Audio: Readings by the author
|
Labelled:
After leaving school at fifteen without qualifications, I entered the catering industry. In 1978 at the age of nineteen I worked as a chef at St George's Hospital, Tooting, South London. During my employment I experienced a sudden, dramatic shift in consciousness that changed the way in which I behold reality. I remember the circumstances vividly. I was sitting in the staff room reading a newspaper with my colleagues ...
I stood up and announced: ‘It’s all wrong!’
‘What’s all wrong?’ The head chef enquired.
I responded: ‘The world!’
Overcome with emotion, a flood of tears fell from my eyes. I left the hospital that morning after collecting my wage packet, leaving my career as a chef behind. I walked bare-footed to Balham where I rented a flat. On my way, I ceremonially withdrew £10 notes from my wage packet, released them one by one into the summer breeze, and watched them flutter through the streets of London like paper butterflies. Money had become completely irrelevant.
Arriving at my accommodation, I was instructed by an inner voice, to wrap myself in a white sheet and walk to Tooting Bec Common which was situated close by. it was a glorious Indian summer afternoon, the scent of new mown hay hung in the air. On the Common, the voice told me to pluck a single acorn from an old oak tree. I did so, and after charging the acorn in my hand, placed it in my mouth and swallowed it whole. I had eaten from the Tree of Knowledge. This was the catalyst that created in me an exquisite sensitivity and psychic awareness.
Having eaten from the Tree of Knowledge, on that same afternoon, I found the trunk of another oak that had been felled. I stood on the cross-section of this tree in my white shroud and outstretched my arms emulating crucifixion. I entered a trance state, the sun caressed my face. I seemed to have access to a Cosmic secret. My trance state was broken by a man with an Irish accent who approached and addressed me with the words:
‘You know something, don't you?’
‘Yes I do.’
‘Can you tell me what you know?’
‘I know everything there is to know about not knowing.’ I responded.
‘Well then, can you tell me how to improve my golf?’
I must confess, I was of little assistance.
For a period after this, the most extraordinary and profound perceptions ensued. My relationship to time changed, days seemed like aeons; I experienced what I describe as The Eternal Now. Touch, taste, smell, sound and vision became acutely sensitised.
I realised Christ Consciousness and sensed a spherical energy field around my head. Stirred by a deep reverence for the sacred in creation, I felt as if I were at the centre of the Universe. I speculated, maybe every point in the Universe is also its centre. With an impassioned hand, I drew onto my bedroom wall, a large three-sided mantra/mandala:
After leaving school at fifteen without qualifications, I entered the catering industry. In 1978 at the age of nineteen I worked as a chef at St George's Hospital, Tooting, South London. During my employment I experienced a sudden, dramatic shift in consciousness that changed the way in which I behold reality. I remember the circumstances vividly. I was sitting in the staff room reading a newspaper with my colleagues ...
I stood up and announced: ‘It’s all wrong!’
‘What’s all wrong?’ The head chef enquired.
I responded: ‘The world!’
Overcome with emotion, a flood of tears fell from my eyes. I left the hospital that morning after collecting my wage packet, leaving my career as a chef behind. I walked bare-footed to Balham where I rented a flat. On my way, I ceremonially withdrew £10 notes from my wage packet, released them one by one into the summer breeze, and watched them flutter through the streets of London like paper butterflies. Money had become completely irrelevant.
Arriving at my accommodation, I was instructed by an inner voice, to wrap myself in a white sheet and walk to Tooting Bec Common which was situated close by. it was a glorious Indian summer afternoon, the scent of new mown hay hung in the air. On the Common, the voice told me to pluck a single acorn from an old oak tree. I did so, and after charging the acorn in my hand, placed it in my mouth and swallowed it whole. I had eaten from the Tree of Knowledge. This was the catalyst that created in me an exquisite sensitivity and psychic awareness.
Having eaten from the Tree of Knowledge, on that same afternoon, I found the trunk of another oak that had been felled. I stood on the cross-section of this tree in my white shroud and outstretched my arms emulating crucifixion. I entered a trance state, the sun caressed my face. I seemed to have access to a Cosmic secret. My trance state was broken by a man with an Irish accent who approached and addressed me with the words:
‘You know something, don't you?’
‘Yes I do.’
‘Can you tell me what you know?’
‘I know everything there is to know about not knowing.’ I responded.
‘Well then, can you tell me how to improve my golf?’
I must confess, I was of little assistance.
For a period after this, the most extraordinary and profound perceptions ensued. My relationship to time changed, days seemed like aeons; I experienced what I describe as The Eternal Now. Touch, taste, smell, sound and vision became acutely sensitised.
I realised Christ Consciousness and sensed a spherical energy field around my head. Stirred by a deep reverence for the sacred in creation, I felt as if I were at the centre of the Universe. I speculated, maybe every point in the Universe is also its centre. With an impassioned hand, I drew onto my bedroom wall, a large three-sided mantra/mandala:
The voice persisted, increasing in frequency and clarity, communicating in a reassuring tone the words:
‘Everything is going to be all right.’
My flatmates became perturbed by the sudden transformation from the person they once knew, to the new me, and the consequent changes in my behaviour [my actions had become ritualistic]. They contacted my family to take me from London back to Birmingham where I had lived in my formative years.
At home, family had legitimate concerns about the change in my persona, and eventually called for a GP who arrived with four additional clinicians. They interviewed me. I was affected by sleep deprivation; my dream world had encroached into daily life and my energy levels were excessively high. I requested an oral tranquiliser. Soon after I was pinned face down by all four clinicians and forcibly injected, needles inserted into each cheek of my buttocks - It felt akin to being crucified.
The syringe had discharged an excessively potent sedative. When I regained consciousness, I found myself undressed in a bed on the ward of a psychiatric institution. My clothing had been confiscated.
I rose disorientated, walked naked through a corridor and approached a psychiatrist in an office who sat behind a desk. He informed me that I had been admitted as a ‘voluntary patient’. I said:
‘If I am a voluntary patient then I am volunteering out!’
I was told that before this could be permitted I would have to be ‘assessed’ by a panel of medics to determine if I should be retained for ‘observation’ and was promptly handed a pair of threadbare pyjamas; on reflection it is more than probable that my nakedness was recorded as a symptom.
Come the designated day and the appointed time, I entered a room with about ten seated clinicians forming a semi-circle armed with pens and note books, some pompously plumed with bow ties. I was placed in the centre facing them. This was evidently intended to be intimidating.
They proceeded to test my reality. I am aware of the crudity of these tests which do not take into account cultural differences, education, nuanced personal interpretation, the meaning of metaphor, or even a sense of humour. For example, it was put to me:‘
‘What would you say to us, if we were to say to you, people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with throwing stones as long as you are careful.’
I answered.
Immediately there was a frenzy of scribbling pens.
The Thought Police probed further:
‘Why do you think you should be released?’
‘Because I am strong.’
‘We hope you are not too strong.’
‘I am strong enough.’
‘What will you do if we release you?’
‘I shall join the Labour Party and fight the National Front.’
Again, pen was put to paper. It was at this point a diagnosis of ‘Paranoid Schizophrenia’ was imposed upon me!
Some years later my mother shared the opinion of a respected family acquaintance, who during this time, was asked to determine my disposition.
‘Elizabeth, you may well be the mother of the new messiah.’
Ma told me she buried her head in her hands and plaintively opined:
‘Please God no.’
My mum would send-up the likelihood of the second coming by quoting Monty Python’s ‘The Life of Brian’:
'He's not the messiah, he's a naughty boy!’