MATTERS FINALLY REACHED a head when I had to start lecturing to postgraduate students in a large hall. I was extremely happy teaching them, but was quite incapable of raising my voice sufficiently to be heard even in the close confines of a room. I went to a fine speech therapist, who at once diagnosed the difficulty as a spasm of the muscles of the larynx, a spasm elicited by fear and anxiety. In other words, my difficulty was fundamentally psychological. She taught me how to relax and breathe properly with the diaphragm, so that within a remarkably short time I had overcome the vocal trouble and could speak loudly and audibly even in a large lecture theatre.
It was evident, however, that the inability to raise my voice was merely a symptom of a much deeper psychological disturbance, and the therapist, who herself had had emotional problems that had been helped by a psychiatrist, urged me likewise to seek help. I hesitated at this suggestion; I had already read some of the writings of the exponents of psychoanalysis and behaviour therapy, and these had distressed me. The agnosticism about spiritual experience and the general contempt for religious values that most of these writers expressed troubled me. I knew how easy it would be to explain away the deep inner experiences of earlier years as episodes of wishful thinking and escape from an intolerably lonely childhood: what I had failed to achieve on a material level could be actualised in dramatic private fantasies. And yet I knew with absolute certainty that those experiences had been the most real part of my life; if they were taken away, whatever meaning my existence held would be lost.
It so happened that a girl who lived in the same house as I told me, quite unexpectedly, about a course in psychology that was being conducted nearby under the auspices of the London County Council (as it was then called). She had found the content of these lectures helpful, and so I went myself to listen, hoping that these might form an acceptable introduction to psychotherapy. I expected a well-qualified psychologist replete with diplomas and possibly having psychoanalytic experience giving drily expert advice about emotional troubles. Instead I was confronted by a stout elderly woman who did not use the language of academic psychology, but spoke instead about the proper inner development of the complete person. She described the inner life, not with the detached agnosticism of the professional psychologist, but with a loving reverence that testified to her own experience and wisdom. I soon found that she had no degrees and diplomas; in more normal circumstances, I, a well-qualified young medical practitioner, might have dismissed her as a crank who taught "popular psychology." But my need had brought me to the abyss of humility, and I was prepared to listen to a wisdom that was not academic or learned, but came instead from the life experience of a very remarkable person. She was not ignorant of the theories of the three leading psychoanalysts - Freud, Jung, and Adler - and had indeed much respect for their insights, especially those of Jung, but her breadth of thought embraced such themes as ultimate meaning of life, the supremacy of the soul, and the fact of God. At once I realised I was in the presence of a person I really knew, and could at last start being myself after sixteen years in the wilderness - for the dark night of the soul had lasted exactly the same period of time as had my childhood which culminated in the great mystical experience that I described in a previous chapter.
Soon themes that were buried deep in my mind but had seldom been brought into the light of day were openly discussed: the properties of the soul and its probable pre-existence of the body that enclosed it, the phenomenon of rebirth in a succession of lives, and the possibility of reincarnation.
Reincarnation is a concept that still strikes horror in the hearts of many Western people, who confuse it with the transmigration of souls into the bodies of animals. In fact, it is a very reasonable way of envisaging the experience and growth of the soul in a series of human bodies, and as such is accepted in the Hindu-Buddhist tradition. That this hypothesis has some factual basis has been shown by recent psychical research into the astounding prenatal memories - which have been confirmed - of very small children, too young to have acquired the knowledge from any person living in their vicinity. The fact of rebirth was shown unequivocally to me during the illuminative experience I have already described, but I was not given any indication about the frequency of a return to earthly conditions.
Thus I began to unburden myself of the knowledge that lay deep within me, but which I had previously protected from the destructive gaze of the ignorantly hostile. At last, sixteen years after the event, I could discuss my great mystical experience with a sympathetic person; indeed, for the first time in my life I had a real conversation about the profound issues of existence. Soon I met others who had also attended this course of lectures - which were suitably entitled "Understanding Ourselves" - and at last I began to move freely amongst people with whom I could converse with ease. My loneliness was at an end.
The important fact that emerged from this encounter and the subsequent course of my life was that there was nothing essentially wrong with me mentally or emotionally. I was certainly an unusual type of person - and who, in his own way, is completely devoid of unusual characteristics? But there was nothing intrinsically abnormal about me. The psychological difficulties were the result of involuntary attempts at suppressing my true nature and conforming slavishly to the standards of the world. My case was comparable with that of a person with exceptionally fine vision who tries to view his surroundings with spectacles designed for one that is very short-sighted, and who even pretends to the world that the result is pleasant. Once I came to myself I could at last begin to relax. What I had to do was to return to the inner completeness of my early childhood, but with the wisdom and compassion that had accrued from my experience in the world.
As my inner condition fell more into place, a considerable amount of aggressiveness was released, and most of this was visited on my poor father to whom I wrote a series of unpleasant, though distinctly pertinent letters. It was to take seven years before the light of God's forgiveness healed my own soul, after which a reconciliation with my father at last became possible. It was good that, even during the worst of the bitterness, we never lost contact with each other. Apart from this one lamentable, though necessary episode, my reactive aggressiveness was channelled into more constructive work.
What I had been given through the grace of God had now to be transmitted to others. Both the inner revelations and the outer suffering I had endured were to be fertilised in service to those on the path of self-realisation. It was interesting that a weak voice had led to my final liberation; that same voice, now firm and assured, was to be the principal means of liberating others from the shackles of meaninglessness and fear. Later the pen was to supplement the spoken word, so that the message could go out further afield.
Two spiritual gifts showed themselves almost as soon as I came to myself, as the beautiful Parable of the Prodigal Son puts it. The first was an ability to reach a state of formless contemplation at will. I was concentrating on everyday questions, like "How are you?" or "What is the time?" repeated over and over again without an answer. Suddenly I became aware of the silence, a mere second that elapsed between the conclusion of the question and its repetition. That silence was more eloquent than the words which encompassed it, for in the silence I was aware of the eternal life lifting up the world and giving it meaning. As soon as I became aware of the reality of that momentary silence, I could attain it at will and remain in it indefinitely. Of course, I now realise that what, on the face of it, sounds a childishly simple exercise may need the work of a lifetime. I myself needed all the previous understanding I had to attain it, and its attainment was God-given as well as self-achieved.
In this silence my psychic powers, latent for the last sixteen years, were once again activated. I became aware of other people's inner needs and dispositions, and I could sense with remarkable accuracy the presence of evil in an environment. At one time I might have discounted such extrasensory - or perhaps I should rather say higher sensory - information, but my disillusionment with the narrow limits of knowledge set by conventional scientific philosophy made me less sceptical and more willing to accept these hidden sources of knowledge. On the other hand, my critical intelligence and scientific training prevented me falling into the morass of credulity that so often bedevils amateur enthusiasts of psychical research. On more than one occasion, when my mind was quiet and untroubled, I was aware of mental communication with friends who had died and were now living in the greater life beyond the grave. Sometimes the messages were emotional and loving, but therefore less evidential.
The second gift, which was directly related to the first, was that of spontaneous spiritual utterance of such a calibre that I was soon able to deliver completely unprepared addresses and lectures, lasting up to an hour on some occasions. When I reached the silence and lifted up my soul to God in prayer, His Holy Spirit descended on me, and I started to speak with an authority and eloquence far outside my usual range. And yet I was in complete control; my state of consciousness was raised, and I had lost all self-concern or self-consciousness. It was as if the Holy Spirit was speaking through me, and using the great storehouse of wisdom and experience that my educated, sensitive mind had accumulated during the painful process of its growth. In other words, the addresses were of a completely different order from the boring, platitudinous utterances that Spiritualist mediums in the dissociated state of trance so often deliver. At first I used to prepare notes beforehand, but when the time for speaking arrived, I found that the written word interfered with the spontaneous communication that passed between me and the audience. It required great faith to dispense with all such preparations and depend entirely upon God for inspiration, but once this had been attained, I never doubted the source of inspiration and relied on it absolutely. My particular qualifications for this gift appeared to be a well-educated mind with much experience of the inner life and a selfless concern for those who were listening. This selflessness was the result of the harrowing period in the wilderness that I had undergone. All concern for self-inflation ceased after the private self had been destroyed in the refining fire of suffering. If I had ever used the gift to impress myself on others, it would soon have left me, and my address would have descended to the level of a personal display designed to win applause.
It took five years of preparation from the time of restoration of spiritual light for me to be properly equipped for my particular ministry. My shyness and social ineptitude did not evaporate immediately - indeed, in a very real way I still bear their impress - but they ceased to cripple me. Instead I was able to use them to effect a close relationship with unhappy distraught people who could never have tolerated the smooth urbanity of an unwounded, insensitive therapist. The intense sensitivity that had always been my lot, while making me particularly helpful to those in need, also rendered me abnormally vulnerable to both the open insult and the hidden hostility of others. This was why I had to boost my morale with brilliant examination results in my youth. Now that I had to give of myself in word to the world, a terrible fear of publicity and the consequent loss of privacy assailed me. At first I could hardly bear to hear my name mentioned in public, and I took great care to conceal all my private interests lest they would damage my professional career. But as the years passed, I became less obsessed with my own safety and put the work with greater faith into the hands of the Holy Spirit.
While these changes were occurring on an inner level, and I was venturing into contemplative prayer, my professional life blossomed into much more interesting activities. My proficiency as a teacher and lecturer, itself in no small measure the fruit of the sessions with the speech therapist, enabled me to relate more closely with the students and my colleagues. It was unfortunate that at this time internecine strife broke out in the place where I worked. This was due, as is so often the case in this type of situation, to a clash of personalities involving some of my colleagues. Though I was not in the first case directly involved, there came a time in which I had to stand up and be counted among those whom I considered to be in the right. The result of this, as might be expected, was that my professional career was blighted and all hope of promotion blocked. I, nevertheless, in collaboration with a fellow lecturer, wrote a textbook which, much to our surprise, was destined to become a best seller. However, the frustration of my academic ambitions and the terrible atmosphere under which I worked was a hard burden to bear. This unpleasant state of affairs lasted nine years before the person most responsible for the trouble suddenly left and moved elsewhere. On the surface this would have seemed a well nigh impossible event.
I mention this distasteful episode to emphasise that a proper spiritual perspective, far from rendering one less fit for the hardships of worldly life, aids in concentrating one's inner resources and making one cope far better than would otherwise have been possible. In this we see an important quality of true spirituality: it leads one on to a more fruitful life on earth. On more than one occasion I was tempted to quit my position and move elsewhere, but each time my sense of personal grievance was overridden by the strength of my spiritual vocation, which I knew had to be pursued in the place where I was living.
Even when I was a child I seemed to have a premonition of later frustration, and I had a persistent fear of being left out of the world's race. It was this that surely acted as the motive for my obsessional striving for scholastic excellence. Later I came to understand that the frustration which I experienced in my earlier adult life was a necessary corrective for my immature, selfish approach to life. I had to learn patience in the course of delay, forbearance towards inadequate people whose selfish actions caused general havoc, and long suffering during the course of personal injustice. Now I know that only by suffering long does one learn to love others and become proficient in life.
During an early period of this phase of my life, I had a prophetic dream which has been progressively fulfilled: I was walking down a sordid side-street in the city of my birth, when I suddenly fell into an open manhole and descended into a subterranean cavern. It was not an ordinary enclosed cavern, but instead extended in long corridors under the earth.
These passages were dark and repulsive, but as I walked down them they seemed to open up into wider, barely separate rooms which were poorly lit. In these rooms there were all manner of people pursuing drab occupations, and eventually I found myself in a room in which there was a central operating table. The other people there were ill-defined, but presumably had some connexion with the healing profession. I was taught with great perseverance, the rudiments of physical therapy - for as always my physical equipment was clumsy and unsure - until the time came when I had learned a great deal about the body.
One of the surly, but not unkind men in this subterranean room then told me that I had learned all that they could teach me, and that the time had come to re-enter the world again. I then ascended from the depths by a small hole on to the surface once more. The locality was a different part of the same city where I had been walking at the beginning of the dream. It too was not a particularly pleasant district, but the sun was shining wanly through dissipating clouds, and I knew I had to progress onwards into the distance where there was a hint of promise.