Chapter 21 Dharma Talk

– The ego

Sunday 8th August

It was six-thirty in the morning, and Sam sat once more on a chair on the raised platform at the front of the main meditation hall of the Bodhiisha Temple. This was the first session of the day – prior to breakfast. Sam had agreed to lead this meditation so she would be free for the remainder of the day until she gave the dharma talk before the evening meal.

‘Good morning, everyone. Before the meditation this morning, I would like to say a few words about ego. I would like to try to define ego so that you can identify it more clearly during your meditations.

‘Since Freud formulated the concept in a psychoanalytic context, the word ego has come to have a variety of popular definitions. I use it to describe the sense of “I am” when linked to whatever arises within us. We might say: “I am this feeling” or “I am that thought”, for example. It is the personification of what most people consider to be their “self”. You will hear me and other teachers saying that the self doesn’t exist, however, so it’s reasonable to wonder why we spend so much time trying to find ways to weaken or even eliminate something that isn’t real. You might ask how this non-existent entity can stand so determinedly in that way of experiencing the reality that you all seek.

‘The inner awareness that I have spoken of is the element of you that connects with the deeper reality. That is your real self. It can’t directly interact with that of which it’s aware, however. It isn’t our awareness that checks the bus timetable or orders a takeaway. It’s our minds that facilitate those interactions with the world we perceive around us.

‘In order to navigate that world and survive, the conditioned thoughts and feelings that arise in consciousness must be marshalled in some way to produce sufficient consistency. You could say that the ego provides this marshalling. But then we’re taking of it again as if it’s a specific thing, and it isn’t. So how can we conceptualise ego?

‘Think for a moment about the question: what is this temple? Is it the buildings? Is it the rooms? Is it monks? Is it the spiritual teachings associated with this place? Is it the furniture? Is it the atoms from which all of those things are made? Is it even the quarks or strings that underlie those?

‘I’ve just outlined a hugely complex, mind-boggling issue, and yet it’s possible to get a taxi from Thetford to here without the driver having a complete mental meltdown while trying to grasp the concept of where you’ve asked her to take you.’

There was laughter in the hall. The group had come to appreciate and very much enjoy the gentle humour that accompanied many of the things that Sam said to them.

‘The fact is, this temple doesn’t exist. The word is used like an empty cardboard box. We agree to put some items in that box that somehow relate to our experiences of all this.’ She moved her arm to illustrate the surrounding room. ‘We then point to that box when we want to communicate to someone else about it. This applies to any noun you might like to choose.

‘The fundamental reason that we keep treating ego as a discrete entity is that language has led us to treat as discrete entities all the fuzzy-edged cardboard boxes that we use in speech. In the mental box that relates to yourself, you might find sense perceptions; you might find culturally and socially conditioned behaviours; you might find feelings; you might find thoughts and you might find certain thoughts about what’s in the box that coherently connect some of those contents. What isn’t there is an ego. By our awareness gazing at the box, the illusion of a discrete entity can form, and we can easily identify with it. We’ve then written the word “ego” on the box.

‘In our meditation this morning, I’d like you to focus on the contents of your ego boxes as they arise in consciousness, but I’d particularly like you to be alert to any identification you make with those impressions. You are not those thoughts. You are not those feelings. You are not those sense perceptions. When they arise, just let them drift away. Remember that you are neither the ego box nor its contents.

‘Thank you.’

Chapter 22 Making up for lost time

Sunday 8th August

Sue Melton stood up from her meditation cushion and went to answer her front door.

‘Hello, Ben. What are you doing here so early on a Sunday morning?’

‘I’m on my way to Bodhiisha, I’d thought I’d drop by to say hello at a time when some random event was less likely to get in the way.’

Sue smiled. Dinner at the New Saffron Indian Restaurant in Thetford had been cut short by the call from the hospital to say John Henson had vanished. After going to the hospital, Ben and Sue had eventually ended up at Sue’s flat but had not removed their coats before Sue had received another urgent call to say John had been found at the Bodhiisha temple.

Ben had driven Sue to the temple, but they had thought it best he then return to his flat in Diss and not accompany her to collect John.

On Saturday, Ben had joined Sue for lunch in the hospital refectory, but Sue had then worked a long shift, well into the evening, and Ben had therefore decided to spend the rest of the day at the unit, checking documentation for his final report.

This morning, therefore, was the first opportunity for them to be together with no one else around since Ben had left the temple car park on Friday evening. They had not even kissed on Friday. Kissing goodbye at the car park had not seemed quite appropriate when they had never kissed hello.

‘Have you got time to stay for a while?’ said Sue.

‘I said I’d meet Sam Martin at eleven this morning at the unit, so I’ve got an hour.’

‘Come on in.’

Ben entered Sue’s flat and closed the front door behind him.

Sue was curious about the reference to Sam and the unit. ‘I gathered at the hospital yesterday that you’d been to one of Sam’s retreats on Lindisfarne,’ she said as Ben followed her through to the kitchen area.

‘That’s right. As things worked out, I joined Sam, a friend of hers called Sahadeva, and Shingetsu for dinner at the temple last night.’

‘It was nice of them to invite you. And you’re now meeting her at the unit.’

‘Yes. The discussion last night was very interesting. There’s been another turn of events, you see. You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t explain what’s going on for the moment. I don’t fully understand it myself.’

‘Very mysterious.’ Sue smiled. ‘Have you had any breakfast?’

‘No.’

‘Would you like some cereal?’

‘That’d be good.’

Five minutes later, they were sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal and drinking coffee.

‘Any further news about John since yesterday lunchtime?’ asked Ben.

‘Yes, he seems to have made rapid progress. He’s not in that trance-like state anymore. He’s still quite taciturn. He doesn’t volunteer any information, but it’s possible to converse with him about practical matters like whether he’s comfortable and what he wants to eat. We’ve even managed to contact his brother, who lives in Southampton. John and his brother spoke on the phone yesterday evening, and his brother’s due to come up here on Tuesday. If John continues to improve, I hope I can discharge him on Tuesday to stay with his brother.’ Sue looked up at Ben and smiled. ‘So, tell me what you can about this new secret turn of events that involves an attractive and mysterious older woman.’

‘I don’t want to say too much, and obviously keep it to yourself, but there may have been something odd going on at the unit. It might explain why I’ve only got thirty-two patient files when both you and Shingetsu counted a lot more patients than that. Sam and I are going to take a closer look around the unit this morning.’

‘Why’s she interested in what went on there?’

‘It’s a long, complicated story.’ Ben smiled at Sue. ‘Although I guess it’s possible that she just wants to meet me alone so she can seduce me. I mean, I’m not having an intimate relationship with anyone else at the moment.’

Sue reached for her mobile phone, picked it up and turned it off.

‘Why did you turn your phone off?’

‘That phone’s the sole reason you’re not in an intimate relationship with anyone at the moment. I don’t want to take any chances this time.’

They both laughed.

Sue stood and walked towards her bedroom.

Ben got up and followed her.

Suddenly, Ben’s phone rang. ‘I’ll switch it off. … Oh, hang on, it’s that attractive, mysterious older woman.’ He looked at Sue. ‘Sorry, I’d better answer it. … Hello, Sam. … Well, yes. How did you …? OK, I’ll ask her. … OK, I’ll see you at the unit at one o’clock and not eleven. … Bye.’

Sue looked questioningly at Ben.

‘That was Sam Martin. She wanted to postpone our meeting at the unit for a couple of hours. … And she asked if you’d be kind enough to join us. She obviously knew I was with you.’

‘How on earth did she know that?’

‘I don’t know. She does that sort of thing. If she wasn’t so charming about it all, it’d feel really spooky.’

Sue smiled. ‘Do you think she knew we’d like those extra two hours this morning?’

Ben smiled back in a thoughtful manner. ‘It’s not at all impossible. Anyway,’ He walked up to Sue and put his arms around her waist. ‘Where were we?’

Chapter 23 Functional invisibility

Sunday 8th August

Joe Walters and Al Smith sat on a bench in Victoria Park near where Al and Jenny lived. A few joggers and dog walkers were also in evidence on this Sunday morning. Some passed the place where Joe and Al sat, but none took any notice of them.

Al waved ostentatiously at two or three passers-by and stuck his tongue out, but got no response. ‘It’s bloody odd this invisibility business.’

‘It would’ve been bloody useful in Iraq. I reckon it’s something that happened after all those tests at Diss. It wasn’t going on before then.’

‘That’s what I think. Although I didn’t notice it for a while after I left the unit. You don’t normally assume strangers are ignoring you because they can’t see you. I don’t think we’re actually invisible though. It’s never happened to me with Jenny, and it doesn’t happen around friends. It’s only when I’m somewhere with strangers and I don’t talk to them or do anything else to attract their attention.’

Joe nodded. ‘Same with me. That’s why I didn’t notice it at first either. When I go into a shop, it’s as if no one can see me, but if I speak to someone, then they see me.’

‘And they don’t look surprised – as you’d expect them to if you’d just beamed down from the Enterprise. They behave as if you were there all along, but they simply hadn’t registered you.’

Joe looked at Al. ‘Have you felt different since those tests at Diss?’

‘Maybe. It’s hard to tell. Things changed in a big way after the explosion in Baghdad. There wasn’t a normal after that – all the flashbacks to the scenes of those bodies. … I’d lost it, big time, so when I got a bit calmer at Diss, I knew I felt different, but I thought that’s what recovering from PTSD was supposed to be like.’

‘For me, it’s as if something’s missing,’ said Joe. ‘It’s as if I’m searching for something inside me, but I don’t know what it is or where to look.’

‘Same here, Joe. When I think about it, it feels a bit like being in a dream, and I wonder sometimes if the world around is real. Have you talked to Lauren about the invisibility or the feeling that something’s missing?’

‘No. I thought she wouldn’t understand, and I wanted to think about it a bit more before I said anything to anyone. What I said about invisibility being useful in Iraq wasn’t a joke. It’d be really useful for the army, and I don’t want them to find out about it and use me as some kind of guinea pig. I couldn’t cope with all that, right now.’

‘Me too. I haven’t told Jenny, either. If I started to talk about feeling as if I’d lost part of myself or about sometimes becoming invisible, she’d think I’d gone barmy – and she’d worry. I’ve been thinking about it a lot though, and I’ve had a crazy idea.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Do you remember the drug they gave us at Diss when they were checking our brain patterns with that helmet thing?’

‘Yeh.’

‘A couple of the lads complained about feeling lost after the tests that began with that injection. I didn’t understand what they meant at the time. One of them said later that the feeling had gone away after he’d had more tests involving the drug.’

‘Do you know what the drug was?’

‘I asked Major Mackenzie about that once. He said it had mild hallucinogenic properties. I asked if it was LSD as that’s the only hallucinogen I could name, and he said it was something similar. I’ve been wondering what would happen if we took LSD. Maybe we might feel like our old selves again.’

‘I’d be willing to give it a try, Al. We’ve both taken it when we were younger, and there’s nothing to lose. There’s just one problem. Where do we get LSD?’

‘It’s pretty well known around here that there’s a house in Station Road where kids get all sorts of drugs, including LSD.’

‘Are you planning that we should just go round and place an order?’

‘No, I’ve got another crazy idea about that.’

Chapter 24 A view from the pulpit

Sunday 8th August

Peter Rogers climbed the steps to the pulpit of St. Jude’s Anglican Church. He had been a lay minister for many years, and part of that role had been to lead services when the vicar of St. Jude’s, the Reverend Bob Freeman, had been absent – as was the case on this Sunday.

Peter looked around the assembled congregation. The church was about a quarter full, which was representative of the number of regular worshippers. Very few of those present were under the age of fifty, and no junior church group for children had met for many years. St Jude’s was in decline, and it was not clear how an inevitable demise could be prevented while still remaining true to the Christian principles cherished by Bob Freeman and by Peter.

Bob and Peter had often reflected regretfully on how, in attempting to “change with the times”, the Church had simply followed the lead of popular culture and had in no sense tried to take that lead. A diversity of moral viewpoints thus existed within the Church in relation to gender, sexuality, appropriate relationships, tolerance of other faiths and many other key issues. The wider public simply no longer knew what the Anglican Church represented. It was quite clear, for example, that the ordination of women was contrary to the spirit of gospel teachings, and yet the drawn-out debate by the General Synod had not only been a public embarrassment but had also undermined confidence in the authority of the Church. The question of the Church’s acceptance of LGBTQplus beliefs had literally led Peter to tears of rage and despair.

‘Good morning, everyone,’ Peter addressed those present. ‘This morning I would like to talk about tolerance.

‘Tolerance implies two things. Firstly, that someone is doing something about which we are not totally happy, and secondly, that we’ve decided to accept that behaviour rather than confront it.

‘Tolerance is a very good thing, and there are two reasons for that. The first is that others will not necessarily accept what we believe to be correct, and we must give and take in order to help all our lives run more smoothly. The second reason to be tolerant, even in relation to things we may feel very strongly about, is that in the normal course of events, challenging people is not helpful. It may make them cross or resentful and thus even less likely to listen to God’s guidance.

‘One area in which this issue frequently emerges is in inter-faith dialogue. Many of us contributed to the multi-faith festival in the village earlier in the summer, and it seemed to me that a good time was had by all. Does this cooperation and goodwill, however, mean that we consider other faiths as an equal alternative to following Christ?

‘How could that possibly be the case? We know the only route to the Father is through the Son. This is not a question for debate. Those who have been convinced by their society or culture that another faith can lead them to God are woefully mistaken.

‘We cannot blame them for their mistaken delusions, however. We must ask what can we do to help them? As I have just said, we must be tolerant as far as we can be. It’s of no use simply telling them they’re wrong. They wouldn’t listen. It would simply alienate the very people we would most wish to bring to the Lord, and it would drive them further along their own roads to Hell.

‘There are limits to this tolerance, of course. As many of you know, we will not hire out the church rooms for other forms of worship or meditation. There is a distinction between being tolerant and actively promoting practices which are contrary to scripture.

‘We must, however, treat all those outside the church in a friendly, dignified and courteous way in the hope that they will see the light of Christ in our lives and that He may somehow help us bring them to Him before it’s too late. …’

Chapter 25 The final recruit

Sunday 8th August

As Sue and Ben walked from the Bodhiisha car park towards the unit, they noticed Sam also approaching the building from the direction of the temple.

Sue wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck to protect her from the wind. She was pleased she had thought to bring it, even though it had not been at all windy in Thetford.

‘Hello,’ said Sam as they met at the front entrance to the unit. ‘Thanks very much for coming, Dr Melton. I don’t know what Ben’s explained to you, but I’m sure you think this all rather strange.’

‘Ben’s only said that you think something odd was going on here, and you want to look over the inside of the unit in more detail. And yes, it does all seem rather strange. Ben speaks very highly of you, though, so I’m happy, if intrigued, to be here. Please call me Sue, by the way.’

‘Thanks, Sue.’ Sam smiled. ‘By the way, do you mind if I ask how long you’ve been practising Vipassanā?’

Sue appeared puzzled. ‘How did you know I practice Vipassanā meditation?’ She thought back to Sam’s earlier phone conversation with Ben. ‘In fact, I’d be interested in how you knew I was with Ben this morning. That was actually a bit spooky.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m not usually so direct in stating the conclusions I reach. During my years of meditative practice, I’ve developed an ability to gain quite detailed insights and intuitions. It isn’t mind reading, but it looks a bit like it is. In fact, mentalists like Derren Brown do very much the same thing. I expect your own insights into people have greatly increased during your practice as a psychiatrist. It usually happens slowly, and so the increase in your own perception over the years may not be fully apparent, even to yourself.

‘I infer things from non-verbal communication in the way most other people do, but to a more developed extent. The design on your scarf, for example, reflects Buddhist Vipassanā motifs. I’ve never seen that in commercial fabric designs. It’s like the fish in Christian symbolism – it would be unlikely for anyone to wear such a design by accident.

‘I don’t think you deliberately chose that scarf for our meeting today, but I think, at an unconsciousness level, you wanted to communicate that any strange and spooky stuff that you heard would be understood within a conceptual framework that has its roots in Buddhist tradition. I’m sorry about being so direct.’

Sue was slightly taken aback but impressed and amused in the way she might be by a table magician at a social gathering. She recalled what Ben had said about Sam’s charm softening the impact of her insights. ‘That’s OK. What you say makes sense to me. It’s a fascinating skill you have. You’re right about the Vipassanā meditation and the scarf. I’ve been practising for about ten years since I spent a month at a Buddhist retreat in Japan.’

‘Was it at Koyasan?.’

Sue took a breath and looked wide-eyed at Sam. ‘How did you work that one out?’

‘That was a sort of lucky guess. Sahadeva, a close friend of mine, also spent time there. As I’ll explain shortly, there are five people who seem to have been brought together at the moment by fate or whatever you’d like to call it. There are the three of us, Sahadeva and the abbot of the Bodhiisha Temple. It’s very likely we’ll discover apparently coincidental past connections between us.’ She looked at Ben. ‘Do you want to unlock the unit so we can go inside? It’s warm out here, but the wind’s a bit too much. I’ll explain more to Sue in the office.’

Ben removed some keys from his pocket and unlocked the front door of the unit. The three of them went inside.

Sue and Sam followed Ben into John Henson’s office.

‘Shall we sit in here for a few minutes?’ said Sam. ‘I’d like to brief Sue in the same way Sahadeva and I briefed you and Eric last night.’

‘Who’s Eric?’ asked Ben.

‘Shingetsu’s real name’s Eric Twike. He thought he should have a more Japanese sounding name as abbot of the Bodhiisha Temple. The word “shin” means heart, mind, or spirit. The word “getsu” means moon, which is a symbol of enlightenment or perfection. It’s a great name for a monk, although Eric borrowed it from a nineteen-seventies Japanese rock band.’

Sue and Ben laughed. Sue again reflected on how there was something very engaging about Sam’s easy manner and her gentle humour.

They all sat down in John Henson’s office, and Sam explained what she knew of Stargate and Starchild in the way that she and Sahadeva had told the story to Ben and Eric on the previous evening.

‘So, I’m the final recruit to the team,’ Sue concluded when Sam had finished speaking.

‘For the moment, I think so. Are you OK with that?’

Sue examined her feelings in the way she might during meditation. ‘I feel quite enthusiastic about being involved, but that feeling differs from the enthusiasm I feel for other activities in my life. Is there a bit of mentalism going on here?’

Ben understood what she meant. ‘I had a similar feeling when Sam and Sahadeva explained it all to me last night. I didn’t say anything at the time, but it felt unusual.’

Sam glanced at Ben and then at Sue. ‘That’s nothing to do with me or Sahadeva. We’ve all been brought together by deeper influences, and I suspect that any unfamiliar feelings we may experience derive from those realms.’

Sue nodded. ‘Anyway,’ she concluded, ‘I’m happy to help if I can.’

‘What’s Sahadeva’s real name?’ asked Ben, following a line of thought that began with Eric Twike but had continued at a complete tangent to the current discussion.

‘Sahadeva.’

‘Yes, Sahadeva.’

‘No, I mean that is his real name. Sahadeva Varma. His parents were of Indian heritage.’

‘So that was his name when he arrived in this country.’

Sam laughed. ‘Shortly after he arrived, actually. He was born in Walthamstow, north London.’

Ben smiled at his own assumptions. ‘Getting back to why we’re here. Where do you want to search?’

Sam stood up and walked to the tall metal cupboard that was fixed to the wall on the far side of the office. She opened the door.

‘That cupboard’s empty,’ Ben volunteered. ‘It’s one of the places I searched for the missing files.’

‘I didn’t discover John wandering in the grounds on Friday night.’ Sam ran her fingers down the metallic back of the cupboard where it joined the right side of the unit. ‘I met him in a complex beneath the old runway. I got down into it via one of those airshafts next to the runway.’

Sue and Ben stood up and walked to where Sam was standing. They watched as she touched the metal surface, halfway down the back of the cupboard on its right side. She tapped the metal in a pattern as if she was entering numbers into a keypad. Where the light caught the area Sam was touching, Ben could just discern almost imperceptible bumps arranged in a four by four block.

The rear of the cupboard slid sideways into a hidden recess.

‘This is the way John brought us out of the underground complex.’ Sam reached into the darkness beyond the back of the cupboard and pressed a switch. A light came on in the corridor beyond.

‘Narnia,’ Sue concluded.

Sam smiled and walked into the corridor. The other two followed.