Chapter 5

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" height=82 BGCOLOR="#CCCC99" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="0408dfe1esnpes.jpg"> <div> <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Arial" ><B>Warp Experience</B></FONT><B>     |     </B><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Warp Experience"><U><B>home</B></U></A><B>     </B><A HREF="id81.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Articles"><U><B>Articles</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id85.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Chapter One"><U>Chapter One</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id87.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Chapter Two"><U>Chapter Two</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id91.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Chapter Three"><U>Chapter Three</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id93.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Chapter 4"><U>Chapter 4</U></A>   |   <B>Chapter 5</B>   |   <A HREF="id95.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Chapter Six"><U>Chapter Six</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id96.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Chapter 7"><U>Chapter 7</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id97.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Chapter 8"><U>Chapter 8</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id98.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Chapter 9"><U>Chapter 9</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id99.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="10"><U>10</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id100.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="11"><U>11</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id101.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="12"><U>12</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id102.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="13"><U>13</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id103.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="14"><U>14</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id104.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="15"><U>15</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id105.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="16"><U>16</U></A></div> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" height=398 BGCOLOR="#CCCC99" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="0408dfc3.jpg"> <div>                                CHAPTER FIVE</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> (From Tim's diary)</div> <bR> <div> Whilst my Master was away I wrote that piece about Simon and Arnold arguing the toss in an ancient cave in the Cairngorms.  I thought I'd ask Master if I could read it to him and.....?    </div> <div> The first thing he said on returning was "Whoever seeks praise....accumulates blame."  I hadn't said a word.</div> <bR> <div> Then he retired to the back of our very large cave. I meditated for many days. One day whilst we were collecting herbs, berries and rock crystals for medicines he said, "Imagine you were the only person left on this planet who had a soul.  Imagine everyone else had become robot.  How would you be able to deal with the doubt that your memory of the previous time......when there <I>were other souls</I> <I>like you</I>......when there <I>was</I> a human world....was now nothing but a product of your imagination?......which is what you <I>know</I> the robots would tell you before <I>murdering you</I>. Would it seem to you that your sanity depended on your memory?"</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> After many, many days of deep meditation I admitted to Master that memory was vitally important to my stability, to my <I>sanity</I>.</div> <bR> <div> "Perhaps," he ventured in his beautiful, deep, soft voice, " a way for you to keep sane would be to become a story teller.....a novelist.....and tell the robots <I>the truth</I> as if it were <I>fiction</I>."</div> <bR> <div> I felt staggered by what he said. I thought it meant he was about to send me back to the West....or he intended leaving the Earth or...?....then he said " Of course, he or she who feels that he or she is able to transmit the facts of the soul....through employing memory and words ....must be absolutely <I>sure</I> that the memory <I>belonging</I> to he or she...is not in any way <I>polluted</I>.</div> <bR> <bR> <div> <I>          I was staggered, absolutely </I>staggered.<I> I </I>didn't read Master what I'd written. I thought I'd either burn</div> <div>           it......or perhaps....? Then a few days later Master said,</div> <bR> <div> " Don't burn Arnold. I like him. He is a real character". I had thought.....in my state of deep sleep....a deep sleep in which I imagine I'm <I>awake</I>.....I  had thought that Simon to some degree represented Master's views....but it seems Simon represents <I>my views...and Arnold represents my Master's views.  </I></div> <bR> <div> Imagine what its like to live beside a Being who knows your soul better than you know it yourself. Who hints that he knows my <I>future</I>. I really hope he's not going to send me back to the West.<I> </I>I dread the idea......even though I'd like to see Mum again...and maybe Dad if they're still...... alive....and maybe...Stuart?  Stuart?  I don't know if it's <I>possible</I> to <I>see</I> Stuart.  He never ever seemed <I>real</I> to me. My brother. <I>Brother</I>. Once upon a time ` brother ' meant warmth...in the West.  It still does here in the Himalayas.  Stuart was never <I>warm</I>. To me. I wonder if he's ever been warm to anyone?  I 'spose<I> </I>he's still married to Kate.....with kids and no doubt <I>very famous.</I> That's all<I> </I>he wanted.To be on <I>top!</I>  To control. To suppress. To poison. Ughhhhh. The West. Please don't send me back Lord!  But there again I'd like to see Joe. Dear Master what about my friend Joe?  Joe is definitely <I>real</I>. Absolutely real....like Master. Arnold is based on the essence of Joe. Yes...that's right!</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> Master said, " Once you adopt a viewpoint  you are bound.....and being bound you are bound to feel unstable...bound to feel inwardly <I>split</I>....unsure....full of doubt.....and so you will seek support...and you believe you <I>will feel supported</I> if whoever you come to believe in...is not split. If someone who you believe is <I>authentic</I>...agrees with your viewpoint. But the one who you imagine is authentic....would have to authenticate for you that you were correct in your belief that this said person is in fact authentic. He or she would have to say  "you're right . I am authentic. I am who you believe I am."  Really....<I>who</I> could ever perform such a role for you? </div> <bR> <div> You imagine I fit the bill....but what if I said that when I was away recently I was not...as you imagined attending a meeting of ancient alchemists in Lahdak....but was actually in Las Vegas living it up with my mafia friends....you know...all of them...each friend...a big mafia boss.  Now do you still seek my approval for your viewpoint?</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> Instead of seeking <I>approval</I> for your viewpoint....examine what holding your viewpoint is <I>costing you</I>?  My own Master said before he disappeared 'those that can't follow...leave behind.'  His harsh statement gave me the opportunity to be bound or to love. I neither fed what he said or fed off it. I am not an agent for that view. If,Tim, you wish to write for someone...write for a fairy-tale character.....like Wise Owl...or.."</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> After weeks of mulling over what my dear Master had said, I realised that I, Simple Simon, am writing to Cowardy Custard....my brother......[Stuart].....to tell him what I've learnt from Wise Owl.  I suppose Molly is Goldilocks...Stuart's wife...Kate, the upper class brain-box <I>groupie </I>.....the traditional tart with a heart. That's what Joe had called Kate in a letter he had sent me when he was masquarading as me.  Yes, for years, Joe--with my blessings--pretended he was Tim Lawson ....the Theological College student. Yes, apparantly he had an affair with Kate...years before she married Stuart. I only ever met her once. That was in Joe's rooms at Oxford. 'Tim's rooms'.... as Joe attended college <I>using my name</I>.  I wonder who else has pulled that one off? </div> <bR> <div> It was  weird how it all happened.  Like I had no choice. Like I was being DIRECTED!  I remember the moment. I'd just been accepted to do theology but suddenly…it was like SOMETHING decided for me...to split to India.....so instead of me going up… Joe went up pretending to be me!  To cover ourselves I told mum and dad that I had written to the college and told them that I had decided to be a Buddhist rather than a Christian....but of course I  never wrote such a letter.  To think I sent Joe up to Oxford in my name!  And we got away with it!  The college never suspected a thing. I came back after a few years for a short visit, which is when I met Kate.  They were very passionately engaged over the kitchen sink when I walked in to 'Tim's rooms'. </div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> Joe in fact got a <I>first</I>....in my name.....and sent me a copy of the certificate. Eventually he became the vicar of Haworth...where the Bronte's used to live....which he just about managed to handle for three years before packing it all in and becoming a computer programmer...using his own name. I used to get regular letters from Haworth...telling me how much he hated the Manse and the museum...and the way the old village was fast becoming an exhibition of kitsch.....kitsch...kitsch...and how he spent most of his time out on moors....away from his prison...as he called the church.  It's weird to think that I, Tim Lawson, am recorded as being once the vicar of Haworth.  I don't know if Joe has ever told anyone about our identity swap?  Well it wasn't really a swap because I've never used Joe's name in India.</div> <bR> <div> (End of Fax Transmission).</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> This <I>stuff</I> is driving me crazy. It's like reading book reviews of books you're never going to read....by authors you've never heard of. Why <I>me</I>? </div> <bR> <div> It suddenly struck me that the statement  'those that can't follow leave behind' could have been said by Hitler. It seems to indicate fear. The fear of being dragged down. And who exactly are 'those'?  <I>Robots</I>? And what does ' follow ' really mean in that statement?  Could it mean 'those I can't <I>clone</I> I leave behind'? And 'leave'?  And 'behind'?  Behind in the consensus mind?  Behind to die?</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> The next day I woke up feeling deeply troubled. The only thing to do was follow Mary's advice and smoke some dope like a real sadhu. I dug my chillum out and made up some strong mixture and got really out of it. Then the paranoia switched on and I had to get out of the hut. I decided the only thing to do was go for a long hike. I decided I'd walk the five miles to my mail box to see what was there. I hadn't checked it for over two weeks. I don't know what the dope was supposed to do but I felt wrecked. I could hardly walk. I fell over in the snow time after time. Sometimes I just lay on my back and watched the dark clouds as they kept changing from Indian erotic sculptures into Nazi concentration camp scenes and other horrors...then the Japanese suffering in Kobe.</div> <bR> <div>  When I eventually got to my post box there was nothing there. How I ever made the journey back I'll never know.  Anyway I did.....and when I got into my hut....at least it was very warm. As I was making coffee the fax machine started whirring. I dreaded reading what the next mind-bending instalment would be. It was weirder than I anticipated. It wasn't a part of Tim's novel but a hand written letter ....supposed to be from Joe. It was faxed from a filling station in London!  Whatever that's supposed to indicate?</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> (Joe's faxed letter)</div> <bR> <div> Dear Hole-in One,</div> <bR> <div> By living in doubt you are causing your Self un-neccessary distress. Our fear-full views don't count for anything. </div> <bR> <div> Ten years ago I thought Mary was a slowly fading star from someone's glamorous dream. Her real potential in deep freeze. A sort of Scandinavian intellectual Ice Queen always feeling short changed by her sexual adventures.  Sure she's a wind-up merchant, and can be a real bitch...but she's also got a very warm heart...but she's not a writer...nor am I.  `Inside-Out' is definitely Tim's work...shaped up a bit by me. So Phil, there's nothing more I can do to convince you of my existence, and the fate of Stuart and Tim Lawson.</div> <bR> <div> Strange as it may seem, now that Tim's work is on the move...I've started enjoying my solitary confinement.  Before you came on board, all I could think about was the possibility of getting parole.</div> <bR> <div> Suddenly I feel really privileged to have such privacy...and am really <I>cosy</I> in my little cell. In fact...weird as it may sound...I don't think I've ever felt so <I>wholesome</I> in all my life.  Besides the strength I'm feeling from your involvement...what also helps is I don't feel<I> any</I> <I>guilt about killing Stuart. </I>Yes Phil, I'm a murderer, and it feels clean, pure. Like I did the right thing. I don't know what Tim's old master would say about <I>that</I>?  Maybe <I>he</I> engineered it all to get Kate all to himself. In a way Phil, I suspect you feel more imprisoned than I do!  I can imagine Mary's approach is freaking you out!</div> <bR> <div>  When I asked her to get Tim's work published I didn't know how she was going to go about it. Look I'm not telling you she's completely <I>trustworthy</I>...but she's all I've got!  Can you UNDERSTAND? I'm not going to tell you to not be on your guard...but she won't gobble up your <I>soul</I>. Not before she's digested mine!  No, sorry that was a joke!  Look Phil, she can't be that bad!  I mean she's been working so HARD on trying to get me out…at least on parole. I mean if she swung it I wouldn't say no.   </div> <bR> <div> Phil, the Russians are decimating Grozny. People blown up waiting for a bus in Israel. This is the Hell News. I don't know if you understand what's going on mate? The whirld is being torn up into bits of painful information. Tim told me that the only thing one could do is take a mighty <I>leap</I> out of the 'conned-senses-mind set'. It's not really a mind. Tim showed me it was a network of viewpoints. A mesh.  A mesh which controls what you feel. It forces you along its thought tracks.</div> <bR> <div>  Since I've found peace recently I've been practising what Tim advised and I actually got out of my own mind.  And it wasn't that difficult...but it felt wonderful and very <I>VAST</I>!   And there was no fear. My heart felt completely <I>open</I>. I became a <I>colossal</I> space. Fresh and vibrant with...as Tim promised...no viewpoint. Nothing to promote, defend or align myself to. I was totally <I>human</I>. Normal. Integrated. Whole. How amazing that being AWAKE is extra-ordinary.  As Tim said, Satori is ordinary. </div> <bR> <bR> <div> Did you know that when the doors of the gas chambers were opened.....the gassed Jewish men...women....and children.....were found in a vast pile.....as many as two and half thousand naked bodies forming a gigantic pyramid. Many exhibited scratches all over their bodies as panic shrieking souls tried to claw themselves to the top of the pile. </div> <bR> <div> Listen, I used to pretend to myself that I didn't understand <I>evil.</I>..believing that if I admitted I understood it...I myself would be branded as being evil.  As Tim would have said:- Evil is a viewpoint. A viewpoint is a soul emptied of <I>love</I>....and being empty...it automatically fills up with coldness....and being cold it learns to suck the warmth out of another soul...but the warmth it sucks out...it can't hold onto.</div> <bR> <bR> <div> Mere viewpoints, like Stuart Lawson, can never be <I>warm</I>...and so they try to escape from their inner coldness by congregating together....and by doing this they create massive magnetic fields....which sucks the warmth out of more souls....as demon-straighted by the magnetic influence of the German Nazi Movement.  It's not that these soul-less love-less spirits need your <I>warmth</I> to fuel their survival needs....no, it's that they need those who they wish to control to be dis-spirited. Of course they can make no use of the warmth they suck out of the human soul.....they <I>hate</I> warmth. You see they're at home in regimented <I>coldness</I>......but they are well aware that real human beings hate such manufactured cold psychic climates....and so by plunging the population into such inhuman conditions they sort out those who might be useful to them from those they condemn to the pile. </div> <bR> <div>       What d'ya think prison 'life' is meant to do?</div> <bR> <div> The goal of this magnetic power is to <I>seduce life to love this cold power.</I> Tim was right of course.....it's a <I>virus</I>...but why does a soul allow itself to be emptied of love in the first place?  Because it found the <I>protection</I> offered by the evil viewpoint <I>attractive</I>.  The evil viewpoint offers repressed souls DISTANCE. Distance from old restrictive religious, family, social, tribal etc.etc. viewpoints. It appears to `protect' the soul from unwanted <I>feeling</I>....and therefore from guilt and shame. It offers the soul a transcendent view beyond the repressed soul's image of its own capacity.</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> I've now come to understand that my solitary confinement has helped me to destroy the image of my capacity.</div> <bR> <div> It's amazing that at last I've found real peace<I> in here</I>. Yet when I was the vicar of Haworth...I lived in state of utter <I>boredom!  </I>Mind you, this new peace I've found is easy to lose if I imagine I'm in some way missing out by being here.  The <I>idea</I> that you could be missing out by not going on someone else's trip is the <I>whirld's madness.</I>  That's the pivot of Tim's tale. That's what Arnold and Molly's merry-go-round is all about. </div> <bR> <div> What Tim's Master showed Tim was how to live in impeccable quietness.  You only discover this quietness after you allow silence to embrace you. Then when you are inwardly <I>quiet</I> peace enters your soul. Tim demonstrated to me when we were together camping on Dartmoor that I was bringing <I>fear into a perfect world.</I> That is the formula for creating hell. Why <I>fear, </I>you ask?  It's the fear of missing out. Yes, this fear of missing out is linked to the feeling of being <I>lost.</I>....as Molly wrote in her diary.  This is, as Tim's Master taught, <I>the source</I> of all one's agitated viewpoints. The desperate hope is that someone's viewpoint will link you to the <I>source of absolute security</I>. (The idea of the Divine). In India, Tim said they call it The Mother Vibration of Universal Love. But can someone else's viewpoint link you to <I>that</I> which would give your whole being a total sense of realness?  Surely not....and I think my dear friend Tim, real-eyesd this before he was murdered by his insane, soul-less, power-mad, jealous brother. </div> <bR> <div> Every viewpoint is an expectation. An expectation to be saved from feeling lost....but by plugging in to the merry-go-round of endless viewpoints....one's life is gobbled up. One has less and less <I>time</I> to develop one's soul seed...which is why Tim makes it clear that there is a ban on T.V. and canned sounds at Simon's Ashram. What is important...as Tim illustrates using Arnold as his mouthpiece...is to create one's own time-space....so one does everything at the pace of one's own deep conscience.</div> <bR> <div>  I say conscience because if I live at a pace <I>imposed from the outside</I>...like according to the screws or the other prisoners, I feel strife....strain...drained. None of this means I shouldn't ever interact with other people....but there's a difference between people and their <I>trips....their viewpoints....their mindsets.</I></div> <bR> <bR> <div> Tim, through his writings, is trying to give us readers an overview on the conned-senses-'mind'....the projector of the mad film called 'the whirld'. I don't know if I've said this before, but I love the way Tim revealed hidden structures of consciousness by the way he spelt key words.</div> <bR> <bR> <div> So if I want to be found by <I>truth</I>....I have to sincerely ask the Divine for <I>contact</I>....and I can't be contacted if my mind is whizzing round the Earth like I'm a viewpoint...which is, of course, a constructed man-made satellite.</div> <bR> <div>  If you're settled in a viewpoint you can't be contacted by that which is truly <I>real</I>. One has to come down to Earth. BE on the Earth....through which the love current flows.</div> <bR> <div>  Yes, I've had to move from my head to my heart. So maybe Cinderella was contacted....because she was `at home'.  The Mother vibration...fairy-godmother took her---the real soul---to the place.....the ball where two worlds meet....where she was contacted by The Spirit who recognised her sincerity....and gave her the light to develop her soul-seed.</div> <bR> <div> The ugly sisters---the false heart and the false mind---and the cruel father who is the symbol for the mechanical whirld where she's got no source of nourishment....no mother....yes these monsters would also like to be joined up to the <I>light</I>....but their reasons are born of falsity. They would like the <I>light</I> solely to empower their selfish aims. </div> <bR> <bR> <div> And now Phil, I'll close this letter with my MURDERER'S  LOG:-</div> <bR> <div> There is a difference between a viewpoint and a soul. A soul can have a viewpoint but a viewpoint can't have a soul.</div> <bR> <div> A soul can move from viewpoint to viewpoint and accumulate information.</div> <bR> <div> It can also stay  `at home' and grow in understanding....through the <I>grace</I> of an expanding spherical awareness.</div> <bR> <div> For those who `stay at home' the question of <I>importance is absolutely important.</I></div> <bR> <div> I seem to be in the transport business:- Transporting information from one soul to another.</div> <bR> <div> Internal conflict is an indication of <I>not understanding growing pains</I>.</div> <bR> <div> Mammon creates the illness and also of course wants to control `the cure'.</div> <bR> <div> The real cure is to <I>not let Mammon touch you.</I></div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> (END OF JOE'S FAXED LETTER)         **                                   </div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> I'd just finished reading the letter when the fax started up again. I decided to smoke a big joint and go to sleep instead of reading it right away. Joe's 'truths' seemed to be enough for the moment. Of course I couldn't pretend that I wasn't escaping from myself. Actually it wasn't my Self I was escaping from.....but from the question `what is my Self'.  Maybe it's the same thing. So my internal conflict is to do with growing pains. I wish it was true. I'd like to believe that I was growing in understanding....but I don't believe it. I mean can you <I>believe </I>what you don't believe?  And look ....I haven't gone to bed...but I'm up writing this. At least I've disconnected the phone and fax. So I don't have to hurry...or worry.....he says!  What seems to have happened is I have no option but to observe myself <I>in action</I>. Like I'm looking in on myself from the outside. But what am I seeing? What I'm seeing is where I'm seeing <I>from</I>. I'm seeing from <I>fear</I>. No, what I'm doing is <I>projecting</I> from fear....and then I'm seeing my own projections......reflected in every move I make.</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div>   <I> </I>                                                        EIGHT</div> <bR> <div> The first thing Arnold saw with his torch when he crawled into his bender was a plate of cheese, bread and tomatoes....all produced at the Ashram. After he lit some candles and his oil lamp he noticed there was a piece of paper under the Ashram-made blue plate. The wood-burning stove had been well stoked by someone. It was almost glowing. After making himself a sandwich...Arnold sat beside the stove...and munched away whilst reading the note left for him.</div> <bR> <bR> <div> 'Arnold, discovering a crossroad is the opportunity to make a decision. Decision is the opportunity to develop the soul-seed. In a real decision one moves out of the old mind. The false teachings on spiritual enlightenment pivot on the desire to liquidate the ego. These teachings are the projections of those egos who are burdened with <I>bad karma</I>. Those souls who have awoken to their true nature know that each soul is here to develop its moral character.</div> <bR> <div> It is a sign of weakness of character to believe different forms of distress arise from one's situation. </div> <bR> <div> DISTRESS ARISES FROM BEING PROFOUNDLY IGNORANT OF THE SPIRITUAL DIMENSION.</div> <bR> <div> I've got to go South.  My brother, Lance, has been murdered in Paris. I shall go to his funeral to console his widow and my mother. I'll be away for about a week. Hope you'll still be here when I get back. Sorry about our difficulty in the cave. I still regard you as my real friend.  Simon'</div> <bR> <bR> <div> Arnold put the half finished letter down....as there was a long P.S.</div> <bR> <div> Lance Mathews <I>murdered!</I>  Arnold poured some tea from a pale blue thermos flask Simon had left beside the stove.  Arnold was in no hurry to read more examples of Simon's unhinged `thinking'.  Now...he thought...Simon is going to get <I>really unhinged</I>.  Arnold thought he would definitely split before Simon returned.  He'd leave a note saying something like `Only what is seen <I>sideways</I> sinks deep'....</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> The goat cheese seemed quite sharp... but with the chives mixed in very tasty. After half an hour or so Arnold eventually surrendered and read the rest of the letter.</div> <bR> <bR> <div> 'First of all it is very necessary to be a full blooded intelligent <I>pagan</I>...alive....hairy...soft....strong....humorous and pulsating with the cosmic rhythm. Then when one is <I>struck</I> by the limited consciousness involved in one's daily life.....one has to <I>stop</I> and wait on this peak of human evolution. One has to stop trying to transform this limited awareness into <I>bliss</I>. One has to wake up to what one really needs. I am a pagan who is preparing himslf to meet <I>Christ</I>.  Lance's death has shocked me <I>awake</I>. Shanti may need some help with wooding. God bless you. Simple Simon'</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> Simple!  Arnold knew exactly why Simon had turned his name into this silly concept.....but he thought it was wildly inaccurate. It had all started ten or more years ago when Arnold had referred to his own ego activity as `Clever Dick '. Soon the whole gamut was dredged up from the English language. Arnold suddenly realised why he felt strong.  He did things in his own time.  His own pace. He was neither driven or pulled...as he saw Simon.....and what he'd seen of Shanti.....who appeared to be a clone of Simon's deranged ideas. They marched to a tune which neither of them noticed. A dirge which Arnold had successfully tuned out yonks ago. ` </div> <bR> <bR> <div> Wavelength' was another way of thinking about it. ` My time is my own ' he thought........followed by the memory of the time he and Simon had developed the names game. `Clever Dick' was clearly distinguished from `Smart Alec'....the latter being unmasked as an example of total uncreativity....the one who makes sure that when you crash he has access to your wounds so he can rub it in that he warned you. </div> <bR> <div> Clever Dick's not a junkie on other's misfortunes. He goes for getting marks or points at <I>every</I> opportunity....not to hurt others but to get their juice. Dick's saving grace is his <I>style</I>...which is sort of creative. Then they dragged up Lord Muck...Show-Off...Pissed-off-Pete...Creeping-Jesus...Cry-Baby...Speedy Gonzalez...Peeping-Tom...Tea-Leaf Tommy...Billy-Liar...Humpty-Dumpty...Tight-Ass...Cowardy-Custard...Greedy-Guts...Sergeant Major...Scrooge...Shylock...Romeo...Big-Head...Tell-Tale-Tit...Egg-Head...Flash-Harry...Judas..Bully-Boy...Copy-cat...School-Marm...Moaning-Minnie...Sexie-Sadie...Miss-Piggy...Cheap slut...Easy-Meat...Cut-Throat...and of course Simple-Simon. </div> <bR> <div>  Once the ball had started rolling Simon grabbed the opportunity to turn Arnold's little primrose into a full scale Chelsea Flower Show. `Flash-'Arry' thought Arnold...... Light without love. Gotta get there. Gotta get there. Speedy Gonzalez. Simon was away that night.  Is away....<I>period </I>as the yanks say. </div> <bR> <div> Simon saw the encounter with the pieman as an indication of innocence encountering the cold calculating whirld. Simon <I>insisted</I> on Arnold clocking the significance of `whirld'. To make his point, Simon excitedly blurted out that the ego lives in the blind spot of the eye (I) sucking out the light meant to nourish the hungry soul. "Look, I, Simple Simon," he had said, " see a pie, feel hungry and want one....but the representative of the whirld...the cold, calculating pie-man, is not on the way to the fair to <I>give</I> pies away. He's out and about in order to <I>get power (money).</I> So innocence is thwarted because it has not yet been tricked into becoming a member of the corrupting whirld. At that point Simple Simon had not yet been dealt into the game. Because he didn't know the rules of the game he was ridiculed and generally marginalized and put down. And when called ' Simple '.....the Clever Dicks etc., mean  ' <I>Stupid Simon '</I>. </div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> Simon insisted this all happened to him when he was a child. Bully-Boy, Clever-Dick and Speedy-Gonzalez would set him tasks he was petrified of doing.....like they forced him to climb up the face of incredibly dangerous cliffs....and if he refused to climb he was apparantly jeered at and called Cowardy-Custard. </div> <bR> <div> Eventually, he said he became so scared of whirldly people he became Humpty-Dumpty attempting to get above it all.....yet of course terrified to make a move....for fear of going<I> mad</I>.....going to pieces....and he knew that none of the whirld's psychiatrists would ever be able to put him back together again. But according to Simon...Wise-Owl put him straight. </div> <bR> <bR> <div> Apparently Wise Owl is the only character who knows that he is <I>not the Master, the True Self, the real ego</I>. That's exactly why he is wise. And Simon....today.....thinks he's following Owl's advice and is no longer pursuing what he would call  'soul destroying goals'. </div> <bR> <bR> <div> Simon says that  Wise Owl wisdom is centred in the concept of <I>no-body</I>. Wise Owl's Master is <I>no-body</I>. Simon explained that the real reason he had become so brittle....and therefore frightened of falling to pieces...was because he had thought fulfillment in life came from being <I>some-body.</I> A somebody. And, he said, "if you're a some-body the last being you want to encounter is a <I>no-body</I>. Simon reckoned that God is a <I>no-body</I>....Wise Owl is Christ...and the fair :---the false <I>image</I> of reality...the <I>whirld</I>....or the condition which is the result of unfeeling, soul-less calculation.</div> <bR> <div> Arnold carefully folded up the letter...opened the wood-burning stove...and fed  the little square to the flames.</div> <bR> <div> No one could ever say that I haven't listened to Simon's raps.....but has Simon <I>ever</I> listened to me?</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> "Can I come in ?"</div> <bR> <div> Arnold couldn't place the ...?...American?.......female voice....as he crawled towards its source...pulled open the canvas 'door' and said, "sure....whoever you are ?"</div> <bR> <div> "Goldilocks," chuckled Molly crawling into the large comfy bender. (Simon had built it especially for Arnold...although Arnold was not told this....because Simon didn't want his ascetic friend to feel obliged to feel grateful. Simon had the <I>impression</I> that Arnold was always touchy about <I>any</I> issue where people's expectations of him were....suspected). "Jesus! You've got a fabulous pad."</div> <bR> <div> Arnold examined her approach as she took off her damp woolly hat and lent her head back and shook her long blond hair loose.</div> <bR> <div> "Sorry, have I said the wrong thing ?"</div> <bR> <div> "Probably," Arnold replied quietly watching Molly as she stood up and started examining the Indian shawls and lunghis covering the curved canvas walls of his Gypsy bender. (Like a large igloo or Zulu hut in shape, Arnold's bender had been made by covering bent Rowan branches with heavy canvas). The entire floor was covered with one very big Afghani red and blue piled carpet.</div> <bR> <div> "Should I not have called myself Goldilocks?"</div> <bR> <div> "I don't know...why don't you ask yer mum!"</div> <bR> <div> "Jesus!"</div> <bR> <div> "Sorry...you've got the wrong address. He don't live here."</div> <bR> <div> "Sorry I've done it twice now."</div> <bR> <div> "What ?"</div> <bR> <div> "Called you Jesus. It must be my sub-conscious....I'm sorry."</div> <bR> <div> Arnold broke up some sticks to increase the heat on the black horizontal stove (welded together by Simon out of scrap metal). He then held up a teapot."Yeah....I'd <I>love</I> a cup of tea," whispered Molly whilst taking off her green wellies. "Now... where are you going?"</div> <bR> <div> Arnold sensed Molly experimenting with her sense of <I>panic</I> as he went outside and filled the old iron kettle from a wooden barrel. As he re-entered Molly said, "what sort of tea have you got ?  Normal boring rations.....meaning herb tea ?"</div> <bR> <div> "Nope!..P.G. tips...or Typhoo. Take yer pick ...or would you prefer a mix? "</div> <bR> <div> " I'll go for the mix.....please.....and is there any milk ?"</div> <bR> <div> Arnold held up a small brown Ashram-made jug and sniffed. "Yep.....smells  O.K. No sugar."</div> <bR> <div> "I don't take it.....do you?"</div> <bR> <div> "Sometimes."</div> <bR> <div> Molly sitting on a cushion purred, "where do you sleep?"</div> <bR> <div> "Why d'ya ask?"</div> <bR> <div> "Well...I've got a bed in my bender....I mean..."</div> <bR> <div> "I don't sleep in beds. I sleep on floors.....in my clothes....with a blanket thrown over me. Is that interesting?"</div> <bR> <div> "No.....I'm sorry....I'm re-acting to an inner fear that you're going to kick me out....soon...because....."</div> <bR> <div> "I'm a big bear called Jesus...who's  <I>afraid</I> you're going to eat all my porridge and sleep in my bed!"</div> <bR> <div> Molly stared and pulled her black skirt down over her knees. "Yeah, I'm acting on an old programme."</div> <bR> <div> "Who isn't?"</div> <bR> <div> "Are you?"</div> <bR> <div> "Probably."</div> <bR> <div> "Do <I>you</I> feel........ fear?"</div> <bR> <div> "Now ?"</div> <bR> <div> "Yes."</div> <bR> <div> "No."</div> <bR> <div> "I feel fear....all the time."</div> <bR> <div> "That's the body/mind trying to control."</div> <bR> <div> "What?"</div> <bR> <div> "You."</div> <bR> <div> "What.....my real un-realized Self?"</div> <bR> <div> "If you like."</div> <bR> <div> " Does the real Self feel anything?"</div> <bR> <div> "The Self <I>is</I> a......feeling. It's a feeling which can <I>think</I>. The nearest it usually comes to fear....is trying to <I>avoid it</I>. It's been trained to be afraid of fear."</div> <bR> <div> "Isn't being afraid of fear the same as feeling fear?"</div> <bR> <div> "No. Being afraid of fear is a mental <I>view</I> on the body feeling fear. If the view is abandoned the fear....." Arnold was going to say 'transforms itself'....but then he realized he was moving into <I>preaching</I>. He kept quiet and cleaned a couple of Ashram-made dark green mugs.</div> <bR> <div> "I think Simon says much the same about viewpoints.....did you know he's gone South...to his brother's funeral?"</div> <bR> <div> "Yes."</div> <bR> <div> "I never knew," said Molly, "until this afternoon...that Lance Mathews was Simon's brother. Simon never mentioned it..."</div> <bR> <div> "Why should he. He had no time for his brother."</div> <bR> <div> "He's been <I>murdered....</I>in Paris<I>....</I>by a ....."</div> <bR> <div> "I don't care who you <I>think</I> murdered him......God murdered him...."</div> <bR> <div> "You really think so?"</div> <bR> <div> "What do <I>you </I>think?"</div> <bR> <div> "I hate everything Lance Mathews stood for....so I'd be glad to think his death was caused by divine intervention."</div> <bR> <div> "Look what counts is not Lance's views.....or my views...or Simon's views..or even God's views....but where <I>you</I> are coming <I>from</I>?"</div> <bR> <div> "I'm feeling a mounting.......<I>panic."</I></div> <bR> <div> "Yeah? Are you sure you're <I>feeling</I> this so called panic?.....or are you trying to <I>not feel</I> this so called panic?"</div> <bR> <div> "I'm trying to <I>distance</I> myself from it."</div> <bR> <div> "From <I>where</I> are you perceiving this panic?"</div> <bR> <div> "From a place of <I>not wanting it!</I>"</div> <bR> <div> "What <I>place</I> is that?"</div> <bR> <div> Molly closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on Arnold's question...but she actually felt overwhelmed by her reaction to Arnold's <I>presence</I>. Not to what he'd said. His presence was frying her. "Jesus...this bender's like a micro oven."</div> <bR> <div> "Really?"</div> <bR> <div> O my God, thought Molly, I've done it again......my sub-conscious is projecting like a maniac....I can't seem to see him in anything but a religious context.And I know that leads to the opposite. Next I'll be imagining he's an agent for the devil! God I'm so sick of my paranoid projections. Why am I so scared to call him `Arnold'?  To hear myself say his name. Perhaps his name isn't Arnold...<I>anymore</I>?.......just like mine's been changed.......but <I>he</I> would never agree to that......and in any case he's not required to do so.....since he's not really a part of the Ashram.....he's only a <I>visitor</I>........and not really visiting the Ashram but his <I>friend</I>.....Simon. I wonder if Simon is Simon's real name?.....or one taken out of a hat like mine?.....I'm sure that's how Shanti got hers.....she's not afraid to let her sexuality be seen....sensed......felt?  Molly breathed very deeply.</div> <bR> <div> Arnold took the cue and also breathed in very deeply before saying very quietly, "Why have you closed your eyes?"</div> <bR> <div> "I'm trying to.....slow down. I always close my eyes when I'm trying to concentrate on my thoughts."</div> <bR> <div> "I didn't suggest you should look at <I>thoughts</I>.......but be aware of <I>where</I> you're coming <I>from</I>?"</div> <bR> <div> "Christ man....are you trying to mind-fuck me?"</div> <bR> <div> "Of course....what do minds like better than mind-fucking?"  Arnold shook some P.G. Tips into the Ashram-made cream tea pot and placed it on top of the stove.</div> <bR> <div> "Jesus.....I haven't even told you my....name."</div> <bR> <div> "Yes you did."</div> <bR> <div> "I'm <I>not</I> Goldilocks."</div> <bR> <div> "No?"</div> <bR> <div> "God.....we're in such a mess."</div> <bR> <div> "Are <I>we</I> ? "</div> <bR> <div> "Alright......I <I>am</I>.....and d'you know why?  It's because <I>you</I> seem so together....your energy is eroding my....fucking front....or something like that."</div> <bR> <bR> <div> Most of Arnold was bored with this type of trip....but not <I>all</I> of him. His acute awareness was embarrassing....him..... yes in some...inescapable way...she was showing him his own position.....was a game. </div> <bR> <div> What was the point?  He could see that that part of him which was already <I>involved</I>......was involved because Goldilocks was <I>manipulating</I> him.....and even if that <I>was</I> a misperception....it was safer to think that way. He poured the boiling water into the pot's black hole. The faint tattoos on his dark muscular arms sent Molly off on another trip.</div> <bR> <div> "I've got some fresh honey."</div> <bR> <div> "No thanks." Molly took the hot mug from his hand. "I suppose you have this weird effect on a <I>lot</I> of young women?"</div> <bR> <div> "Yep.....on middle-aged and old ones as well.".......After a very long....fascinating silence he added..(whilst imagining he was a big brown bear addressing Goldilocks...whilst mummy bear and baby bear are out looking for more honey..).."most women are more interested in sexual dramas than in enlightenment."  Arnold smiled enjoying the sudden warmth he felt inside....and thought about making a joint. Simon was away.....so was that why he was considering smoking dope in the bender...<I>against the rules</I>?  "D'ya fancy a smoke?" Arnold asked very calmly</div> <bR> <div> "Do you think Simon is a Master?"</div> <bR> <div> "He's not <I>my</I> Master if that's what you're wondering."  Arnold replied with a definite <I>coldness</I>.</div> <bR> <div> "I know he's not <I>your</I> Master....but do you think he's worthy of being regarded as a Master?"</div> <bR> <div> "Look I'm <I>split</I>.....and my splits are split and so on....so <I>who</I> are you asking?"</div> <bR> <div> "D'you know <I>why</I> you're so split?.....it's probably because you smoke too much dope."</div> <bR> <div> "Dope doesn't dissect....it reveals...something....."</div> <bR> <div> "Arnold!  For <I>fucks sake</I>!....You're obviously at home in this life <I>style</I>.....I'm out of my depth...and <I>scared</I>......and I've come here to be.....<I>HEALED</I>.....and now my doctor's split and......"</div> <bR> <div> "I never said <I>I</I> was your <I>doctor."</I></div> <bR> <div> "I wasn't refering to you. I meant Simon's my doctor...who's now split."</div> <bR> <div> "He was always split...like all of us....so <I>what?</I>.....the main point is you haven't answered my question. Do you want a smoke?" Arnold slowly turned towards Molly and looked into her.....very unusual eyes. The left one clear blue...the other vivid grass green. This he'd never seen before.</div> <bR> <div> "You're weighing me up aren't you?  Come on man...what are you doing?" Arnold gently bit the inside of his bottom lip....and laughed. "I suppose," Molly added, averting his gaze, "you've been told that there's an Ashram <I>rule</I> of no dope or tobacco?"</div> <bR> <div> "We could walk down by the river."</div> <bR> <div> "It's <I>cold</I>!"</div> <bR> <div> "You're just <I>scared</I>."</div> <bR> <div> "Yes....I'm scared. I told you that. I'm scared of my own mind....of what happens to me when I get stoned...I'm scared to be taken out of my safe habitual little fears.....and then get plunged into a mammoth tidal wave which could carry me away....so that I'll not be able to find my feet ever again...can't you <I>see</I> Arnold...I need to be <I>HEALED. </I>Yes I desperately need <I>healing....not more </I>shaking up. That's already be done to me. <I>I</I> trust Simon.....I think he's a good man...and I like what he's done here.....and is continuing to do here.....it's truly wonderful.....he and Shanti have really created a strong yet gentle healing space...and I haven't been here long.......not much more than you......and I don't know if I can <I>trust you</I>.....?"</div> <bR> <bR> <div> Molly suddenly obeyed an impulse and turned her bewildering eyes onto Arnold and sought his heart.</div> <bR> <div> "Who said you should trust me?"</div> <bR> <div> "You're right...actually," whispered Molly in a confessional intonation. "I can see it's my self I can't trust.....the panic is because somehow you're dissolving my viewpoint......like as if I've already taken some sort of psychedelic."</div> <bR> <div> "So it's come on?"</div> <bR> <div> "What d'you mean?"</div> <bR> <div> "I put a tab of acid in your tea."</div> <bR> <div> Molly <I>froze....</I>and went dramatically <I>white</I>. Arnold didn't know what to <I>do?  He knew he shouldn't have done it</I>. </div> <bR> <div> Actually he hadn't put a tab in her tea but in the tea pot...so he knew it wouldn't be that strong. He had no option since the <I>dice</I> had told him to put the tab in with the Typhoo and P.G. tips.  ( Ever since he'd read The Dice Man ten years ago he'd conducted his life according to the option...which the <I>dice decided</I>).  He had become a <I>Master</I> at disguising the throwing of the dice. He did it in his pocket.  His fingers trained to identify the six dotted faces.</div> <bR> <div> The dice now  told him to lie. "It's O.K.....I was pulling your leg. Yeah you're probably right....dope wouldn't do <I>you</I> any good......you already know what you need." Arnold didn't know what he meant by that.</div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <div> After a LONG DIFFICULT SILENCE in which they both reviewed their seperate merry-go-rounds......Arnold decided to <I>not hold Molly's hand.....that enticing long fingered ....ringed fingered </I>.......yes...rings on every finger...on both thumbs...and rings in both of her ears...three in one ear ...four in the left one....everything made of silver...and each piece had the sudden ability to amplify the silence....yes the silence was becoming extraordinary.....like Molly felt it was becoming <I>substantial</I>....like it had already become a third member of their new ......<I>game</I>?.......yes, thought Molly.....silence has at long last befriended me....me?....she looked into Arnold's shining face.....no, the silence is befriending <I>us.....</I>maybe silence is the emanations of the Cosmic Christ which Shanti spoke about after Simon raced off to Lance's funeral. Maybe <I>this</I> is why I'm here....to be healed by silent emanations.....to be healed.... by Arnold's presence?.....and then she realised the essence of her merry-go-round...thought about it and said, "what sort of dope have you got?"</div> <bR> <div> "You don't need dope." (Arnold said this because he was feeling very worried about the effect L.S.D.  might have on Goldilocks).</div> <bR> <div> "I could....maybe...have just a toke on yours."</div> <bR> <div> " O.K. Where? Down by the river?"</div> <bR> <div> "Yes....Arnold.  I don't want to betray my word."</div> <bR> <div> It's a question of how many people you are."</div> <bR> <div> "Arnold are you trying to drive me mad?"</div> <bR> <div> "I'm always on the look out for what's unusual."</div> <bR> <div> "I feel I'm moving into that Magic Theatre Hesse describes in Steppenwolf."</div> <bR> <div> They were now walking through the pitch dark...about half a mile from the swift flowing River Kyle.  Every now and then a bat would flit by and give Molly the horrors.</div> <bR> <div> "Remember," said Arnold very softly, "the price for entering that Magic Theatre....is your <I>mind</I>."</div> <bR> <div> After they smoked the joint....in the dark....on the damp bank of the restless river ...Molly took the plunge and rested her head on Arnold's lap. (He was sitting crossed-legged on his jerkin)."Why is it Arnold that with some people you can do nothing but <I>love them</I>?"  Molly was waiting for Arnold to politely ask her to not rest her head in his lap. Instead he placed the soft palm of his hand on her forehead before running his fingers through her long,damp blonde hair.</div> <bR> <div> "I don't know anything about <I>love,</I>" Arnold said softly. "I've been <I>caught</I> by the <I>image</I> of love many times. The whole flower power movement got led astray by taking the image of love to be real. So I'm wary of your question."</div> <bR> <div> " O.K. maybe it's not <I>love...</I>but I have this<I> urge</I> to be close to you. To open my heart to you. To have no resistance to you."</div> <bR> <bR> <div> Arnold was astonished at how Molly didn't notice that she was tripping on the acid he'd definitely put in the teapot. He was glad that he'd only put one tab in the pot,  because even so, it was pretty strong. He was tempted to tell her what was going on but the dice decided against it. She seemed happy enough to think her euphoria was due to the joint they'd just smoked. "The point is," said Arnold still running his fingers through her hair, " the flower power movement was born of a real vision of freedom. And to maintain that vision the courage to be absolutely <I>honest</I> with oneself was an absolute requirement."</div> <bR> <div> "You said `<I>was'</I>...is absolute honesty not required any more?"</div> <bR> <div> "The flower power movement no longer exists. It was destroyed by the agents of the State. By fear. By violence. By mindlessness. Make no mistake the flower power movement was the beginning of a massive social revolution...like the dawning of Communism in Russia. But it was not a left wing revolution....its roots were in the <I>eternal reality of spiritual Truth</I>....which is why both the Right and the Left clubbed together to defeat its growth."</div> <bR> <div> "I think Simon agrees with you completely on that point. Did you know that he's gone to his brother's funeral? "</div> <bR> <div> "You've asked me that before. D'you think I'm asleep?"</div> <bR> <div> "I'm sorry...I'm very..very stoned. It's incredibly strong hash. Like <I>acid."</I></div> <bR> <div> Arnold hesitated...then said, "Yes I did know he was dead. Simon left a note for me. Lance Mathews was an absolute <I>bastard.</I> One of the leading agents against the flower power movement. A murderer of the <I>spirit.</I> The world will be a slightly better place without his poisonous presence."</div> <bR> <div> "Arnold, I'm feeling cold. Shall we go back to the Ashram and warm up...in either your bender or mine?"</div> <bR> <div> "O.K. Goldilocks. Lead me to your lair."</div> <bR> <div>                     (END OF FAX TRANSMISSION)</div> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>