[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
strangers and should perhaps talk formally together, I must declare to you that I believe very deeply that
there is a strange force latent in man which can be awakened.
Kundalini! Turn left here, down Petunia Park Road.
What?
Turn left.
What else did you say? You were swearing at me, I believe?
Kundalini. You don't know your Gurdjieff as well as you pretend, my friend. So-called occult literature
speaks of Kundalini, or the serpent of Kundalini. A strange force in man which can be awakened.
That's it, then, yes! I want to awaken it. What are all these people doing in the rain?
As they drove down Petunia Park Road, Charteris realised that the English middle-classes were standing
neatly and attentively in their gardens; some were performing charac-teristic actions such as adjusting ties
and reading big news-papers, but most were simply staring into the road.
Left here, into Brontosaurus Broadway. Listen, my boy, Kundalini, that serpent, should be left sleeping.
It's nothing desirable! Repulsive though you may find these people here, their lives have at least been
dedicated - and successfully, on the whole - to mechanical thought and action, which keep the serpent
sleeping. I mean, security masquerading as a little danger is only a small aberration, whereas Kundalini -
He went into some long rigmarole which Charteris was un-able to follow; he had just seen a red
Banshee, driven by another Gurdjieffian I, slide past the top of the road, and was disturbed by it.
Although there was much he wanted to learn from the waiting man, he must not be deflected from his
main north-bound intention, or he might find him-self in the position of a discarded I. On the other hand, it
was possible that going north might bring him into discardment. For the first time in his life, he was aware
of all life's rich or desiccating alternatives; and an urge within him - but that might be Kundalini -
prompted him to go and talk to people, preach to them, about cultivating the multi-valued.
Here's the house, said the waiting man. Pear Tree Palace. Come in and have a cup of tea. You must
meet my daughter. She's your age, no more.
At the neat little front gate, barred with a wrought-iron sun-set, Charteris hesitated. You are hospitable,
but I hope you won't mind my asking - I seem myself to be slightly affected by the PCA bombs -
hallucinations, you know - I wondered - aren't you also a bit - touched - The waiting man laughed,
making his ugly face look a lot uglier. Everyone's touched! Don't be taken in by appear-ances here.
Believe me, the old world has gone, but its shell remains in place. One day soon, there will come a breath
of wind, a new messiah, the shell will crumple, and the kids will run streaming, screaming, barefoot in the
head, through lush new imaginary meadows. What a time to be young! Come on, I'll put the kettle on!
Wipe your shoes!
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
It's as bad as that? -
The waiting man had opened the front door and gone inside. Uneasy, Charteris paused and looked
about the garden suburb. Kinetic architecture here had spiked the viewpoint with a crazy barricade of
pergolas, patios, bay windows, arches, extensions, all manner of dinky garages and outhouses, set among
fancy trees, clipped hedges, and painted trellis. Watertight world. All hushed under the fine mist of rain.
Neighbourhood of evil for him, small squares of anaemic fancy, wrought-iron propriety.
He found himself at the porch, where the gaunt rambler canes already bore little snouts of spring growth.
There'd be a fine show of New Dawn in four more months. An en-chantment waited here. He went in,
leaving the door open. He wanted to hear more about Kundalini.
At the back of the house, the waiting man pottered in a small kitchen, all painted green and cream, every
surface covered with patterned stuff and, on a calendar, a picture of two people tarry-ing in a field.
Behind the frozen gestures of the couple, sheep broke from their enclosure and surged among the harvest
wheat to trample it with delight.
My daughter'll be back soon. The waiting man switched on a small green-and-cream dumpy
streamlined radio from which the dumpy voice of a disc-joker said, And now for those who enjoy the
sweet things of life, relax right back for the great all-time sound of one of the great bands of all time and
we're spinning this one just especially for Auntie Flora and all the boys at Nostalja Vista ,The Crossings,
The Tip, Scrawley, in Bedfordshire - the great immortal sound of you guessed it the Glenn Miller
Orchestra playing Moonlight Serenade .
Out in the garden winter birds plunged.
All time sound - you are for music? asked the waiting man as he beat time and watched the treacly
music as it rose from the kettle spout and steamed across the withered ceiling.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]