Staffs, Warks, Oxon, Bucks, these counties looked similarly lovely observed from the train window with their soft-edged, blue-washed skies, scudding grey-white clouds and low-lying flooded fields. Changing at Burford, I bought a bacon bun and – because it was the UK – a Cadbury’s Crème Egg (yes, I know the company is now American-owned, but…). The sun appeared colourless as it settled down behind the golden ball of St Lawrence church at the opening of the Aylesbury Vale, as we approached my hometown of High Wycombe and a nervous, pleasurable shudder ran through my body. No way am I ill. No way will I be denied this feeling of being happier than ever before. No way shall the classic irony of living out an active life only to die before its fruits can be enjoyed happen to me (as it happened so sadly to many people who lived in our street while I was growing up.) This is me we are talking about. Indestructible as ever.
I’ve just travelled eight hundred miles to have a scan taken a few inches deep inside my body. Like the rings of a tree, the images will reveal details of my life. Instead of sixty rings there’ll be god knows how many arterial pathways and molecular byways, all demonstrating how much care and how much neglect has been taken taken of my body – or simply the wear and tear that everyday existence places on certain tissues as events just happen regardless. There is some damage, that much is certain. It may have been caused virally. The scan, along with certain blood-tests, will reveal all.
The scan – which produces its patterns by magnetically aligning the appropriate protons and then releasing them – will provide a picture of my body’s interior; but not of me.
Which is to say, the most intricate images of the innermost parts of my body – past and present – will not reproduce any information about the I.
On the way through the borders I had to show my outer details, as contained within a little red folder.
Put them together – the little red folder and the innermost images of my body – and there will be no idea of who ‘I’ am.
My I isn’t my body. It cannot be contained in a little red book or a magnetic scan.
My I is looking on and calculating what these procedures are proving by way of information to the world.
All of which is to say, I am not my body.
My soul is in fact incommunicable.
That is the dilemma faced in producing this Diary of everyday life; this previously expressed conundrum of attempting to reveal profundity through the expression of everyday events.
And yet, we may well get there. (I have actually already done so through my novels, if you ever care to take the time to read them. This diary is actually ancillary to what these books contain.)
Like Job, I am covered in sores. Like Job, I am uncomprehending and feel undeserving of this. Like Job, I am waiting for Satan to be put back in his box.
I was reading Ouspensky again on the journey back (I last read him about forty years ago, and his writings re-emerged following a recent blog posting) and was reminded of what he has to say concerning esotericism and how few people are capable of being admitted into the inner circle. His ponderings, I suspect, are truer now than even when he was composing his works. Truer than ever, in fact. While humanity grows exponentially to include some eight billion separate beings on the planet earth, there are most likely fewer esoterically enlightened souls than ever before. Since my own initiation thirty-three years ago, I have not come across a single individual who has reached this stage. Within my orbit, there is just one person who seeks to become similarly enlightened. This despite the fact that I have worked myself to the point of physical collapse in order to spread the message. It is because of this fact that I now wish to retire to the southernmost part of the continent rather than being free to bask in the light of a radiant peoples. I ask myself why I didn’t just follow the example of the old Russian émigré and admit to myself far earlier that only a very few – if any – have the probity to be accepted into the inner circle and thereby, hopefully, increase its ranks by spreading their own profound understanding; and I think that it was because I had become lulled into a false sense of optimism following the apparent increase of cosmic consciousness back in the nineteen-sixties as I grew up. That was so obviously a false dawn, since the forces of darkness were so easily permitted to enshroud the entire human race once again. Back at the turn of the previous century you did at least have the likes of Blavatsky, the Roerichs, Vivekananda and so forth. Now, what do we have: YouTube gurus, who are total fakes and frauds in the true spiritual sense. And so I plough a lonely furrow, and will continue to do so, hoping the barren land may yet produce some virtuous growth, doubting it will. In Naggar last year, we met a guy – once a Rosicrucian like myself – who is wedded to the idea that the World Saviour Maitreya will soon announce his existence on this planet – just as did the Theosophists a hundred years ago, but that is not going to happen. There has been no rise in human consciousness that calls out for such an occurrence. That time has passed. Ouspensky, in his writings, recounts the biblical tale of Sodom and Gomorrah and how God was prepared to save these cities if, first, fifty sincerely honest people could be found, then forty, thirty and so on, until he was prepared to save these cities from destruction if just ten such people could be unearthed. There were not even that many, just one small family survived, and even then the mother was turned into a pillar of salt as she cast a gaze longingly back. Amongst the billions living and breathing today there may not even exist an entire family, so that it may be the great Universal Mind will, before long, have to create once again a new species of creatures which are able to live in harmony with cosmic principles. Certainly, the Earth is willing and is set to exist and support conscious life for millennia to come. If you do not believe any of this it just goes to show how correct the information contained herein all is.