnuts, and the usual post-soviet, concrete mess, but all now mellowed and forgiven in the autumn sun. But then comes evening and no more is seen. Tonight we’ll cross the grassy steppes, and tomorrow reach Moscow and the north. It brings me to turn within, where I’m reminded of the sweet fact that with the last shades of personal commentary removed, all that is held and loved on earth is loved even more in heaven. Nothing is lost, though lost to view. Subconsciously, earth’s bodies follow where the Spirit leads. Morning brings us to trees, autumn colours and the wooden houses of mid-Russia, and so to Moscow where, with 10 million separate homes and every conceivable human attraction, I find no place at all, but only in the One. Russia has so many trees. The flat landscape holds vast areas of undrainable marsh, which defy access to human development. Apart from some timber extraction, it remains much as it always was. The first time I went on a train journey, I was so excited I tried to look at every tree, but soon found it impossible. They pass in an endless blur. Nature’s multitudes defy analysis. Unless man reduces them to his limits, or submits himself to theirs, he is always inadequate – until he finds the Cause. A traditional log house beside a lake in the forest, with its garden and little fence, completely integrated – exemplifying humility and peace, is a familiar and beloved model, even today. Russia is always best as motherland. Men destroy, but mothers heal. Mother Russia, Mother Nature and Russian faith in the Mother of God have endured throughout her trials. Bustle gathers as we approach St Petersburg but I find myself sitting in absolute stillness. If the world was hurtling to its final extinction and the very cosmos was dissolved, nothing whatsoever in Spirit would be changed. I, and everyone else if they did but realise it, would be as alive then as I am now – as safe, happy and complete, and finally – totally at home. *

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As thought is creative, it’s obvious that when we classify or desire or even just label an object, it becomes to that extent “bound”. If, on the other hand, we do the opposite, and realise its spiritual freedom, Christ – it is released. Prayer is not something we humanly do to make things better, but rather it’s not making them worse – not continually reactivating human bondage by belief in it. To begin with, we try to lift our minds with, “I believe in God,” etc. Then, from Spirit, though still in the world, the work is to stop falling back down into it. When mind is quiet, thoughts settle down, becoming One – complete. *

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Returned to the city – and after visiting two offices where people sit with hardly a glimmer of natural light, let alone anything green, I’m shocked to see even more clearly the tragic fate of spiritual man. Here we are, born into the sickness of human flesh and mind and, furthermore, cast into slavery to an almost entirely man made world – maintained by general belief. I remember being told, “Only a free man can free others.” But how is he recognised? How does a saint or Saviour work? Apart from his influence affecting the general atmosphere of the world, and therefore being available to all, he works if we believe and follow him. Then, like wagons attached to a train, we get pulled along by his power. It’s all explained in Ro.1,18-2,16. *

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Rising early in the morning to pray, I see a solitary star, far up above the block of flats opposite, and feel a welcome shaft of companionship. I’m also encouraged by contact with St Clement, and by the example of a nun, named after St Paraskeva, who prayed for several years in a small cave in the Crimea. We entered through a 30 yard crack in the rock, and found it surprisingly warm and dry, and quite wonderfully silent. I remember visiting a similar cave on Mt Athos, where St Simon prayed, oblivious to passing time. During prayer, body is left sitting on a chair, and quite forgotten. Thoughts are also left behind. Similarly, prayer for the world

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is not taking mortal body and mind into heaven, but realising their transcendent existence as Spirit. Actually, the words “prayer for the world” have meaning only in duality. In union, both “prayer” and “world” dissolve. Divine compassion may take many forms – until the whole world is seen to be God's body and blood, bowed down to bear our truancy on earth. Once realised, it’s simple: We see each other at many different levels, mental and physical, as personalities known or imagined, and bodies attractive or not. We may keep our eyes down at ground level, or look up at faces and directly into eyes. Or we may find the One, invisible, ever present Spirit, all containing. Each point of view has its reaction and consequence, according to the limit of what’s seen. The higher, and therefore less limited, the level of awareness, the wider, wiser and better is the providential ordering available naturally for all. I saw it this afternoon, walking in the park with friends and two little boys playing with autumn leaves. I spoke and did very little, but it was easy to be present. Everything seemed perfectly relaxed and happening of itself. We returned home happy and at peace. It’s absolutely nothing of our own doing, but only that in opening ourselves to ever less limited (personal) perception (awareness), we cease to obstruct unlimited potential from coming more fully into action. It’s only in the world below that there’s pain in my legs and a day to unfold. “Prayer for the world” has meaning only in the world, for both subject and object of prayer dissolve in unity. As water evaporates and fire consumes, so is the world raised and dissolved by prayer, by realisation of its primal substance – Spirit. One is oneself Spirit, but fallen into lower consciousness as mind and body. Hence a “world” appears, divided and limited around one. Seen in another way: Entire world scenes – religion, politics and my own life pass before me, “realities” of world become fantasies of dream. Exactly as awaking from a dream at night, so does one awake from the world into detachment. In this case, prayer for the world is to wake up from it, realise and be Oneself. *

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In the main church of the Alexander Nevsky monastery, I have an instant and total response to a miraculous icon of Our Lady, called significantly “Quick Responding”. What happened? It touched an exactly corresponding echo in myself, which brought me through tears to prayer, which I dare call perfect, for no more discernible imperfect “me” remained. She has one large hand prominently visible, indicating all provident “miraculous” abundance, once response is unreserved. Was this connected? Immediately afterwards we walked in the adjoining cemetery and there, quite unexpectedly, found the well preserved grave of a family relative, 1863-1925. Is she not the perfect model of the individual, purified to the extent that, devoid of self-will and open to Spirit, the One perfect image or Will of God may be divinely “born”? *

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A phone call to my old farm back in England, fills me with nostalgia for the life I led there, and reflections on fate which has brought me to Russia. Whatever am I doing here, in a dingy, depressing city, surrounded by every sort of human misery? The answer might be that, in contrast to the active doing of my farming years, I have absolutely nothing to do here at all except to pray – to keep myself from drowning, and hopefully thereby, in some measure be of use to others. But today I sank deep into this world of man. Maybe that’s why I’m here – to see ever more clearly the ghastly horror of sin. Russia has taught me much about how truly dreadful human life can be, and the starkness of our choice between the worlds of God and man. Saucepans bang angrily next door. If God in His mercy shields us from seeing the full consequences of sin, who am I to try and expose them? It’s extraordinary how often we don’t know we’re in a mood, or crazy, lost and sinners. These conditions get taken for normal, determining our behaviour and relationship with others. What can one say, or do? But there’s no need to worry about the sins of others. It’s enough to still be in my own flesh, and shocked into fuller realisation of my own.

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I find no attraction or reason to be in the world. After hours of inward prayer I open my eyes and want only to return. It seems strange when you think how many fear silence and loss of identity in the spiritual life. What I now fear most of all is reabsorption into humanity. It is a life of death. *

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In the well stocked bookshop of the Novodevichy monastery, I find myself taken back from the great quantity of books, icons etc. and brought to sit quietly in a corner where, in union, all is known complete. There’s no need to enter into the diverse, separate, and therefore incomplete minds and personalities of creation, when One is Oneself the whole. Later, in the Metro, I feel no need to look at people around me, for again, they’re known as One. The world separates into the insufficiencies of mortality, poverty, ignorance, while prayer for the world, transcending the limits of individuality and nation, returns it to the Source, realised to be Oneself, One without division, self sufficient and complete in every way. Intermediate work before realisation occurs spontaneously, naturally of itself, consists of attentive awareness, and the constant bringing of everything that occurs throughout the day, before God – by repeating e.g. the Jesus Prayer. *

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Being here, beyond any conception, Self looks straight and clear. The world – all worlds and creations, swirl about like clouds below. Human knowledge, human life and action are nothing but bits of cloud interacting with themselves. Being the first cause of everything else, the fulfilment of all searching is attained when we lay aside belief in being a child of mortal conception – mixed up, impure, divided and deficient as it seems, and realise the One, divine Self image that we are. Though every possible incarnation and title may apply, none of them touch it. Completely unknowable by human mind, Self is revealed, realised, like melting snow reveals the earth, when all possible conceptions are ignored.

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Then all is seen in divine light, which so transcends the limited vision of personal life that it sees God everywhere it looks. All is known, loved and restored to its divine origin, unless self-will denies it. * * * Whether I’m in Russia or England, in city or country, accompanied or alone, loses significance before the greater question, “Am I aware of God?” This one orientation supersedes all others, and provides for every need. * * * Imperceptibly it grows, and then one day one finds that Selfrealisation, God consciousness or the Kingdom of God has become one’s permanent and natural home. It doesn’t mean that I’m not sometimes upset or stolen away but, as a balance swings on its axis and a compass returns to north, so does one come back to One’s natural being. One is the Kingdom of God, the other that of man. Once you dwell in the Kingdom of God, all is seen to be in God, satisfaction is complete, and there’s no more separate will to initiate or change. All that belongs to the lower world of human activity which, like the digestion of a meal within Oneself, continues to work itself out. What happens to the body? It remains as an instrument to write and speak, subject to its fate, functioning in its way, but of ever less interest. It grows older and weaker, its requirements less. It really doesn’t matter very much. Nothing matters as much as it once did. Personally, it still grieves for the world it is powerless to help, but is more able to surrender it to God. From far or near, in the greater body of the world, I watch it come and pass. The whole world of man, his problems, his talking, doing and rushing about, is a fantasy fabrication of his fallen nature, which collapses to nothing when reality is found. In the Kingdom of God, one is completely at One with the creator of all perfection. What else could possibly exist? The “disorder” of man is seen as perfection of disorder. There’s really no need to worry, for everything is cared for naturally, and no one is separate or incomplete (except in their imagination), for all is One.

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“Unto the pure all things are pure” (Ti.1,15). Love sees no ill, and the pure soul sees no sin. From the Kingdom of God, the kingdom of man does not exist. In fact it consists of ignorance, or darkness (shadow) which dissolves before light. How can this be? Imagine a conversation between two people. One knows something, which the other doesn’t. His not knowing creates a sort of emptiness, a potential unfulfilled, but he may not know it. That is the nature of ignorance. That’s why we humans, and the animals under our dominion, have desires – because we’re incomplete. One may live contentedly in ignorance until something happens as a result of it, and then one asks, “Why?” Why do we get ill, suffer and die? Why isn’t the world better than it is? And then we may, or may not, begin to search. How else can I describe it? All our human “losses” are completely nullified, for in Oneself, in Spirit, what is there to die or be lost? Absolutely nothing. How then do I reckon with my body and thoughts – so obviously still here? They are “mine”, but not me – servants with a will of their own, but now outgrown – an object of my past. They’re like visiting a childhood, a home that once was me. It seemed so big and total then, but now a toy, a shell, a purpose that was once enough, but now remote and small. Nevertheless, although at times a stranger to my flesh, I’m made strongly aware through a hot and humid night being bitten by mosquitoes, that this tiresome, fretful creature is still me. *

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After visiting my “home town” in Russia: If I was not able to transfer my love for you to prayer, I feel my heart would burst. It’s quite impossible to express it any way in words. The only things that speak are tears and prayer. With the name of Jesus, I name each and every one of you, and find my prayer fulfilled. At night I wake in total blessedness, knowing beyond doubt that everything is God. Nothing – not one thing or person, is not Christ Himself. Even from the other side of the world, if some should

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fall, in prayer they’re safe and saved. And the fullness of this realisation is the strength of prayer. * * * Today I was asked to meet a young man of 21, known to me as a former pupil who, following a bout of depression, had quite unexpectedly found himself for several days in Spirit. His “descent” back into more ordinary life was causing some concern. But it was joy for me to reassure his anxious parents of the blessed condition of their son, and the spiritual normality of the experience. * * * Tonight I wake from horror – a nightmare of people known and loved, and myself too, engulfed in a bedlam of talk and stupidity, restless children and rattling trains, excess of wine and sleep and food. Torrents of words babble around me, pouring from bookshelves and computers, pretending their useful purpose in our lives. I get up early to pray. I cannot not pray. If I don’t pray, I also drown and die. Prayer literally lifts us from this crazy world – lifts our consciousness to a level where we can see it for what it is, and realise our freedom from it. Without it, we are lost. It isn’t difficult to be at peace, once one knows the way, but it does need constant determination to withstand the pull of the world, returning us to chaos. * * * At the station, an old friend comes hurrying with food for the journey and a last kiss. I don’t know why some people love me. She’s so poor, so brave, and her life so hard. She feels she’s unworthy to participate in Church. Oh Russia, Russia, and I can’t stop crying for you. * * * Back in the city once again, I follow like a child, or a dog on a string, wherever companions and life leads. I’ve known what it is to do it alone, with my own will, but it’s easier like this. I don’t have to like the world. I don’t have to think or know very much – but only be aware and One, including every aspect of our lives, in peace.

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Without desire, I find unassailable stillness. There’s not much action left. Body sits on a chair, with mind at rest. I have no wish to move. I think of beloved friends in my home town. It’s far away now in the world’s sense, but also deeply here. Humanly, we love, remember, pray, but beyond that, Self already is the heart of all. One is both here, and there, where “there” means not only those personally known, but every heart where I am not refused. Being One, the world exists in Me, as my own separate world of thought etc. exists in little “me”. It’s both my own fallen body (of sin), and not Me at all. As sickness arises in the sinful body, it infects my world body. In all cases, events arise and are countered of themselves. I’m affected directly, or by compassion, or not at all, as I am completely free. The world demands our credulity, but Self sees it as a passing show – a perfect play of light and sound upon a background of Itself. As we draw nearer to perfect realisation, we pass through life with less reaction to it, our reference being taken from the One. Grounded in Itself, Self has no need of the world, which appears and disappears according to its law. Knowing Its own perfect sufficiency, Self knows that nothing is lacking in the world, save only in the sub-drama of man who, fallen by his own will into ignorance, suffers from insufficient knowledge of himself. How does life appear? If you live, for example in a town, you may see visitors, tourists etc. come and go. For them, it’s an event, but not for you. You see their passage through, but nothing changes. So it is for those who dwell in higher (spiritual) consciousness, or realisation. Actually, we only think we have to act in, and know what to “do” about life, when we see it from a comparatively small and personal point of view. Fuller realisation is always of the miraculous, all loving providence of God, which orders all things well, for our benefit and learning, in order to return us to our true estate. Any idea man may have of “sorting out” the world is part of a mistaken pride in his separate role, and ignorance of the all providential wisdom of the Almighty. This does not mean that we should

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prematurely abandon responsibility, but our efforts to do etc. are superseded, and fulfilled by ever fuller realisation of God – which is the “work” of prayer. Then there’s no more need to enumerate all that we consider improvement for the world. That’s my will, not God’s. While at the level of separation, that’s what we remember – we pray from an individual /personal point of view. But the nearest we come to perfect prayer for others is the most complete surrender of ourselves, and everything, to God – who cares for all. It’s so good to have at last a definitive answer to the perpetual question, “What shall I do?” and now, in old age, when other faculties weaken, be ever more able to devote myself to prayer. *

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After visiting the city centre on a cold, wet afternoon, and a particularly poignant view of people, borne down to slavery by worldly cares, I am brought to see life as unusually black and white. There really is but God, or the “world” – life or death, salvation or destruction, the Kingdom of God or that of man, consciousness and that one’s conscious of, the seer and the seen. These two alternatives compel us to choose. Tonight the choice is stark. The awfulness of sin throws me into renewed responsibility to pray without respite, repeating the saving words until, at least from one point of view, the whole situation is raised to higher realms. Does it work? Does anything actually change? A rise in general consciousness can affect the situation as a whole, but what makes an individual respond? I remember one lovely, warm, spring day in the Russian country, when I walked along a southern slope above the bank of a river. Snow had already melted here, and fresh grass was showing. Unexpectedly, I noticed a little snake’s head peeping out of a hole. I stood a long time, watching to see what would happen. It didn’t move but seemed, while enjoying the sunshine, to be waiting, undecided whether to come out or return to the safety of its winter home. We do not know our birth and death, nor when we wake or sleep. Similarly, our fall from and awakening to Spirit are also hid from us. What determines it? We call it “Grace”. Scripture speaks

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of the “chosen”. We know it happens, but we know not when, nor how. * * * Shepherded through this city, I feel quite indifferent to details of where I am, with whom and when, and aware only of the One. Different sights and sounds merge into indistinction. The prominence of human life fades out of view. With ever less of personal comment to communicate with words, one might ask, “What is left?” But silent and undistinguished is fullness of being – silent witness of unchanging One. At one with One is so obviously the place to be. It’s the source of all conceived and potential, the name of every name – One Self, Lord, God, Jesus Christ incarnate and transcendent. Every god that ever was is part of this – the nature of nature, and perfection of perfect. Whatever’s left of me is washed away in tears. Creation can only indicate, describe. One moves through love, joy, thankfulness – and then – just One. It’s so easy, so close and available – so possible, yet so few find it. It’s early morning. I sit in a cold, dark, little room in a not very nice part of St Petersburg. It’s October 24th. An hour ago I was in bed, asleep. I live as just an ordinary man, but this is what a man is shown to be. It’s home of home, and life of life. With no uncertainty at all, it must be true. I still ask myself, “How does prayer work?” Do my efforts make any difference to others? The world around me is apparently unchanged, but is that really so? Prayer (or anything that turns us to the One) works constantly to counteract the uprising effects of “me”, which thinks of “others”, asks questions, seeks results and sees life centred on itself. It all takes place subtly in mind and point of view. In the Kingdom of God, or One, personal concepts like “other”, trouble, sickness and death, do not exist. It’s we ourselves, being separate, which imagine and bring them into being and, in reverse, dissolve them. An exalted point of view sees all exalted. Even rubbish becomes a kaleidoscope of light. Now, in One, creation is at peace. Where

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then are wars? In our imagination – not God’s. “He maketh wars to cease in all the world” (Ps.46,9). From One, there is no “you” and “me” – no “other” point of view. Ignorance, of course, continues to assert its existence, and create its own works. But what is it? Darkness, absence of light, nonbeing. Again, yesterday, in church, a “dead” body was brought in. But who calls it dead? Who sees death? To grieving relatives, it’s real – to One, it’s not. With light, darkness is no more. And this is spiritual work – to realise Oneself – as light. “I am the light of the world.” From this dark, little room where I sit, accessed and realised here and now, One spans the heavens, and controls the worlds. With a flash of One’s light, legions of separation reunite, darkness flees and dead are raised to life. Who can say it is not so? Who has the freedom to deny it? Only “you or “me”. So, it seems the powers of light and darkness vie with each other. Winter nights are longer – summer, shorter. Without prayer, without the influence of saints and incarnations, life would also be darker than it is – the level of consciousness lower, the effects of separation – more. Because I’m still embodied myself, both personally in “my” body, and also in the greater body of the world, my calling to Jesus and saving myself from drowning, affects others also. It’s another aspect of “To make whole, be whole” and “Physician, heal thyself.” And as always in spiritual work, the discovery is that to help others, you don’t have to “do” anything. * * * Today, Oct. 25th, there’s ice in the streets and a cold wind. Oct. 26th, first snow. Between the Kingdom of Heaven and disintegration in outer darkness, the human drama plays. Still snowing – gently covering all the filth and foolishness of man with pure, innocent forgiveness. Nature endlessly demonstrates spiritual principles, but neither the Kingdom of God, nor pure nature, are home for flesh and blood. However such glimpses may rejoice the soul on earth, sinful flesh feels cold. Last week we celebrated the festival of “Pokrov”, which commemorates the Holy Mother spreading her protective mantle over the besieged city of Constantinople. She is very greatly revered in Russia. Many hundreds of

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icons show her in different roles as the comfort, support and protector of man, loving and understanding us as only a mother can. What is she? Apart from the obvious answer of the mother of our salvation, she represents the highest purification of the human soul, which thereby attains almost infinite compassion and potential to assist our fallen race. Of course she’s loved, but she’s also a model of spiritual development, no different from ourselves, and in Spirit – as we all are – One. * * * It usually starts with sitting down, and a few words of prayer. This is the preliminary effort. But it soon passes into indescribable beyond. When I think of you, I hardly see an individual, but a window opening to infinite love. Pure prayer releases embodiment. It sees no limit, and deals only with perfection. After 5 hours. Strangely enough, it doesn’t seem like a long time, or great effort, but rather that, being beyond time and effort in the right place, I have now returned to human “error”. *

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The poorer parts of St Petersburg show much depression, and questions concerning the use of prayer persist. In one church we find a prominent icon “Joy in all Trouble”, showing Our Lady, radiant with light before God, surrounded by lame, naked, sick and needy people. To make the point clear, she’s called Clother of the Naked, Healer of the Sick etc. These look at her, and though still outwardly as before, their faces reflect an inner transformation. The individual’s turning is essential. What would happen if the compulsive, nervous agitation, which so often grips people at times of stress, was not counterbalanced by the power of rest? People travel miles to revere such icons, reputed to have miraculous powers, but few realise that those same infinite, quiet depths of pure soul reflected in the holy faces of saints, exist also in themselves. Before the creative agent, mind, dilates to the diverse activity of lower realms, its infinite potential, Mother of Creation, rests. Singular and quiet in its own pure dawn – unknown, unnoticed by the noisy crowd, but clearly reflecting

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its Creator Self, here in the heart of each and every one of us, Christ the Righteous, Prince of Peace is waiting to be born. I watch people come in, light candles, stand a while and pray. The frame surrounding her is polished by many kisses. Russian churches always have icons of well known spiritual figures, but all higher consciousness affects the worlds below, depending on how they, in turn, receive it. In this icon, angels wrap the naked in a cloak of light, and stand beside the lame, invisibly supportive, but outer conditions apparently remain. Even saints in the flesh get ill and old, and die. Are we not definitively told to take no thought for the body, but to seek first the Kingdom of God (Mat.6,25-33), in confidence that thereafter the appropriate needs of life will be provided? * * * Middle of the night, and dead cold. Men have been working on the heating system. The pipes were lukewarm for a few days but are now turned off. Wintry weather continues outside with clear sky and hard frost. I went to bed early, ill with cold and depression, longing to be away from this miserable place, but exploded with frustration after a few hours, and got up. It’s no longer possible to live a life of eating, sleeping and being ill. This death in life existence is bad enough when I see it, but quite unbearable when it gets on top. Then it really is death. I sit warm enough in a sheepskin coat. Body aches and coughs, but after prayer is more subordinate. I don’t want sleep, or anything more of a man made world, though surrounded by it on every side, and for miles around. Utterly trapped – with absolutely nothing out there but man and death – not one thing worth taking a bus for. Well, I did find a few minutes with sunshine and a birch tree this afternoon, hemmed in by filth and concrete. The polluted river flows, and there would have been a sunset, but I was too sunk in weakness to go and see. That makes me laugh and feel better. The more awful life is, the more it teaches us our only hope is God. More specifically – after getting negative and at odds with life – I must keep above it. Everything has its own validity. Who am I to question it? I don’t have to belong there. *

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Pure prayer for the world arises naturally when one has sufficiently put off separation. Prayer which imagines the world, and thinks of others is still impure i.e. the work of “me”. Being One with all, pure prayer is effortless, with no need to visualise anything. But before that, times come when each repetition of the Lord’s name, each effort to control immoderation and be present, is no longer personal but for one and all. * * * A phone call from a beloved friend lifts my mind above useless reactions to a dying world. Prayer with love in one’s heart always lifts it to the heights, where with no personal impediment, union comes easily, without delay. How miraculous it is to walk outside, stand by the river, watch traffic and be in the Kingdom of God. All is instantly harmonised, simplified and at peace. It’s not just silence I love – it’s the freedom of unclassified and therefore wordless Spirit. The Kingdom of God is so much better a place to be than that of man – less limited in every way than you and me. One is not thereby deprived of anything except one’s own “bounds”. One enjoys and loves in freedom. This is how freedom walks through the world. For him, the “classifieds” of mind, the unseen barriers that hold us captive in ourselves, do not exist. He hears people talking and invites them to be quiet. Freedom enters and liberates the stream of life, but few are even aware of his existence. As a chimney lets poisonous fumes escape, so does freedom allow the malicious tensions of life dissolve, and do no harm. Freedom is the world’s undoing. Therefore – not surprisingly, the world resists. * * * What do I see when I look out of the window? It depends of course on my state, but when I’m present, quiet in mind, the answer is simple and clear as daylight. I “see” the invisible. Then everything else – trees, buildings, crowds in the metro, manifest what’s “shown”. All is God. It isn’t difficult or mysterious at all. It only

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seems like that when you don’t see. It’s a wonderful show, the “work of His hands”, and nothing can possibly exist otherwise, yet man’s mind gets it all mixed up. He misses the Source and thinks he’s the show. I remember how I struggled as a young man to explain why I wanted God and not the world, but I couldn’t then find the words, nor had I the experience to substantiate my feelings. Now it’s all much simpler. The principle is clear. So there we are, and what can I add more? All is God. If I am God, then so are you, and all things else besides. The only difference between us is in the realisation. Nothing and no one can possibly fall away from God, or have to return, except in their own minds. And that is the story and the world of man. The dream is past, the show is done – the child wakes up and finds itself at home. * * * What effect does spiritual realisation have on others? A few may respond as individuals, but most will probably not. I once had a book called Saints Who Moved the World. How? By raising the level of consciousness for, of course, it starts with ourselves. We do not know why some people are apparently called and some are not. God is almighty and can do whatever He likes. Nothing is lost or wasted in the world. We know that everything is under law. Any effort towards God feeds into the general pool and is available for all. How can we consider the wonders of earth, and think His care is any less for man? It’s only our pride, which thinks it knows who and how many should be “saved”. As God is infinite and every grain of sand unique, we need not expect to find anything standard about Spirit. As experience shows, even in the life of one individual, revelations are never quite the same. Why should they be? Variation is proof of spiritual authenticity. Only the limited creativity of man repeats and standardises. I don’t do very much these days – at least when I remember. Then, I know my only purpose is to be in God – the fullness of all fullness. I’m quite happy just to sit, while the world happens around me. I do nothing, but participation is complete. The other day I saw a newspaper. What are economics, culture, politics? I

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don’t know how to explain except to say, “Not it.” They seem like dust upon the floor, “Dust thou art” etc. (Gen.3,19). I’ve no wish to return there – to separate being. When life is known complete, that’s where you want to be. * * * Creation’s like a comet – a tail, a fox’s tail, streaming out behind. It must be One, and even if bits fall off the end, they remain part of nature and work their way round. So all of us have our place and work. As a young farmer I thought of feeding the hungry by growing more food, but now, in old age, I find another role. Spiritual work (prayer) accesses universal providence. Here, at the causal level, we find peace for the warring, life for the dying, freedom, food and clothing for the needy. All the prayers of all the saints, in this world or the next, access it, like connecting pipes, in order to supply, and when we appeal to them, we open ourselves up to this flow of Grace and find ourselves uplifted, spiritually nourished. Then, what starts in Spirit, works itself through mind to manifestation. As we’ve seen, poverty arises only when we turn away, deny, reject this providential Grace, but nevertheless, spiritual abundance filters through. Spring air penetrates the darkest hole. “Prayer of the saints” is the consciousness of those who have fully realised the actuality of their divine origin, their fellowship in One. Once realised, it is released. Being One with the Source, they nourish creation with the finest of all foods. Without such “prayer”, the body of the world is spiritually deprived. Whereas personal prayer normally has a specific aim, acting from person to person, pure prayer is nothing we “do”, nor does it relate to partialities of man. My early attempts at “doing good” were hampered by realising that what I wanted to give was seldom wanted by others, and what the world expected was not acceptable to me. I smile now, but at the time it brought me much isolation and sense of failure. At first farming, and then deepening appreciation of the work of meditation /prayer released me from this personal dead end. Now I see that everyone, regardless of where they stand and how they address God and their neighbour, makes their contribution, but the more one lays aside personal effort and surrenders to One, the more satisfaction is obtained.

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Outside in the rain, rats and stray dogs compete with the homeless, hopeless as they search for scraps in the rubbish. And here, only a few yards away, prayer finds the inexhaustible resources of Spirit. And somehow, there’s connection. Even these sad images are made of divine substance. We are not separate, but One. What goes in the fox’s mouth one end, feeds every hair in its tail also. * * * From an aeroplane, it’s easy to see how our entire human occupation takes place in miniature “below”. Even the airline magazine directs attention there. While here, above, being no less alive than I am down there, I’m free of the involvement. It’s an important principle, for exactly the same applies when the glory of the Self is seen – everything else shrinks in proportion and significance. Seen as the thoughts of God – in the original cosmic consciousness of which my own microcosmic life is a soiled reflection, it’s wonderful, but passes like the distant world below. Back in familiar England, but with no inclination beyond the necessary to re-enter and react with the world, I feel my entire function is to be in Spirit – One. From Spirit, the world with its conditions is not predominant. Why not? Because it’s the product of a lower point of view, which dissolves when consciousness is raised. In (unchanging) truth, the (changing) world loses its dominion, though it constantly invades. Prayer is no more than this simple affirmation. Any sense of dissatisfaction with the world is indicative of our own separate, and therefore unintegrated point of view. Established in Oneself, the world is seen as a complete unit, functioning perfectly according to its laws. Seeing thus in pure awareness, or love, is itself the raising of consciousness, which raises the level of law and life operative in the world. “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above” ( Ja.1,17). It is by abandoning attachment to our lower nature that we ally ourselves with, and cease to obstruct higher power, which then works it’s way through to creation. We can see for ourselves, how the wonders of elemental nature purge, perfect, renew and bring forth all things needful to nourish and rejoice.

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On the Occasion of George’s Christening 4th December 2005

WELL, CEREMO NIES and celebrations come and go. A child is “introduced” to God. What does it all mean? To begin with, probably – not much. Attention is focussed on his physical body – how he looks, and how he’s grown. Best wishes are usually given for health and happiness on earth. But man is also mind and Spirit. Soon George will develop mind – he’ll speak, think and express a will of his own. That’s when his problems start. Spirit, being another word for God, has no need to grow. It’s already perfect and complete – but not always realised. As the poet Wordsworth wrote, “Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.” In this life, we are born into sin – which means denial of, or not-knowing our spiritual selves. That which is born, must die. Christian life is really a journey back to what we originally, spiritually are. If we allow the seed of spiritual realisation sown at baptism to develop, then, when life throws us about – as it surely will – we retain some sense of proportion, a strength and peace in the face of adversity. When body and mind, being temporal, decay, a properly prepared soul may go forth with confidence to spiritual, eternal life. Otherwise, all too often, we live by the “changes and chances of this fleeting world”, in fear of inescapable death. 318

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The first job of a god-parent is to know this – that whatever happens to a child outwardly, in terms of success or failure in the world, inwardly, as a child of God, he remains as unchangeably whole, perfect and immortal as the day he was spiritually “made”. This can be described as prayer. The second job is to help the child realise it for himself. The first does not necessarily require cooperation, but the second does. For now, while George cannot help himself, yet absorbs impressions from all around, those closest can do much to prepare his receptivity. How? By surrounding him with spiritual influence – which means God’s creation of nature, rather than the corrupt creativity of man. If you ask me about scripture, symbols, formal prayers etc. – of course; attendance at Church – by all means, but, after the pure examples of nature, I have more in mind a verse found in a South African school: No written word, nor spoken plea Can teach young hearts what men should be. Not all the books on all the shelves, But what the teachers are themselves. May God’s Grace lead us to consider our own souls – the poverty of flesh, and the inestimable worth of Spirit. May the love with which we love, be realised as the love of God. Therein, we may rest ourselves, and be at peace with all.

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Glimpses of Absolution TH ERE’S NOT now much of personal narrative to tell. I’m just a quiet old man of regular habits, going up and down the hill to Church each day, sitting on a bench when the weather’s warm, doing the shopping – walking slowly with a stick. I don’t speak much. Adventures are inside. Life’s purpose is more hid from mortal mind. Spiritual life does not require a show, any more than does the air we breathe. It is the life of all – but least displayed. The great blessing of old age is, “He must increase, but I must decrease” (Jn.3,30) – and that’s entirely so. In prayer, we aim for ever more perfect union. We are already One, whole, perfect, but think and act downcast, as though we’re not. Hence, the work of prayer cleans up or purifies our act. Prayer returns our hearts to the Master of all arts – pure, perfect Creativity itself. As skylarks rise to sing in boundless skies, so souls are raised to glory and rejoice. Whatever the event in life, there is no higher function than submitting it to God. Thereby, infinite authority, wisdom and resourcefulness are brought to bear. Otherwise, man makes mistakes – with limits all the way. It occurs to me that what I now refer to as prayer must seem a long way from more conventional and verbal pleas to God. Indeed it is. But is not that the nature of any growth? Prayer is an art as well as a gift – a talent that needs to expand and constantly develop as it strives towards perfection. Nevertheless, are not a child’s first efforts as pleasing to its parents as more mature achievements of the man? When I think back to my own first prayers – a lonely little boy, whispering, “God bless Mummy and Daddy,” as he kneeled beside his bed at school, is the 320

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greater experience with which I pray now one whit more worthy than it was then? It may be less – as the widow’s mite implies (Mark 12,42). Quietness, acceptance and at least some understanding of what’s involved, develop as we practice, but sincerity of heart must lead the way. Again and again I repeat – it’s a matter of practice. As pure prayer is naturally love – God’s perfect love, not “ours”, practice quite simply removes all other thoughts and states of mind. In the middle of the night I wake to pray – Oh Jesus, and melt, emerge to nothing, only love. One is not really born, or Oneself, and certainly not free, so long as one remains eating, sleeping – an embryo within the womb body of the world. All aspects of personality are left behind, as cleanly as a butterfly leaving its cocoon. There’s nothing to regret. But I don’t stay long. Sleep pulls me back. Evidently I’m still not ready to be fully born. * * * It’s infinitely better beyond words. I am released. There’s nothing “fixed” at all. One sees clearly how mind falls into the divisive compartments of individual names, descriptions, ideas, desires etc. and all the subsequent contention, labour and disturbance of human activity on earth. Wonderful though it is, it’s experienced only by limited and transitory sense, whereas beyond mind lies the infinite. How can I help others? How can I help myself? Realise the freedom absolute from mind and flesh. *

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It starts from the realised fact of Spirit (God, Oneself) holding in potential name and form. As Spirit “descends” and forms manifest, we say, “Self is the heart of all,” or, “Christ in the midst of us.” Unidentified, One sees without any division or impediment. One is both creature and Creator, sinner, Saviour and the saved. Every creature, great or small is Me. In falling, all things fall – in rising, rise. As rising consciousness restores to unity, a falling one divides. At times of prayer, when age, pain, weariness, are left behind, it stands to reason it affects the whole. To be ever

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closer to God, and all being One, means all being closer, too. It all depends upon One’s state of being. How does one see God? A little knowledge of food tells us that all the dozens of cheeses and dairy products in a supermarket consist of milk – and bread, cakes, biscuits etc. are based on wheat. The differences arise from human craft. Similarly, acquaintance with Spirit helps one to see that everything is Spirit. Original, spiritual and perfect man is One. Separate and mortal – he’s selfmade. What is the effect of changing consciousness? It’s like the sea. If one little fish should sink to the bottom, it doesn’t make much difference to others. But when tides rise and fall, then all within the sea, move too. * * * People seem far away out there, struggling with separate lives. One holds them in Itself. Sufficiently established in Oneself, there’s no more voice of “me”. Body sits quietly in a chair. Individual lives react with one another, while universal view embraces all. These words only appear towards the “end” of prayer, while returning to the world. The world? Where was the world? A few wispy reminders floated by but not enough to relate to. A few personal matters came along before they disappeared. 4 hours have passed. My umbrella hangs on a corner of the pew. Gradually the body realises it is cold. As I gather my things, I hear myself humming a little tune. Mother used to say it showed I was happy. There’s no sense of “my” knowing or doing anything in prayer. Both are actually actions of incompletion, for in absolutely perfect fulfilment, what remains to know or be known, to do or be done? Beyond the vibrations, which give rise to creation, light shines unwavering. Absolute consciousness lies beyond the consciousness of things – absolute bliss, before enjoyment of their work. With no more “I” to know or do, with what can I describe beyond description? How else encourage “you” to seek and find? “Come unto Me,” the Lord invites, “And … rest.” Absolution is remission of our sin ( Jn.20,23). * * *

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An old fashioned, decorated photo frame stands on a shelf opposite the chair where I meditate, beneath an icon of the Lord. Having tried a few pictures, which didn’t fit, I’ve left it with a plain, blank card. Now, whoever I think of, I’m reminded that, whatever their appearance or situation in life, beneath it they and every one, and I myself, are all pure Spirit. *

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How should we pray? This evening, from a rocky edge up on the moors, we watched a winter sunset and some crows. In breathtaking clarity to see against the background of light – they sailed upon the wind. In absolute stillness – silent, they and we were held. In absolute freedom, each feather controlled, unhindered yet guided, they glided and flew as, it seemed, their guardian angel elements disposed. But who determines? What obeys? What makes a miracle? Who prays a perfect prayer? All happens, all is done unknown until a window opens, and – behold, the wondrous works of God are shown and seen. *

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It’s a long time since I’ve written a note. With more conscious moments, windows have converged, and there’s less of subject/object to describe. Body lives, mind thinks – a New Year comes and goes. Spiritual practice continues, but I can’t always say I meditate or pray – except in so far as prayer is simply being. If I ask what I am, I’m everything and nothing – earth of earth and space of space, matter of bodies, intellect of mind. Whatever is, of quality or element, is Me. The world, with its multiple embodiments of “me”, turns like a clockwork toy. It lives, to die. I enter it, and leave, while – yet within it, timeless, tireless, without need or feature, I’m at conscious rest. Prayer from the world is prayer for the world, but Absolute, being beyond measure, absolves, dissolving limit and, wherever creation is compliant, “Behold, makes all things new” (Rev.21,1-5; 2Cor.4,16; Col.3,10). *

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Very gradually I emerge from prayer into a world of sounds, and reach for the light switch to find notebook and pen. Already it fades. Fades? What fades? But mind remains so deeply still, it doesn’t rise to a surface search for words. So far beyond it, thought’s unthinkable. From somewhere far away out there, my usual question of how this affects the world was answered by its own absorption. It only arises from movement, from action called a “world”. After several minutes I feel myself breathing, moving. Mind begins to think again, and wants to describe what happened. But nothing happened. The happenings are here – out here, while “as in the beginning” Absolute is beyond, before and source of all that happens. How do I feel? Of that I cannot doubt. Just absolute – for beyond any experience of worlds or states, there’s no comparison. What’s there? The question’s so absurd, I burst out laughing! Body walks slowly down the path from the church. I’m late for breakfast. “Where have you been?” I’m asked. But all that’s called my life seems far away – not me. I appear to be a bit lost, but I’m not. I’m very far from lost. I’m found. *

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With what effect does one realise invisible, absolute Self? Traditionally represented as a halo, life seen without it is deprived – a creature incomplete. No wonder it suffers lack, malfunction, death. As a chicken without its head will continue to run about, fall down and kick until the impetus of life expires – such is mortal life. Whereas, once reconnected with the Absolute, redemption can begin. Is it the same as stillness? Yes, but realised to an ever subtler and indescribable degree. Being Absolute in life, nothing could possibly exist, or function properly without it. At the level of realisation, it’s the most obvious of facts. Only a darkened vision could deny it. Only lives subject to the works of darkness, mortal man’s dominion, must also share his death, but the original spiritual creation, eternally existent as it was in the beginning, before man’s sin and consequential fall, is unaffected. The pure in heart (or

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Spirit), with pure spiritual realisation, see life as it is. Pure being is innocence. It has and needs no flesh. Once realised, it becomes a compelling responsibility to maintain whatever realisation one can in every situation, as it’s ever clearer to see as the missing ingredient – the “One thing needful” (Lk.10,41) – the invisible store supplying all life can possibly need. Even while body fades out of the picture, again and again prayer plunges into the joy of absolute, abundant life – pouring forth Grace upon creation. “Deeper yet ever deeper, O my love, my Lord.” All restrictions and separations are swept aside. All else is forgotten when two lovers meet. How can one feeble old man possibly embrace all this? But that’s the wonder – the realisation that I’m not confined at all, but as great as creativity itself. Hence prayer is for all, response is for all, and nothing but nothing – not even the shadow of mankind’s denial is not included in the Absolute and One. * * * Beyond human knowledge, we know not how to pray. All words, methods used in prayer are intermediate aids. Prayer in its fullness is such complete self-abandonment and absorption into God that the individual, in effect, ceases to exist. With absolution of I am, all other individuals are also seen as One. It’s entirely comforting to lose individuality – to know nothing, and step back from the usual inadequate communication of our human lives. Real communion, free of personal imposition, time, place or speech, takes place silently in Spirit. Why then do we have words? Why do I write this book? Everything finds fulfilment beyond itself. The fulfilment of our many words is One. * * * From spiritual consciousness, all efforts to heal, unite, make peace etc., take place out in the wilderness of not knowing the perfection, unity and peace already existent in Spirit. Human comforts comfort human nature, but only in limited degree. Beyond that, Spirit forever is that totality of blessings, which lost souls seek on earth. * * *

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From ignorance, we seek to know. From lack, we find ourselves impelled to have and do. But, in Absolute completion, needs subside. Yesterday – being market day, I walked among the rows of penned sheep and watched them watching me. Their eyes are familiar – my little brethren, and always touch my heart. But this time, from spontaneous love, I started to question how I should respond. And then, later, Jesus, both Lamb and God, looked down from the cross and showed me the way. Of course! The eyes are mine. If I am with them in the cycles of sheep life, they are where I am, now. Faced with a world of need, to whom can I appeal? None other than I am. In worlds divided, I am One. Upset – I’m peace, with lack – supply, in death – eternal life. *

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To pray – to turn to God, is so much now the only thing to do. Identification with separate, egoistic mind /body and its needs is seen as denial (ignorance) of consciousness. From above, mankind’s turning from God (light), creates a shadow of ignorance. Just as bodies cause shadow, so do egoistic thoughts and feelings, which thus impose a deprivation of consciousness – “The valley of the shadow of death” (Ps,23,4), on all beneath. From the upper air clarity of cosmic consciousness, mankind is seen as a not very big cloud, and the world – his shadow. Reflections from the surface of the cloud, being conscious works (of light) bounce back, but beneath it, the man-made world, deprived of light, is dark. And obviously, I too, however free in Spirit, still have a mortal (sinful) body/mind which also casts its shadow down below. “All men are sinners.” *

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I remember watching llamas on the high Andes – ethereal creatures in their mountain home. They moved so lightly, gracefully with soft and silent tread. With woolly coats and upright poise, appearing bodiless, they floated past and hardly touched the ground. Running deer can give the same impression.

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In prayer, in Spirit – weightless, timeless, undivided, I find myself also as any and everyone, anything and anywhere at once. Whatsoever is, or comes to mind – I am. What happens to the world of division, of killing, of eat and be eaten? It becomes a spiritual inter flow of divine impressions, which neither hurt nor destroy, “Being ever broken yet never divided; ever eaten, yet never consumed.” Divine man has no need to cultivate and kill. He feeds spiritually. But, while still embodied under the influence of sin, before being saved/released from flesh, he can only try to minimise the damage by curbing the impact of his own disease. *

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From Spirit the world is not so big and important as it appears from earth. Just as we remember and forget, and say things are in or out of mind, in Spirit, it’s entirely possible to forget the world’s existence. Hence we have prayers, “Remember us, O Lord …” *

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The Holy Spirit is described as “life giving”. What then is mortal man? Death giving. A death projecting blot of ignorance upon earth. Man describes himself as the crowning glory of creation. How absurd! From a worm’s eye view he may be, but from Spirit he’s the opposite – an architect of appetite and ruin, a fouled lens through which the sinful characteristics of his fallen and separated nature are imposed on long suffering creatures under his domain. It’s not very nice to see oneself as an instrument of death – a shadow of what one is not, functioning on earth. How do we reverse it? By cleansing the “evil eye” of sin. Then we begin to see rightly, realising the “lost” divinity of Spirit. And thus, the proper nature of creation is restored. *

*

*

Tired with social duties, I pray this morning, full of longing: God is everything – all else is vanity. But it’s only now, after breakfast, that I find the words to write – Beyond. Beyond me, and quite beyond all knowing. Beyond anything I can possibly say or think or do. Beyond the world. But even “beyond” is misleading,

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implying a reality to things behind. Windows, experience, description – effects of one state on another, are all intermediate stages between ultimate, absolute awaking and creative dream. The world exists if we think it exists, but when God is really everything (in the sense that our surrender/devotion is complete), the world is found no more. Whatever is this world – there one moment, gone the next? Consistently, our pains and pleasures pass, the best meal suffices only a few hours, our birth is but a prelude to our death. As above, so it is below. For clues we look to microcosmic man. No one believes in the reality of dreams. Our dreams, God’s dream – the principle’s the same. Even while appearing to be real, they pass away. We cannot explain the nature of dream. We only “know” when we wake up. As also with our thoughts, emotions, life experience – we see them in perspective, looking back. There are levels of dream, and levels of waking up. Each seems real until we reach somewhere higher. When we wake up from sleep, our own dream world is replaced by what we call the reality of everyday, of coming to ourselves. But in absolute awakening, God’s “dream” of creation as a whole dissolves, and pure Self-realisation is attained. At this stage, prayer/meditation can be described as the process of waking up. By laying aside worldly care and all that pertains to the “dream” of lower, mortal nature, we may find ourselves returned to pure, primal being, from where, cleansed of personal impurity, all things are seen and known to be the Will of God. How does it affect the world? What is the relation between One awake, and many asleep? Do characters in a dream have power? What happens to them when the sleeper wakes? “Let God [Absolute consciousness] arise, and let His enemies be scattered” (Ps.68,1). “But what about me?” protests ego, “I’ve a body and mind – I live in a real world. Don’t we exist?” Try waking up, and see! In transcendent prayer (which is awaking) it’s easy to realise, but in ordinary life, the images persist. Yes, but with each realisation of beyond, one’s sense of orientation shifts a step from passing to eternal life, one’s vision from mortal to spiritual, and sense of

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identity from individual “me” to universal One. It’s the difference between sitting, trapped nose to tail in a traffic jam or looking down on it with detachment from a hillside far above. * * * With realisation that my own human ego is nothing but impediment, it must be the same for humanity as a whole. What then of worth remains? Only repentance, and return to light. The personal story ceases to be of interest, and simply fizzles out. In fact, I have no life of my own at all, apart from God. I’m just a foolish, absentminded little sunbeam, who thought he was different and special, yet able to act, and help others on his own. * * * What is there, in prayer? Times pass in what (looking back) seems like oblivion, but it doesn’t feel like sleep or death, but incomparably deep and total rest. Other times I’m consciously awake, mind quiet, expectantly receptive, the world reduced to a few invasive sounds. I couldn’t act, for there’s no more “me” to do so. I’m waiting maybe – but I can’t be sure. Being like a little child – just so totally innocent and trusting, and without a thought in my head about it. And then – I must have become – sort of – dissolved, but I remember nothing until brought “back” by a friend concerned I’d be late for breakfast. I wasn’t asleep – that’s sure. Just Absolute? There are two aspects to Absolution. One is the pure spiritual “blank sheet of paper”, or rest, as it was, is and ever shall be in the beginning, of all sufficiency and potential – indescribable, but nevertheless described as Absolute Bliss Consciousness. The other is creation, pure and perfect – One Being, as each and all. The one thing One cannot be is separate, imperfect, dead. That belongs to the non-world of deceit, called sin. In Absolution, sin does not exist. How can it exist? For sin is contrary to Absolute. And yet it does exist – doesn’t it? Or does it? I still have a body to remind me – as my lingering legacy of past misdeeds. Sin is denial – a mistake, contradicting Absolute.

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It’s a child of ignorance, of disobedience to fact. Does darkness exist before light? The same phenomenon happens with realisation of Absolute. Sin flees, dissolves, and is no more. With absolute cessation of my ego, all others, with their accompanying “lives”, cease also. This can be proved by experience. I doubt, of course I doubt, but again and again experience proves it true. I turn away from Absolute to write this note. I doubt, I question and the menace creeps back. Which proves it exists because of me – and only me. Because I fall from truth. Back, back! With prayer and spiritual work – to drive away these monsters with the light of truth. Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy … * * * After a late night, and feeling dragged down and discontent with worldliness, I wake at 4.00 and fight with myself over getting up to pray. “No,” pleads the body, “just another hour.” But I succeed, and immediately feel better. Pleasures, interests, desires – even the wonders of nature shrink before real prayer. What is any creature compared with the creative mind that made it? What is prayer? It’s releasing lower levels of identification to obtain, first a bird’s eye view, and then higher and higher levels up to cosmic, God or Self consciousness. One is life giving, the other, life absorbing or reflecting. Feeding off the exhaustible resources of earth, we perish with it, but God is life eternal. * * * Faded rose petals in my Bible bear witness to sweet encounters many years ago. And now it seems that my body and the world as a whole do likewise fade and witness to their past. There’s no need to continue here. It’s come to pass. Life’s masquerade dissolves, and Love leads on. Long, long ago, with only encouragement to follow my heart, I abandoned a secure, worldly life for nothing in South America. It happened again when I left my farm. Now, I stand once more on the threshold of fresh love. Now, all that I’ve ever learnt of God is laid aside. All I’ve been able to express – all prayers and religious practice, all knowledge and even love, attributable to me,

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is brought together, swept up and left behind. No more is needed. Union needs nothing of a separated soul. Outwardly the body’s old and tired, but inward, the soul is as thrilled as a boy with his first kiss. What else is there to follow but the heart’s response? How can I explain? See, how mind gropes with words to describe what it can neither know, nor say. But deeper than mind, heart knows as unerringly as a compass points to north. The nearest I come to explanation is remembering how I felt as a young man, hopelessly in love with a woman. Love sick, they called that unquenchable longing for comfort and completion of my lonely life. But that earlier unhappiness is long since passed away. Now, looking back, I see how at every stage, Love has revealed more heavenly perfection. From the world’s point of view, this present absolution in the spirit of all love is absolutely nothing, but the heart knows it’s everything, and nothing else in life can possibly replace it. The one awful consequence of knowing it, is to see how terribly soon I slip back once more into the world. We never know how full of sin we are, until we get a taste of the Divine. * * * These days I live impelled to pray. Prayer is absolutely food for life. After many windows of realisation, I can no longer doubt that I am synonymous with everything. Whatever touches me affects the whole world, and vice versa. I’m acutely aware now that any interruption of regular habits of prayer, or forgetfulness of the presence of God, is deprivation of life itself. How quickly life fractures and fragments without it. There is no substitute. Prayer is a lifeline for man, and also for the world. There’s absolutely nothing in the whole world worth more than an hour of real prayer. We know it when we really pray. And once the realisation takes hold, it becomes ever more unbearable to see how we fall into the temptations of “me”, sloth, greed, and 101 other ways of denying our own best interests. * * * I had some sweet things in my mind just now – a few minutes ago, to write them down, but they’ve gone, removed as sweetly as when

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first revealed. I can’t remember them at all. Flowers in the garden of angelic soul – heavenly gifts, which mortal means can neither see, nor tell. And now the story draws to an end. Now comes the moment when the soul (the heavenly bride) is taken into the chamber, and the door is closed. I would tell you what happens if I could, but I cannot. Further words can only refer backwards – to things being left behind.

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Of All Fulfilled SO ME R EADER S may turn to these last pages, read and think, “I know it all already.” Exactly. It isn’t so far from anyone’s experience. We all have, or have had, moments of truth. The work is not so much finding anything new, as ever more fully realising what we already, instinctively by nature, know. How? By clearing away the impediments, which obscure, deny and make us lose it – the process also called purification, or repentance of our sin. We really do come back to the innocence of childhood, before life darkens to a world of cares (Mat.18,3). * * * Prayer now leads to ever deeper rest, more perfectly united, more fully conscious and alive. Does it benefit the world? Anyone who accesses the peace, light and unity of higher consciousness clears, as it were, a pathway through the undergrowth of mind. This is then available for all. It may be partially described for those who want to know but equally, unknown, it feeds into and lightens general consciousness. In human life, with effort and desire, we subconsciously try to compensate for losing our natural home in the Kingdom of God. When this is, to any extent “found”, that human push relaxes and dissolves. God’s infinite ability replaces “ours”. He knows our need (Mat.6,32). By bringing in the third point of Spirit, we no longer face requirements in a world alone but find provision “In the hands of God”. At first it takes some practice – and then the depth of our own stillness makes it easier to feel this spiritual dimension everywhere around. Just as in a shop one might pick up and handle goods to obtain a fuller 333

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appreciation of what they really are, so subtle sense develops in discerning Spirit. Once realised, it makes no difference if one is alone, accompanied, inside oneself or out, or even – to the world, alive or dead. Spirit is not subject to conditions. In Spirit all are equal; all journeys start and end. Knowing no restrictive barriers of space or time, each one and all is equally accessible and known, touched and affected in the depths of heart. As pen is mightier than sword, so blessing of spiritual prayer surpasses understanding of the mind, fulfils the universe, transcends the need for influence or power by naturally being One. What can prevent this gift of God, excepting a refusal from ourselves? Discovering its spiritual kin, Spirit – being invited, enters in. Spiritual fruit may grow, but – finding no response, it loves the same. As prayer and life itself become more spiritual, there’s less of personality to speak or do, or seek or shun the world. In One’s heart – the spiritual heart, all is whole and nothing is excluded. Beautiful, enticing as it is, the world seems full of problems after Spirit. Incomprehensible events may tear it apart. Time and again we are thrown into chaos – but, calling on the name of God will always bring us through. When learning to swim, it takes a long time floundering about with effort and fear of drowning before we learn to relax and let the water not only hold us but determine the action. The art of prayer can learn from watching fish. As taught, I pray seated with back straight. Away from home, I often carry a folding stool, or small cushion. Then I can sit anywhere in comfort. For greater depths, it’s best to close one’s eyes. Accompanied by owls at night, and spring birds chorusing at dawn – through waking world and morning rain, soul stretches longing, reaches, finds and rests itself in God. All things are God, and cannot possibly be anything else. Within His body, God works His purpose out beyond our understanding. We’ve no need to worry. Nothing exists outside His law, but love. Therefore is love fulfilment of the law. * * * This morning at the cattle auction, I stood as usual up on the balcony, looking down. It’s a large circular bowl construction, with a central ring surrounded by tiers of steps where farmers and spectators sit or stand. I felt myself flow and fill the space as one might

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fill a goldfish bowl with water. Later I walked to the church with the same sense of filling all around. There’s no rejection of the outer world, but fulfilment of it. Then I remembered how the Holy Spirit is described as, “Everywhere and all fulfilling, spirit of truth, treasure of good and giver of life.” That is exactly how it feels. Spiritual realisation cannot enter closed, unwilling hearts but, like fresh air blowing into a stuffy room, fulfils the no-man’s-land between. All phenomena of the world are as bubbles, inflated and sustained by the air within them. This is Spirit, or life force, identical for all. Mind imagines the forms, Spirit breathes them into existence. It can also be seen as light – mind drawing the delineation, which is then projected by spiritual light. As I am, now realised to be Spirit, finds itself Light and Life in ever less limited degree, so is the whole world also “changed from glory into glory”. It’s marvellous to be completely weightless, bodiless and free. Now, in every situation, life’s one purpose is fullness of Spirit, the fulfilment of love – the fruit of realisation. It’s totally simple to be One, and not a separate part. Wild geese flying up from the river, are not apart from me – neither are raindrops, nor footsteps on the road. Without beginning, end or cause, Oneself is realised as All in all. What happens to the “not-self” world of wilful, sinful “me”? Unless remembered again, it’s forgotten. It just fades out – a thought that’s passed away. It was, after all, only an impression of emptiness, of struggle for existence. It turned away and lost its light, and found itself alone – a lack, an ignorance – a hungry, naked need – but, now returned, the “lost” is lost no more. * * * We love the perfection of nature – and deplore the world of man. God’s creation is perfect – man’s is not. Where is the fault? In man. It’s no use trying to save the world when we ourselves are the cause of the trouble. It’s we that need salvation. * * * During evening service, I suddenly find myself a pristine, pure transparency, through which, unimpeded, the singing of the choir

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ascends. There’s absolutely nothing of “me”. It’s this absence of my usual ego self, which makes the difference. It isn’t there at all. In pure existence, it does not exist. Our own estrangement from heaven throws its blanket of shadow over what we see, depriving all things seen of their natural access to the Source of Life. Whereas, cleansed of impurity, in light, all around us is enlightened and restored. * * * As prayer is now “nothing”, it needs no proof or demonstration. I smile to myself, knowing it is everything and speaks for all. If life were a show of bubbles, this is what forms, fills and brings them into being. In the fullest possible sense it’s what I am. It’s where all things belong, and come to rest. Darkness flees. The world is filled with light. * * * All sense of “me” is gone. It’s disappeared. Remembering, I look to see – it isn’t there at all. What’s happened? I’ve become the world. I see “my” old body as part of a pattern, one of a myriad – human, animal, water, rocks and trees, but no more mine than anything else. The drama of man is just a part of it. The whole world is my body and blood, given, not only to be loved, despised, slain and resurrected for redeeming sinful man, but for all things possible, with or without man – fulfilling the perfect purpose of creation (cf.Eph.1,23). The transition happens unnoticed. It’s so easy and natural – the improvement beyond doubt. The other (personal life) now seems a nightmare dream away. There’s no conscious will whatsoever to return there, but obviously the subconscious will of lower, sinful nature to continue “living”, pulls me back to earth. * * * Personal life comes to be seen as something quite alien and unnecessary which, with its desires, is the cause of all our troubles. The less we have of it, the better. This, the named and aged

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embodiment sitting down below, fades out of the picture. Whatever life it had dissolves back into One. It is, or was, a prodigal son, a strayed lost sheep in the wilderness, whose only purpose, having learnt the error of its ways, is repentance and returning home. Prayer gives a foretaste when, for long periods, personal life virtually ceases to exist. As I’ve often described, there’s no loss at all except of one’s limits, infirmities etc. How does one see and hear without physical eyes and ears? With spiritual sense, of course. Do sweet birds sing in heaven? Incomparably sweeter! * * * With no more “me” to pray, there’s no more prayer. Pure prayer becomes pure being, the being of all – One without other, second, opposite or shade. One sees a clock, a book, some rooks upon a roof and, pure with light and love, One laughs with joy. There is no imperfection to request or wish, no shadow to dispel, no sin to lose. Pure being, knowing that all is perfect, beams perfection everywhere it looks. What then of imperfection? How does it arise? One thing’s for sure – it starts with separate “me”. The very question brings it into being. Watch how it works. Following that train of thought, we spawn a brood of mischief – enticing us to doubt, divisiveness, and loss of what I’ve just described – Oneself. Thus, we fall, and become the foundation of our fallen world. I see it in myself – I do it still. I look into darkness, and believe what I can’t see. I sink into forgetfulness – lost, contrary, shadow self – other, ego “me”. Such worldly wisdom is foolishness to God (1Cor.3,19). It’s best avoided. * * * Prayer is now nothing, in the sense of complete absence, emptiness of “me”. Being thoroughly chastened, made whiter than snow, there’s nothing left but pure, pure love. I hear glass bottles rattling into a recycling truck. Without the overshadowing of personal comment, the action is known in its natural joy. Whatever’s known is loved and lit. No human work could possibly do more. I walk home overflowing. For now, at least – the happiest man alive.

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Beware, my soul. Be on your guard. It’s just at those times when we feel most blessed, that we’re also in danger of a fall. A window may last some hours or only a few minutes. We may enjoy quite long periods of higher consciousness before we’re tempted and again “in earth”, an outcast mortal “me”. “Make hay while the sun shines” – rejoice while we may, but prayer is needed every day. What do we pray for? So long as we remain even partial partakers of a fallen world – with light outside us, not within, then body casts a shadow, and separate soul its sin. Consequently, death lies waiting to consume the flesh, and evil thought the mind. Do they have power over us? Then we are not free. Divinely made, embodied in corruption; revealed by Grace, confused by mortal mind; a sinner saved, then lapsed and lost; though light, we live so often in the dark. What can we do or say when, by our own will, we always get it wrong? Well … we can pray. But this, my own personal commentary, now seems unreliable and even foolish. I struggle to write it, with uncertainty and changes, and it’s time for it to end. In contrast, windows which at first seemed something from afar, now speak with authentic voice of what I really am. Like sudden flights of birds across the sky, they rise from Source – as simple, straight and true. It’s amazing, but I’m actually becoming that, which was a vision of another world, while the old “me”, unregretted, fades away. Life now substitutes ever expanding heavenly realisation, accessed through, though not confined to prayer, for the expiring mortal, which I took for me. Watching it pass as a defunct old friend, I’ve never been so happy and alive. Again it’s spring; again I walk the fields. Oh, how God loves the world, this lovely earth, and how I love it, too. “Back to the land, my boy,” Grandfather said, “keep your feet on the ground.” Rooks are nesting, lambs appearing and, feeling the soft turf underfoot, my old legs sing a song. March wind and sun have dried the molehills – soil is crumbly, ready for some seeds. We’ve much to learn from moles – digging their dark tunnels underground. To us, it seems like life turned upside down, but it’s become their home. They live in the earth, and we upon it. If brought to the surface, they immediately return. Their little hills

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upset our garden rows, but it is not easy to control them. I feel uncomfortable up here, enjoying the day, while they toil on below, and think how commonly we men behave like moles, preferring dark to light. Taken to heart, however, the laboured ways of moles and men are shared. Love comprehends where mind despairs. Bearing all things within itself, love bears both right and wrong which, brought to God, brings all three to One. * * * All knowing and experience is limitation. Bliss is beyond both, but indescribable. Desire to “do” pulls action into being. What does a parent do when a child wants to play in a sandpit? There he can build castles, roads, and battle to his heart’s content. Parents look on with more mature concerns. And this is how higher consciousness views events on earth – as a sort of nursery school. There’s no reason whatsoever for human activity on earth except that in ignorance of or perversity to anything better, we choose to be here, and not where all is perfectly fulfilled – in Spirit. Once this is fully realised, there’s no more motive to continue life on earth – but rather disincentive, for one sees how infinitely better God’s order is than ours. It’s best to let life run its course, and expire in its own way. From Spirit, all is seen to happen perfectly according to God’s will. With no more “ego” wish to interfere, there’s only joy, and love for the perfection, and compassion – for all the effort, desire and disappointment of our mortal “me”. * * * Incomparable fullness is the Self realised, and all fulfilment. From “away” it can never be fully remembered or described, but when “returned”, it’s known. Our entire and only problem is not knowing it. * * * How is the world saved? Jesus prays for those whom God had given him, that they would be with him beyond the grave (Jn.17,612). Do not these words also apply to our own collected “families”

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of people, things and places, known, beloved and carried in our hearts as we approach our end? If we are raised to Spirit, what of them? While mortal life expires before my eyes, Spirit grows ever stronger. If all the world is borne within a heart being saved, will not all share it, too? All – who do not refuse. * * * To come out of pure Being is to first come into, and then become “some thing” – in our case, the world, as man. Thus “I am” falls into identification with name, time, space etc. To return to pure Being, we only need to let go these additional attachments. How is the world saved? The world is a child of imagined separation – conceived, created and sustained by our belief. By reaction and worry we prolong the problem, but knowing it thoroughly for what it is, and ignoring its claims, deprives the illusion of its power. * * * There’s no need now to travel to see friends, or even speak or write. All talk and efforts to unite, meet, communicate arise from belief in the shadow world of separation, which melts away before enlightenment. Nothing can be closer than spiritual union – the union of ever deepening prayer. In Oneness, there’s only realisation, confirmation and rejoicing in the fact. All else is interruption, descent into separation – the cause of our misfortunes, lack, desire. How can one help a world that does not know it? How bridge the gulf between (Lk.16,26-31)? What happens to prayer for others? In so far as separate thought remains, all is now known to be Oneself. In restoration of Oneself, all else is equally restored. What then continues to protest, deny? What else but ignorance, creator of its own dark “world”? * * * Brought to inexpressible fulfilment, each and all, but – Oh, so sweetly, tenderly does love light fill the world. Old attachments to possession, achievement, relationship (did they really exist?) – now slackened and released, drift off as flotsam on the tide. Pure being

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neither knows nor needs such things, but only beams perfection all around. Behold, the joy of man! * * * At communion yesterday, the three figures of priest, deacon and server were seen all together as one body of undivided light. What made the difference? Before, I knew them well as separate men. The difference lay entirely in my seeing. As beauty exists in the eye of the beholder, so does light and dark. Last night a group of people sitting opposite appeared rainbow-like, united in the contrasts of their coloured clothes – without form, or weight of difference, but a single, dancing pattern of One light. Today a lorry thunders past, but weightless as a cloud. Walking up the road, I feel I float. The church door opens of itself, it seems, and – without doing anything, I sit to pray. * * * When Self is realised, one’s previous condition of non-realisation is recognised as ignorance. Hence, all that stems from it – the human “world”, starting from first embodiment, is fated to incompletion, effort and eventual failure. I cannot say just how and when it changes but, as I look through the window now I see people in the street outside as reverse or negative images, deposits of denial, moving in the invisible, spiritual ocean of “I am”. I take off my spectacles – I pause to think, and realise that both those actions are expressive of hesitation. My entire life has expressed not what I am, but what I’m not – searching, working, trying to understand – as blind and busy as a mole. However could I so mistake my ignorance for life? But – don’t all people round me do the same? Stop! Wait a moment. Do they? Does Divine Self really get itself into such states? They’re the ones my blindness sees – but inner light sees One. “Life” (which is not life at all) is all inside out and upside down. In Spirit (which is life) all is made right. “The crooked shall be made straight” (Lk.3,5). In Spirit, all wrongs are righted, “dead” are raised, separate united, sick made whole, and dark made light. In Spirit all is One, perfect and forever. Spirit is perfect love, is crystal

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clear, with no separation into flesh and world of man – no separate “people”. These only arise from self-will turning away into denial, the not knowing of ignorance and its own works. We can see for ourselves how we fall from moments of truth, back to a false, fragmented and apparently God-forsaken world, where the one image of One God becomes a chaos, multi-faced and multivoiced, of many. Spiritual sense looks out over fields and “sees”, feels, first the spiritual presence. Then all else – birdsong, grass and sky etc. appear as the dressing of outer clothes i.e. God robed in nature. Similarly, in town – awareness is first of spiritual presence, independent of whether “peopled” or not. People appear as consequences of their own historic fall, but the One pure spiritual being of each and all is unaffected by their personal displays. * * * Oh Jesus, Jesus, Being of all beings wonderful and wise – beauty of beauty, blessing of the blessed. What earthly loving can compare, for you are source of all? How do I know you – simple, present, understanding friend – as God of gods, creator of the worlds? I know, but cannot say. Hour after hour I sit in “prayer”, silently remote to man, but One in love with you. Timeless, you wait for our return. Dawn light shows raindrops on the window panes – and each a jewel of you. As separate self dies out unmourned before the Self of All, what’s left is only gratitude and joy. Yes – on this occasion, salvation seems assured and joy is full, but life soon shows it is not fully so. Again in world, distracted, on its own, a remnant wonders, “Is it really true?” * * * Prayer now rests – but far beyond description. Anything describable has long since been let go. It should no longer really be called “prayer”, which always implies a separate act of doing. Of course it starts that way, but then … I can only write afterwards, noting the effects, from once again in “world” which, hemmed in with measure, name and form is definitely known – “Not It.” With no more individual movement

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whatsoever – no thought, knowing or even emotion arises to disturb the peace of One. Separation’s surrender is complete. All that happens now is Will of God. As Union is not in any sense a thing, no worldly satisfaction can compare. Once One is known and lost, the soul longs only to return. It knows – but knowledge is always of knower and the known. Union cannot even be loved. It’s realised, when all these doings cease.

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Some Questions Answered AT THIS point in the book, before the final chapters, the subject may seem to be getting rather remotely out of mind and body. Lest I lose contact with, and the interest of my readers, I have put together some questions and answers to recap, summarise and clarify the very practical application of spiritual realisation to the benefit of life. What is the world? What is life for? How can one know? The answer is certainly beyond “me” – except in so far as my own mistakes have made me turn to God. In deep meditation, one may find no need for a world at all. Spirit is equally complete with it, or without. Why do children play? I remember the child I was, who loved and played with his toy farm and then, as man, with land and animals for real. Is creation as a whole so different? Perhaps it’s just God’s love and play – for fun – until man goes astray. And then we learn – and come back home again. What really indicates our need? Well, the fact that we (apparently) die, and in life suffer loss and disappointment. Make no mistake. The Self does not die, neither – unless by compassion – does it know corruption. If we do, it indicates that we are not fully identifying with life as it actually is, but with a mortal and corrupted version. It seems almost too simple to say that in order to be what we are, we have to come out of what we are not. But how? Here am I, sitting at my table. How 344

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can I not be my body and thought? By simple observation – which expands to become the still, silent consciousness which fills this room, the street outside, the whole wide world beyond. The seer is not what is seen. The process of spiritual realisation is no more complicated than this, but it does need constant practice to counteract all the multifarious factors which doubt, deny, distract it, or are just too lazy and disinterested to bother. Why do you meditate? To find God. What do you mean by that? It’s impossible to define. We see different aspects, like facets of a diamond. If God is infinite completion, we can approach Him by following paths of incompletion i.e. our longing to love and be loved, to be useful to others, and for ultimate freedom, goodness, peace and happiness. Can’t you find this among people, in ordinary life? Sometimes, to some extent, until it passes – but, because it is limited to time, space and person, it’s never really complete, or able to satisfy our longing for ultimate fulfilment. Sooner or later, it always has an end. Do you have friends? Friendly acquaintance enough, and a few who share the practice of prayer, but not many I’d call close, personal friends. I’ve always been rather solitary, finding more incomprehension than reception among men. It doesn’t bother me now, as fuller realisation of Oneself replaces the emphasis on individual connection. I love all sorts and conditions of people but feel no need to make a show. I don’t speak much, unless I’m spoken to – a quiet smile and “Good morning,” usually suffice. Does one need to be a Christian? No. At least not in the conventional Church sense. One can meditate without any religion but, even going out into the sunshine

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requires the sun to shine. We cannot by ourselves go far without some Grace from on high. A background of faith is usually helpful, though deep meditation or prayer of the heart takes one beyond words and religious expression. I’ve always felt benefit from my own early upbringing in the Church, which has accompanied me along the way, confirming my natural instinct to love God, and still now providing me a “House of prayer”. And how can I quantify our need for Jesus? Those who know Him as their Saviour – know. Tell more of your meeting with Jesus. In the chapter called Homesickness, I’ve written what I could. I was deeply depressed and alone in the Californian desert. Nothing was heard or visible, but suddenly I knew. He stood beside me, absolutely sure. But there wasn’t really anything to describe. The descent into something to speak about hasn’t happened to this day. Why not? I suppose because it happened and lives spiritually, in heart. Now, as I think how to answer, it seems that pivotal events of life are often like this – discreet and humble, almost unnoticed in origin, yet developing with time. Some weeks after the event, I stopped at a small town in Arizona, where an evangelist preacher was loudly proclaiming how Jesus had saved him from his sins. God bless the man – that’s how it was for him. He invited his audience to come forward and witness. Being one of the few left behind, I made myself go up but found no words to say. I could only embrace him and return to my seat. How did meditation first affect you? At first – it’s so long since I started I can hardly remember – excitement at discovering that Spirit is actually real. And then widening awareness that the attributes of Spirit i.e. love, peace, freedom, joy – everything good – are to be found within myself and not in any way dependent on outer circumstances. Where did you learn to meditate? At The School of Meditation in London.

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What method do you use? I was taught a traditional method by the School which, after my Jesus experience in the USA, took a gentle step sideways and became the Jesus prayer. Different words or methods, silence or spontaneity all serve appropriate times. I’m not sure it matters very much how we address God. What matters is the heart. Love leads the way and opens doors as nothing else can do. Hence it’s good advice to follow your heart. I don’t really use any specific method these days. If mind is agitated, I sit quietly for a while and try to be present. I may find myself remembering direction – then something melts – “me” disappears. Pure consciousness is One, with no more two. Sometimes it just happens. Basically, in time of need, I call on Jesus. Love of God has helped me more than adherence to any particular way. Longing for love, for freedom, a preference for nature and general disappointment with what man supplies have pulled and pushed me to where I am now. It’s not from success but failure that we learn most. From failing and going beyond to that which “faileth not”. Is it frightening? I was well taught, and can honestly say that in over 40 years’ practice, I’ve never had a bad or frightening experience. How can there be if one is genuinely approaching the Source of all goodness? However, even if it is fearful to find God, it’s much worse to lose Him. Few are frightened by a clear, deep summer sky. Spiritual space is not so different, only found inside. If, anything is frightening, it becomes apparent later, when attainment of Spirit enables one to realise more clearly the terrible effects of sin. It sounds tedious. Do you have holidays, other interests, and hobbies? Not much, except a few modest journeys for a change of scene. I’m not ascetic or killjoy concerning worldly pleasures – I’ve had my share but, once spiritual joy is discovered, all else pales in comparison. There’s absolutely nothing comparable in fullness to the emptiness of heart surrendered unto God. One only wants to

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enhance, not waste the new found opportunity. Excess food, sleep, worldliness in any form is found to hold one back. It’s amazing how much time is given to idle talk and so-called interests, which are really nothing but exercise for ego. The golden question to ask oneself regarding any action is, “Will it bring me nearer God?” Does it sound tedious? The popular idea that spiritual life involves sacrifice, is misleading if it ignores how, once the taste is fully acquired, a soul is only too willing to leave its limits for abundance without end, in Spirit. There’s then no need for novelties, for God Himself is always fresh and new. Effort is all at the beginning, when the spiritual pull is still weak in comparison to habits and attractions of the world. Can you demonstrate any actual effects? No. Spirit works unknown, like yeast in dough, or wind, unseen until it stirs the leaves. Spiritual work operates behind the scenes of ordinary life, tapping resources of the Infinite. We know plants grow in spring, and see effects of weather, but even the best forecasts are seldom accurate. How much more subtle are the works of Spirit. I cannot point to any favourable events directly attributable to prayer, and do not look for them. It only distracts from trust in God’s perfect providence for all. How do you know it works? I feel better for it (and worse without). Without my trying to run the show, things happen of themselves. There’s a sense of life being in God’s hands, not mine. It’s better that way. Actually, meditation as I was taught and practice, is the gentlest, most loveable yet reliable of works – a constant reassurance of the fact of God, not by belief but by actual spiritual realisation. Early experience is, of course, minute compared to what comes later but that’s the beauty of it. One is nourished exactly according to one’s capacity and need. Why is the theme so repetitious? My heart is hard, and mind impure, which means – obsessed with “me”. How could I fully accept such wonderful revelations, so

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contrary to ordinary understanding, without constant repetition – gradually expanding my capacity, dissolving doubt and the long established habits of ignorance? Over and over again man needs to be assured – and then grow into ever more perfect realisation that, what he’s been already shown is reliable and actually true. How can such obscure work be useful? The question has always interested me. I think of many lonely hermitages, long since ruined, of Celtic men of prayer who lived along the West coast of Britain. A few are well known as teachers or miracle workers, but most seem to have slipped through life unnoticed. How could they be effective in the cause of good? As I look for explanation, I find myself losing concern about the progress and publication of this book, and generally, with all personal participation in the cause of spiritual work. I ask myself, “Why?” and realise it is being replaced by greater identity with and reliance on pure Spirit. I find myself drawn deeper into silence, solitude, finding there an ever greater sense of effectiveness concerning every worldly need. Why should it surprise? It is only fulfilling in greater degree “the less of me, the more of God” – i.e. “God’s will, not mine.” The fact that God, not “me”, is the agent of all needed improvement /change, and I, on my own, am nothing but obstructing sin. Just as my body is a block to seeing, so do words and thoughts obscure direct experience of God. Granted – in our topsy-turvy world they may serve some intermediate need, but why be more than an unavoidable shadow of the Light? Isn’t it unnatural? Nothing in the spiritual world is anything other than entirely natural. It seems, for example, absolutely bizarre that love, peace, need of any kind should become things to be searched for when, in Spirit, they are part of One’s natural completeness. No – it’s the fallen state we leave behind that’s realised to be unnatural – a disease, or school for lost souls, an exile from where we naturally belong.

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It sounds extraordinary to be out of body and mind, yet still alive. Well, yes, it may sound odd, but it feels entirely normal. The abnormality is to be in, or rather identified with, first of all body and then with ego i.e. sense of “me”. One soon sees that this is what causes all our sense of frustration, being trapped, lonely, inadequate and poor. Being out of body /ego mind is freedom – life unlimited. Does it help others? Probably, indirectly, but more obviously if someone responds by e.g. asking for direction. Freedom and happiness are said to be infectious, and peace flows from peaceful springs. Love, too, works in surprising ways. Eye meets eye unexpectedly, and hearts can melt with never a word. We all influence one another. If spiritual realisation helps me, it must help others, too. But what do we really mean by “other”? How can I explain? Emerging from meditation, one may feel so deeply at rest, there’s more in common with quiet presence than with effort required for personal assertion. Ego seems quite alien, unnecessary and other. In fact the world of egoistic man is a sort of imposition over the pure spiritual perfection of his original nature. The effect of meditation is to reduce “otherness” by recognising One. How can one help the world? We normally try to achieve results outside ourselves, wondering how to bring peace, for example, to a troubled world or spiritual awareness to a materialistic age. But the world is but a multiple of “others” so the same principle as described in the last answer, applies. When you are still, it’s obvious that that itself is peace, and the raising of consciousness for you includes all within your mind and vision, too. Do all see the wonder of a passing bird? Angels surround us on every side. Who could speak more persuasively than they of God’s perfect wisdom, caring for His world? But we see what we are able to, and act accordingly. Who has not known the dilemma of watching a beloved person, or people, taking apparently by their own self-will, a turn for the

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worse, and being powerless to prevent it? That is what my father felt about me, and how I in turn have felt about others. Conventional upbringing instilled in me a deep sense of duty to my neighbour, but I saw how interference seldom bore good fruit. Following the realisation, “To make whole, be whole,” meditation took me by an inner path. After a while, it happens naturally. We actually see wholeness instead of separation. Helping the world becomes less a matter of personal effort to rearrange the parts, but of seeing and ceasing to impede God’s will. There doesn’t seem to be much “hands on” help. No. It’s certainly not excluded, but spiritual work does take one back to Cause. Imperceptibly, I find the influence of a more spiritual perception functioning in action i.e. less interest in, desire for, and reaction to the world. Separate people and events are not so separate, but somehow more One Spirit, whole and perfect, than partial, mortal, incomplete. Being so, there’s less motive to write, talk and generally enter into individual lives, for the spiritual union is more real. How does it happen? It must be the result of prayer. It draws me on – ever and ever on. I’ve no real interest in anything else. What else is there? This is all. Nothing “else” really exists, or rather all else is absorbed, comprehended, unified in One. Needless to say – in human terms – it’s marvellous, and even as I write, I shake my head in wonder at what I’ve written. How do you relate to the world? One goes through various phases of “love the sinner, hate the sin” but, when mind is pure, that’s what it sees. Dark flees before the dawn. As sun sees no shadow, divine light sees no sin. The veil is drawn, and God appears in all. The effect of One undivided consciousness is love. One loves everything. As simple as that. It still seems remote, when the world is full of need. I remember an incident from my time in Peru when, as a young “agriculturist”, working alone, I felt the hopeless disparity

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between my own ideals and a world of need that drove men to exploit and destroy not only nature, but themselves. My diary records: “Near a lonely, primitive Indian village, on denuded and eroded slopes far up in the mountains, I found a horse with a grotesquely festered swelling in place of its foot. Turned loose to fend for itself, and terribly emaciated, it somehow lurched about on three legs, dragging the injured limb over the stony ground. My God, I’d seen some grisly sights, but – this poor creature. I longed to love it – nurse it back to health. If hopeless, at least I could end its misery. I resolved to help. A few days later I returned with a Peruvian vet friend of mine. He confirmed that the knee was shattered and unlikely to heal. We found the owner – I paid him some money, and looked deep into the horse’s eyes. I suppose I’d expected some gratitude, some recognition or response to me, but there was none – just a dull stare of resignation to whatever fate might bring. We had no gun. I covered the eyes and killed it with a machete. Then I broke down, and my friend put his arm about me. And that night I wept and wept for all the senseless, stupid waste and cruelty – and then I thought that perhaps the Indian owner loved the horse in his way, and valued its life, and only sold it for need of money – and who was I anyway to impose my way of thinking on these people?” How can we respond to need? I’ve had my years as farmer and teacher. In the eyes of the world, these were the “useful” periods of my life, from which I’ve long since withdrawn and almost disappeared. I won’t say they were ineffectual or wrong – they served the needs of their time, but they led me on and taught me to work in Spirit. Besides, body is now too old to be much use, and I’ve learnt by experience to distrust my tongue. The struggle against evil does not end, but moves to an inner, more causal dimension from where, deeply surrendered as I am now, peaceful, infinite and perfect strength suffuses the whole world. Where is need? No good thing is withheld from heart open and receptive to the love of God. It fills to overflowing, but often flows unseen. I feel no need – but have no sense of being a person either. If we expect Spirit to solve personal need, we may be disappointed. In worldly

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terms it’s hard to justify the work of prayer, for God’s work is beyond “our” understanding. Divine influence does not invade self-will. God’s gifts are offered to us – not imposed. Being free to choose God’s will or ours, we often choose our own, and consequently find ourselves in need. However need might manifest, it’s not of God, but “me”. In contrast for example, when surrendered and still, we may so forget separate self that we become receptive to Grace. From a moment of attention this afternoon, I became so deeply quiet and opened up that every sight and sound, each rustle, twig and dew drop on the grass was magnified to clarity – and meaning, too. Being empty, I was filled – being nothing, I was all. In becoming nothing, all else is given space to show, not only its magnificence, but perfect place and purpose in God’s world. Being empty, all is held, known, loved within the heart, and – the purer that heart is, the more divine the world is known to be. What happens then to need? There is no need. How could man possibly replace this glorious world with selfish needs of self-assertive “me”? Yet this is what we do. What is need? It arises from losing sufficiency in God. It is therefore a child of ignorance, of sin – a bottomless pit of insufficient “me”, with knock on effects throughout creation. To human minds, its distribution often seems unfair. We see the needy suffer – and become involved. Caught in the net of need ourselves, we cannot get beyond it. Like calls to like. Our worldly help serves worldly need to die another day, but spiritual work recalls lost souls to God. When we wake in the morning after a bad dream, do we go back to sleep to sort it out? Or, having taken a wrong road on a journey, do we persist that way to reach our destination? Meeting the need, in these cases, is return from error – correction of understanding the phenomena involved. What can I do for my own body (the world in microcosm), while it ages and breaks down before my eyes? Soul soars free but body slumps behind, confirming by its own failure that it cannot inherit the Kingdom of God. Of course I still care for its ordinary needs but “You can’t make a silk purse

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from a sow’s ear”. The works of self-will cannot be made whole. No prayer, no human act can decrease need, except by reducing its creator “me”. Intentional or innocent, we sinners suffer need and infect all around us. What can we do, when incomplete ourselves? Compassion may prompt us to help the needs of others. We may come to see life as its own best healer. One thing comes clear – all “my” endeavors fail. It’s proved by indecision, for I know not what to do. God knows. My own doubtful efforts to be useful to the world completely dissolve before the infallible providence of God. As Heavenly Father, knowing our needs, He loves, directs, supplies and sets us free. In every sense, He, the Good Shepherd, is Himself the source, way, bread and light of life. In God, man is eternal and complete but when, like sheep, we trespass, stray and fall, deceived, into the trap of sin, we find ourselves confronting need – mortal and alone. What can we do? We try to help and give unselfishly but good intentions fade. Finite and faulty to begin, no human effort can finally succeed until, repentant and returned, we cease to block Almighty God, forgiving us our sin. Let’s not make sin less serious than it is. How subtly this wolf in sheep’s clothing hides, contrives – pretends to be harmless while planning to devour. Beware, my friends – beware! “What about my need?” craftily, he calls – and how his world condemns us if we turn away. We never fully realise the extent of our enslavement until we see it from absolute freedom. Then sin, as ego or personal, embodied “me” is clearly exposed as the monstrous cause of all man’s mortal woes. Sinful bodies know no life but need – and ego mind desires, but Spirit opens up to no need whatsoever. The scale of need shrinks in proportion to “no need”. Spiritual growth is a matter of losing attachment to one and realising the other. But – needs are insatiable, temptations draw us in. We see it working through our own desires. Persistent belief in them leads progressively deeper into the abyss of worldliness. How should we respond to worldly need? Emotive advertisements appeal to our belief, but we need to be cautious, for whatever we believe and serve grows great before our eyes. “Render to Caesar the things

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that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s” (Mark12,17). Matter, and only matter, safely serves the world, but heart and soul are made for God alone. Peace, glory, perfect life – abundantly provided, wait, but where are souls prepared and ready to partake? Strange to say, identity with worldly need gives us a purpose we are loath to lose. God opens hearts and minds – as, today, bare twigs against a winter sky recalled us to beauty. Each Church, each death reminds us that the final answer to our need is not salvation of the flesh, but from it. Constantly, Love’s messengers invite us to His feast. So often, we refuse. How does one begin to unravel the nets of worldliness? The question reminds me how much of my early life was spent struggling to free myself from the dominance of man. At first it was simply “natural versus artificial”, an aversion to civilization, brown bread rather than white, and life on the land instead of in town. But meditation soon took me beyond dependence on where and how I lived. It can be practiced anywhere, at any time, and spiritual freedom knows no human limit. It can hardly be done all at once. At the age of 27 when I started, I was as busy as anyone else, working from dawn to dark, 7 days a week on my farm. Even quarter of an hour’s practice morning and evening was an effort, but I persevered. Inner meditation is helped by outer attentiveness, which soon shows up the nets of worldliness. It starts with restless mind, the source of “my” desires, distractions and attachment, which lead in turn to all sorts of unsuitable company and idle talk – both outward and within ourselves. It’s always better to be quiet, and seek for God. Do you eat special food? Not particularly. For much of my life as a farmer I was fortunate to grow my own. Now that I have to buy everything, I’m still interested to know the land and conditions where it comes from. I enjoy food simple and fresh. I think of the animals and plants which produce it as my fellow creatures. I love them, and am grateful.

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Say more of freedom. When young I loved the wild, furthest from any mark of man. I could not say how the instinct arose, but compared it to a caged bird longing to be free. Now that I have more experience of spiritual freedom, I also know how natural it is to feel discontent, frustrated, fenced in with human life – never completely satisfied with human answers, human love or anything. They simply are not great or good enough. Nature serves best – the mountain top experience suffices for a while, but the trouble is it doesn’t last. Only in Spirit does it come for real. I write this sitting on a bench overlooking the south coast. My legs are weak now and cannot walk far. Wind blows the cliff top grass and, down below, grey sea rolls beneath a rain washed sky. Grass, wind, sea and sky. Once more beloved angel friends restore and lead me home. Inside myself, some deeper than realised remnant of resistance melts and finds it’s free. I write in tears, and could not tell you why, except it be for love’s release – relief and gratitude that here, now, always, at our journey’s end, the heart’s desire is really, really found. What keeps me going? What has led me on? In one word – love. It’s a labour of love. I loved meditation from the beginning. A bit of discipline helped me put it first. After my life collapsed, it was the lifeline that kept me going. But practice by itself can only go so far. It’s Grace that takes one’s hand and leads one on. What is required? Only the desire to do so. Sincerity of purpose and determination in practice. Why don’t I give up? “Taste and see that the Lord is good.” Even one small glimpse of the faultless infinite resources, perfect creativity, understanding, compassion and forgiveness of God, provided and available for all, is enough to amaze anyone that we should live, in apparently voluntary absence from it, hemmed in by time, space and our own minds, mortal and deprived.

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How is it attained? Practice, practice. Early this morning, for example, while still dark, I sit to meditate. Inwardly I turn to God, but even my best efforts can only present myself. Sometimes, an inner door opens, and it’s there. I do not and cannot open the door. It comes as a Grace, a gift – unexpectedly, and always new. Can it happen to anyone? Yes. Spirit, like water, seeks wherever it can flow – hearts open and receptive to be filled. Nothing prevents it except our orientation to lesser worlds i.e. attending to body /mind, and preferring our own way. We are not expected to leap headlong, but rather turn in the right direction. The greatest journey starts with a step, and only a glimmer of light will guide us to enlightenment. Remember the fable of the tortoise and the hare? What has been your main difficulty? Oh – love! The quest for love. In fact, the one difficulty in all life’s situations is “me” – and what we most desire is where it most appears. I still have hundreds of notes – scraps of letters, poems, outpourings of my heart, which tell of the many years I struggled to reconcile my instinct for pure and total love with a world, which said it was unrealistic. I could not let it go. Reason, ecstasy, despair – I look back and marvel at the sheer quantity of emotional longing I cast into searching for what I now find so naturally given. 20 years ago, while considered “ill” with depression, I wrote: “I know – I know better than anyone else what I want, what I’m capable of, and what I’m here for. My sole purpose in existence is to learn to love.” Yes – it certainly was the driving force of my life, yet my own loving could never fully answer to the need. As always in spiritual work, I came to see that my own efforts actually prevented God’s perfect, total love from reaching me. Love’s unrealities arise when “we” make conditions – imagined and unreal, which never can be perfectly fulfilled. Isn’t this why we suffer disappointment, not only with lovers but with all things that concern us, when they fail to live up to expectations?

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It’s misdirected hope which is to blame, but – so we live and learn. I see now that the “answer” is never found – the problem never solved, except by ceasing to ask, or going beyond the question. Transcend the tyrannies of “me” and – lo, behold! It’s such relief to love impersonally, free from possessiveness, fantasy and fear. The other day a young lady friend sadly told me she thought perfect love did not exist. Oh yes it does, my dear. It does indeed. And there’s no higher purpose for our lives than to keep on seeking till we find it. What’s it like to be in Spirit? There comes a time when identity has so shifted from being a separate, distinguishable body/mind, that this is barely noticed. Then, it no longer needs to be asserted by speech, appearance or possession, or have its own ideas about the world. All this is naturally left behind, and replaced by relaxation into the all perfect providence of God. But isn’t ordinary life to be valued? Life which begins at birth and ends with death, is seen from Spirit the other way round. Birth is descent, absorption into limit – a sleep, or forgetfulness of heaven. Further development usually confirms the separation. Forsaking his spiritual home, man finds himself imprisoned in flesh, forced to labour under sentence of death. It appears like criminal punishment, but everything happens according to God’s law. From Spirit, death is of less significance than repentance – the reorienteering of self-will back to God, or rebirth to spiritual life. If life is ascending from something lower, then certainly human birth brings the possibility of final salvation but, one may ask, why lose the Kingdom of Heaven in the first place? Don’t you worry at the state of the world? The goodness, greatness, glory of God, realised, brings its own salutary sadness at our assertive but ignorant behavior. I’m aware

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of worldly suffering like anyone else. The pain that fills my own body tells me the story of personal sin, as daily news informs me of the world’s. What can one do? We’ve left our spiritual home and find ourselves in earth, subject to worldly powers, destined to struggle for existence until we inevitably die. The reason “why” may be obscure, but there’s no doubting the fact. What we cannot change, we must endure. Thank God, there’s a way out. At least, spiritual work brings us a measure of detachment. The world is not as black as it seems if Spirit is realised – immortal, pure and free. Through all life’s ups and downs, there’s ample evidence that God is with us – all knowing, all love, but whose purposes transcend our understanding. With faith, it’s perfectly possible to be at peace and happy in misfortune. Even without, man is indomitable “See yonder stubborn lump of flesh who sings behind his spade.” Do you have doubts? Not now. Even as a child, Mother used to say I was lucky to have faith. I’ve often wondered rather than doubted whether the work of meditation/prayer is really effective in the world. However, the final answer to doubt, as to every question, is to be lifted into the clear upper air of Spirit, from where these clouds of dualistic mind are seen for what they are. One is then, literally, beyond them. The School used to say, “Without doubt, the work works,” which, no doubt, is true. It’s easier with nature. I may doubt men’s religions, but I cannot doubt the sky. What is the principle of prayer? As God is the perfect Benefactor of creation, and man’s self-will the impediment which messes it up, we are of most use, or least harm, when most completely surrendered to the Will of God. Without “me”, God’s pure light shines unhindered. How does prayer actually work? What does the question actually mean? Faced with infinite potential, who could adequately say? I only offer one man’s

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understanding, based on such windows as this book describes. A trouble shared, they say, is trouble halved. Just as we unburden to good listeners (or readers), listening can help us when we pray. What happens? By listening beyond conditions, consciousness is freed. In deepest of deep listening … well … try it and you’ll see – we listen not with ears, but heart. Deeper, wider listening means – greater the possible release. It starts as self surrender – ends Divine. Deep listening prayer aligns itself with universal One – where personal gives way to Grace of God. Listening accesses the gentlest, most tender of affections – deepest of healings, which unite the separated soul. Once found, however, layer upon layer of ego will object. “Thy will be done,” we pray. Prayer works by gradually substituting God for “me”. Prayer may begin with wishful thinking but – do we need to ask? God knows. It’s only distance that requires a voice. Can we increase God’s goodness? We can do much improving our reception. From duality we pray for self and others but, realising One, this fountain of abundance is for all. Pure unselfish prayer enables all things possible on earth, but perfectly – from Spiritual Cause. What really are the troubles we pray for? Are they not self-made, transitory creatures – reflections of dwelling in the land of death, and actually lessons, showing us our mistakes and, therefore, blessings in disguise? If not maintained, what basis do they have for their existence? “Don’t dwell on it,” we say – implying, in common knowledge, that trouble has no more power to hurt us than we think. Does praying make any difference? All cause has some effect – for better or worse. Prayer may open to the pure, whole influence of Spirit – unwholesomeness begins and ends with “me”. Nature accompanies our fall from Grace. Unnatural ourselves – our actions follow suit. And so with prayer – our own loss of natural expression makes it the complex of appeals we know today. Pure prayer is actually as natural as breathing. When man first climbed a mountain and gazed upon the view, would not his heart, even subconsciously, have lifted up to God? Did he not pray?

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What do I mean? I remember my own time – many times on hills. What did I do? I don’t think I did anything but look and listen, take in space – expand, be happy, quiet, uncomplicated, free (Ps.121,1&2). When life pulls down, it’s good to get up high. A better view helps put things in proportion. How infinitely more, being raised in Spirit, perfect government of God appears. Does He who counts each hair, not see, love, understand all things and order for the best? Glimpses of higher consciousness invariably reveal that God is good – and then, naturally, human troubles end. One with God, one knows it absolutely. One with God confirms itself by being no more apart. 4.30 a.m. 15th Nov. Eyes closed, eyes open … joy, thanksgiving pass before such clarity of knowing that even afterwards I find no words to tell. I sit here quietly, wide awake – absorbed, completely human – absolutely One. It filters through to daily life as total loving trust – seeing God in everything, His wisdom over all. But – you may say – our troubled world remains. Yes – because we sin. We may not in this life wholly be reformed, but many are our choices to repent and pray – to lay aside the ego, and let Grace come in (Deut.30,19). Who prays? The individual “me” who, through self-will and his own desires, finds himself apart from God. True prayer or meditation reduces this separation, and leads to union. How does one know where and what one is, spiritually speaking? As in ordinary life, we often do not know our own state until, in an unusual context, we realise what it’s not. We revisit our childhood home, for example, and realise we’ve grown up. We may listen to conversation and find ourselves detached, or consider attractions and remain untouched. Nothing more convincingly proves we are not our usual world of body /mind than to be outside it, perfectly alive and free.

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What are our lives? How do you explain yours? I see how my pen makes thoughts into a story on a page. In the same way, life is what we make it. There seems no harm in that, until we enter and take it for ourselves. Losing sense of what we are, we also forget God and His creation, and love our own world more. It can get very complicated. Getting into predicaments, we blame others and cry to be released, when all we’ve really got to do is wake up to what’s happened – come out of our imagination and be free. Farms, girls, adventures, dreams from youth to age – we call it “life” – I watch mine pass away. It cannot be entirely thought as “mine”. God’s nature played a part – God’s dream and mine. Seen from the immediate clarity of One, it seems a somewhat sweetly sad confusion, an absent wilfulness to be another me. But who can explain sufficiently what happens? We have the parables of Adam’s fall, the Lost Sheep and Prodigal Son. All I can really say – it’s better to be home, in Spirit, as “I am”. What prevents this work of realisation? We each have our own set of personal impediments centred on “me”. Besides many forms of personal inertia and /or agitation, we often sink into self-satisfied complacency, content with life as it is which, effectively prevents further development. One could also list attachment to body/mind, negative emotion, criticism, and living in the past or future, as common factors which distract us from being realised, here and now. Known collectively as sin – a fallen state of ignorance, or “sleep”, it’s easy to describe. It’s not so easy for each of us to see our own condition for ourselves, and then repent i.e. wake up, let go and turn away. If spiritual progress is seen something like climbing a mountain, then at each ascending stage, the view below looks lower, darker, more limited in horizon and “short” of the higher experience. The point where one is seems better. What lies ahead, above, is still unknown. It is difficult, if not impossible for us to understand the enormity of sin until we get a corresponding view of the Kingdom of God. We naively beguile ourselves with thoughts of being good neighbours,

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servants, co-workers with God etc., but actually there is no such thing as a good man. The only good is God, or pure Spirit. Everything of man that is not God, i.e. self-will, and all that thereby thinks, takes flesh and dies – is sin, and everything it does is works of sin. All human doing is suspect. All that we can really attain is the humility of trying to be less bad. Why do we not turn more willingly to God? One might suggest we are not sufficiently unhappy, or humbled by our failures. Sometimes it needs a crisis to shake us up. It was the misery of lost love, and a sense of homelessness in this world, which drove me from easy going practice to total, life-saving commitment to the work of prayer. But who can know the nature of God’s call, and how or why we do or don’t respond? What really is spiritual realisation? It’s a journey – the most thrilling adventure we could possibly have, which takes us from the cradle to far, far, far beyond the grave. It’s restoring to original perfection, fulfilment of all we ever longed for but couldn’t define, the answer to every question. It’s the best thing we could ever do, both for ourselves and all. Why then doesn’t everyone do it? One may well ask. Headstrong, we love our own self-will, our “me”. God gives us freedom. Spiritual blessings may beam down, but men still turn away. With ages of not understanding to contend with, we’ve fallen into sin, and need salvation. How does one achieve salvation? It’s said that when the pupil is ready, the teacher appears. “Seek and you will find.” The Saviour is a fact, but appears in many forms, visible or invisible – such as stillness, presence or even just a simple memory, reminding us of home. What happens if I do nothing? Presumably one remains more or less where one is – a complex creature of earth and heaven (body and soul), but imperfectly at

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home in either. What happens in one’s life from year to year? There’s usually some progression, towards God or away. Which way is the heart pulling? One can test oneself by such questions as “Where do I belong? What do I really want in life? What am I? What am I here for? What is my attitude to death?” etc. I’m too busy to do it now. I will when I retire. It’s a common delusion. When we are old, life’s habits are more set, and resolution is less. God is present, here and now, but most of us have a lot of “me” to work through before full realisation comes. I’m so thankful I started serious spiritual work when I did, at 27. It wasn’t a day too soon. Now, in old age, I reap the benefits. “Strike while the iron is hot.” How can busy people find time for spiritual work? It depends what you want. I must have been in my mid teens when Mother asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I answered, “Love and God.” As a young man, I learnt to live very simply. I never spent much money, so never needed much. Not enough time? Try talking less, and see how time is saved. You write with much emphasis on love and freedom. Does it have to be that way? Oh, no. There are, it seems, countless ways to God – ways of knowledge, religion and good works, for example, as well as devotion. This book only recounts the experience of one man. Certain aspects may well connect with or complement what others have found, but the story as a whole could hardly be repeated. Are you happy? I used to consider myself rather unhappy – a sort of misfit exile, in the wrong place – which I was not able to explain. Lately, however, growing realisation of spiritual identity fills me with confidence. I know what I am and where I belong and, even though outer circumstances sometimes pall, I often feel the happiest, most blessed man alive.

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Do you wish to influence others? With fuller realisation of the all-perfect government of God, there’s less wish to influence, or not. Observing how He apparently lets us, His children, deny, forget and think all sorts of crazy things about Him, helps me relax and stop wanting to persuade otherwise. I see now that all life is a wonderful school, far better at instruction than any man could be. Nothing is missed. Every tiniest feature of our lives is known, recycled, re-presented to us. All happens by the Will of God. We learn by experience, and each receives exactly what he needs. If someone’s influence is part of that, then – glory be to God, not man. What about the influence of prayer? Let’s look at it this way. Prayer recycles everything to God. Just as Mother Earth absorbs the corruption of our mortal lives to issue forth fresh growth, so by prayer, our Heavenly Father receives back repentant souls into His forgiveness, which “refashions” all things new. Refashions? Are they ever wrong? Cut off from perfect providence of God, we apparently suffer all manner of ills. But, are we actually cut off? No, of course not. Does God see human error? How can a bubble be cut off from the sea? We feel, think and act as though we are, creating our own false mini-world of sinful make-believe, which feels it needs to pray. In the fullness of prayer, error is surrendered. No more maintained, it ceases to exist. But, how our perception can change. If you were to ask me now about true prayer, I’d say, “Seeing as God sees.” Seen thus, Divine qualities of love, joy, peace and life eternal are not dependent upon other states and things, or needful of being sought, but inherent, free, and radiant of themselves. They do not even have to contradict contrary appearances, for these are hardly seen, being superseded, swept aside, as light dispels the dark. This is the foundation, not result of creation, and when we see the right way round, we stop distorting the natural creative function. So, what happens to our prayer? We normally pray from a position of spiritual home-sickness but, when returned to Spirit, the objectives previously sought in prayer are found to be the natural facts of

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creation as it is. Death, limit, loss seem real within “my” bubble of existence, but cannot pass beyond it. It’s a very human desire to influence others. Anyone receiving spiritual insight will face the question, “How can it be shared?” We get partial answers, sufficient for the time, but next week, next year, something more is needed. The one constant theme is trust in God, not “me” – which is, of course, the “me” that asks the question. Prayer, in whatever form, is surrender of that “me” to God. The purest of prayer and purest of works is the pure, uninterrupted light of Absolute Consciousness. However, even within the bubble of man’s world, God’s gifts abound. Natural angels, conscious works, quite besides the Saviour and His saints – serve to remind us, teach us to be free. All prayer must have some influence, simply by raising the level of consciousness, but what can finally release self-will except its own abandonment of “me”? When it happens, there’s nothing simpler than to sit in a chair and be nameless, formless, ageless, painless – infinitely live and free. It seems quite extraordinary that anyone should want to be a separate body/mind. There’s absolutely no advantage whatsoever, except the dubious pride of being a separate “me”. It’s such hard work for one thing – communication, for example, when here, all is naturally united. A friend has died. How can “I” pray for him? Are we not One? Improvement is nothing “I” can do. I can only strive to put off, let go ever more of “me” so it ceases to block the natural, God-given light. This then, by my reduction, shines brighter upon all. As “me” is overcome, forgotten, and fades out of the picture, we no longer relate to life around us as one individual to another, but as a unity including all “other” in Oneself. One is now no longer a good or bad individual influencing the world – One is the world itself. The entire universe becomes One’s body and, just as it would in an ordinary human body, One’s behaviour affects it all. Whatever the scale of body, its language tells the tale. So, one original sin of divisive self-will produces a chain reaction of division affecting the whole world – until it is reversed. Separate “I” may well disclaim being the cause of everyone else’s sin but,

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the more universal “I” become, the more I know I am. It begins and ends with “me” – little tiny “me” in a cradle, or “me” of cosmic scale. Of all the wickedness that ever walked the world, I am “myself” the cause. Orthodoxy rightly refers to sinners, “Of whom I am the first” – if cause, then healing too. If asked, “How are you?” a faithful Russian might reply, “According to your prayer” – implying that his state depends, in part at least, on how the heart of the enquirer is disposed. Sunk in self-pity or raised in Spirit, we depress or lift our neighbour. How much more takes place when, freed of limitation, the glory of One’s being stands revealed. Until, Oh dear, Oh dear – at night, worries about money, health, relationships etc. reduce me to jelly, and every word of “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner” comes to the fore as I plead for my own salvation, never mind the world. It helps to get one’s head off the pillow and switch on the light, but let no one think he’s safe or the battle is finally won. At times, the world can seem terribly powerful, and “I” pathetically vulnerable, small, alone. It sounds absurd to read this with a quiet mind next morning, but – there we are. That’s human life. Caught, lost, deceived – it’s real enough, and, only when we’re brought back, first to sense and then, Oneself – we realise we’re free. What a disparity between man’s magnitude and fall – yet, “One without a second” sees life as a whole. Nothing is forgotten, no one is excluded – or need be, as detachment brings perfection over all. Seen in this way, here and now, the world has lost its weight and power to harm. Light as windblown thistledown, it seems – faultless as dust motes, dancing in the sun. How wonderful and heavenly the fact revealed – absolutely practical and sure – when heart and mind are full of One, then “two” appears no more. Can pigs fly? Well, can they? “No”, you say, “Of course not.” The question is absurd, and killed stone dead. And so it is with prayer. If we pray with some worldly misfortune, based on duality, in mind, we do little more than maintain the image, but if we look right through it to the One – then the fiction, work of darkness is cast out, exposed as fraud. One Will of God prevails.

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What would you like this book to convey, and the reader to understand? A testament to the Kingdom of God – to saving Grace, and the worth and work of meditation /prayer. The reality of One Spiritual Self – foundation of knowledge and real hope that, for all this lost, unhappy world, fulfilment can be found. If I can find it, you can find it, too. And, in whatever degree, I hope it will encourage readers to discover more of what it means to be true to themselves, to follow their hearts, their interest in and individual ways to God, in full assurance that this searching will not be in vain. What matters most to you? By Grace and prayer, to be in God – just God, and no more “me”.

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Of Unity, or Being Oneself BEETROOT GR EW well on my second farm. In autumn, I’d lift the large, succulent roots and store them in the barn. During the quiet days of winter I’d prepare them for sale, carefully rubbing off the soil, dry leaves etc., before packing them in bags. I was seven years old when first sent to boarding school. I’ve the clearest memory of the care with which my mother prepared me at the start of each term. My clothes were all mended, clean and beautifully packed. My hair and nails were cut. I was fed, polished and kissed and finally, put on the train. It was, I suppose, the very natural outpouring of a mother’s love at the prospect of bring parted from her child. I describe it because it helps me to understand my own feelings and actions towards my “children” – in this case the beetroots, leaving the farm for their great adventure. I remember how, when we arrived at school, it was obvious to see that some boys were much less cared for than others, and what a deep impression that made on my young mind. I still wonder why some little boys and some beetroots receive more love than others. I was reminded of this yesterday. I’d bought a few rather sad, neglected little beetroots and boiled them as usual. They lay in the saucepan, waiting to be peeled, but it was bedtime and I was tired. My heart went out to their humble, harmless lives, unquestioningly given for our needs and, overcoming laziness to serve them, my old love returned. Later I lay in bed aching for all such tender creatures daily sacrificed for man. How little we realise. How narrow our focus, which rightly recognises fellow men but seldom far beyond. While the nation congratulates itself on abolishing slavery 200 years ago, how far do we even notice lesser lives, 369

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still less – the spiritual enslavement of our souls? “He prayeth best who loveth best, all things both great and small.” How can we compensate our hopeless incapacity to see, let alone love beyond our own self-interest and corporate human nose? By giving up ourselves to God – limitless, Almighty God who alone, all One, sees, loves and orders all things well. So, how is it, and what’s it like – as One? Being beyond dual, and therefore, descriptive possibilities of subject /object, it can only be referred to figuratively and by noting its effects. Nothing really changes except the point of view. Instead of being confined to previous body/mind, I now find myself something like conscious air – bodiless itself but all containing. As soul discovers identity with Spirit, it still participates in world, but no longer finds there the satisfaction it once did. Things that the world considers interesting, desirable, worthy of attention are a sort of past, “spilt milk” effect from the all renewing radiance of Spirit. “Old” life may continue with familiar smiles and tears, but the personal emphasis goes. Neither I, nor anyone else is separate, except by thinking so. All life’s drama now takes place within me – experienced, suffered or enjoyed, but from detachment. How does One view creation as a whole? Without the limiting effect of personal vision, the limitless wonder of the worlds is realised more clearly than ever before. Whatever’s known or comes to mind is naturally expanded into Spirit. So, all is now seen equally, though differing in guise, as God. As a comparative newcomer to Unity, attention is still drawn backwards where I’ve come from, and I write these words as a sort of letter home to those still living in the world. Although outwardly I still have an old man’s body and worldly life, inwardly I often feel that I’ve already left them. Indeed, to an observer, my long hours of silent prayer must appear as though I’m almost dead. Age and appearance however can deceive, for I assure you I’ve never been more alive! How can this be? In fact, at times of prayer, I put off my “body of death” and discover what it is to be totally, spiritually alive. Without a body I feel neither hot nor cold, hunger or weariness, and need not home nor money. Beyond mind, I need no books. Beyond separate emotions, I know not loneliness and need no “friends”.

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The world tries to pull me back to life. This is one of the most difficult things to deal with, for those with little or no experience of spiritual unity find it almost impossible to understand what’s happening. How can I turn from life to be more alive? How can I look with quiet eyes upon the most tempting attractions of man and nature, seeing something richer than appears outside? Isn’t life deprived? Isn’t there some loss? Only of separation. Unity brings expansion of experience, identity – being where and what One is – discovered to be love, joy, good in every way. These are still operative forces in the divisions of “lower” creation, but, as we all know, love frustrated breeds desire; misery is joy deprived, and goodness lost is bad. Only pure consciousness can see, love, enjoy all things, and neither bear nor leave a scar. I do not, of course, live constantly in this blessed condition. I’m only too much aware of my aged, uncomfortable body with its persistent needs. But it’s obviously a dying condition. It weakens, while the other grows. Now I turn willingly from wonders of the world, to contemplate more fully the wonders of beyond. Who knows what happens after death? I can only say this seems like a rehearsal. From Unity, beyond embodiment, attention may turn outwards, backwards to creation or inwards to apparently unlimited potential. Scripture confirms our faith in heavenly blessings. Doesn’t it somehow negate ordinary life? Oh no! It’s still worth living. It’s good to be alive but, as all good things come to an end, they’re even better grounded in eternal being. * * * How does one pray for the world? What is evil, and how is it overcome? I include this explanatory note here, as I only recently heard it myself: The noun diabolos derives from the Greek verb diaballein. It essentially means “one who sets at variance”. Thus the nature of the devil is to divide, to separate and break up, corrupt and bring death. By contrast, the nature of Unity – the One, Holy Spirit, is to bring together, forgive, heal, promote growth and bring eternal life. Later, I’m told that diabolos can also be understood as “introduce into”, e.g. the doubt, fear and/ or assertion of intrusive (extra) “me”.

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True prayer is always the letting go of one’s own separate pretensions, and this process goes on and on until the question itself is left behind. While God Himself gives freedom to His children, who are we to judge the fate of others? In fact, when sufficiently purified ourselves to see all things as pure, we begin to see as God might see, and any impulse to act otherwise dissolves. The “other” is taken into One. Then One sees what causes the human condition, and what, in turn, absolves it. What happens when we enter a superstore, confronted by every conceivable temptation to desire and buy? Don’t we frequently succumb to impulse shopping? Yet, who thinks to curb the choice of shoppers? From Spirit, One sees with perfect understanding how a glance of attention (consciousness) is “taken” by some attractive feature of creation – becomes attached, identified, possessed, and then finding itself “separate”, looks back (at One), and feels away from home. Is it, in fact? No, of course not. But, like a lost lamb in a suddenly strange field, it starts to search and cry. It’s clear that whatever quality an individual conveys is there (in the atmosphere) for each and all. However, as the nature of Unity is open and forgiving, separation encloses and forgets. One affects more than the other. Hence the saying, “Smile and the world smiles with you; weep, and you weep alone,” and the fact that One Self, Source of light, realised and shone, overcomes much isolating dark. Real prayer is not really an action, or something we do, but rather a matter of being true to what we are – One spiritual Self. Whatever images present themselves to mind, the work of prayer takes one beyond into One pure Being, the Source of all goodness. Then one clearly sees that to play irresponsibly with the image (as, for example, a reflection in a mirror) is to stand before the knowing of both good and evil (Gen.2,17), which all too easily slips out further into imagination, forgetfulness of the all good Source of life, and therefore – death. When we have completely stopped believing in separate existence and fully entered realisation of the Self, then nothing hinders the infinite qualities of Self pouring forth upon creation. “To make

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whole, be whole,”comes to maturity. Try it for yourself. What greater service could a man perform? What greater gift provide? What human effort to make peace could possibly compare? But see how a wavering doubt, a wandering thought capturing attention, or belief in separation, immediately prevents the flow as effectively as putting a plug in a tank of water. As the greatness and goodness of God is realised, the very thought of “on one’s own” becomes absurd. From the magnitude of natural Self, it seems extraordinary that man should reduce himself to such puny individual proportions, and then develop his own subjective culture of self-importance. Were it not for Infinite mercy and forgiveness, how could it be allowed? But then (as if in answer to my question), once again I find myself doing exactly the same. Fortunately, it doesn’t last. It’s in the world that’s strange, these days – not out of it. Finding Oneself, man connects with the First Cause of creation. This potential is then available. It’s nothing we make or do ourselves, except that, in progressively reducing the impediment of “me”, correspondingly more Infinite is found – infinite first cause, infinite wisdom, love, and good in every way. This Divine Grace, this spiritual spring, ever renews the cycles of creation, ever responds to those who seek and find. How can a feeble, nothing of a man possibly release so much? How can he bring perfect peace to such a troubled world? Oh blind and foolish man! It’s never, not been there. How can sin so cause us to forget it? *

*

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All “doing” is long since gone from prayer. With no more others – it or they, all things are known in all perfecting One. One finds oneself with One, and from there, any last impression of separation simply disappears – without even knowing it happens. It’s only afterwards, it’s realised – and then it’s obvious and absolutely clear that anything and everything is God. As viewed from conscious “air” – weightless, bodiless, released from its “balloons”, all definitions which remain of life are seen with pure detachment, total love. Freed of all conditions, I am now eternally alive, while all that life presents me day by day – some

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sunlit ferns, a cricket match, an adder on the moors – are equally all “mine”, with none being me. * * * Whether mindful of others or not, being close to or, even better, identified with the Presence of God brings every need to One. A friend is dying. But realisation of eternal life completely dominates ideas of worldly loss. Inner or outer realisation, attention, and the highest, best of prayers, all now equally consist of simply being present and at rest in God. With love of heart and thought of mind both focused upon God – completely present, filled and unified with Him brings all of all to All. Oneself, being thus, sees life spread out around, perfect in order and detail of distribution. Misfortune is our school for strays, our summons to come home – our death (in one sense), or transcendence (in another) – release from insufficiency on earth. * * * What do I do now? In the worldly sense – not much. Apart from necessary tasks and times of prayer, I live quietly, look and listen as life flows. Fulfillment comes from realising One. With that I am content. Every moment, every place provides the supreme possibility of “work” to Be Oneself – whatever the denial. Is it of use to others? I cannot point to specific proof. Yet the world of more obvious good works now seems in my past, as does teaching and even writing about meditation /prayer. I don’t feel any less functional for being unseen. “Practice what you preach,” rings in my ears – practice of the Presence of God. Once the practice is acquired, it isn’t so difficult. Being One is actually much easier than being separate, for action, if any, is now from detachment and without desire. Like all natural phenomena, human life follows its own laws, and happens by itself. If required to participate, response is natural, unpremeditated, and therefore more likely to be appropriate than anything arising from a partial “me”. * * *

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Prayer/meditation releases us back to before the world emerges, or “falls out” into form. The whole epic story of human love on earth is loss, diminishment and rediscovery of Unity with God. Once this is known, one feels how “life” – deadened by sleep, absorbed by thought and action, is empty and bereft without it. All so-called advances in learning, all that looks like achievement from below, is but researching of lost ground – paradise lost, and not so easily regained. * * * From One, duality is not a willing option but an error, a falsity, a fall out into loneliness and lost. Actually, in fullness of One, it doesn’t exist. It’s only experienced as a shadow of memory in incompletely One – for example, when returning back to ordinary world. At times, these days, the realised fact of spiritual unity really does replace belief in separation. It’s simply more real – it outweighs and overcomes the other. Is someone absent, lost or dying? How can he be except in separation? In Spirit, he and all else are forever One – present, here and now. Alone, or in a crowd, I rest, in perfect, peaceful bliss. Does anyone notice? Does it make any difference? Does not God Himself give His children freedom to ignore Him (Acts14,16)? The strange thing is that, as an apparently useless old man, I feel of more use now (or less nuisance) to more people than I’ve ever been before in my life! As always in Spirit, realisation deepens without end, starting with individual examples and extending to principle, cosmic and beyond. It all takes place in heart, in heart unlimited – which is the love of God. As reach of heart surpasses all conceivable on earth, so only heart is counted in sublimity of prayer. Worldliness sees world, where men live as “sheep for the slaughter”, but pure hearts see the One (Ro.8,35-39). How many hearts are needed? Numbers lose significance. Man’s fate depends on purity of heart. * * * Before a summer sunset, I notice a tiny spider on the window frame. Rooks fly sedately home to roost, and flitting swifts soar,

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swoop and circle round. Completely filled with wonder, my heart is lost for words. It’s too much to be borne alone, described, responded to by any human means. And, finding myself in such pure life, I’m strangely nostalgic, lonely, incomplete, reminded of a suffering world in which I always fail. I feel no longer able to watch God from outside – nor pray, nor love, or even express praise. Somehow it must – and only can complete itself in One. Eyes close. In absolute surrender, amazing power is found – almighty Grace, infallibly fulfilling all that man can never adequately, on his own, provide. Inside myself, I die – God lives. I live as One, completed and in all. * * * Surrounded by discord and division, what is better than being quietly present – One? I think back to my farming years, producing food for market, and then of teaching, writing, with words to interchange. Now, at last, the gentle fact of Unity Itself beams forth, passing through walls and transcending separation. One comes unto One’s own. Being of no “variableness” – silent, still – One is the sure foundation of all subsequent movement into “worlds”. Being heart of hearts, One dwells in every heart, available and able to be found. Scripture confirms how the Grace or Word of God falls equally on all sorts and conditions of both earth and man (Mk.4,3-20; Mat.5,45; Ja.1,17; Jn.1,1-5,10-12). We vary in being able to receive it. * * * Early next morning, after a day of social activity, I find myself a sort of bodiless “no body”, an open space, between Infinite Goodness and the world. In actual fact, I, as a separate entity, do not exist. I never did. There’s nothing there but God. Then I fall asleep and dream. I wake, and think the openness is lost. Anyone who watches attentively knows times when individuals forget to be separate, and are simply, joyfully, themselves. Do not they shine like angels? Then mind starts thinking, eyes get covered over, and – it’s back to ego “me”. From pure consciousness, human existence (body /mind) is anomaly – a fact to be reckoned with, no doubt, in the order of

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creation, but nonetheless a block, preventing the free, unimpeded flow of all fulfilling Spirit – and so being the cause of discontent. The worlds of nature, mind, imagination, as known to separate man, are too fixed for the absolute freedom and perfect expression of Spirit. “Glorious are Thy works, Oh God.” * * * I step out into the street and immediately, naturally, without even needing to remember, am One – not one of many. I look at appearances of separate lives and think, “Was I once really one of those?” Indeed I was, and frequently still am. But now it is Myself I see alongside, troubled and apart – Myself, which also knows full well that all is One and right. Responsibility slips from “my” shoulders, and with it comes realisation that the popular ethic, “To make the world a better place,” indicates not knowing it’s our own fall from Grace which then projects /creates imperfect world. It starts and ends with “me”. “The world is what we make it.” The pure in heart see, not a fallen, sinful world, but God – God’s will, God’s order and perfection. Here’s a small example. I saw a dragon fly this afternoon – without a body. Due to conditions of light, or my own seeing, I saw no body but only colour, a streaking flash of pure and perfect blue. How did I know it was a dragon fly? From past conditioning, I guessed, and made the deduction to mini-monster, classified in books. But which was really real? What brings pure life, pure love, pure beauty down to the level of a gutter press? It’s we ourselves, our judgment, which makes a good world, bad. Pure prayer is found to be not prayer at all, but Being. Pure thought, pure help, pure communication, are all really Purity itself, which is Pure Being. The pure creature is not what appears to impure “evil” eye. Once it is realised, Spiritual Union is far closer, more creative and provident than anything obtainable by physical proximity or speech. When we see someone, or someone comes to mind, pure reaction is to be that one, realise the Being, or God in him – the all-perfecting One.

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What is the “other” which denies it? It’s easily explained by standing with our backs to light. In front is dark, and matter. Returned unto the Light of Self, Oneself, the “other side” effect of human life – the sin or unreality, the world, the flesh, dissolves. Well, windows come less, and the actuality of Union becomes a realised fact, but I cannot say the journey is ended or the worldly task is done. What does seem to be ending is a preliminary, corrective stage which has gradually purged away the error and grossest elements of identity as a separate individual. But here again, I warn myself, “Beware! Pride comes before a fall.” Whenever I try to express a personal comment about Union, it immediately proves the point by showing its unreliability. With humiliating regularity I find myself cast back in my old role of “me”, or at least into a limbo – neither in nor out. It’s incredible how we are able to both know, and then so soon, forget. I sat this afternoon in a sunlit meadow – a paradise of flowers, bees, peace and love for all. Something by no means unknown to countless people, who don’t even think of Spirit. It really is not so unusual. We all have moments of realisation, when unity replaces sense of separation, and well-being brings a restless world to peace. It’s there for all of us, as easy and natural as being a child again, back where we belong – at home. It’s so simple when it comes – until we lose it. Fuller realisation only requires lessening the intervals between these blessed times, making them no longer dependent on favourable circumstances, no longer just a lovely memory, but present every moment, here and now. We forget, but regular prayer and conscious words remind us that the Self loves the individual far more than he can love himself. He, the Divine Shepherd, sees need which we lost sheep cannot. He knows the lessons we must learn before we turn for home. And so it is that, in spite of setbacks, these windows have progressed to fuller realisation of Oneself, ever more deeply discovering the perfect joy. While flesh retires as “dust to dust”, heart returns most willingly to One. And all through the process it becomes increasingly clear that, as we pull creation down with us

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in our fall from Grace, so it is raised, healed, restored by our return. In consciousness of God, everything’s so filled with God that nothing else can possibly exist. In fullness of realisation, with heart returned to God, all is seen to be God’s perfect will. When every last resistance vanishes away, there’s no longer anything preventing perfect unity of One and all. Creation returns to Will of God, precisely as my shadow follows me. With Self realised, and heart completely melted of restraint, perfect love spreads out for all creation. Absolutely nothing is excluded, nothing’s bad, no one thing judged better than another. Forgiveness, if needed, arises of itself. Joyfully, love bears all things, for burdens are made light. In love of God, all creature need is perfectly fulfilled. Man enters his inheritance, to live as he was made to live – in all, completely One. * * * Beyond description, unutterably One, the soul finds, loves, and simply melts in joy. * * * To think of someone as personality merely increases identification with it. Worse is to dwell upon a “need”. The greatest spiritual benefit to man comes from reduction of all considered needful and apart. With heart and soul returned to God, life rises from its personal world. What then prevents God’s kingdom upon earth? With no more identity in time and space to fill, one’s known and knowing of God, a citizen of heaven, at present in Oneself. One dwells in joy, in love, by miracle and providence sustained, while angels serve and wonders never cease. What then remains for man as sinful, mortal “me”? Being creature of earth, he cannot inherit i.e. fully realise, the kingdom of God (1Cor.15,50). Cast down from Light, subject to labour under law, he loses the knowledge that Oneself knows best, and acts more beneficially than he could ever do. Rebellion, however, is not consistent. Self-will determines its own future. As man sows, he

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reaps. Obedient to soul, he may love God, serving unselfishly in space and time, conforming as he can – until he can no more. * * * With clear, incontrovertible evidence of life completely free, the false imposture “me” is ever more exposed. “Out of body” and “beyond mind” become normality. This is what One is Oneself (I am, Myself), and how One sees “others”, too. Conversely, identification with personal body/mind is seen to be the cause of all our troubles. With no more wish for former limitation, how can this freedom be more fully shared? As consciousness is raised, further surrendering personal separation and becoming more perfected in Oneself, there’s less to activate imperfect “world”. Conversely, perfect Unity accompanies our fall. Through every natural creature, sight and sound, it offers its communion, “On behalf of and for all.” In countless ways, through pets and sunshine, friendly smiles, man is reminded he is not alone. Aware of it or not, we’re drawn back home, released, and taught the limits of our mortal “lives”. One door closes, and another opens. What could be added to such perfect care? Why is it not more perfectly received? With never any shortage of spiritual supply, it’s we who fall from spiritual receipt. Confused with flesh, we fail to see the magnitude of spiritual gifts. What can we do when God knows so much better, what it is we need? The most complete surrender brings most benefit to all. * * * Spiritual Unity is obvious when realised, but experience teaches not to be complacent. Time and again we find ourselves cast out in personal worlds from which, one way or another, we need to come back home. More accurately, we are “brought back”, for our own efforts may seem quite negligible compared to the effects of Grace. Nevertheless, they are needed. The “lost” must seek – albeit unaware. Impulse, response and at least some effort are required. Without our turn and opening up, the Light cannot come in. Truly, it is said, “God helps those who help themselves.”

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Absolution becomes compulsive – separation unbearable. Only One is needed. All is in One’s hands, including needs, and questions, “Who and what is saved?” Flesh wearily hangs on, but identity with it is no longer tenable. It’s only sense of ego, which feels others separate, too; its faults and imperfections, which create imperfect world. Whatever the trouble, its cause and duration depend for their existence on these self-willed works of “me”. When Unity prevails, they’re overcome, absorbed. Love is the only power. Love conquers all. God’s perfect will makes whole again. Perfection is restored. * * * The fact supreme – infinite Source of infinite blessings – overwhelming, all surpassing, the goodness of God is now so evident that all “else” disappears. All is, is, is, and only can be God, and “my” own world is not. And I? In so far as I’m anything, I’ve become, myself, a window of realisation. Even the slightest touch of such a touch replaces all possible need. Whatever was it? What is need? Now it’s clear that “need” is lack of God. And what am I – that was, and usually still am? What else but ignorance, creator of its own false world? * * * One, realised, sees One’s reflected image, One instead of many – One perfect will, made manifest in all. Pure consciousness is light. It knows no dark. Before its spiritual dawn, the world displays the glory of its origin – the Lord. Meditation/prayer is perfected by surrender into Absolute perfection. This then sees perfect everywhere it looks. Perfect makes perfect. “God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good” (Gen.1,31). This prayer was read as part of the Tuesday office at Church this morning. As it echoes what I’d just written, it seemed appropriate for inclusion: “Oh God, who set before us the great hope that your kingdom shall come on earth and taught us to pray for its coming: give us Grace to discern

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the signs of its dawning and to work for the perfect day when the whole world shall reflect your glory; through Jesus Christ our Lord.” * * * Absolute freedom from need – that’s what it is. Absolute freedom from everything. Absolute freedom and, at the same time, absolute fulfilment. It’s pure delight – and wonderful. The absolute answer to all human need is to be beyond it – which applies, of course, to everyone. The only trouble is that blinded, sinful nature does not know it. What made it happen? 4.30 in the morning, I sat to meditate. Repeated, “Lord Jesus, Lord Jesus,” and there it was – and is. * * * It’s all explicable in terms of levels of consciousness. Like a mountain, numbers (quantity) increase towards the bottom – millions of stones, millions of people. Even from quite modest heights, differences merge into patterns and decrease. One begins to see that all is One. As “me” fades out, more light must shine. More and more, until – but where’s the limit? Infinite surrender means infinite light, dispersing infinite dark. It really is so. At intermediate levels, one still sees the world in difference and conflict and, knowing the taste of unity, compassion grieves. But higher light – One light – burns away conflicting difference. It disappears. Absolute light permits no darkness – absolute joy, no sighs or tears – absolute power, no opposition. Can one small man at prayer really be so powerful? In absolute surrender there’s no small man to pray! Absolute consciousness confirms it – beyond doubt. Higher levels cannot be described because there’s “nothing” there. Purer than the purest of pure skies, pure consciousness is pure. One is before two – and without even the slightest hint of “me” and its self-created world. Does it exist at all? Well, does it? It depends where you stand on the mountain. Beyond doubt or question, “work” is being where and what One is. How infinitely better to dwell on the sure foundation of Oneself, than dependent on alternatives of dualistic man. However, even in this highest of minds, a bubble arises, divides, and starts

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thinking its own thoughts. Divine creation unfolds in accordance with Oneself – demonic from perversity “me”. * * * It is entirely possible to be aware at the same time of both creation and pure, pre-creative consciousness through which Absolute will, perfectly understanding every creature need, pours forth providence for all. Man’s prayer cannot possibly do more good for creation than Absolute already does. What it can do is remove the contrary interference of separate, self-willed “me”. The more this is transcended to realisation of One Absolute Self, the more Grace is available for all. What happens to the person that I was? A past mistake, a doubt, an ignorance no more – it’s now forgotten and, unless remembered and returned, fades out of One’s existence. And I, that I am now? To believe it would be presumptuous but, beyond belief, for now at least, I become or rather cease not being, Absolute Itself. Body and mind continue for a while to live their measured time, but now obey, as subject dust, God’s perfect will, not mine. * * * Commonly, life is perceived to be active, interspersed with times of rest. But real, eternal life is the unshakeable stillness of absolute consciousness in which impulsive waves of action rise and fall. Beyond desire or need, there’s no necessity to be involved, though love may choose to do so. * * * Times come when instead of different appearances of places, times and people, deepening and therefore purer spiritual realisation sees Spirit, pure and One. Beyond divisive images of human conception, all fulfilling, all sufficient One unites, heals, and absolves the world of sin. How can this be? In cosmic balance, One mind, watchful and at rest, counteracts disturbance in the world. While multiple selfwills continue to separate, One Self holds the peace. From Spirit, One sees the lamentable results of identity with flesh and confinement of ideas in mind. When however, in total

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surrender, the fullness of God, Oneself – infinite Source of every power and good is realised, this naturally operates as the most powerful, beneficial influence of all. As every last sort of shadow of “my” self is completely swallowed up in joyous selfabandonment to Him, nothing else could possibly be better for what remains of “me” and every other creature of the world. This finding one’s way back to God – return to One’s spiritual home, re-union with Oneself or Self-realisation is our purpose upon earth. When all is in God’s hands, then all is well. And this most willing giving of one’s life to God, this gift of love, for love’s sake only or to serve a need, is found to be not death, but Life and Love – the greatest Love of all (Jn.15,13). *

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November 1st. All Saints’ Day. As I climb the hill to Church this morning, glorious bright stars light up the pre-dawn sky and remind me of that saintly communion which, many in their time on earth, are unified in Heaven. One heart, one voice, unutterably beyond conception, adores unceasingly in praise of God. Incredibly, one knows, participates – words fail – but love leads on. And back on earth – How bounteous and wondrous are Thy works, O Lord; the earth is full of Thy creatures. Owls call across the yard, and crisp, dry leaves upon the path tell me of autumn frost. The time to write has run its course and reached its natural end. Now – suddenly – enough of words, they only go so far. From here – this moment, now – again burst free, they all belong behind, down there – to worlds far, far below. Including concerns about the work of prayer – it’s all the past, a work that’s passed – the old dead world of “me”. Union is total, with separation – nil. The world, being but a fantasy of ego, with no more ego ceases to exist. Behold – creation glorious, and man known as the Spirit that he is. God is everything – and “I”, that was, or thought I was, returns once more to dust.

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Emergence to Perfect TOD AY, 15TH February, Orthodoxy commemorates the occasion when infant Jesus was brought to the temple and St Simeon, in recognition, spoke the famous words of the Nunc Dimittis, “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace” (Lk.2,29). I think of it as, this evening, sitting quietly at prayer in a semi-dark corner of the church, an inexperienced verger came in and, unaware of my presence, turned off the lights and locked me in. It’s happened before and I do not mind as I have my own key and am well used to finding my way alone through the dark aisles. However, on this occasion, it prompted the reassuring reflection that when I pass such periods of my life unnoticed, at least it means I’m causing no offence. Why do I tell this unexciting story? Because it illustrates a stage in the life of prayer, when the saving Grace of God is so clearly realised – “For mine eyes have seen thy salvation,” that one’s own personal contribution ceases to have any further significance. The long process of coming to terms with right or wrong, and the ubiquitous question, “What shall I do?” is finally brought to rest by total surrender into all-fulfilling God. Then, the aged servant may indeed “Depart in peace”, and look back over his well-intentioned but mis-taken personal life as something no doubt necessary in its time, but thankfully now coming to an end. How ignorant in retrospect it seems – how worthy of pity, for one knew no better, and what relief when the intrusive weight of man is finally exchanged for light of God. *

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People often think that natural situations are better for adaptation. We call it being creative – making peace, for example, with great conference and effort, while all the time it waits for us, existent and patient as the very air we breathe. Paradoxically, we are never more effective and usefully employed, more universally connected and more likely to speak and act the truth, than when most deeply still – not, of course, inattentively asleep or drifted off into a world of our own, but consciously present in unchanging One. Facing opposition, the world achieves objectives by labour and expense, but willingly surrendered souls find all things naturally serve the Will of God. * * * Early this morning, on first waking, Man shone particularly clear as One, purely spiritual consciousness, completely detached, distinct from complex multitudes below. If something similar happens to you, my reader, enjoy the freedom while you may, for soon “life” brings opposing points of view. Every personal, commercial or collective interest – sleep, doubt, dream and ignorance will deny, protest, and help us to forget it. Continual vigilance and long, patient practice is required to keep lifting consciousness above the voices and appearance of the so-called “world”. We rightly speak of man’s “fall”, but what falls? His state of mind or level of consciousness which, once sunk, scattered and diminished in the far off land, needs raising to be saved. When man’s fallen state is clearly seen from a high point of detachment, what remains below? Not much. A name and form, some childish needs, a faltering step or two – until no more. Scripture makes many allusions to man as grass – growing, cut down and withering away. Why not? It is the natural law. Grass provides food for sheep. A million sheep may graze their pasture bare, but one wakened man would open the gate. * * * What is wisdom, and perfect realisation? One wonders why on earth one hadn’t seen it before, but the phrase “on”, or rather “in” earth explains. Encased in mortal, earthly cocoons, we do not and cannot see beyond. What limited understanding we have is

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gleaned from others equally restricted, and simply knows no better. Emerging to freedom is completely self-explanatory, selfevident and self-fulfilling. Behold a butterfly. Behold man’s spiritual spring. Behold the world in glory! * * * As disturbance enters conscious rest, it is kept in proportion – balanced and contained. I sit in a motorway services café, watching the action, and realise that whatever people really want is actually already theirs. We may not know it in ordinary life, but higher consciousness does. There’s no personal doing involved but, with fuller realisation, the spiritual fact completely dominates the doubting mind. Here is the Good Shepherd, with whom His sheep lack nothing (Ps.23). Hence, all requests, desires, searching and effort betray not fully knowing the Providence of God. Once this is realised, they fade out of existence. * * * How do our hearts’ desires come true? Happy to be present, on holiday in Wales, I stand on a beach before an ebbing tide. Open to misted surf and clearing morning sky, what dream of man compares with natural beauty? And, seeing such tender care at work, distributing the stones – each shaped, washed, set in place below, how could one doubt the same bestowed on every human soul? Joy knows no bounds. God’s gifts surpass our dreams but, even though brought to such a pitch, involuntarily I find eyes close, to savour still more deeply, wonder unmanifest within. Is this the same man who once had needs, desires? Who took for granted a world, which laboured under the impression it neither had nor knew, and therefore needed to acquire and find? What makes the difference? Unknown, it is not known, and life is lived deprived. But known, all life within one’s consciousness is blessed. Completely surrendered, perfectly absorbed, one no longer even registers anything else. Salvation does not depend on “me”. Finally, we find ourselves surrendered to perfection. And when it happens, the proof is that there’s no more perfectly fulfilled and happy creature in the world, than I (Ps.37,4). *

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Spring came early this year, and again my old haunts call. As arthritis makes walking more difficult, I’ve bought a little bicycle. On a warm, dry day in April, I rode and pushed it up a rough lane, past the site of my first farm, to the higher valley beyond. Here, as a boy, I loved to help with haymaking. We made it loose then, working with forks and rakes, building a large stack in the corner of the field. Once, I was given a man’s job, pitching up great forkfuls to the stack-builder above. My arms ached, but how proud I was when, tired and dusty at the end of the day, I heard the words, “You’ve worked well.” Now I sit under an ash tree, old friend of 60 years, and look out over the same dear slopes I’ve known and loved so long. Sheep and lambs rest in the sunshine. Overhead, two buzzards cry. A woodpecker drums in the wood. Quiet from here and, far away below – the thronging town. As recent meetings and events pass through my mind, I realise in stillness that I pray. What is prayer? It becomes so natural one is not even aware of doing it. Personal involvement shrinks to zero. Life flows around perfected, without “my” interference. Having realised that beyond phenomena, essential One, the Self of all exists, spiritual vision sees worldly appearance as features or apparel of Oneself. It simply takes over, replacing the impact of a man-made world. Surrender into love of God immediately, invariably ensures that all things work together, and for good (Ro.8,28). What remains to do? Man’s doing fades out of the picture. Human help can change a human world, but only in so far as we learn to lay aside lower nature and come under the authority of God, can we be said to partake of all-perfecting consciousness. While creation makes something of nothing, prayer works the other way round. Becoming nothing and nobody myself, all barriers dissolved, enables unlimited perfection. Nothing has greater influence. Influence? I, as man, can hardly walk to the market and back but I, as nothing, merge with the Divine. God stands at the door of every heart, and knocks (Rev.3,20). God calls. As hearts respond, He opens up the Way. Having consigned to nothing what persists of “me”, One emerges to heavenly freedom. Birds sing more sweetly, and better is better than ever – before comparisons are left behind. With God all things are possible –

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His Kingdom has no end (Lk.1,33&37). Being perfect beyond description – only not knowing it harbours imperfection which, finite, incomplete, can be described. * * * Seen from the Kingdom of Heaven, the world of man has no more real existence than a dream. It is no loss to lose it altogether but, for its perishable inhabitants, that would soon lead to decrease of consciousness and death. Love, therefore, maintains a conscious bond. Messages from and appeals to Heaven provide for men a life-line to salvation. From the world’s point of view, invisible spiritual contact seems much less reliable than physical or legal binding but, from Spirit, it’s the other way round. The “Word” of God is absolutely sure. Prayer holds the world more surely to its source than any force of man. We can see in our lives how prayer and conscious influences help to keep us straight whereas, without them and left to our own devices, we all too easily get lost. Prayer, on whatever scale, commends the situation to God’s almighty will. * * * The reason why “All things shall be added unto you” (Mat.6,33), is that in finding the Kingdom of Heaven, our own interference, inhibiting God’s natural providence, must cease. For as long as they can, self-wills continue to reap their harvest of never enough. Its debris litters the way. But heaven calls irresistibly, and past associations pass. When all worldly responses are transferred “Into Thy hands, O Lord”, then all is perfectly attained. What is the Kingdom of Heaven? It is a high state of consciousness, fully awakened from man’s mortal dream. Without hurt or destruction (Is.11,9; 65,25), sorrow or sighing (Rev.21,4), it sees through identity with vulnerable “me”. Immortality awakens from belief that life can die. But, some may query, are you properly alive? Certainly, I am! The secret lies in knowing I’m not performance. For now, I sit in church and write these words. One day, I shall lie

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here in my coffin. Will I not then be alive as I am now, only – finally delivered of contrary flesh – more perfectly “I am”? * * * I think back to a winter following the lost love described in earlier chapters. Completely lost myself, I went to Spain. I could sit crosslegged then. With a piece of foam rubber for a cushion, I sat for hour after hour under some date palms by a beach, or on some suitable rock in the mountains – and meditated. Gradually I realised the love I’d lost was near. One day I climbed alone, a cliff above the sea – and slipped. Invisibly, love held. But impure images of worldly absence were still powerful, too. Back in ordinary life again, they stole my heart away. I returned to depression, loneliness and life all wrong. Now I realise much more completely, if not quite all the time, that perfect meditation /prayer is simply being in Spirit. Spirit is perfection. Perfection is Spirit. In Spirit, “absent” are present, the “dead” alive and parts made whole. In Spirit, nothing is mortal, damaged, lost or ill, or ever can be. “Into Thy hands, O Lord” means being in Spirit. All else is mis-take and scope for correction. Hence life is called a school. It teaches us the worthlessness of “me”. Before our eyes, the error of our ways wears out, breaks down and dies away, while man corrected rediscovers Spiritual Man anew. * * * All too soon however, unguarded moments reveal how much of ego still remains – persistent, familiar invasions of mortally imperfect “me”. How unwelcome and distasteful the consequence might be if false, unpurged identity accompanied the soul beyond the grave. Wherever might it lead to next? Can any salvation be considered wholly safe so long as we are subject to our worldly ways? Wisely Church reminds us as our years slip by – “Time for repentance and amendment of life.” Worthy is work of meditation/ prayer. Taken sincerely – practiced and perfected, all we fallen and benighted souls are lifted, invited and given the opportunity to taste, first the possibility, and then the glorious and actual fact of everlasting life in God.

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My Grace is Sufficient … my strength is made perfect in weakness (2Cor.12,9)

FROM W OR LDL INESS, the absolute completion of Pure Being can seem “out of touch”, or more theoretical than real. How can it be relevant to need? Once known, however, any return to ordinary, worldly ways only serves to emphasize its loss. Then, even dry, apparently unfruitful prayer still seems preferable to anything else. Properly prepared, one need not wait for long. Results follow closely on the heart’s intent. Total longing brings its own reward, but all feelings of achievement disappear. Incomparable gifts of Heavenly Grace instruct, inspire, save us from drowning in the world. How can this be? I search for further comment, but find none. I no longer feel I’ve anything to say, or share. From silent depths, the last thing to arise are tears of joy – but these are left behind. Rain patters on my coat. We’ve come out to where ancient, moss-clad birches grow, looking for mushrooms, but find few today. I sit as if now blind, deaf, dumb to worldly sense, though wonderfully attuned. Long since flowered and seeded, empty grass heads nod before the breeze. Tiny insects cross my notes. A leaf drifts down to settle on my shoe. God’s works, God’s words of life present themselves more perfectly than I could ever do. In pure prayer or God consciousness, there’s nothing more to suffer or achieve. The individual is totally absorbed. Just as at dawn, God’s all-perfecting light disperses dark – the shadow of man’s ignorance retires. 391

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When realised, the Self, self-luminous, is obvious but, being free of all describable conditions, is not so easy to describe. Realised, all struggles cease, all knowledge is complete, all work is done. Equally untouched by birth or death, it watches the performance of the world. I can hardly remember what life was like without it. Impressions from the world of “not-knowing” no longer seem normal but incomplete, unnecessary, strange. The Presence, however, is entirely comforting. *

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As spiritual realms extend beyond description, so does spiritual prayer. I do not know what happens when I pray. Only that “lost” to world, means “found” in Spirit. With Lord Jesus Christ, the soul ascends, transcends conception and creation, beyond all human telling. It only finds phrases like “totality” and “secret purposes of God” when descending back to relative existence. I cannot speak of participation there, for all sense of ego disappears. Irresistibly, the soul is drawn ever deeper. In Spirit one finds absolute, infallible completeness which, completely supersedes desire. Afterwards, in contrast with the world, I feel as one returning from the dead, which is not death, but LIFE. Back in world, I would communicate and share this gift, but know not how. For, what am I, re-entered remnant into not-knowing “me”, but shadow to the light? As man, of course, service to God is better than selfishness, but the struggle with duality remains. Repeatedly, instead, the wish comes true when consciousness is raised, ignorance dispelled, and every soul is known as whole as I. Do they receive it, too? The gift is here – the gift of God. Who blocks it? Me. With “me” removed, “my” task is done, and all is then according to God’s will. In fact, only incompletion can be shared – up to when it disappears in One. Unless then recreated, where are two to share? *

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Although Spirit is invisible, indescribable “nothing” to mortal eyes, it is so pure and perfectly alive that outer life seems in comparison already made, done, lived and somehow “past”. Worldly things are still experienced but quietly and detached – without desire to enter in – to have and do, or change. They touch my heart as messengers from God, rather than as entities themselves. *

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The only work left for “me” to do is continue self-abandonment in prayer. The shadow of individual existence dissolves into pure light. People are less identified by name, form, function, but now appear as movements in Oneself. This might seem somehow empty, but it isn’t. It’s the fullness itself of creative potential – perfection, beginning and the end. How does this work for healing? There’s nothing more to heal, for nothing’s wrong. In Spirit, One knows it – there’s no need to control. One steps back from attachment to lower nature – from fear, concern and wish to interfere, and then the natural forces inherent in every situation balance themselves and restore harmony. Think how a cut finger itself clots the blood and heals, how sleep comes to weariness and death to out-lived lives. I remember my many experiences with nature, which taught me she knows best. With man restored to proper being in Spirit, his weight is taken off creation, too. Consider the beauty of nature, modelled by natural law. We, too, may likewise shine, when not confused. God makes perfection – we are free to choose. Those who find pure prayer, put themselves aside and thereby, as it were, cease to block the light. More light may be welcome – or refused. Spirit trips lightly through the world, being neither great nor small. It leaves no trace beyond the Grace of perfect life – God’s glory, over all. Is this how man is glorified – redressed, when gone astray? Behold the crown of glory, which fadeth not away (1Pet.5,4). *

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God is everything, and I am God. Through spiritual stillness, one at least approaches it. As ego man, I don’t. What then is such a

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man? An act of ignorance. Hence our mortality and folly – but saving for the soul. What is our destiny? Dust to dust, and soul to Spirit. God puts things up and down, but, dust or Spirit, all remain in Him. Full self-surrender sees, knows and finally becomes One pure, still heart – the Source of everything. *

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Spirit shimmered like summer heat waves this morning, dancing invisibly in and out, among a myriad forms. As I watched them reflecting, returning, rejoicing in the One, “In God, all live,” came into mind. But words belong outside the obvious. How can it be contrasted and described when all are but re-echoes of the One? Of course, yes, this is how it is. It’s familiar as though known and never left – reassuring in the sense of (my) having been in wrong, but now being right again. From here, in Spirit, “What is man?” Surprised, I do not know. I remember a kaleidoscope of trials – a shadow world – forgetful ignorance, or sleep and dream – a fantasy dispelled. Away, apart from here, man and his works seem dark – the works of dark, an absence from Oneself, which makes me ask in turn, “Does man, did I, do I – a spiritual opposite, in fact exist?” *

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Full of mellow beauty, as the last days of summer, with all the bad forgotten, soul melts into Spirit. Consciously or not, everyone knows that the best times of life are those when we forget “me”, live unselfishly present, and see life as it is. Fuller realisation simply extends this natural process. Without “me”, both inner and outer worlds become ever more beautiful, wonderful and free. There’s nothing to hurt us, nothing to fear. Is life finished? Try it, and you’ll see. Really and truly, experience shows, the only things we have to lose are – limits. Those who discover Spirit in ever fuller degree, know what it is, and how good it is to be really, properly alive. From Spirit, personal life is neither wanted nor needed – an encumbrance to be borne, a consequence of error (or a child of sin). Ennobled or

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debased, it serves us as a lesson, to teach us what we’re not – although we well may love it for the service it has borne. The righteousness we strive for high and low on earth is already eternally ordained. How do we attain it? By lifting up our hearts and thereby, allowing them to be raised. The work is universal, for “me” and “others” have long since disappeared. It’s into the pure receptivity of total self-surrender that absolute fulfilment may “descend”. There’s no wish whatsoever to speak or act or re-enter personal life, which now seems only a restriction. We talk of being alive, being only some small fraction, qualified by “me”. Real life, One unencumbered life – of grass and cows and people, too, through many transformations, is finally realised. It can be known, but – even better, lived. Pure prayer is the greatest power on earth because it literally becomes Almighty God. It cannot then impede God’s will, His image gift to man – his own self-will, by which we fall into effects of law, and – chastened, may return (Heb.12,5-8,11). Consciousness is naturally, wholly free. When taken by judgement, self-interest, desire, we lose the whole and come apart. All our learning and exploration, our need to love – all that drives human endeavour upon earth, arises from loss of conscious, spiritual wholeness. When found, it all subsides. We lack absolutely nothing. We are complete – in love, at peace. With nothing to lose and nothing to gain, it makes no difference whether we have a body/mind or world around, or not. These things are secondary effects which reflect the wholeness or divisions of their cause. Wholeness is not of something else, but One, pure Being Itself. Words are divided creatures for divided souls. Both disappear before the face of One. Blessed are those who find pure love, pure being – the purity of prayer. It grows ever stronger as impure power declines. Without our imposition, the bounds of conditioning are freed. One lives entirely, each and all – eternally perfected – lost, but found anew.

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As awareness of stillness strengthens, worldly activity is held in ever firmer hand. It’s our own wobbly relationship with God that produces a wobbly world. God is our sure foundation, the firmest of hands, and infallible law. The only reason for human failure upon earth is insufficient trust, and therefore life in God. Nevertheless, being scarcely a success, I’ve often lived with disappointment, guilt, and times when something knew what might have been, or brought a need – but left it unfulfilled. How can our failures be redeemed? When all things merge in One, it’s easier to understand that nothing’s really lost. It’s more than just acknowledgement. Here, now, higher consciousness potentially transfigures lower worlds – uplifts, unites, restores – though nothing is compelled. The gift is free. Divine forgiveness only asks that we return to God. From depths of prayer – straightforward into practice. One undivided spiritual consciousness projects and sees a spiritual world. Where then is separation, or lower nature to corrupt and die? These only come into existence when consciousness itself divides and falls. Raised again to the original and perfect state, they disappear. Is it practical? Can it be attained? How else could this be known? * * * As sky embraces earth and all her many creatures, Spirit sees itself in all, and all is known as One. I sit at my table, writing, listening to early morning birds. A car passes. The church clock strikes the hour in pristine, changeless One. The world rotates its changes, life goes up and down, but Spirit holds it all serene, in undisturbed perfection. In Spirit, creation is spiritual – pure, free, perfect, light and One. It’s clearly seen how consciousness can fall by taking and identifying with parts. As man falls, words and names appear as smudges of possession. These then form clouds of concepts, entities, which manifest beneath as things. Away, apart from One, and falling ever deeper into limit, division disintegrates to darkness, death.

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Conversely, life grows up – each breath ascends, our nourishment reunifies, sustains. By all creative means, embodied or without, angels of assistance lift the fallen soul. The Saviour, being One, is always near. Our realization and partaking of His Grace can change. *

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What makes it go so wrong? Like the old game of snakes and ladders, a well-known Russian icon shows a soul ascended near to God, being swallowed by a demon reaching up from hell below. Just so, on this the final page, when all seems spiritually safe, let us once more consider why we walk on feet of clay. Between enlightened windows when consciousness is raised, the fallen images of lower worlds can hardly be ignored. Arousing interest, desire to be involved, they overwhelm us and we sink beneath. Merciless, it seems, the world gives life in order to destroy. And who escapes? Captive to conformity but discontent, we may rebel and look for something better. At one such time of conflict, long ago, I heard that a venerated mentor had once said of me, “John Butler did not come into this world to conform with it”. It brought me such a shaft of understanding. Does anyone, I wonder, intentionally choose the worldly way? The struggle can be lonely on one’s own until it gradually dawns that Man is Spirit, only by deception trespassed into sin, and search for safety, well-being, life itself emerges from this false belief, to ever more willing reliance upon the infinite mercy of God. When God is forgotten, the world will steal the show. Just as a dream might take us for an hour, so we can spend a lifetime in the world. Even from detachment, we slip back, unawares. Reminding me of Russian forests, beautiful, inviting from outside, but perilous for the unwary, I think of a little girl from the village where I stayed in Siberia, wandering, lost and bitten to death by insects only a short distance from her home. “How dreadful”, we exclaim but – held in mind, bound up in skin, are we not plagued by evil, just the same? Is the world so evil? In Spirit – not at all. It’s we who get it wrong – we who, turned away from God and falsifying the cause, take back for front, make dark of light and twist the innocent awry. Anyone misplaced like this must suffer

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lack and die. The mercy is that, so deprived and justly perishing for such a sin, we may return to perfect life – in Spirit. Moreover, having entered, we do not have to stay. This world of sin, deceptive and deceived, is nonetheless observable within our selves and out. See how from here, outside, detached, temptation lurks, persuasive, to entice us in. Deeper inside indeed its deeds are dark – the powers of dark. See how inverted images, extending the false principle of “me”, distort and limit light (Eph.6,12). Behind them lies ever deepening shade where, as in dense forest, direction may be lost. See how apparent, but misleading darkness, limit, and the monster fear give rise to need – where wild beasts seek their prey as do the restless appetites of man. Heed well the lessons shown. Mortality may suffer, paying the price of sin, while raised in Spirit, lit and free from false delusion that it isn’t, life is as it truly is – blissfully complete. * * * A moment of clarity this morning brings me now and forever, to fade out of any identity I may once have had, and be in Spirit. Spirit culminates all previous, preparatory life and “spiritual” work. I feel myself empty of personal push, happiest to be unseen, unknown – a nothing nobody, as Spirit. Being nothing itself, it leaves nothing unfulfilled. So there’s nothing to regret about the past, no more to do. Whatever is, or comes to mind is naturally perfected, here and now. Actually, amazingly, this is no longer momentary but absolutely normal – the fullness itself of fully being alive. What happens to the world of not knowing this? What happens when mortality dies out – a bond, a dream when free? * * * Easter Morning. Total. All else is of it, but partial, qualified. Even love, peace, joys descend from totality beyond. To know, draw near and finally become it, is to be all life, all things, all service of all need – complete. *

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At last comes rest, when separation ceases to assert its nonexistence. There’s not much left in flesh, these days – just less activity, a bit of pain. Mind is quiet, reflective and content. Spiritual consciousness expands. Buoyant, blossoming – it’s wonderfully fresh and free – complete, ageless and benign. Personal effort now seems far behind, a creature of the past. There’s no more need to be in world. Out there, the consequence of falling into sin – hence error, trial and judgement under law, is plain to see – though much less “mine”. Raised in Spirit, it softens, loses its distinction, fades away. With less of “me” to spoil the view, sin is hardly seen. When “All is God” is realized, glory crowns and sanctifies – perfect reigns supreme.

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On Spiritual Guidance A LT HOUGH, AS author of this book, I make no claim to be a spiritual guide, its windows of dawning realisation may well prompt some readers to further their own practice. When prayer reaches out to unfamiliar depths, beyond the words and images of mind (commonly called prayer of the heart), tradition recommends a guide. This makes me a bit nervous and prompts me to add a few cautionary words, for the world has enough spiritual misleading to deceive the unwary, and we abandon common sense at our peril. My words may seem a bit negative because, in all matters relating to Spirit, it’s easier to define what they are not, than what they are. From my own experience, described in earlier chapters, it’s clear that the guidance we receive, besides coming silently to heart, more often than by speech, may or may not appear in human form. * * * First of all let me say that from Union, and the approaches to Union, all teachers, guidance, schools, prayers, Churches and religions have long since disappeared and passed away. Do bees need telling how to find a flower? Infinitely closer, more perfect and complete is Union of a soul with God. Try it, prove it, know it for yourself. All the loves of all the worlds that ever were or are or will be, are but flickers of the One and All. Who needs telling how to love? Have confidence in love, my dears. This love will never hurt you, let you down, say, “No.” This love is not the love of man. It’s love of God. * * * 400

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Yet 24 hours later, as if to remind me, I wake from the horrid depths of a bad dream, from where any merest candle, let alone a calm, sensible word, would be a lifeline to a kinder world. Our journeys start from where we are and, although at times I find myself gifted with windows such as those described, I do not dismiss the many lesser aids that guide us through our darker times to light. And how can I possibly collate all the bewildering variety of human need in human search for God? I think of those searching the Internet and bookshops, in silence or discussion, devotedly in Church or determinedly without – those who think they’ve got it right, and those as muddled as I’ve been myself. Some won’t say “Boo” to a goose without a recipe, and others – you can’t tell. Is there a common principle to spiritual guidance? Something that might help avoid some falls? Even if I did know, would anyone listen? We all think we know what’s best for us, until we learn we don’t. We learn by our mistakes. One thing is sure – we cannot be holier than we are. If the last pages of this book echo truth already known, it does not mean we can immediately establish there, nor avoid the long, preparatory process of being purged from sin. Let me try to explain. There are two distinct stages of spiritual life. In the first, or preparatory stage, we work mostly with mind, and objects seen and heard. We read books, think and learn. Life is ruled by time and space, with special dates and places. This is the realm of school, conference, religion, where we relate to God incarnate upon earth, pray with images and words, and look to other men for help and guidance. Up to this point guidance is not purely spiritual for it’s all mixed up with man. The Church is well described as body both of Christ, and sin. As the soul gradually ascends, we feel less dependent on these outer aids, but cannot (with mind) clearly understand what’s happening. The second stage of Union is still more theoretical than real. In fact, so long as we keep direction – that is, intention towards God, and continue earnest practices of prayer etc. development happens naturally. We may find, for instance, that we read less, prefer silence to talking, feel less need to know, change and

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do things, and are more content with life as it is. Prayer may become a simple act of “being”. Maturing into full spiritual Union does not happen to everyone, and may take many years. We should not be surprised, for we’ve only to consider ourselves to see that personal identification with mind and body is not so easy to let go. Many, however, do come to accept traditional Christian teaching about salvation of the soul, and see it, at least to some extent, enacted in their lives. As we approach our own saving from the dubious world of man, and enter “The day which the Lord hath made” (Ps.118,24), guidance is replaced by ever fuller realisation that the awesome fact is actually happening, and true. As orientation changes, we no longer look to mortal frame of man, but to the Self within. Losing that former dependence, we find ourselves coming under Grace direct – the radiance of One, where, with less of “me” and more of God, knowledge is revealed, not learnt. It may, for example, take the form of windows. Eventually, the window becomes our natural home. In the first stage we still believe in and function from separate existence, and therefore seek help from “others” and pray to God for “me”, but in ever more total reliance upon God, and abandonment of “me”, immeasurable Grace may flow. How could one measure, classify, describe it? No human guide could possibly compare. Man has two possibilities – the Self, or its denial. Hence “Nothing better than a good man, nothing worse than a bad one.” Usually he finds himself somewhere in between. In Self realised, all is One, complete. One is not divided from another, nor consumer from consumed. With no more to achieve, there’s nothing to abandon or acquire. With nowhere else to go, no guidance is required. However, as we know only too well, the world of man is not like this at all. In our consumer society, belief in separation and “not knowing” means that teaching of all sorts is big business. Just as sunshine filters through on cloudy days – a bit here, more or less, and there, spiritual guidance on earth is as chinks in the cloud of human unknowing. Seen from the conscious light of Self, human embellishment is always suspect, for how can shadow illuminate the light? Similarly, however much demanded by the

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world, all our explanations, interpretations etc. are backward steps, away from direct light – simplicity of Being. Many teachers will talk about Spirit, usefully or not to searching minds, but few provide actual spiritual experience. No doubt this has to be – we don’t all stand in light. Two lost souls can comfort one another. Dark reaches out to darker – the less, to more confused. We know saintly figures from the past who, when approached in faith, can lift us beyond our ordinary lives. When I first went to Lindisfarne in Northumberland and “met” St Cuthbert, I was powerfully affected and felt he became a spiritual friend. St David’s shrine in Wales also made an impact. But spiritual influence is seldom advertised. We may only notice in retrospect that something “happened”. It’s said that we all have a guardian angel, whose help we may, or may not, recognise. Just as magnetism works unknown before “discovered”, so forces of heavenly attraction (we could call them aspects of God’s love) attend us, ready to assist a willing soul. The real teacher is Oneself, the Real Self or I am. Incarnate for our sake, the Saviour guides us home. To some extent, all of us with some sense of our divine nature find ourselves in a similar position. The trouble is that we fallen men (sinners) are such a muddle of knowledge and ignorance, we cannot be straightforward guides ourselves. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and desire to help others is no substitute for the clear light of realisation. What is the basis for distrust of man? If we listen attentively to what comes out of our mouths, it’s amazing what folly, ugliness and downright lies we hear. Why is it almost impossible for us to speak the truth? Because virtually all our speech comes from “me” – the very devil and father of lies (Jn.8,44). It’s a great and very humbling lesson. Whatever can we do? It’s easy to see why “Silence is golden” (Mat.5,37). In contrast, we have examples of realised men who have so laid aside their personal lives that, through them, Self reveals Itself, ever One yet ever new, restating afresh the principles of wisdom, and expressing what, in our hearts we know, but cannot adequately say. Their words “ring true”.

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Instinctively, we trust and understand. One such man, named Shankaracharya, guided the School of Meditation where I was first introduced to inner “work”. He set us on the road to Selfrealisation. Through him, initial spiritual contact was developed – and is still maintained. Spiritual help is always available for those who really want it, so why is it sometimes difficult to find? Because we set our sights too low. Focusing attention on fallen body /mind, that is where we formulate our needs. We look to sin in hope of heaven, and neglect our one capacity which corresponds – a pure and humble heart. Like calls to like. Knowledge of God is not withheld, but first requires a corresponding question. Heavenly joy is promised the repentant soul; and spiritual, like earthly love, waits only for its lover. Fallen men are not much use as guides to higher being. More often we’re simply impediment. The fact that different teachers offer differing advice, should prove the point. And, after all, what is a spiritual guide? It’s Spirit. That’s not the voice of ordinary man. Spiritually, the use of words is to take us beyond words. Some people like icons, music, sacred art, but the same principle applies. It seems odd that so many prefer human arts to the original model, but that in essence is our human state – preferring our work/world to God’s. No matter how inspiring a Church service, for example, or a work of art may be, it remains at least partly, a work of man. Spirit is like fresh air. Once it gets into man’s containment, it soon loses its freshness. To look for spiritual guidance from human kind – from mortals, which demonstrate what spiritual man is not – may seem a contradiction in terms. It requires that a teacher has so transcended his mortality that the original and uncorrupt may speak instead. It does occur, but rarely. Otherwise, human teaching easily becomes “The blind leading the blind”, or at best a case of “In the land of the blind, a one-eyed man is king.” “Put not your faith in princes, nor in the sons of man, in whom there is no help” (Ps.146,3). But what then can we do, and where else turn for help? It’s rightly said that when a student is ready, a teacher appears, but this

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teacher may not be at all the sort that one expects. Here are some examples: Believing in separation, we commonly look for inspiration outside of ourselves, and prefer one teacher to another. But truth manifests threefold. Life is a trinity. Duality is incomplete. Therefore, to find true spiritual direction we need to remember the third point, and avoid living in a world of two. A common example is you, me and the One Presence – all containing. In practice, it means we should try to live in continual remembrance of God, or at least something bigger than our own personal concerns. If we also practice observation, we soon come to see that everything, but everything that happens, is our teacher. Do we get cross? The observer, as third point, can watch how it forms, arises and possesses us. Do we drop something? It sees the inattention. A car going past is known – as life itself flows by, within unchanging stillness, etc. It’s as naïve to expect wisdom from man’s learning, as peace from TV news. That’s just looking for trouble. But there’s plenty of both if we look in the right place. Truth is neither hidden, nor remote. It’s always in the present, here and now. It’s as close as the sky – a true reflection and therefore, teacher of Spirit, which leads us evermore to deeper depths of God. Watch how her angels of sun and weather, with pure elements of air, fire, water and earth, interact lower down in nature, and then confuse in man. And everything we love will certainly, each in its way, teach us more of what we come to see is Spirit, though love in human terms is seldom pure. A faithful dog can show us where we fail. “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which hath made heaven and earth” (Ps.121,1-2). After the Self, incarnate and revealed, the guide of guides is nature, God’s own book, direct. However “contaminated” by mankind’s disease, she’s never as spoilt and unreliable as man himself. I love to see her reflected in scripture. For me at least, the two go together, and each confirms and brings out meaning in the other, but I’m not one of those who studies to find answers. I’m not sure that I consciously “look” anywhere.

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When in need, I seldom turn to people. Like most sick animals, I go instinctively to solitude and quiet. Approaching Self (it can happen to anyone, at any time), we may find ourselves walking through a world of angels, where every bird and passing car sings a song of God. Each tiniest little incident and thing (including “bad”) becomes provider, friend and guide. Separate, in ignorance, we have to search and find them but, united in Oneself, the angels come and serve. How does it happen? The world remains the same. What makes the difference? As curtains of egotism fall from our eyes, the change that changes all is in our seeing. Man builds prisons, schools, hospitals because he, himself is in the reformatory of life. Even subconsciously mindful of our own lost selves, that is what we project on to others. Compelled by ignorance to teach and learn, our wish to help reflects our incompleteness. But experience shows that when divine Self replaces ego, life also appears ever more perfect, and the same factors which formerly appeared as needing improvement, become the ministering angels, which now do all the teaching, healing and restoration needed. The highest achievement of man as a separate entity is to completely dissolve away in self elimination. Then there’s only God and His perfection, seen, realised and loved by Self reflective Image. It needs constantly remembering that the real aim of prayer and religion is Unity – Oneself, in SPIRIT. This is not one big, happy family on earth or any one earthly Church. Human life is a corrective establishment, a school of misfortune – expulsion from paradise, the consequence of disobedience (sin), and the reactive opposite of what we really are. Its purpose is to show us what we are not, which then needs repenting in order to return to Spirit – the process termed salvation of the soul. Religion is not necessarily the same as Spirit. Many types of religious experience have been described, which are all part of but should not be confused with One transcendent Absolute of Self, realised. Although religion is, or should be, a way to Spirit, it often gets so filled up with symbolic expressions, words and worldly practice that the means

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become the end, and we don’t see the wood for the trees. Nevertheless – there stands the Church with open door, next to the market place, recalling us to God. However hampered by our ancient enemies of world, flesh and devil, who else with such endurance fights the good fight, inspired by scripture and the Lord? Because we so persistently fall backwards into sin, and lose the way, where would we be without her? Human wisdom is foolishness to God. The careful notes and achievements of education – our human rights and wrongs, dissolve away when spiritual light breaks through. Man’s opposites are swallowed up in One. Confusion may arise in the mind, but the pure heart sees beyond. Jesus goes ahead, and shows the way, while those that follow are “amazed” – that is, taken out of mind (Mk.10,32). As real prayer does not depend on us, neither does its ultimate fulfilment. At every stage, realisation is of man’s helplessness, and dependence upon God. With Jesus, Lord and Self, present as the deepest, most constant focus of our faith, we need not fear when life falls into ruin. In God we have our guide, “Our present help” (Ps.46,1). But so, then – what of human guidance? At some stages, being children of men, we can hardly avoid it but, when the teacher inevitably fails and final lessons disappoint – fear not to go beyond. The one great safeguard regarding man’s instruction is that it’s left behind. As we ourselves are the main hindrance to realisation, it follows that nothing from mouth or mind of man is as much use for guidance, spiritually speaking, as a sense of the spiritual Presence, or “rest” of God (Ex.33,14). The only reason for human intermediacy is if a student is so restless that he cannot realise Presence for himself. The best thing a spiritual guide can do is be quiet enough himself to provide direct experience of spiritual rest. If a “spiritual” occasion consists mostly of talk, it may uplift and interest the mind – it may be many things in human terms, but it won’t be very spiritual. My mother knew presence. While Father was out at business, a man of the world, Mother kept house. She never sat idle. When her day’s work was done, I remember so well watching her head

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bowed in the lamplight, quietly attentive to her knitting. Always responsive but seldom forward, hers was the love that held our world together – without it, we fell apart. She rarely spoke of God, and always from the humility of not knowing, rather than assuming that she did. She loved the birds in our garden. After a duck had nested there, Mother watched her leading the newly hatched ducklings across the lawn, and said, “That’s my religion – fresh life, clean and pure.” When she thought of death, she liked the example of a drop of quicksilver, reabsorbed into the mass. Although acutely conscious of her failings, one day, just before she died, she remarked in surprise “Do you know, I feel no bad thing in me – nothing bad at all.” Naturally, without needing to explain, she lived what life presented. I could not doubt her soul went straight to heaven. So, here we are – back in the present. When can we turn from human guidance to receive the light direct? Morning sun streams through the window. I look up – cease trying to write these words – relax and smile. See what I mean? A question arises and – here, now, uncontentiously, the answer simply comes.

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Postscript FR OM AN earthly point of view, these windows may seem to describe relatively “high” spiritual realisation. Lest anyone esteem them unduly, let me repeat that they are but glimpses of an infinite beyond, and therefore, indications of how little, rather than how much is known. Also, let no one imagine I dwell constantly in these realms for, in between, I can fall back deeply into very ordinary conditions of personal delusion, forgetfulness and all manner of “sin”. I have my “thorns in the flesh”, too. In fact, any glimmer of Self-realisation brings also the equal and thoroughly humbling evidence of one’s fall – the dreadful consequences of it, and at least some understanding of how hopelessly lost one would be without some saving Grace. However, I do try to take my spiritual practice seriously. Most is fairly routine, and consists of several hours a day consciously turning to God – inwardly, with the help of the Jesus prayer – outwardly, by simple awareness of my surroundings. I heed, and try to follow the instruction, “Pray without ceasing,” (1Thes.5,17) but do not achieve it. Spiritual news is good news. To all who struggle with life, it sends its clear message, but we should not try to repeat too closely the spiritual experience of others. There is nothing standard about it, and each will find God in his own way. As I wrote in the Introduction, I offer these windows not as any sort of teaching, but only so that others also may be encouraged in the work of meditation /prayer, their hope of salvation, and of being in heavenly places in our Lord (Eph.2,6). Thank you for reading, and may God bless you all. “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth 409

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and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also” (Mat.6,19-21). June 2008