The space between us had changed.
I smiled as I sat down next to the tall latté waiting for me in the coffee shop opposite the roaring spring sea which was doing its best to reclaim the old seaside town.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Alexandra asked, in a question that wasn’t. “Knew that the sun in the one-tree would change things?”
“I did,” I replied, “But it was a hope rather than a certainty. Such things are always at the mercy of the moment.”
She thought about that carefully. “Mercy of the moment – I like that . . . ” She sipped a little of her own coffee before continuing. I held back so as not to disrupt the gentle flow of her thoughts and feelings.
“The moment is important in the enneagram, isn`t it?”
“In the style of enneagram we use, it`s probably the most important thing” I replied, softly, putting as much flow into my voice as I could.
I watched her face: the barrister within her was fighting that quiet flowing moment, wanting to cut it apart, to dissect its intellectual content, not, simply, to leave it whole and approach it the way I wanted her to do. I watched as the struggle progressed and then smiled, inwardly but sadly, as the legal mind won.
“We,” she said, looking me in the eye with a hawk-like stare. “You said ‘we'”
She didn`t notice my slight sigh – I, too, would have to go with the new flow. “Yes, I did.”
“This is a group thing?”
“Groups generate their own power in addition to the companionship they provide. Learning in a group can be very empowering. “And no,” I added.
“No, I don’t want you to join a group . . .”
“Why not!?” she blurted out, unable to contain the reaction I knew would result.
To hide my urge to chuckle at the smug response I was about to give – which did not reflect my real desire, but suited the moment, I drank a lot of my own coffee, which, mercifully, had cooled enough to allow it. I hadn’t chosen this route of discussion, but Alexandra always rises to a challenge, and the opportunity was too good to miss.
“Because you’re not ready yet . . .”
There was no scream; and yet, if you knew her well, there was. A long subvocal moan with the power to shock most of the people around us. What came out was a whimper.
“Not ready . . . ” She managed to keep the tone flat.
“That’s right,” I said calmly, pretending not to be rocking inside. “Despite the heroic efforts you have made . . .”
The inner lawyer gained control, again, and decided there was nothing to gain down this cul-de-sac, coming at me along a different tangent. “The moment . . . tell me about the moment.”
It was time to be direct and as powerful as possible. Time was passing and she needed her seed-thought for the week. “The moment is where the real happens. It is the only place where what is real is . . .
“What is real?”
“Yes. We live in a world of imagination,” I said. “The age we live in has conditioned us to see reality as lots of different things – the past, the future; as though they were not merely thoughts and had some substance. Try it – reach out now and touch the future . . .”
I watched her right hand actually move, just slightly, as she wrestled with the idea of grasping the not-present.
“Yes, that idea of reaching out for a reality defined only in thought is common to us all – but I didn’t say reach across the table, in space, I said reach into the future, which has no reality at all . . . though it’s components may have a probability”
She was silent; her thought machine fascinated by what would, ultimately, undo it.
“Because it’s a truth machine, the enneagram is centred in what is real; and the only thing that is real is now, the moment.”
“And where is that on the enneagram?” she asked, returning to the flow.
“Why, in the centre, and radiating the wave, I replied, leaning across the small table and tapping her watch.”
As I dropped her off at the station, I could see her lips forming the word ‘wave’ silently, as the legal mind in the background got out its scalpels and queued up to dissect it.
Her week would be an interesting one . . .
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Contact details and an outline description of the Silent Eye School are on the other pages of this blog and via the website at www.thesilenteye.co.uk