The Unpretenders - Chapter 7

I returned to the house to find Isobel in the kitchen, where she had donned an apron and appeared to be shredding carrots. "What are you doing?" I asked, in astonishment.

"Making dinner, of course," she replied, as if we had been living there our entire lives. "I've just picked these myself, from the vegetable garden. Have you seen it yet, Sophie? Apparently there's a herb garden too, and an orchard, and even a vineyard!" She then started to wax lyrical about the kitchen itself, and the various appliances.

"But Izzy, we can't stay here," I told her, emphatically. "They'll be looking for us."

"Oh, come on, Sophie, just for one night," she pleaded, "and then tomorrow we'll go to France, if that's what you want."

The exchange continued for a few more minutes, before I finally grew tired of arguing. "Okay, fine! Just don't blame me if we get stopped at the airport tomorrow."

"Here, put this on," she said, handing me an apron. "I want to make Julian the best meal he's had in ages."

Isobel's excitement over some carrots and a cooker made me wonder how she'd have reacted had we actually gone to live on another planet. Still, it was wonderful to see her so happy for once, I thought, even though the madness of society, as she described it, couldn't have been very far from her mind.

Two hours later we were enjoying a vegetarian banquet, in a setting fit for a king. Happily, Isobel showed no signs of having an eating disorder, and a bottle of Champagne complemented the already high spirits of the occasion.

Julian had begun the meal with a toast, "to the One." However, the meaning of this expression only became apparent during a subsequent conversation.

"Do you normally eat in here?" said Isobel, who seemed a little overawed by the size and grandeur of the room.

"Most days," he replied.

"Seriously?" she questioned. "So you're telling me that you just sit here, all alone, at the head of this massive table, eating quietly by yourself?"

"How would you prefer that I ate?"

"I don't know. It just seems so sad. I mean, don't you ever get lonely?"

Julian helped himself to another portion of risotto. "This is really rather good, you know."

"Are you changing the subject?"

"Sorry, what was the question?"

"Don't you ever get lonely?"

"Ah, no!" he denied.

"I think most people would, in your situation."

"Quite possibly. But loneliness has nothing to do with the absence of other people; it has nothing to do with aloneness."

"It doesn't?"

"No. It may certainly appear that way, of course, because most people use relationship as a kind of balm, to soothe the pain of their apparent separateness. And so, whenever that balm is unavailable - that is to say, when other people are removed from the equation - a person may suddenly feel intense loneliness, and wrongly associate its cause with the absence of others. Or, conversely, they may even associate it with the presence of others, with whom they have difficulty relating. Either way, it avoids having to confront the real source of their suffering."

"Which is what?"

"The gulf between who they really are and who they feel themselves to be, due to intense and systematic conditioning. In other words, we don't truly yearn for other people, we yearn for that which we already are, but have apparently been divorced from. We yearn for the One, because the One is who we are. Hence, as long as we continue to seek outside of ourselves, for that which is inside - whether through relationships, or religion, or in any number of other ways - we are always bound to suffer, and to experience loneliness."

"Okay, so you're saying that whenever I feel lonely, it's actually due to misidentification; that I've somehow lost sight of who I am?"

"Yes, any feeling of loneliness stems from your identification with the illusion of being a separate self, who then has to acquire whatever she wants through the illusion of other separate selves - who are all, of course, on a similar mission. Most human relationships, therefore, are actually a kind of emotional barter system, sustained by a feeling of lack, emptiness, and loneliness. How could it be otherwise?"

"But if no one sought love and companionship, because they were autonomous and self-sufficient, what kind of world would it be?"

"It would be a world full of love and companionship."

"I don't understand."

"It's really quite simple: If you're coming from a place of separation and need, then you have no choice but to seek love and fulfilment through others. This inevitably leads to deceit, manipulation, jealousy, attachment and drama, of one sort or another. However, if you're coming from a place of truth and abundance, because you are plugged into the mains, so to speak, and know who you really are, then true love and companionship cannot help but manifest all around you."

"Well, no offense, Julian, but you're not exactly a great advertisement for this notion, if you don't mind me saying. I mean, where is the love and companionship in your own life?"

"You're looking at my situation through very human eyes."

"They're the only eyes I have."

"No. That is the belief that's preventing you from seeing any differently."

Julian then thanked us both for preparing such a splendid meal and implied that we should perhaps consider staying on as paid staff. "I'd work for free," said Isobel, pouncing on his suggestion. "As long as I didn't have to do the washing-up, of course. That could be Sophie's job."

"Thanks," I replied.

"Are you okay?" she enquired.

"I have a lot to think about."

"You worry too much. Tell her, Julian."

"You do seem a little tense," he said, before reminding me of my reason for being there - at least from his perspective. 

"So you still want me to perform it then?" I asked him.

"I'd certainly like you to perform it. And I certainly believe that you'd benefit from doing so."

Quite what he expected of me, I wasn't sure, but I suddenly had a vision of standing up in front of them both, with my crumpled sheets of A4, and proceeding to stutter my way though every sentence, like an idiot.

"It won't be like that," said Julian, casually.

For a brief moment it seemed perfectly natural that he should know what I was thinking, and I barely even registered his comment. However, it quickly dawned on me what had just happened, and I duly expressed my alarm.

"I do apologise," he said, "but the closer we are in resonance, the more likely it is that I'll pick up on your signals from time to time. It's not intentional, on my part, I assure you."

"Do me, do me," said Isobel, who apparently had no qualms about having her mind read.

"It doesn't work like that," he reiterated.

"So we're not in resonance then?" she surmised.

"On a certain level, we're all in resonance, because the number of minds in the universe is precisely one. Down here, however, amid the smoke and mirrors, telepathic connections are intermittent, at best."

Later that evening, after a period of sustained pestering from both of them, I finally relented and agreed to perform my essay, which I had renamed Shanala Five. "Shall I do it here?" I asked, standing up.

Julian laughed. "No, Sophie, you shall not."

"What's so funny?"

"Come," he beckoned, offering me his hand.

"Why, where are we going?"

Julian merely smiled and pointed upwards.

"This is it," said Isobel, leaping out of her chair. "We're going for a trip into space. I bet you anything!"

Interesting, I thought to myself. Might Julian actually be treating us to an impromptu spin around the solar system? Not, I then reasoned, unless he kept his flying saucer upstairs, which was where he appeared to be taking us.

We were greeted on the third floor by a number of life-size marble statues, male and female, who appeared to be wearing masquerade masks - and very little else. Then, still clutching my hand, Julian led us onwards toward a door at the far end of the landing. At this point Isobel quickened her pace and marched confidently ahead. "Can I open it?" she asked him.

"It's locked," he informed her. Although, somewhat predictably, that didn't prevent her from trying the handle.

Julian then proceeded to open the unremarkable door, which revealed only darkness beyond. Even the light from the landing didn't seem to penetrate the room itself. "That's weird," said Isobel, sticking her leg into the void. Unperturbed, however, she boldly stepped through and quickly found the light switch. "There aren't any windows," she remarked, with surprise. "How the heck are we supposed to see out of this thing?"

The absence of windows, however, was just one many curious things about the room. She might also have noted its pyramidal structure, for example, or the lack of traditional furniture, or the fact that everything in it was absolutely jet-black in colour.

Julian closed the door behind us, and then appeared to lock it again, from the inside. "If it were anyone else but you," I told him, "I would be getting a little anxious right about now."

"It's not what you think," he said.

"Good," I replied. But apparently he was talking to Isobel.