THREE LOAFERS

I was not in the least upset at the word ‘loafer’ shouted at me. It happened as I was walking briskly towards the dying Victorian wood-floored bandstand. A few pigeons flew off as I entered and took my carpet cushion from my shoulder bag and sat down near the back so I could lean against the railings. I was indeed a loafer. An old loafer preparing himself for a morning’s loafing inside a copper-green dilapidated bandstand, set within a two-acre, well-tended park with flowering Spring beauties.

I have been a loafer all my adult life. Now in my seventies, I enjoy the calling of being a loafer as much now as I did when I left home on my seventieth birthday

Living the life of a loafer is not an easy ride. It’s almost a craft, and being crafty is a thread which has kept me going. Of course I get called inappropriate names, like ‘scrounger or ‘tramp’ or ‘lazy bones’.

I have never been a scrounger or a beggar, even when times have been very difficult.

The essence of being a full-time loafer is holding no viewpoints. In some way it is like being dead. At least dead to the world. I never read a newspaper after I left home. I have never listened to ‘The News’, nor gossiped with others who want to tell me what they’ve heard on the T.V or the radio.

I read The Tao Te Ching in my teens, and in my twenties I studied the translated Zen sutras available from the serious sutras. I was greatly relieved to discover Basho and the frog. This Japanese realisation of the Spirit’s reality, observed in nature and everyday life I found very re-assuring. There is no opinion expressed in any authentic Haiku. Not a single person who chats to me is free of opinions. It seems that throughout human history there have been continuous wars over conflicting viewpoints. People even have conflicting viewpoints about themselves. Even a crumb of self-assessment is toxic to the soul. A genuine loafer never touches alcohol. The passing people who drift through this park have no clue as to what I think about existence. I seldom ever meet a single soul who has created his or her mind. I am lucky enough to know two genuine loafers. Two wonderful friends. Les and Maisie.

Les had been a fisherman on trawlers until he woke up psychologically and started walking the tight rope of living the life of a loafer. He found the stern of a wrecked trawler washed up at the top of a rough, rocky beach. It completely suited his needs, and he made sure no one knew he was there. He made it habitable. He lived off crabs and other shellfish. Wild kale was abundant on the cliffs. He was a very strong swimmer and extremely competent diver. All this he told me as he sat down beside me. He said he had noted my Zen-like presence a few months ago when he ventured away from his sea-side existence. Les was very warm hearted, intelligent and about the same age as me. I soon found that he had also sussed out the view-point war.

He was eager to meet Maisie. I told Les that she was also our age and had been a loafer for over fifty years. Like Les and I, Maisie understood that the history of the whirld was a war between viewpoints. Every day oldish people would walk into 'my' bandstand and would want to chat to me about what they'd read or seen on T.V. They were usually totally baffled by me telling them I lived in a world of feeling not a whirld of information. All of that I discussed with Les.

I told Les that one day twenty years ago I was sitting in the creek outside my yurt when an attractive middle-aged woman walked down towards me holding two old fashioned glass sweet jars. She spoke softly in an un-pretentious English accent and asked me if she could walk around my yurt to collect water from the small pond below?

It was obvious she wore no underclothes as she knelt down to fill the jars. She wore a very pretty, handmade flowery dress. I commented on the fine needle work. "Well, well, how uplifting to meet a fine man more interested in my handy work than my ass. Do lead my mare to my home... which you've passed by loads of times... without knowing it is there. We had filled four jars and carried them up the hill to her small two-wheeled cart. Her mare was equally tiny with very beautiful harness. "I'm very much more at home naked”. 

She took over and led the mare and cart down a very overgrown narrow path and into her garden home. After putting Lily into her small stable, Maisie took off her smock and walked into her hut and invited me to follow. Les was so captivated he stood up and walked around the bandstand. "Don't get carried away", I said softly. "Just listen”. She invited me to sit on a handmade, geometrically designed cushion on one side of the plain wood wall. It was a large single room home with a kitchen area at the opposite end to the entrance. She made us two mugs of herb tea. Mostly mint, there were other herbs. "Come on! Let's sit in the garden and listen to the birds singing."

We sat on a handmade bench set on a little piece of lawn. It had a carved wood back, wide enough to sit three comfortably, whilst the seat was covered by foam rubber, on which lay a quilt made of lots of coloured squares. 

Maisie put a tray between us. "Look, this is not a sexual 'come on', but I would feel more relaxed if you took off your shorts and tee shirt. Thank you. I'm Mazy but was originally called 'Grace'. Mazy comes from the heart stirring song–'Amazing Grace'.

“Are you feeling alright sitting naked beside a naked woman?"

"As you can see, I don't have an erection. Sex is stimulated by suggestion. It's ego based, though people pretend otherwise. I'm Clem."

"That's only Partly true. Do you want to hear my life story?"

"Very much."

"This little flower and fruit garden is all I kept when I inherited a vast estate belonging to my parents. But I must tell you of my first life changing event. I was educated at a Roman Catholic school where I was a day pupil. I walked to school. It's not far away. I've lived here all my fifty-two years." We both stood up, stretched, sat down and laughed.

“One day when I was seventeen and had just come home from school, my father said it was time I experienced a blast of real life. He held my hand and led me into a huge stable with a sixteen-hand mare was running around a fenced corral. Soon my dad's groom came in leading a huge black stallion who seemed very angry. I immediately felt frightened. My father opened a gate and the groom led the prancing stallion into the corral, took off his head gear and swiftly got out of the corral and shut the gate.

Before Les sat down I gave him my cushion and sat on my carpet bag.

“So there you were, sat in a hidden garden drinking herb tea with an attractive nude woman, whilst you were starkers, listening to her sexual awakening!"

Yes, I should have said that her patch is completely hidden by a copper beech hedge ten feet tall. Inside are black current bushes, gooseberries, blackberries, red currant, apples, pears and plums. It was around midsummer. It was a particular sexual awakening. To the violence involved in it. She had already been put off sex by her mother's attitude. She was jealous of her growing sexual presence. When she was fourteen, she found out from a friend at school that her mum and dad were well known 'swingers'. She felt ashamed when her friend explained what that meant. She then realised why there were frequent parties in the huge main house and why she was banned from entering there unless invited by her mother. She had lived in the annex since she started going to senior school. So, no one came to comfort her when she was howling with shock.  She said she was tempted to masturbate but had read in a magazine that a clitoral orgasm was very superficial, and only by being penetrated and having a vaginal orgasm was there real satisfaction.

Two days later, the Head Mistress told her that her parents were both dead having driven off a cliff in their sports car on their way to Cannes.

She was devastated. Peggy, her best school friend, took her home. She had inherited an estate worth billions.

That night she fell asleep in Peggy's arms. In the middle of the night a bolt of sexual lightening hurtled through her whole body. What happened next caused her to call herself Mazy. By an amazing grace she found herself out of her body, met by others in the same condition. She was invited to help them. About six of them were transmitting love to a person inside a hospital being operated on after a car crash. Peggy was astounded by what Grace had told her and advised her to tell Sister Bernadette. The Sister told Grace she had been called. When Grace asked by whom was she called? (Grace didn't tell the Sister it had happened when she was in bed with Peggy) the Sister said it will be revealed to you in the future, and she sang 'Amazing Grace'. From that moment Grace called herself Mazy. She sold the entire estate and gave all the money to various charities. She kept a quarter of an acre to build a hut and live off fruit, veg and eggs. (I could hear a cockerel behind the little stable).

"So your first meeting was twenty years ago?"

"Yes, and we've been meeting at least once a fortnight since my first invited visit."

"Surely not both naked when it gets cold?"

"O yes. She has a marvelous wood burning stove with a boiler so we can have hot showers outside her kitchen."

"From what you say, she's a true loafer."

“A true loving loafer." 

"Well I'd like to meet Mazy, but not in her garden home I'm too shy to be naked with a naked woman. Does she ever venture here?"

"Never, but she does walk down to my creek occasionally. She no longer has her beautiful white mare with its huge snow-white mane. She found a spring close to her home, so doesn't need a cart for drinking water. Of course, she has piped water for showers and general washing up." 

"And in these last twenty years you' never touched each other's genitals?"

"Never... but we both love kissing. Our greatest joy is loafing in the garden... kissing."

"And the kissing doesn't stimulate your genitals?"

"No, our kissing is a sort of yoga. Soul mating. It's a wonderful discovery. Twin loafing."

"Thanks Les. I'm going diving. I'll drop by with some crab meat. It's very heartwarming to know there's a real woman-loafer living nearby." 

“A real loving loafer Clem”.

It's really amusing how some people imagine that I'm a sort of Zen master sitting here all day on my cushion. Not all day, every day. Some days I loaf around my yurt. I should have told Les that Mazy and I never sleep together. We both sleep in hammocks and quite often I take my hammock and put it in-between two old apple trees. Mazy between two Victoria plum trees.

One young man in his early thirties, actually asks me the answer to certain famous koans. I usually repeat the koan back to him and give him a drop of tea from my flask. I make it clear to him that I'm not a beggar or a wino. I've avoided alcohol and tobacco all my long life.

If one is a genuine loafer... one is never lonely. Every koan asserts life over language. As they say, there never is a meaning that can only be realised through living.

Of course, spending so much time in this decaying bandstand, has attracted the local press. Two of them turn up one Spring morning. I sussed who they were and all they got was a photo of ne with my carpet bag over my head. I shouted that they were wasting their time because I had no memory. After firing lots of words they scarpered. A passer-by said my hat was the talk of the town. Humour. That’s why Japanese haiku is so attractive. If a philosophy of life lacks humour it's not for me. On the other hand, I do very much enjoy Socratic discussions with either Mazy or Les.

Les and I have been discussing psychological space and how can you give it to someone. We both came to see that if someone is not a cause of worry to oneself, the person creates space in one's mind. Mazy creates a wonderful feeling of space in my mind because I know she is in no way self-destructive. Les said–heaven forbid–what if Mazy became mentally confused in her eighties... in fact became a victim of dementia and didn't know who you are? If her condition was reported to the police and they found you both kissing in the nude, you could be charged with coercing a woman into sexual activity if she lacked the capacity to decide on anything."

Les looked very serious. I had never considered such a possibility. I felt deep apprehension.

"Don't clam up Clem. It probably will never happen. After all she's a spiritual healer."

After Les left, I mused on the fact that Mazy never discussed her calling and what she did at night when out of her body. What if she got stuck in the other world and the soul of Mazy never returned? She would be a zombie. I’ll need to ask Mazy if she puts herself in danger? 

That afternoon, after a long naked kissing session, I asked Mazy about her out of the body spiritual work.

She said there was absolutely no danger because she was protected by The Holy Spirit. I pointed out that when Peter and Paul went to one of the cities on their travels and asked the converted Christan Jews how did they celebrate The Holy Spirit? They replied that they’d never heard of the Holy Spirit.

I asked Mazy to explain, what exactly is The Holy Spirit?

Mazy said it is the life of my soul. It is that faculty of God which interacts with the human soul and will give me guidance if I truly ask for it. Guidance of how to feel that I am a Son of God like every other soul in existence. 

I saw Les down by the estuary flying his Mongolian dragon-faced kite that his wild younger brother brought back from Ulan Bator. Les contends that human life as lived on this planet is a form of pretence. He imagines death will be a tremendous SHOCK for all of us. He said that he'd had three massive shocks and each time, in the midst of the shock... he woke up to a different sense of existence. Had he died in that moment he is convinced he would have moved out of his body the way that Mazy says happened to her. There was a feeling inside the shock of deep peace.

The kite drew the attention of passing families as it swooped over the river at full tide. "Here we are," said Les, "pretending that life is just a loafing game.

Like being an eternal teenager. But becoming a loafer was not easy for me because when I was on the trawlers I had a very attractive girlfriend. We were very sexually obsessed by each other, and it took me years to break the spell which made us cling to each other. I knew it wasn't love. But that was all I knew about love. That our relationship was based on sexual addiction. She would phone me up and say vulgar things like 'do you like hearing me tell you that I'm your lewd slut?'

Eventually I realised that she was a witch and I disappeared from her existence. I did a cold turkey. For a long time, I felt like a wet dish rag. Eventually I woke up to the possibility of living as a free soul. I became a loafer and started underwater swimming to collect shellfish for food. I lived in a large tent for years, always moving around until I found the wrecked trawler. So, I'm not just a loafer. I'm a loner loafer."   

That evening Les turned up with a dish of crab meat. We sat down outside my yurt and after eating and drinking Spring water Les, speaking urgently said, "Actually what I said about being caught in a sexual nightmare was yet another example of being a participant in the continuous view-point war. When we've discussed it, we imagine it is the cause of mammoth wars like the first and second world wars. Wrong! It's personal battles that create the warring atmosphere of this planet.

I told Mazy Les's proposition that one only glimpses deep peace in the midst of shock. Mazy said that no one actually knows why one is given this glimpse of indestructible reality. Les may be like you and feel uncomfortable with the concept of God." To this little naked woman, everything is God except human behaviour. Human Spirits have created this world to have a space where hatred and revenge rule day to day existence. God has nothing to do with any part of that existence. For me, being a loafer is the same as being a pilgrim. Clem, you and Les may not realise it, but living the life of a loafer, is living the life of deep prayer."

I helped her pick plums to be cooked and bottled later. Almost all the fruit in her intense garden will be bottled. "Les is quite correct to say that personal view-point battles create the psychic condition of our planet. I've recently suggested to the village council that we have a summer fair with me giving kids rides in a horse and trap that will sit four. I've arranged with my good friend Peggy to borrow her horse and carriage for a day. How would you like to take part and maybe get Les involved? You could have an exhibition showing how to grow veg using only roof-gutters and water."

"What a wonderful project. I could have my exhibition in the bandstand. I'll ask Les what he would like to do?"

The day in mid-July was a terrific success. Mazy dressed up in 18th century clothes as befitting the Lady of the Manor. Straw bonnet and a pale pink frothy dress. She drove the trap with impressive skill and took kids around the park all day. The majority who came to my exhibition were astonished to see lettuces and courgettes growing in water without earth. There was a drinks counter set up by Mazy in the bandstand where Peggy sold home-made refreshing lemonade. Les did an amazing performance of high diving into the swollen turbulent river plus kite acrobatics. 

Les was helping me pack up my exhibition when Mazy walked into the bandstand for the first time. And they were both wearing clothes! Neither Les or Mazy needed an introduction. They waked around each other laughing.

"By an amazing grace we meet," chortled Mazy. "Now let's start off at the deep end. What's the real core of your contention that everyone is pretending including us three loafers." She poured out three glasses of lemonade.

"O.K. Someone hands you a piece from a chess set. If you'd never seen a chess set or how the game is played, the one piece you've got would not tell you anything about chess. In the same way, you've been given a photo of the Milky Way and numerous uncountable other galaxies... but these photos do not penetrate our sleeping condition and wake us up to where we actually exist. So, we pretend we know the whole story and stay asleep clutching our misleading piece of information. Information is not the door to eternal life."

"Very clearly put forward Les. You hold the same view on information don't you Clem?"

"Maybe... but I think the real issue centres on what is the essence of meaning? Is it merely contextual? That the chess piece ONLY achieves meaning by its function in the game? Let's all go back to my creek and I'll make a large Spanish omelette."

"The problem with this scepticism is that it fuels the view-point war and avoids esoteric knowledge. I who by an amazing grace experience regularly a reality which by a deeply felt mysterious energy passes all forms of materialistic scepticism."

"Mazy you experience that peace without needing to be shocked. That is truly amazing."

"Well strictly speaking that is not correct. The first time I was utterly shocked. I had been saved from the procession of thoughts and notions which rules this Earth. And the other side taught me how to stay inside the indescribable peace."

"So, staying in the peace is the whole point. I can see that Clem and I, have been sort of satisfied with glimpses"

"Glimpses are a gesture of Grace. What we are discussing is what is really the essence of our true nature? And it can't be realised through using the intellect. It becomes your reality through Grace and the heart. Meditation of the heart. Meditation through allowing your soul to feel what it actually feels. And the development of gratitude."*

Les, finishing his omelette smacked his lips and put his thumb up. Speaking softly, he said, "From our discussion it appears there are actually two very different universes. The essence of one is living meaning... the other---this one...the essence is meaningless conflict. Obviously, conflict will not lead to peace."

Mazy immediately retorted, "it's within this world of conflict that your conscience awakes which leads to an awakening in consciousness... which has led to you living the life of a loafer."

"But although I am much more conscious than I used to be, I am still unconscious when I am asleep... dreaming. It really pisses me off that I behave during the dreams as if it was all real. I've heard that there are some people who can be aware---without waking up physically---of their particular dream and consciously direct how to lead it in a positive direction. They call the practise 'lucid dreaming'."

I had nothing to say about this, but Mazy had a lot to say!

"Les, Henry Miller, walking penniless on the streets of Paris hoping a friend he was going to visit would feed him, suddenly decided from then on, he would make no distinction in his future writing between his experiences whist dreaming and his experiences in ordinary day life. This decision altered his conscious life. I am not God, so I do not know how it happens that one person wakes up to consciousness and another doesn't. |I think it all revolves around faith or doubt."

The next day Les brought me some scallops and we continued talking on the theme of two universes. "It seems to me" Les said, "That when Jesus said, 'I am in this world but not of it' He is clearly indicating that there are two universes. Now I assume that they interpenetrate. That they are both here now. I don't pretend to know how this takes place."

"It seems to me", I said, "that the division must be between energy and consciousness. We are obviously energy beings with an ability to tune in to the dimension of consciousness."

"Well, wasn't that the whole point in taking L.S.D?"

"Of course, and it validated my life of loafing."

"Exactly. We are both ex-Acid loafers... has it ever struck you that this universe is the outcome of a mistake? A mistake that occurred within consciousness."

"You mean Les, that in some weird way, God fucked up?" 

"Something like that. Or there's different factions. Greek gods... Egyptian gods, Sumerian gods, Indian gods and then you get claims that there's only One God. And they all promote different viewpoints.. and so we get endless conflict and wars."

Whilst we were ambling down to the estuary, Les was flying his kite very high. He was a very impressive man about six feet six tall with long white hair blowing all over in the breeze. "The thing is that we are always living within a conflict zone. When I was on board a trawler, forty odd years ago, three of us saw a UFO emerge from below a calm Atlantic Ocean and climb silently very fast up into the blue sky and was gone. It was not the RAF. It was not the American navy. It was from another world. Another existence. Which we ---you and I Clem will never enter. Is it benign or malevolent?"

Maybe like there are unfathomable depths to real peace, there are deeper levels to technology?"        

After a very long wonderful garden kissing session Mazy said "I didn't twig that this world is directed by pretence until I found out that my parents were 'Swingers'. You see my mother never pretended to be a mum. And my father never pretended to be a dad. I think my lovely Nanny pretended to be a mum for me. Seeing the stallion mate the mare partly woke me up. What happened with Peggy blasted me wide open. And I've never closed up. My disposition is of course eccentric... (smiling)... even to me."

"You're a perfect kind and generous loafer."

"Thank you, Clem. I am very glad that all three of us ate your tasty omelette together."

"Yes it's extraordinary the way our three minds harmonised together. Do you think that the essence of being a loafer is being alone?"

"No, I don't. I think we are loafers because the direction of our lives is completely different to the way of the world".  

"A major difference in meaning?"

"How we behave is our meaning. We don't enact thoughts. Thoughts may come and go but we are not thought-machines. We are feeling beings. Not many of us left in this world.  This realisation causes a continuous sadness deep within my soul".

"I feel a similar deep sadness for the same reason."