PART ONE THE JOURNEY AROUND THE CIRCLE
PART TWO THE JOURNEY TO THE CENTRE
PART THREE SELF-REALISATION/ETERNAL LIFE
‘Amidst the pressures and strains of life there is the longing of the self to realize itself by escaping from the dominance of the environment. There are many cults which offer such an escape, with an experience of a heightening of the faculties and a realization of the self in greater power of its own or of something beyond the self. But it is important to ask what is the reality which is experienced, and what is the effect not only upon the sensations but upon the life and character of the person who has had the experience. There is an old story of a man who was had up for being drunk. The magistrate asked, “Why do you get drunk like this?” and the man replied, “You see, your worship, it’s the shortest way out of Manchester.” Alcohol, drugs, the mystical techniques of various religions, may be the shortest way out of Manchester … But it matters very much where you get to, and what you are like when you come back.’
MICHAEL RAMSEY
Archbishop of Canterbury 1961–1974 Canterbury Pilgrim
‘God acts upon us inescapably through the people who touch and influence our lives.’
CHRISTOPHER BRYANT
Member of the Society of St John the Evangelist 1935–1985 The River Within
‘More than in the past, the young are striking out into intellectual independence and revolt against tradition.’
MICHAEL RAMSEY
Archbishop of Canterbury 1961–1974 Canterbury Pilgrim
I
I had just returned from an exorcism and was flinging some shirts into the washing machine when my colleague entered the kitchen. He was wearing his cassock and carrying a bottle of whisky. Beyond the window caked in city grime, sunlight blazed upon the battered dustbins in the back-yard.
‘How was the Gothic mansion haunted by the ravishing young ghost?’
‘Non-existent. The trouble was in a council house where the previous occupant had overdosed on heroin in the lavatory.’
‘Ah well, that’s 1988 for you … Drink?’
I declined but passed him a glass from the draining-board rack before I set the dials on the washing-machine. Meanwhile the electric kettle was coming to the boil. Absent-mindedly I reached for the teapot. ‘What’s new?’
‘Absolutely nothing. A drunk disrupted the lunch-time Eucharist, the Gay Christians demanded that we stock their literature on AIDS, and some neurotic female from the Movement for the Ordination of Women threatened to picket the church unless you sacked me – oh, and talking of neurotic women someone called Venetia telephoned twice to say she had to talk to you. She sounded like a nymphomaniac.’ He drank deeply from his whisky before adding: ‘Now why should the name Venetia remind me of the 1960s?’
There was a silence broken only by the click of the kettle as it switched itself off. Then I said: ‘She was a friend of Christian Aysgarth’s.’
‘Ah yes,’ said my colleague, suddenly motionless. ‘The Christian Aysgarth affair. 1968. Crisis, chaos and the Devil on the loose.’
The phone rang. Moving to the extension, which hung on the wall by the dresser, I unhooked the receiver and said neutrally: ‘St Bent’s Rectory.’
‘Darling!’ It was Venetia. ‘I thought I’d never get past that crusty old curate you keep!’
‘He’s not my curate. He’s my colleague at the Healing Centre.’
‘Well, chain him up somewhere, I can’t bear misogynists. Now darling, I know you were terribly sweet and madly keen that I should visit you for a little professional chat, but –’
‘– you’ve got cold feet.’
‘Slightly shivery, yes. When I awoke this morning I began to wonder if a Healing Centre was really quite my scene, and –’
‘Nobody’s asking you to fall in love with it. Just think of it as a back-drop. I’m the scene.’
‘Oh yes, lovely, simply too thrilling – but I can’t bear that word “counselling” – quite ruined by the 1980s – all those wild-eyed social workers descending like vultures on disaster-victims