The autumnal winds were blowing straight off the shore and across the front of the Sunrise Tearooms. The summer had definitely gone. I tightened the collar of my jacket around my scarf to preserve my body warmth. I had not seen any of them for two weeks. I had stayed away from Grange, wanting to review what had happened to me – what kept happening to me.
They were an unusual group. I had never encountered anything like this, before, and I viewed myself as a reasonably well-read student of the spiritual. It was as though their goal was to cut through much of the mystical teaching of the past, and present the results as a very direct – and often abrupt – method of approaching the target.
But what was their target?
The act of ‘stopping the world’ was what had first awakened my real attention. I knew the technique had not originated with their group. I had read of similar things from books published decades ago. The idea was simple – to create an internal tension with an unusual action, such that the normal ‘flow’ of the world around was interrupted. When this happened, there was a sense of something breaking.
I sipped my coffee – it was nearly cold, its weak heat doing little, now, to offset my loss of warmth, sitting obstinately on the terrace of the cafe, with a couple of people smoking as my only company. I must have looked strange – ridiculous, even . . . Yet, something stubborn in me clung to this action. It was, after all, how Don Pedro and I had met. This, too, was an act of stopping the world, a breaking of the normal, the expected.
What was it that broke under such circumstances?
They had made no attempt to contact me since the strange but wonderful ritual on the Head. I felt as though this period of reflection was normal, was expected. Then I caught myself in this thought and realised my mind was avoiding answering the question I had just posed by injecting a vivid memory into my consciousness.
What was it that broke under such circumstances?
Could my mind be taking me away from answering that very question? And why would it? Why would my greatest ally – my ability to think – be trying to derail an inner question whose importance had already been set by my will? I brought my focus back to the question, again: how could the act of doing something deliberately different, and in some cases, quite antisocial, generate that sense of tearing? I held the question this time, would not let any other thought displace it. Within a few seconds the inner dialogue ceased, the sense of wrestling with it calmed; and I found myself staring at something deep within me.
When stopping the world worked, it was because a deeper part of me came to life. Smiling, it emerged from the place it always lived and gained access to the ‘normal’ world in a different way. Across from me, a woman in a fur coat took out an elegant lighter to finish her coffee with a cigarette which already sat in her painted, red lips. I had spent several seconds fascinated by the tableau, when I realised that I had done it again – my attention had been consumed by the ‘world’ just as I was getting somewhere.
How strong was this force?
For some reason, the circle that Don Pedro had traced on Humphrey Head came to mind. Was that shape related to this new sense of ‘me’? Perhaps ‘me’ was the wrong word for it, since ‘me’ described my normal sense of self, and this newly-revealed inner being was quite different. Why had I never seen into myself before in this way?
Before I could probe this further, a hand that actually felt warm, even through the layers of my jacket, fell on my shoulder and a light kiss was planted on my head.
“Lobo deep in thought,” said a familiar soft and teasing voice. “Fresh coffee?”
I turned my head to smile up at her. Although dressed in her work uniform, she looked beautiful.
“It’s cold out here.” Her head inclined slightly and the brown eyes blazed a kind of inner fire.
“Shall I put the coffee on one of the nice warm tables inside?”
I watched her measure my response with eyes that didn’t even flicker. I had the sense that I could revisit this moment a hundred times and fail. I needed to continue acting in a way that would avoid any of my usual comforts, to keep that link to what I had just found alive.
I smiled back at her and shook my head, almost imperceptibly. I swear that I actually felt a flash of energy pass from those brown orbs. She nodded her head, without words, and turned to bring my coffee out to my cold world . . .
But my inner world was blazing . . .
Coffee with Don Pedro is published on Thursdays. The previous episodes, some of which are labelled ‘The Beast in the Cafe’ are in the blogs. You can follow the enigmatic trail by clicking on this link.
All images and text © International copyright, The Silent Eye School of Consciousness, 2014, contact details and an outline description are on the other pages of this blog and via the website below.