An Angel On My Shoulder

An Angel On My Shoulder - chapter 2

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

The Pendulum Diaries

There are days when sunlight scythes through the branches of trees and etches the world into a still-life tableau. On such days time is banished as scintillas of light trap people in frozen poses, like statues, or shadows in a peepshow. It can last for less than a second but it might as well be a lifetime.

It was on a day such as this that Paul had stood with Annie outside a dome-shaped theatre surrounded by well-cut lawns. A straggling crowd was making its way into the exhibition, ‘Connections’. This was a mixed bag of a show, part market, part new age bazaar, part chicanery and pseudo wisdom, where you could buy organic juice, fresh vegetables, candles and love potions, visit a couple of clairvoyants, sit in a tepee, learn to meditate or buy oddball books.

Annie was eager to get inside. She had been showing an unusual interest in anything spiritual or even wacky. Paul had some reservations about this so-called new age explosion. His take on the whole question of life and existence had seen him delve much deeper than the transient world of ‘enlightenment’ that had now become a mass-market business worth millions.

It was partly, he supposed, because he lived and worked in a structured world of business where computers were the new gods and cyberspace the new universe.

“I want to learn to meditate,” said Annie as they went in, bought tickets and collected an armful of leaflets, “like you used to do.”

“That’s fine, but don’t be taken in by everything you see in here,” Paul replied. “A lot of this is just commercial mumbo-jumbo.”

“Yeah, yeah!” she smiled.

“I can teach you to meditate,” said Paul.

“Like you tried to teach me to drive,” she laughed. “We ended up in a shouting match.”

“I just mean, there’s real spiritual information out there and there’s razzmatazz like this.”

They entered a large hall with a decorated domed ceiling. It was full of colour and light, kaftans and dreadlocks interspersed with earnest and newly converted devotees of Hindu and Buddhist sects, po-faced Christians offering booklets, brightly coloured tarot stalls and I-Ching readers and smiling aloe vera salesmen. A heady mixture of perfumes and scents drifted through the packed hall. The visitors were a mixed bag. Some looked like refugees from a third-rate rock concert, or were gipsy travellers with snivelling kids in tow. Others were middle income bracket devotees determined to find enlightenment on their doorstep but the majority was just the plain curious.

Annie and Paul drifted with the crowd, pausing here and there. Annie rushed into the tepee to experience some Sioux Indian drumming and came out again a little later less than impressed.

“My hands hurt,” she complained.

“There’s a transcendental meditation stall over there,” said Paul. “Why don’t you check it out? I’ll have a wander around.”

Annie smiled and rushed through the crowd, pausing to buy a silk headscarf that she tied around her head tucking her long blonde hair inside. Paul smiled at her enthusiasm. You can learn a lot from your kids, he told himself.Maybe more than they can learn from you.

Paul stopped by the aloe vera stall and listened to the sales pitch that tried to persuade him to become an agent and make a fortune from residual income. He thanked the guy politely and moved on, tempted for a moment by an attractive tarot card reader who smiled at him encouragingly, as if to say, you’re special, you have a special future ahead of you.