Chapter 4
Soon after this, in the summer of 1974, my father wrote,
earnestly asking me to return home, and I did. For a short time I was in an
excellent choir attached to St Margarets Church, and sang Bach’s Ascension
Oratorio and a Mozart Mass. I wondered much about what I should do with my
life, but as nothing presented itself, I obtained a job as a night telephonist
in the Oxford Area Telephone Exchange, and lodgings in Iffley, with three other
men. An easy comradeship developed between us. There was a radio, which proved
to be a real asset. The telephone exchange was a major item in my real
education, for I worked with a large number of colleagues, and many more
subscribers. I was there for four years. There were some excellent supervisors,
some with whom I had an uncertain relationship, and one absolute pig. During my
time there women became night telephonists. Night telephonists were also
responsible for Sundays, and an amiable custom developed whereby the women took
it in turns to prepare Sunday lunch. On evening shifts, we had a half hour
break, and we would go to a nearby pub and down as much Guinness in that time
as we could. One man could open his throat and pour it in, but I thought that
this was disrespectful to a noble brew. Because of shift work, I could not join
any choirs or other groups. Occasionally after a Saturday all night duty I
would go to Iffley church before going to bed. For the most part I did not go
to church. I went through the guilt of this, and out the other side.
In two successive summers, I travelled by motorcycle round all the Cathedrals in England, one year in the south and one in the north. I wrote to my friend in Bangor, who said she also had “got God” and she said I was in for a “feast of shapes”. So it proved. When I got to Exeter, I visited the Charismatic fellowship, and they asked me for my washing, and did it all, and ironed it too, very neatly. This has meant a great deal to me, ever since.
I met a priest called Peter Mayhew, and he became a good friend. I explored contemplative prayer with him. He also had me to dinner often, and later my younger brother and wife too, but I anticipate. Through him I went on a retreat in a lovely country house setting. An old priest conducted it. He was theologically dubious, because he talked of reincarnation, but the atmosphere was beautiful. I broke the silence with another young man, to our mutual delight, but mostly I adhered to the rules and I participated in the experience with great peace and joy.
There was an Assemblies of God church in Oxford, also a prayer group nearby. I received great kindness from the lady at whose house this was held, and she regularly gave me tea and sandwiches. A disparity of aim became apparent, because I wanted to have the charismatic gifts used in an intimate, meaningful setting, but the function of the group was to intercede for world-wide situations as they felt led. This lady gave me a harmonium, and with that and a clavichord I had bought in London, my keyboard skills gradually developed. I also went to some meetings of the Fisherfolk in Wargrave Parish Church, and I was much moved. Once my parents came with me. I thought they could not fail to be affected by so pure and living an expression of spirituality. That meeting was ruined by what my mother accurately called “a footling sermon” by some local cleric.
I must have been considering the process by which human souls become individualised, because a picture slowly formed in my mind as follows: There is a large semi-transparent block of some material with a strange property, and in this block can be seen human souls. Some of them have begun to emerge from the block, and to varying extents. Some are only attached by a small thread of the substance of the block, and there is every expectation that they will soon be free. A few souls have become detached and are walking away. I was sad for the souls in the block, so I said to God to plunge in his knife and cut them out. He said it would do no good. I persisted, until with a snort of impatience God plunged his knife into the block. Immediately the blade of the knife became indistinguishable from the substance of the block and so useless for cutting out the souls.
I shared this picture with a group of young men meeting in the house of an older couple, and one of them, with a theological outlook much like mine had been at Bangor, said that the block was the World. As you know, I saw the world as shot through with the glory of God, as a major indicator of what He is like, not like this dreadful block, but if that was what he meant by “World”, injunctions to renounce it made good sense. Otherwise, to say we should shun the world, to turn our back on the glory of God, would be foolish, ungrateful, and probably dangerous.
I read St Teresa’s “Life” and “Interior Castle” at this time. She said plainly that she was an ordinary person, and I took this at face value, while enjoying her strength of mind, heart and spirit, also the sheer verve of her “Life” and the additional profundity of the “Interior Castle”. She describes some superb visions, as well as locutions.
In Acts Chapter 2 there is a quotation from Joel 2:28, which says “And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: And your sons and daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions”. With perfect presumption I said “I am a young man, I should like to see some visions.” They came in time, with the utmost gentleness. One vision was of the corner of the Celestial City. It was beautiful. I was told I could get there, that it might take some time, and that I would be welcome. The feeling of welcome was there, in the vision. Another vision was of the Trinity. I saw slowly revolving before me a ring-like structure consisting of three lobes, like wings folded over each other in the manner of some pictures by William Blake. There was a complex feeling associated with this vision, which could only partially be put into words: “I am the Father, and I am blissful.” When the next lobe was in view, it was “I am the Son. I co-operate and am blissful”. The third lobe came into view. “I am the Holy Spirit. I also co-operate and am blissful.” In this vision, time was not a point as in normal consciousness, but more like a segment of a line, that is to say, I could move backwards and forwards over the vision, creating what amounted to action replays, except that the original and the replay were all in the same time segment of the present. Before the vision ended, I started thinking that it would be ridiculous to let this opportunity pass of addressing the question of the structure of the Trinity, so I peered closely at the junction of two of the lobes. Straight away I felt a feeling of shame, as if I had peered at someone on the lavatory, so I had to abandon the question for the time being. To some extent the ending of the vision was in my control, so when I had seen and felt what it had to say, I let it go. Another vision may have been received earlier and not recognised as a vision. It was of the legs of Jesus as he was being crucified. I was to take hold of these, although I knew it would cause him pain. I did so, and felt his approval. At once the whole thing was lifted high into the air in a manner reminiscent of the painting by Dali. Some visions are more attractive than others, but I have found, as St Teresa found, that the bearing of crosses can lead to spiritual progress, symbolised by the lifting up into the air. I don’t on that account go looking for crosses. There are quite enough as it is.
I saw that I had to forgive everybody everything. This was an attractive idea, but also I could see that not forgiving is like lugging a huge sack on your back all the time, and what is the good of that? My father’s failure to forgive himself ruined his life and that of his wife, and endangered the well-being of four children.
A religious word I redefined at this time was “repentance”. I had thought it meant grovelling before an angry god, but since I knew God was not angry, I had no use for this. Then I realised that sin buckles, bows and twists the one who sins, and repentance is the beautiful act of standing up straight, close to God who loves you.
I had an accident on my motorbike, and broke an ankle. When I was discharged from hospital, I had to go to my parents’ house, because I could not manage the stairs at my lodgings. I was thus in my mother’s power again, and simple things like a pot of strawberry jam were not bought for me to demonstrate this, though I proffered the money.
In time I took driving lessons and bought a car. Because of this and because I wanted to buy a piano, I began to look for lodgings further afield.
I met Pauline at this time. We spoke of ordinary things such as the rent, but there was a powerful second level of meaning behind the words. We each sensed things about the other. I forgot all about the piano. I took the room with quite another purpose in mind. I did not use any Christian principles in this relationship. Within two days we were talking of God. Within four days we were walking by the river in the moonlight, and within a week, well, the relationship developed in a highly satisfactory manner. I had the glorious experience of being accepted. I had another experience, of increasing in size in some sense. I told this to a wise woman, and she said “you probably did increase in size.” Pauline said I seemed desperately unhappy when she met me. I wasn’t feeling unhappy at all, but full of confidence. The matter of the growing in size probably means, in hindsight, that my emotional body was starved, and Pauline sensed this.
I had prayed long and hard that God would show me his love, and now it was answered, and in a manner I could never have imagined when I prayed it. By no means do I approve of breaking up a marriage, but this one was clearly broken already. I felt my inner man saying to me “Here is your chance. I do not promise another”. I felt that I was in real danger of shrivelling up if I ignored this chance. I have never repented of it, because like Hamlet’s uncle I am still enjoying the fruits of the deed. There is no morality in saying I do not approve of breaking up a marriage. If the marriage is good, you will not be able to break it up readily, and if you succeed, she will be forever comparing what she had before with what she now has with you, to your detriment. Also without morality is to say that a stable relationship is good. It is good because, identity excepted, it is the greatest pleasure known to man.
Because of the shift work at the telephone exchange, we would often get up at noon and go for our breakfast in a pub in Iffley, which did delicious toasted sandwiches. At this time I listened a great deal to Beethoven’s Quartet Opus 131, and Byrd’s Great Service. We began to study with the Open University.
We had temporary lodgings in student accommodation, while the students were on summer vacation. We broke the bed there, and propped it up on a pile of books. I cannot tell you what was in the books. We next took a single room with two beds in it rather optimistically called a double room and charged for accordingly. The landlord fixed the electricity meter so that it gobbled coins. We obtained lodging with “the witch of Botley”, so named after the relationship with her went sour. We left there in a hurry, and imposed ourselves on my parents. My mother tried to show her power by moving our stuff about, but this time she met an obstacle. Pauline shouted at her to leave our stuff alone. In another dispute Pauline held her down in her chair. She shouted to my father for help, but he was nowhere to be seen. She shut up eventually.
We were married in a simple and dignified ceremony at the Registry office, followed my a meeting at the Friends' Meeting House.
In two successive summers, I travelled by motorcycle round all the Cathedrals in England, one year in the south and one in the north. I wrote to my friend in Bangor, who said she also had “got God” and she said I was in for a “feast of shapes”. So it proved. When I got to Exeter, I visited the Charismatic fellowship, and they asked me for my washing, and did it all, and ironed it too, very neatly. This has meant a great deal to me, ever since.
I met a priest called Peter Mayhew, and he became a good friend. I explored contemplative prayer with him. He also had me to dinner often, and later my younger brother and wife too, but I anticipate. Through him I went on a retreat in a lovely country house setting. An old priest conducted it. He was theologically dubious, because he talked of reincarnation, but the atmosphere was beautiful. I broke the silence with another young man, to our mutual delight, but mostly I adhered to the rules and I participated in the experience with great peace and joy.
There was an Assemblies of God church in Oxford, also a prayer group nearby. I received great kindness from the lady at whose house this was held, and she regularly gave me tea and sandwiches. A disparity of aim became apparent, because I wanted to have the charismatic gifts used in an intimate, meaningful setting, but the function of the group was to intercede for world-wide situations as they felt led. This lady gave me a harmonium, and with that and a clavichord I had bought in London, my keyboard skills gradually developed. I also went to some meetings of the Fisherfolk in Wargrave Parish Church, and I was much moved. Once my parents came with me. I thought they could not fail to be affected by so pure and living an expression of spirituality. That meeting was ruined by what my mother accurately called “a footling sermon” by some local cleric.
I must have been considering the process by which human souls become individualised, because a picture slowly formed in my mind as follows: There is a large semi-transparent block of some material with a strange property, and in this block can be seen human souls. Some of them have begun to emerge from the block, and to varying extents. Some are only attached by a small thread of the substance of the block, and there is every expectation that they will soon be free. A few souls have become detached and are walking away. I was sad for the souls in the block, so I said to God to plunge in his knife and cut them out. He said it would do no good. I persisted, until with a snort of impatience God plunged his knife into the block. Immediately the blade of the knife became indistinguishable from the substance of the block and so useless for cutting out the souls.
I shared this picture with a group of young men meeting in the house of an older couple, and one of them, with a theological outlook much like mine had been at Bangor, said that the block was the World. As you know, I saw the world as shot through with the glory of God, as a major indicator of what He is like, not like this dreadful block, but if that was what he meant by “World”, injunctions to renounce it made good sense. Otherwise, to say we should shun the world, to turn our back on the glory of God, would be foolish, ungrateful, and probably dangerous.
I read St Teresa’s “Life” and “Interior Castle” at this time. She said plainly that she was an ordinary person, and I took this at face value, while enjoying her strength of mind, heart and spirit, also the sheer verve of her “Life” and the additional profundity of the “Interior Castle”. She describes some superb visions, as well as locutions.
In Acts Chapter 2 there is a quotation from Joel 2:28, which says “And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: And your sons and daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions”. With perfect presumption I said “I am a young man, I should like to see some visions.” They came in time, with the utmost gentleness. One vision was of the corner of the Celestial City. It was beautiful. I was told I could get there, that it might take some time, and that I would be welcome. The feeling of welcome was there, in the vision. Another vision was of the Trinity. I saw slowly revolving before me a ring-like structure consisting of three lobes, like wings folded over each other in the manner of some pictures by William Blake. There was a complex feeling associated with this vision, which could only partially be put into words: “I am the Father, and I am blissful.” When the next lobe was in view, it was “I am the Son. I co-operate and am blissful”. The third lobe came into view. “I am the Holy Spirit. I also co-operate and am blissful.” In this vision, time was not a point as in normal consciousness, but more like a segment of a line, that is to say, I could move backwards and forwards over the vision, creating what amounted to action replays, except that the original and the replay were all in the same time segment of the present. Before the vision ended, I started thinking that it would be ridiculous to let this opportunity pass of addressing the question of the structure of the Trinity, so I peered closely at the junction of two of the lobes. Straight away I felt a feeling of shame, as if I had peered at someone on the lavatory, so I had to abandon the question for the time being. To some extent the ending of the vision was in my control, so when I had seen and felt what it had to say, I let it go. Another vision may have been received earlier and not recognised as a vision. It was of the legs of Jesus as he was being crucified. I was to take hold of these, although I knew it would cause him pain. I did so, and felt his approval. At once the whole thing was lifted high into the air in a manner reminiscent of the painting by Dali. Some visions are more attractive than others, but I have found, as St Teresa found, that the bearing of crosses can lead to spiritual progress, symbolised by the lifting up into the air. I don’t on that account go looking for crosses. There are quite enough as it is.
I saw that I had to forgive everybody everything. This was an attractive idea, but also I could see that not forgiving is like lugging a huge sack on your back all the time, and what is the good of that? My father’s failure to forgive himself ruined his life and that of his wife, and endangered the well-being of four children.
A religious word I redefined at this time was “repentance”. I had thought it meant grovelling before an angry god, but since I knew God was not angry, I had no use for this. Then I realised that sin buckles, bows and twists the one who sins, and repentance is the beautiful act of standing up straight, close to God who loves you.
I had an accident on my motorbike, and broke an ankle. When I was discharged from hospital, I had to go to my parents’ house, because I could not manage the stairs at my lodgings. I was thus in my mother’s power again, and simple things like a pot of strawberry jam were not bought for me to demonstrate this, though I proffered the money.
In time I took driving lessons and bought a car. Because of this and because I wanted to buy a piano, I began to look for lodgings further afield.
I met Pauline at this time. We spoke of ordinary things such as the rent, but there was a powerful second level of meaning behind the words. We each sensed things about the other. I forgot all about the piano. I took the room with quite another purpose in mind. I did not use any Christian principles in this relationship. Within two days we were talking of God. Within four days we were walking by the river in the moonlight, and within a week, well, the relationship developed in a highly satisfactory manner. I had the glorious experience of being accepted. I had another experience, of increasing in size in some sense. I told this to a wise woman, and she said “you probably did increase in size.” Pauline said I seemed desperately unhappy when she met me. I wasn’t feeling unhappy at all, but full of confidence. The matter of the growing in size probably means, in hindsight, that my emotional body was starved, and Pauline sensed this.
I had prayed long and hard that God would show me his love, and now it was answered, and in a manner I could never have imagined when I prayed it. By no means do I approve of breaking up a marriage, but this one was clearly broken already. I felt my inner man saying to me “Here is your chance. I do not promise another”. I felt that I was in real danger of shrivelling up if I ignored this chance. I have never repented of it, because like Hamlet’s uncle I am still enjoying the fruits of the deed. There is no morality in saying I do not approve of breaking up a marriage. If the marriage is good, you will not be able to break it up readily, and if you succeed, she will be forever comparing what she had before with what she now has with you, to your detriment. Also without morality is to say that a stable relationship is good. It is good because, identity excepted, it is the greatest pleasure known to man.
Because of the shift work at the telephone exchange, we would often get up at noon and go for our breakfast in a pub in Iffley, which did delicious toasted sandwiches. At this time I listened a great deal to Beethoven’s Quartet Opus 131, and Byrd’s Great Service. We began to study with the Open University.
We had temporary lodgings in student accommodation, while the students were on summer vacation. We broke the bed there, and propped it up on a pile of books. I cannot tell you what was in the books. We next took a single room with two beds in it rather optimistically called a double room and charged for accordingly. The landlord fixed the electricity meter so that it gobbled coins. We obtained lodging with “the witch of Botley”, so named after the relationship with her went sour. We left there in a hurry, and imposed ourselves on my parents. My mother tried to show her power by moving our stuff about, but this time she met an obstacle. Pauline shouted at her to leave our stuff alone. In another dispute Pauline held her down in her chair. She shouted to my father for help, but he was nowhere to be seen. She shut up eventually.
We were married in a simple and dignified ceremony at the Registry office, followed my a meeting at the Friends' Meeting House.