I waited while she brought the coffee; waited and moved my feet around in the sodden boots, enjoying the effect the squelching noise had on those on the next table. Eventually, she returned, smiling at my continued noise-making.
“Stop it – you’re just being bad for the sake of it!” she scolded.
“I’m only human.” I said, wetly.
“Thank you . . . “
I looked up into those now-gentle eyes. “Thank you?”
She sat down and sipped her coffee, assembling what she wanted to say.
“Thank you for being the person who shocked me awake on the beach;” she glanced at the shoreline across the road. “Who stalked me like an idiot, in front of the watching world, to make a wonderful and illustrative point.” More coffee, then, “Who waded into a cold sea and made me see that these numbers on a circle are really vivid and imprisoning ways of seeing the world.”
“Well, yes,” I said, amazed and mollified at the strength of feeling. “That’s a very good description.”
“And they all have this, the numbers – the Types?”
“They all have their own flavours of this – though the original anticlockwise wave of the outgoing three are the anchors for the rest.”
“The Nine, where it begins, the Six and this–” she looked wistfully at the beach, again. “The Three.”
“Yes,” I said, smiling at her infectious good spirits. “I used the Three for this increase in ‘volume’ of your experiences for a very good reason.” I watched as she cocked her head to one side, studying me.
“You’re a three?” she asked, smiling.
“Yes, I’m a Type Three.” I replied.
“But you’re not just a Type Three?” she asked.
“No-one is just any single type. We all have them all, so to speak, they are the story of the unfolding human . . .”
“Just in differing proportions?”
“Exactly so, according to our formative reactions – and we are all unique, though we all share some characteristics we’d rather not confess to – notably the ‘sins’ we began these conversations with!”
Alexandra chuckled. “Oh, yes.” she whispered into the foam on her latte. “I can see that now.” She drank from the mug, then asked, “So, where next?”
“Next, at least clockwise, would be the Four . . .”
“Given that I have to catch one of the London trains today, can you give me a few gems to consider in the week ahead?”
I drew in a breath and opened the moment to the right words. “You must go forward from here with what you know. You know that each of what we might call the ‘Outcast Triad’ – the Nine, the Six and the Three – all the same child of the divine – were stages in the One Life, the One Consciousness, the result of a turning away from our original, spiritual nature – which, in one sense, leaves it self-important, an island of safe isolation, where it can make its own rules; and . . . colourless.”
I watched and drank coffee while she considered this. She took her time. Eventually, she said, “And the Three, in a sense, is where we end up – unless we carry on back to the Nine?”
“Very much like that,” I agreed. “So tell me, in your own words, what that process of becoming an outcast, an exile, is . . .”
She thought for a while, then drew in a breath to speak. I leaned across the table and placed a gentle hand on her wrist, shaking my head.
“My train?” she asked, smiling.
“No, my wet feet – but you have some thinking to do for next time.” I drained my coffee.
There was the happiest of silences as she walked, and I squelched, back to the car park by the sands. My boots were unlikely ever to be the same, again – but it had been worth it.
Nine Deadly Sins with Coffee is usually published on Thursdays.
All images and text ©International copyright, The Silent Eye School of Consciousness, 2015.