Blinded By The Light

This time I knew exactly where I was going and found the farm with no difficulty at all. Having spent a night there made it familiar to me. I guided the car carefully over the bumpy track to the farmhouse and parked it by a wall. There was the sense of rain in the air. I rapped loudly on the door. Fletcher answered.

“Joe,” he said, seeming pleased.

It’s nice to be wanted.

Bea came out from the kitchen and her face brightened when she saw me.

“You’re in time for our Evening Service!” she announced.

“Come and join us,” Fletcher added. “As an observer.”

An evening service? It sounded suspiciously like church. I had a sinking feeling and wondered what I’d got myself into. But, hey, I was free to go afterwards. I might as well sit it out. So I put on a brave smile and followed Bea to the Gathering Place, where quite a few people had already assembled. There was Kate, who rose to her feet to greet me, smiling fit to burst. There were others I recognised, and who recognised me. They all said, “Peace!”

I muttered back, “Peace,” since it seemed the right thing to do. I sat down on a bench where there was room for Bea to sit next to me. She did. I found that I was swallowing nervously.

I always feel edgy in religious services. Not that I’ve had experience of many. As a kid I’d been to church on some occasions, then we sort of stopped going. I’d been to weddings, and a couple of funerals. And countless school assemblies. It had always struck me that the point about religious services wasn’t worshipping God as much as getting it right. Finding the right hymn number, singing neither too softly nor loudly, sitting and standing at the right times. Oh, and being quiet. And letting someone, like a vicar, or the Head, talk nonsense at you, feel-good stuff that you knew neither they nor anybody else would practise. And you just stood there waiting for it all to finish and thinking of something totally different.

This time, I was just very embarrassed. I didn’t know what to do with myself. It suddenly occurred to me that my legs were too long, as the bench was low and I had to try to position them out of people’s way. I didn’t know what to do with my hands and found I was clenching my fists. And my scalp was itchy, so I tried to scratch it without anyone noticing. Then Fletcher came in and started handing round some pamphlets. They’d obviously done the rounds, and looked the worse for wear. I took one from the pile that was handed to me and passed the rest along.

The door opened once more and two of the blokes came in, carefully carrying one of those plastic baby bath things, half-full of water. They placed it in the middle of the circle. I watched the water level move back and forth, then settle. As it settled, conversation stopped. Bea squeezed my hand and I hoped she hadn’t noticed how hot and sweaty my palm was. Kate went round lighting candles, and when she had finished, someone switched off the light. The room was lit by flickering flames and dancing shadows played on the floor. Some people began to hum a tune. It sounded vaguely Eastern. The refrain was simple and I could have easily joined in had I wanted to. I heard Bea take up the melody, then the person on my other side. I found myself swaying slightly in time to the tune. I was the only person not humming. I tried to look as if I was humming, then found I was emitting a sort of noise. Oh, what the hell. I joined in. It was just some communal singing. We weren’t sacrificing goats or anything.

We all hummed for some time. Then slowly people dropped out until there was silence. Fletcher’s voice broke it.

“O, source of Light,” he intoned. “We are grateful for having reached the end of one more day. We offer thanks for those moments of illumination we have experienced and confess shame at the incursions of Darkness we have allowed. As the diurnal shadow envelops us, we affirm our commitment to the One Light, to Truth, to Goodness, to Peace, to Perfection. We approach the night confident that the day will follow, as the Kingdom of Light always surpasses in strength the Kingdom of Dark. We are glad that we are one day nearer you and yearn for the last night, when we can enter fully into the World of everlasting Day. We pray that we will be worthy of it. We work that we will be worthy of it. Our purity reflects our desire.”

Everyone murmured, “Our purity reflects our desire.”

Fletcher read some more prayers. I was trying to follow the gist of it, which seemed to be about light and darkness. I didn’t hear him mention God, which was a relief. I also noticed there was none of that ‘thee’ or ‘thou’ stuff. It was all in modern English. But the strangest thing was that absolutely everyone was paying attention. People were either following in the pamphlet or watching Fletcher and listening. There was depth and seriousness in their eyes. It made me feel kind of inferior.

Then Fletcher stopped and there was more silence. I was getting used to this silence now. It had a quality all of its own, like a white noise, like a silken veil held close to your skin. It exerted a gentle pressure on me, on everyone. Then a bloke I couldn’t put a name to got up from the bench, went over to the bath of water and knelt by it. He immersed his hands in the water and began to wash them, and spoke as he did so.

“I, Chris Taylor, swore aloud when I was cut up on the roundabout this afternoon.”

“We trust you will be forgiven,” came a few voices.

The guy continued to wash his hands for a few moments longer, then shook them over the bath. Without drying them, he went back to his seat. His place was taken by Nick, who also began to wash his hands.

“I, Nick Lewis, failed my ASD today. I deplore my weakness.”

“We trust you will be forgiven,” came the response.

Nick didn’t look too well, I thought. I wondered if he’d been eating properly, and what that ASD was. That is, if I’d heard it right. But now was hardly the time to ask. Somebody came to help Nick up from where he’d been kneeling over the bath of water. At the same time a girl left the benches and came to the water. She was quite striking to look at, with high cheekbones, masses of reddish, curly hair, a good figure, but slightly gawky – or maybe she was just moving in a nervous way.

“I, Auriel Beaven, permitted malicious gossip to be spoken in my presence. I didn’t have the courage to stop the backbiting – it was about my line manager at work – because it was true. I happen to know my boss does those things that her colleagues accused her of. So I wasn’t sure whether to agree with the truth or stop the bad feeling.”

She seemed really upset.

“I regret my confusion,” she continued, “and ask for clarity of mind and purpose in the future. And when I washed the floor today, I accidentally made a dirty smudge afterwards, when I was carrying out the water, and didn’t go back to clean it. For this I am truly sorry.”

“We trust you will be forgiven,” Fletcher muttered.

“And I had unlawful thoughts. I wanted to eat today, I wanted more than my fair share and looked enviously at the portions of others. I’ve vowed to give up all food containing sugar, but I doubt my own intentions. For this may I be forgiven.”

“You will be forgiven,” Fletcher said, this time loudly. Auriel flinched, and, trembling, returned to her seat. Well, I thought, there’s always one weirdo in the pack.

One by one, more White Ones came to the bath to wash their hands and confess their wrongdoings. I was fascinated, hoping someone had done something really juicy. Then Bea left my side.

“I, Beatrice Rossi, have allowed my mind to become clouded by an obsessive thought. I have prayed for that which is not permissible. I acknowledge my weakness of dwelling too much on thoughts which are bad for me. I thank the Light for the help it has given me in the past and know it will continue to do so in the future.”

“We trust you will be forgiven.”

It looked quite beautiful, everyone kneeling by the bath, washing their hands. I wondered if I ought to join them, although Fletcher did say I was there as an observer, so perhaps I’d better not. I asked myself what I had done that day that, theoretically, I could confess. God, it was hard to know where to begin! It depends on what you count as a sin really, and what you would say was natural. Like, your body makes certain demands, so what can you do? Is that a sin? Or leaving the washing-up for Mum and Gemma because I just couldn’t be arsed. Or thinking what a plonker Kevin is? Was my dislike of him a sin?

Then the humming started again. One by one people retreated from the bath. The two blokes who had carried in the water lifted the bath again, and Fletcher opened a door that led outside. Everyone rose and massed around the door. The candles flickered at the rush of cold air. The water was carried out to a drain and tipped into it. Fletcher’s voice rose above the humming.

“As the water returns to the earth we ask that our Darknesses of spirit, thought and action return to their source, and we can move on unencumbered to the path of Light.”

More silence except for the sound of gurgling water. Then everyone began to hug each other, murmuring something.

Bea hugged me. “Peace and Perfection,” she said.

I said it back. Then a bloke hugged me. We exchanged the greeting of Peace and Perfection. I think I was hugged five or six times. It was like a match when you score a goal. These were hugs of friendship, of being on the same side. Sure, it was odd, but kind of nice.

Then everyone chanted, “I believe in truth, in purity, in wholeness. I believe in goodness, in right, in light. I ask for the power of the Light to enter my body and soul… May it be my lot to achieve Perfection… I will stay by the fountain of Light… May it be my lot to achieve Perfection. May it be your lot to achieve Perfection. To the One, to the Light – salaam, shalom, peace. Peace be with you.”

Then they – we – let go of each other’s hands and kissed our fingertips. Bea turned to me and placed her kissed fingertips on my lips, lightly. The tingle travelled from my lips to every part of me. Weird. But good.

We sat again. I looked round at everyone. They didn’t seem so strange any more. Because we’d all taken part in something I felt connected to them. And yet. And yet. The truth was, I envied them. They had something I wanted – I couldn’t have put it better than that. Yes. I wanted whatever it was they had.

6. From Rendall’s Parables: The Tale of the Brothers (#ulink_c5ae0b01-68d4-5ed8-bb0a-55b79722e214)

In a distant land dwelt a young man who loved his village. Every day, accompanied by his two younger brothers, he walked through its streets, greeting its inhabitants. Yet those that lived in the village reviled him; they spoke of him and his brothers as mad.

The day came when a bird settled on his shoulder, singing him a song of freedom and light. It sang of a land far away where all those he met would greet him with love and acceptance. So the bird led the young men from the village through the barren lands out to sea. Here was a boat packed with provisions, and the young man and his brothers set sail.

They sailed for a year and a day. One night the sky darkened and there was a storm of perilous magnitude. The sky crashed above them and the seas crashed around them. Despite the efforts of the young man, his brothers perished in the storm.

Soon after that time the young man arrived at the place the bird had promised. And in the morning he arose, went to his new home, and knew that he was loved. And he donned his white garb, and dwelt among his brethren.

So I kept going up to the farm, attending some Services, watching, talking. When my old mates came back from uni, I wriggled out of seeing them, except for Phil, who insisted we go out to the pub. I offered to drive so I didn’t have to drink. In fact it wasn’t too bad. The only mention I made of the White Ones was of Bea. I just talked about this girl I was seeing. Phil was only slightly interested as he was full of himself and just wanted to tell me what he’d been up to. That suited me. I didn’t want to say a lot about Bea either. I wasn’t quite certain what to do about her. Because she was training to be a White One, I had to bide my time and see how she wanted to conduct the relationship. To tell you the truth, I was a bit lost. In my other life, in the real world, I’d usually snog a girl first, then decide if I wanted to see her again. And I might or I might not. If I did, I’d suggest a film or something, and see if I could talk to her. And if I could, if I found I both fancied and liked her, then I’d go for it. Because a relationship with a girl was like a double thing, mental and physical.

With Bea it was different. I definitely knew I fancied her, and I was pretty sure she fancied me. I caught her looking at me in a certain way. But apart from the odd squeeze of her hand, a peck on the cheek, or the sensation of her thigh pressed close to mine when we sat on a bench together, there had been nothing. Nothing physical. Instead I found myself pouring out the story of my life. She had interesting comments to make about my mates and family. I told her about Tasha too. She said some partings were inevitable, were meant to be. I found myself getting closer to Bea, but we’d never kissed, nobody acknowledged us as an item – heck, even we didn’t acknowledge ourselves as an item. Yet we were one, I was sure of it. But I didn’t want to press the point, in case she said something negative. So we drifted on, getting closer, not saying or doing anything. I thought about her most of the time, dreamed about her, thought of her as my girlfriend but couldn’t say she was. There was no one else on the farm she spent as much time with as me.

But don’t think I only got involved with the White Ones because of Bea. There was more to it than that. Like, when I went to the farm, everyone around me was happy. You don’t realise how miserable most people are. At work, at home, at school, everyone has long faces. If you’re in a good mood, people think you’re clowning around. I read once that some bloke said most people lead lives of quiet desperation. That’s true. Except on the farm. There, people communicated, smiled, opened up. I liked it, pure and simple.

And I admired them for giving up things – the way they didn’t drink or smoke or do drugs. That took some willpower, willpower most people didn’t have. I reckon their belief system helped them. Personally, I didn’t know what to make of that part of it. For me, going to their Services and joining in with their rituals was like playing a virtual reality game. Like when I was a kid and you’d play aliens or whatever and you’d really BE an intrepid space commander for half an hour or so, and then your mum would call you in and you’d drop it. So while I was attending their Services I kind of believed it all, but I knew really that I didn’t. Or so I thought.

Then my mum started asking me questions, like who my new friends were, that sort of thing. I almost told her the truth but luckily stopped myself. My parents might have understood what good the White Ones were doing me, but then again, they were more likely to ask awkward questions and then pick an argument. So I told them Nick, Kate, Bea and Fletcher were living in a commune, that they were mainly artists, were into wholefood, the alternative living thing. I said quite a few of them worked outside the commune, too. I made more of my individual friendships with them, especially Bea. I lied and said she was my girlfriend. When Mum asked do they take drugs, I answered with complete honesty, no way! When she said, if you have a girlfriend, you must be responsible, I said, we’re not sleeping together. Then she asked, you’re not thinking of going up there to live, are you? That was harder. I can see the attraction of their way of life, I replied, but I like my home comforts too much. Mum seemed satisfied, and anyway, she was totally stressed out about Christmas.