48 - Nothing to Say

Sometimes, just sometimes, I can't think of anything chatty to say. This is one of those times so I'll say nothing and continue with Arthur Bayly's story, continued from the previous blog …

"Problems?" asked Arthur, feeling a knot in his stomach begin to form.

"Yes, problems," said Lord Atkinson. "You see, in New Zealand as in many other countries, if the patent office can classify any patent application under a Military Use Clause. Such a classification means that inventors are prohibited from publishing details of their devices or promoting them in any manner of their invention is classified under this clause. In other words, their devices automatically become the sole property of the government and the inventors lose any rights to their inventions."

"But they invented the device …" said Arthur, astonished.

 "Absolutely!" said Lady Atkinson. "But the state has the last say - you either take the risk to get your invention patented (and lose it) or don't get a patent at all."

"And that's what our Mr Adams did, in his naivety - he applied for a patent for his free energy machine and lost it to the state," said Lord Atkinson. "Mr Adams survived an attempt on his life by an individual affiliated with the New Zealand Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) and the Central Intelligence Agency. He believed that the former Prime Minister of New Zealand, Robert Muldoon, suppressed his invention, and that the giant British electronics company, Lucas Industries, had a hand in the suppression."

"Oh, my God …" said Arthur, wondering how he'd got himself involved in such matters and where it all could lead.

"Yes, my God alright!" said Lord Atkinson. "Just not cricket, by Jove not!"

"However, the government or whoever was involved, did not reckon on the persistence of people like Mr Cathie and Mr Adams," said Lady Atkinson. "Though his invention was suppressed, under the Military Use Clause, for 20 years, Mr Adams, with help and encouragement from his friend Mr Cathie, continued to develop his motor and eventually decided that his life would be safer if he published his findings - publish and be damned, if you like! If the public knew then attempts on his life (and his wife's) would be pointless - the information would still be out there then. So, he published his findings in Nexus magazine in January 1993 and the death threats and constant surveillance stopped, much to his relief."

"My gosh!" said Arthur, enthralled by the story. Then, he quickly realised he was in a large drawing room in England, not in New Zealand, to investigate an insurance claim. "But, please excuse me, but what does this have to do with the burglary or your claim?"

"Ah, yes, good question," said Lord Atkinson. "This is where our son-in-law, John comes in."

"By this time, Arthur, Mr Cathie had written several books on flying saucers and other related things and he wanted his friend Mr Adams to write a book about his invention," said Lady Atkinson. "However, Mr Adams did not feel confident about such a project and so Mr Cathie sent our John along, in the hope that he could facilitate a book somehow … perhaps ghost-write or something."

"The problem was, however, Mr Adams' health," said Lord Atkinson. "The attempts on his life, the constant surveillance from New Zealand's SIS and his advanced years - he was over seventy by then - meant that he was becoming more frail. He did want to have his book written but didn't feel up to it at that time. He promised to keep in contact with John and the next thing John knew, Robert Adams had died."

"And so had his invention and all his writings," said Lady Atkinson dramatically. "Till they unexpectedly turned up with us."

"And so, Arthur old chap, you can probably see why you're here," said Lord Atkinson, smiling and leaning back in his chair as if everything was clear to all. "Would you like another cup of tea?"

"Uh, oh, yes … no …" said Arthur, unsure which to answer first.

"You probably mean you'd like another cup of tea and you don't have the faintest idea why you're here," suggested Lady Atkinson, ringing her little bell for the butler, who arrived immediately and poured Arthur another cup of tea to her instructions.

"Ah, thank you and, yes, Lady Atkinson," said Arthur. "I'm afraid you were rather reading my mind."

"She does that, you know," said Lord Atkinson, smiling at his wife. "It's all rather uncanny."

"Now, to cut a very long story short, Robert Adams' plans, and one of his motors, was couriered to John shortly after Mr Adam's death and John still has no idea who sent them," said Lady Atkinson. "John, in his … shall we say, interesting, philosophy, puts it down to some sort of destiny he must fulfil and so he kept them firmly hidden, under lock and key, and told no one, believing he would be given a sign of some kind when it was time for him to do something with them."

"Then he fell in love with this English girl, married her and, in the process, discovered her father was a member of the House of Lords and has a passion about the environment," said Lord Atkinson, smiling. "As soon as he met us, he felt he knew what to do with the plans."

"Oh, Gosh," said Arthur, none the wiser as to his part in all of this.

"Well, yes, he knew it was too dangerous to do anything with them in New Zealand, given the trouble Mr Adams had," said Lord Atkinson, "and when he found about my … er, our interest in stopping all this gashed pollution, and I'm in a position of some influence here, he approached me about them, eventually, wondering if there was anything I could do to get these devices, these motors, manufactured for developing countries."

"Oh gosh, I would have thought New Zealand would be safe from all kinds of interference, being so remote," said Arthur.

47 - Gratitude Gives Birth to Creativity

I had set a commitment to write 1,000 words a day and to publish them as a blog to ensure I would keep the commitment. My coach, Riana Avis (www.rianaavis.com) asked me this morning, "Where did that need for commitment come from?" Her question momentarily stunned me and then a flood of scenes from a time long since past flashed through my mind … of parents, siblings and my first wife berating me for changing jobs so often … of being unreliable, changeable, not consistent and all the other terrible things that didn't fit with their view of the perfect child, brother and husband who is one who gets a job and stays in it for life.

Riana's question crashed through my psyche like a Christchurch earthquake and I realised - though none of my family will ever read this blog - that I was trying to prove to them (or myself?) that I was "normal", in their definition of the world. Riana suggested that my changeability and sense of adventure may just be a part of who I am, what makes me me and it may be a good idea for me to make peace with that changeability that I am.

I then realised that I have never wavered from wanting to make a difference through teaching, writing and business - I have never changed in that aspiration. In fact, I reminded myself and Riana, I have actually completed the writing and publishing of nine books … eek, I AM a finisher when it comes to my one, consistent passion.

And, as I ruminate on these realisations and make peace with myself, I wonder just how many of our talents are buried beneath a pile of doubt, disgust and trying to fit in …

And so what's Arthur up to - continuing from the previous blog ...

Soon they were all settled round the friendly fire, with tea and cakes before them and with a small desk for Arthur's papers, at his side. He spread his papers out but, despite his lengthy preparation at home, was uncertain where to start. He kept shuffling his papers, hoping his brain would start.

"Now, Arthur, old chap, we have you here, ostensibly, for an insurance claim but, for us, that's incidental," said Lord Atkinson. Now that he was in his accustomed clothes, Arthur could see better that he was a tall, spare man with a good head of silver hair, as they say - a man who obviously took good care of his body and clothes, as did his wife. She was slightly shorter than his six foot, wore minimal makeup and looked immaculate. They were dressed in what might be called the casual estate collection - both were in checked shirts (hers with the collar pulled up and his with a school tie), fawn slacks and sturdy leather brogues. "We did lose some items in the burglary, and some had a reasonable value, but we'll be far from upset if we're turned down for the lot, old chap."

"Oh, you won't?" said Arthur, with relief and puzzlement. He wondered, in the split second that you can wonder something really big, why he'd had to spend so much time on this claim, considering it had so little import to the claimant. Squeezed into the same split second was a question mark, bigger than the drawing room in which they sat, over his real reason for being here - obviously not the reason he was led to believe.

"Of course, you'll probably want to approve a substantial portion of it so the FSA fellows don't become too suspicious," said Lord Atkinson.

"Look, let's not skirt around the woods," said Lady Atkinson. "We know your Sam Lord better than you think we might and he recommended that you're to be trusted in this matter."

"Yes, absolutely, dear," said Lord Atkinson. "You see, the police and the FSA are not necessarily to be trusted and I'm not sure which of my political colleagues can be relied on so it always comes back to Sam Lord. He's been a brick over the years, such …"

"Anyway, the crux of the matter, Arthur," said Lady Atkinson, interrupting again, "we have something that's disappeared and now Sam has, only a few weeks later. We think they might be related."

"Oh dear," said Arthur. "You think Mr Lord could have stolen off with this item?"

"Oh no, oh dear no," said Lady Atkinson, leaning forward earnestly. "It may be that Sam was close to finding this item for us that he has disappeared."

"Oh?" said Arthur, sensing that sensible questions were less embarrassing than sensible statements.

"We're sure there's a link - initially we were concerned about the plans but now we're more concerned about the safety of Sam," said Lord Atkinson. "They're serious, the people we could be dealing with, absolutely ruthless rotters …"

"So, the plans my husband mentioned," interrupted Lady Atkinson, getting back to the core of things again, "could mean the end of the petroleum and all other energy industries and that could be catastrophic for hundreds of thousands of workers and for the billions of profits of these companies."

"Oh?" said Arthur, finding it the only useful of the two million in the English language that he had any use for, right now.

"Yes, oh!" said Lord Atkinson, smiling grimly. "That's what we thought when all this was presented to us. You see, our son-in-law, John Maranui, is a publisher in New Zealand and, though his interests are a little … shall we say, off to the side, he's a jolly good man to our daughter and, as we've got to know him, full of integrity."

"Because of his … shall we say, interesting interests, as my husband said, he's been drawn into something we now feel as passionate about as him," said Lady Atkinson. "He met a man who wanted him to publish his book and it started from there. This Bruce Cathie, who had written his controversial story, had been a pilot for NAC, New Zealand's national airline, now called Air New Zealand. This Captain Cathie had first seen a flying saucer over the Manukau Harbour, Auckland, in 1952 and in discussions with other airline pilots discovered this wasn't uncommon. However, his bosses were not impressed that he was publicising his discoveries ."

"There's nothing so motivates a chap to do something as to tell him not to do it!" said Lord Atkinson, chuckling.

Arthur smiled and nodded, remembering how, a few hours earlier, he had almost wished Joan had objected to him coming on this trip - then he would have had cause to stand up for himself. Maybe there was a belligerent side to his nature, unrecognised till now, that was asserting itself. He shut off those uncomfortable thoughts to listen.

"So, our Captain Cathie felt impelled to know more about those flying saucers, and how they moved and powered themselves," said Lady Atkinson quickly, warming to the subject. "In the course of his investigations, he met a Robert Adams , a scientist with New Zealand's Department of Scientific Research. Robert had started working on a free energy motor and was impelled, by Bruce's enthusiasm, to carry on."

"Robert called his invention a monopolar motor and, after many attempts, developed a motor that was 137% efficient. That means that it produced more energy than it used," said Lord Atkinson interrupting, his enthusiasm equal to his wife's. And that's where Robert's problems started."

46 - Dissolving Demons of the Soul

Dark Night of the Soul - I'd heard about it and read about it and wondered if were real … was it just the feverish imaginings of weak-minded cretins wanting attention? I didn't know.

Well, I've been and gone and done it and I know just how real it is though, sitting here in my sun-drenched bed, enjoying breakfast next to my lovely wife while I write this, two days later, it all seems a distant dream.

Anna and I came to England declaring, first and foremost, this would be an experience of God; an experience of coming closer to God. As we knew, through Jesus' A Course in Miracles (ACIM), we cannot look for and find love (God); we can only look for and release the blocks to love. As we do, the love we are is revealed in all its glory. The spiritual journey is not, then, a jolly skipping through the sun-dappled woods with happy fairies and smiling trees to wave us on. No, it's hard work - the hardest work I've ever done. ACIM says it takes just a little willingness but Ken Wapnick, an ACIM teacher of 40+ years, suggests that Jesus was understating things a little. Ken's been doing it, daily, for over 40 years and Anna and I have been doing it daily for nearly six years. It has not been jolly skipping at all. In every moment we show a little willingness but every moment for six years adds up to a great willingness … and it's worth it!

As we journey into ourselves the blocks to love (peace, joy, freedom, abundance and everything else we desire deeply) reveal themselves. As I do this, my anger and addictions rear their ugly heads in monstrous form and I have no choice but to face them, acknowledge them and ask for help to release them. Sometimes this help seems a long time coming and, while it does, I realise just how much I enjoy being angry and judgemental and I don't like myself for that. So, then, I don't have just anger as a block, but it's joined by the blocks of love of anger and then the judgement of myself for the enjoyment of something dysfunctional. If the help had come any sooner, the last two blocks might not have been revealed.

When we started on this overseas trip we knew all this (mainly in theory) but actually thought it would be a jolly skipping around Europe and it hasn't been that at all. At times it's been sheer bloody hell. We've had an amazing time seeing things, meeting people and doing things we could never have done in New Zealand. But I cannot find a job, we've used all our money and we're living on credit cards and hope. With no government hand-outs available to us, we've been brought to our knees, financially, and the demons - guilt (past), sin (present) and fear (future) - have been growing steadily more grotesque and frightening by the day … well, at night, mainly.

Then, two nights ago, they threatened to devour me and I was lost in their dark thrashing madness, blaming myself for our past, dreading our future and perceiving the worst of myself in every moment of my life. I was an abject failure with nothing to redeem myself and my only possible future was one of deep shame and a beggarly existence.

These screaming, screeching demons tore at my ears with their viscious condemnation and played gruesome pictures of the unremitting poverty that was to be my lot. I tried to blot them out but the more I did, the louder they shrieked and the more lurid was the spectre of my future shown. I was exhausted but they wouldn't let up. And nor would I. I fought back with every fearful fibre of my soul but they persisted. For two nights we battled one another - little me against the hungry army of discontent.

Eventually, I could fight no more and collapsed back into the pillow and gave up … and smiled. As I gave up, gave in, they softened. I warily looked up, in my mind's eye, and their ferocity abated as little. I took in a breath of courage and faced them, open-eyed and defenceless. They melted a little more.

I acknowledged them, listen to them and agreed with them. I admitted I had a deep loathing of my self - of my dreaded shame, guilt and fear. I'm not sure why I did this but it came to me to ask each one to show itself. I chose each silly financial decision I'd ever made and asked each demon guardian to step forth. I went through each decision, each money-wasting event and, as the guilt for each was called forth, I waited. Suddenly nothing happened. It did happen suddenly and it was nothing that happened. As I faced each of my ever-so-real guilts and fears (past and future) they dissolved as phantoms in the morning light.

ACIM tells us this is what we must do - look for the blocks to love, face them, acknowledge them and ask for help to release them. I had tried it before but it had seemed theoretical - a good idea but not very real.

Well, the news of the day, ladies and gentlemen, is that it's as real as it gets and the more I resist looking inside, the worse it seems. Eventually it becomes so bad I've just got to face that screeching ugliness and, when I do, it quietly vanishes to leave me with an exhausted body and an empty, light-filled mind. From the cowering, terrified creature I was two days ago, I have been helped to become a defenceless and invulnerable wee happy chappie … and so light I could fly … aaahhh!

And now to Atrhur Bayly's story, continued from the previous blog ...

And so Arthur spent the next half hour explaining that as they seem to have been followed and as the Atkinson case was actually about the Immigration Minister, Mary had tried to arrange Arthur's interview with the Lord and Lady with the utmost secrecy.

"Oh my gosh, Arthur, I didn't realise it was that Atkinson," said Joan, clapping her hands gleefully. "You certainly do move in exalted circles." Any previous apprehension seemed to have been dissolved by immersion in excitement and intrigue. Arthur went upstairs and assembled all his papers - again and again - while Joan spoke to Dottie on the phone.

""Come on, Arthur!" called Joan from downstairs, "I've made you a nice cup of tea to calm your nerves."

"OK, OK," said Arthur, who felt he had done so well concealing his nerves.

As they were drinking their tea, with Joan assuring him he would be fine and safe, there was a knock at the door. Toby, in very efficient and assertive manner, had their clothes changed, Arthur's papers in his tool box and Arthur out the door and on the street before Arthur could draw breath. There was nothing else to do but get into the van so he strode over and opened the door … well, he tried but it was locked. Confused, he looked back at his house and saw Josh's hand, in front of the net curtain, waving frantically at him, pointing up the street. The penny dropped. Wrong van. He wandered nonchalantly up the street, in the direction of Josh's finger and tentatively tried the door of the next van. There was an older man, with a black woollen hat pulled low and overalls, in the passenger seat.

"Welcome Arthur, and I'm terribly sorry I can't help you with your bag - this arm's a bit useless at the moment," said the man, chuckling. Arthur noticed his right arm was in a sling. "Bit embarrassing but you're in the right van now!"

"Uh, yes," said Arthur, feeling quite stupid and knowing full well James Bond would never make such an error. Maybe he was not cut out for this kind of stuff. Though he didn't believe in omens, if he did he would have recognised it as a bad one.

"Right, my man, let's get this show on the road, as they say," said the man. "Dashed exciting, really, isn't it, my man. I've never done this sort of thing before - usually have my chauffeur drive me around. However, we should be able to find ourselves out of this place, eh what! Belt up and let's get moving, shall we?"

"Yes, yes, of course," said Arthur, thankful for some direction, since his brain had none at that moment. He belted up, started up and indicated that he was pulling out … except that the wipers went instead of the indicators.

"Oh!" said Arthur, his brain unable to formulate any more coherent words. However, they were soon underway with the man directing from a map on his lap. They did manage to find themselves at the same point on the Croydon overpass three times and they chuckled together, a brotherhood of errors. Eventually, they were soon headed south to Kings Wood.

"Right, Arthur Bayly, I should introduce myself properly, now we've negotiated the tricky part," said the man, taking off his hat. "I'm Lord Atkinson. Pleased to meet you, old chap and we'll have to dispense with the hand-shaking, obviously. Let's just take it that we've shaken, shall we?" He raised his plastered arm a little and Arthur nodded and smiled. Arthur had vaguely suspected it was the Lord but was afraid to confirm by asking. Arthur noted that he had been promoted from my good man to old chap.

"Now, old chap, our estate is just round the corner here," said Lord Atkinson. They turned left off the main road and were suddenly passing beneath a massive stone archway as the gates opened for them. The hundred-yard, gravel driveway wandered through manicured gardens and curved in front of a three-storey Georgian mansion. Arthur noticed two gardeners working away. A butler opened the door for Lord Atkinson and then came around to Arthur's side to suggest that he could park the vehicle for him, if he preferred.

"Oh, yes, of course," said Arthur, as if this happened every day of his life.

A second butler ushered them through ten-foot, oak doors, through a marble and oak reception area at the bottom of a curved stairway that led, it seemed to Arthur, to heaven. He had little chance for further inspection as he was then whisked into a cavernous drawing room that, despite its size, had been filled to overflowing with furniture, statues, ornaments, paintings, books and all manner of collectible things, leaving little room for the lady who was sitting on one of several circles around the stone fireplace. The fire crackled happily and she stood and smiled warmly as Lord Atkinson introduced Lady Atkinson to Arthur. She came up to him and he suddenly realised he was supposed to kiss her on both cheeks, something he'd seen on television. He managed it adequately.

The Lord suggested a cup of tea, to which Arthur assented, despite the three he had already had that morning. He really wanted to a toilet stop but was hesitant to ask. The Lord then excused himself to change his clothes and asked Arthur if he would like to refresh himself. With a flood of relief, Arthur was led by the butler into a bathroom the size of Arthur's dining room, all tiles and gold and with plumbing worse than he'd experienced. He did manage to get the toilet to flush, after much pumping, but was unsure if he did an adequate job of it.