But then, walking home from the enrolment evening, he had called into Nutty Notions for some honey and seen a card on the noticeboard advertising a psychic weekend ‘Hearing From Your Loved One’. Whether it was the nursery comfort of the words ‘loved one’ or simply the idea of a weekend away from the cheerless shell that his home had now become, Arno decided to go. It was rather expensive (he noted from the travel agent’s window that he could have had a week in Spain for the same amount), but he felt it might well be worth it for the chance of getting to know new people.
As things turned out the ‘high-grade channeller’ (a Hopi Indian) promised on the card came down with a low-grade bout of flu but ‘Man - the Cosmic Onion!’ proved a not uninteresting alternative theme to occupy the serious inquirer’s mind.
The opening address was given by Ian Craigie, Founder Emeritus of the community. Arno was impressed and mildly entertained at the idea of himself as multi-layered with the ‘god self’ at the very heart of things. He enjoyed the company of the other guests and was intrigued by the variety of remedial courses: Colour Therapy, Harmonic Tuning, Tear Up Your Negative Script, The Care and Cleansing of Your Astral Body. An initial consultation was included in the cost of the weekend and he had almost decided on a harmonic tune when the door of what he now knew to be the Solar opened and, with a thrilling rustle of iridescent taffeta, Miss May Cuttle swept in.
He would never forget that first sight of her. So tall, with gleaming auburn hair flowing down her back. Her features were assembled with a rare degree of spatial symmetry. The end of her large gently hooked nose was displayed cleanly against a powdered expanse of olive skin adorned by a very fine silky moustache. Her cheek bones were flat and broad and her eyes, which had translucent glowing pupils like circles of amber, had a Magyaresque tilt.
After supper she played her cello. Entranced by the nimble fluidity of her bow and the floridly emotional music soaring to the high beams, Arno knew not only that he loved her but also that in some mysterious, impossible way he always had. He discovered her subject (Colour Healing), put himself down for a workshop and revelled in the warmth of her enthusiastically humane and generous nature. She sorted out his aura, wardrobe, sleeping habits, diet and attitude to the cosmos in a twinkling. Arno attended three more retreats then sold his house and moved to the Manor for good.
All this had been eighteen months ago and the happiness he had felt on first arriving had proved accumulative. Gradually he had shed his loneliness like an old skin, carrying it half-heartedly for a while - a rough barbed little parcel - and then one day just putting it down for good.
Of the members present when he had entered the commune, only May and the Master remained. The others, as is the way of communicants, had joined other groups or reverted to the nuclear. But replacements had arrived and now The Lodge was thriving. Indeed so satisfactory was the balance sheet that it was able to offer bursary help to the impecunious. Most months there was even a small surplus to send to Eritrea or wherever was the greatest need.
Arno gave an irritated ‘uurgh’ and pinched his arm hard. He had done it again. He had drifted off. He wondered not for the first time if he had made a mistake in choosing Zen as his discipline. He had been so attracted by its concrete day-to-day practicality - so resolutely non airy-fairy - but it was jolly difficult. Even without the koän. Clenching his teeth, applying himself determinedly to the task in hand, he tried the Master’s suggestion of verbalising the moment positively and loudly.
‘How wonderful, how miraculous!’ he cried, rootling away with the metal blade. ‘I am hoeing the radishes and now the broad beans. What joy!’
But it was useless. In no time at all he was picturing May and longing to be in her presence. Serving, adoring. Turning the pages of her music, making lemon tea on her little spirit stove. Or just blissfully basking in the charm of her company under the shining bright protection of her radiant eye.
Every day around mid-morning Ken, in his rôle as Zadkiel, planetary light worker, got down to some serious channelling. Sitting upright in the way of the Lotus, nostrils fluting with extrasensory verve, eyes humbly crossed, he and his supra-conscious mind would attempt to penetrate the Outer Screen of Life and plug into the Inner Matrix of Reality. To assist him in these endeavours Zadkiel wore his nuclear receptor. This was a small gold-plated medallion covered in tiny pyramids which trapped all toxic energies (from microwaves, acid rain, carcinogenic radiation, Janet’s negativity etc.) then manipulated the body’s DNA vibrations until all toxicity was defused and harmonised.
Heather (or Tethys as she was astrally known) sat beside her husband breathing noisily and nasally, off about her own cosmic business which might run from a basic recharging of her energies through the great Devas of the Crystal Grid to a full-blown trip to Venus renewing friendships with other ascendant souls who, like herself, had escaped the drowning of Atlantis.
Sometimes Hilarion, Ken’s contact on the other side, would come straight through (a single abracadabra), other times he would go in for quite lengthy teasing, wispily hovering about and hinting portentously in capital letters of revelations to come. Today he spoke almost before Ken had taken one pure breath from the Ascended Master Realms.
‘I am here Earthling. Do you accept the Concentrated Flame of the Presence of the Sacred Fire?’
‘Greetings beloved Hilarion. I accept the Authority of the Flame and promise to perfect, protect and beautify the Cosmic Cause and work only to establish the Spirit of Love in all Mankind.’
‘It is well. Know that they in the High Realm, the Shining and Invincible Ones, desirous of assisting in the precipitation of God’s Perfection in the World of Form, Bless thy Sincere Endeavours.’
‘Please convey my heartfelt gratitude to these all-powerful supreme authorities, great Hilarion.’
There was quite a bit more of this, plus instructions on how to keep ‘the spiralling energy-vortice of our sweet planet earth’ consciously tuned and magnetically cleansed. Hilarion’s voice was very like Ken’s and he was inclined to giggle. When these puckered-up sniggers had first escaped from between Ken’s lips, he had been very surprised - not expecting one of the Lords of Karma to have anything as earthy as a sense of humour. The content of these sessions varied and truth to tell this a.m. it was all rather dull. Mainly about How To Throw Off Discordant Accumulations into the Interplanetary Matrix of Violet Light.
What Ken really enjoyed were the rare occasions when the old wizard offered a really unusual suggestion for some imaginative sortie which would somehow lead Zadkiel and Tethys towards a new appreciation of the glorious Cosmic Heartbeat. For instance only last week he had vouchsafed that if they chose, in the right and proper frame of mind, to trace each abandoned railway line in England to its source, they would obtain proof positive that Jesus - the Cosmic Christ - had visited their country in the latter half of the twelfth century.
‘I have a prophecy, Zadkiel.’ Ken sat up and Heather, who was by now on her way back, sat up too. ‘By happenstance this night at the rise of the crescent moon the goddess Astarte will take upon herself a fleshly vestment to move amongst all denizens of the lower planes and disseminate lunar wisdom.’