The Unpretenders - Chapter 16

Julian had allowed it to happen. There was no other explanation. Why, after all, had he done nothing in response to our having run away from home? Why had he indicated that the consequences of my actions would ultimately work in my favour? Why had he warned me of an approaching storm, rather than attempt to divert it, or lessen its potential impact? Why, moreover, had he been willing to sacrifice his own reputation upon the alter of that storm? And why, most crucially of all, had he allowed us to suffer, when he knew that suffering was precisely what had brought us to him in the first place?

The answer, I reasoned, was simple: neither of us were ready. And Julian knew that we weren't ready. He knew that the carrot alone was never going to be enough, in our case; that we also needed the stick. Or to use another analogy: in order to shape a lump of clay, on a potter's wheel, into something resembling a pot, both hands were obviously required. And, indeed, it seemed as if we were both being molded to become perfect pots, perfect instruments through which the One could express itself. That is to say, through which love could express itself. Something, of course, that the master potter, Julian, had been demonstrating by his allowance of our suffering. Tough love. That's what this whole Earth drama was about, after all. For without a high degree of suffering, we wouldn't merely be trapped in the illusion, we would also be lacking any reason or incentive to escape from it.

Seen in this light, even my annoying brother had been serving a higher purpose, whether he realised it or not (probably not). For he had always represented the proverbial stick, rather than the proverbial carrot. He had always served to remind me, through his obnoxious and spiteful behaviour towards me, that I couldn't rely on anybody in this world; not even those who professed to love me. And that was a truly precious gift indeed. Not unlike the gift that I had received from my parents, who lived as prime examples of everything that I didn't want to become. And without whom, of course, I may never have been motivated to turn around and go in the opposite direction, towards my real and eternal home; towards the Source of my own being.

"Don't conform to the behaviour and customs of this world," says the Bible, "but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think."

My family, then, had been as vital to my development as Julian had become. I realised that now. For they were all products and reflections of the 'behaviour and customs of this world'. Concerning which the Bible also stated: "Do you not know that friendship with the world is hostility towards God? Therefore, whoever wishes to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God."

As for Julian's role, he was showing me that transformation wasn't so much about becoming a new person as it was about having the courage to abandon the old one. I was being asked, in effect, not to change my clothes, but simply to get undressed. For by doing so I would gain access to that original garden of innocence, from which we all emerged. The place where good and evil had no meaning, because all actions arose out of perfect love; the place where no knowledge was required, because there was nothing whatsoever to know, beyond the innate and intimate knowing of ourselves as a singular consciousness.

Foolishly, as it turned out, I felt driven to share these insights with my family. Needless to say, however, they heard only what they were conditioned to hear. "Of course he wanted you to get undressed, Sophie," said Jason, "he's a f*****g pedo. What do you expect?"

"Julian isn't a pedo, you moron! Haven't you been listening to anything I've been saying?"

"Moron, am I? What does that make you then, if we're both the same?"

"I didn't say that we're both the same. I said that we were One."

"Same difference."

"No, it isn't."

My mother then chimed in with her own conclusions. "Brainwashing," she insisted, "that's what he's been doing to you. Filling your head with nonsense, just to get you into his bed."

"It's not nonsense. And we had our own bed, actually, Isobel and I."

"Don't expect to be seeing that little troll again, either. I've always said that she was trouble, but would you listen? She's the devil's child; it's written all over her face. And just look at where her evil ways have led you now."

"Actually, it was she who followed me to Julian's, not the other way around."

"So you say."

It suddenly seemed as if I was interacting with one of those on-line chatbots, designed to simulate an intelligent conversation, but utterly failing to do so; often in bizarre and disturbing ways. Certainly my mother showed no capacity for rational thought, or the ability to go beyond her own programming. Using Julian's analogy, of consciousness as currency, I felt that she had probably been bankrupt for a very long time.  

I soon returned to the sanctuary of my bedroom, where I put on some of Julian's relaxing music. An e-mail from Isobel confirmed that she was doing okay, but was desperate to "figure out a solution to all of this."

Then, as I sat down by the window to read, I noticed someone standing outside, in the middle of the road. It startled me, in fact, and made my pulse quicken. For the tall figure appeared to be wearing one of Julian's white masks. And, to make matters worse, they weren't just looking in the general direction of the house, they were actually staring up at my bedroom window.