Aunt Sarah's Slippering: and other short stories by Stanlegh Meresith

Author:Stanlegh Meresith [Meresith, Stanlegh]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: LSF Publications
Published: 2016-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

---oOo---

Dear Dave,

Thanks, it's a good one; reads well.

Just one thing - I'm taking out the bit at the end about not subscribing - I'm sure you'll understand.

John Stilton, Editor.

The Master and Margaret

Paul's thin, high-pitched voice continued soothingly. "Now feel your chakras spinning ... your aura changes from red as the energy cycle reverses ... and ... breathe in ... now sense your aura become yellow ... and breathe out ... try to control the breath, Margaret. Your aura's going red again... "

Margaret sighed: not the 'right' kind of exhale perhaps, but the top of her head was throbbing from standing on it for so long, and she was beginning to wonder if this Auric Reverse Chakra Therapy really did help to speed up the journey to Enlightenment, as Paul and the others seemed so fervently to believe.

At thirty-six, Margaret yearned for deeper meaning in her life. Auric Reverse Chakra Therapy wasn't the first 'New Age' activity she'd tried since breaking up last Christmas with Gary. In fact, she'd thrown herself into several. She'd sat for hours in a Bio-Rhythmic Meditation Pod; had immersed herself in Hydro-Energetics; had even paid £50 to learn about Conscious Mastication. Yet none of these had brought about that sense of profound understanding and contentment for which she longed.

It was after a lecture on Crystal Energy Inhalation in Neasden a month later that she bumped into Susan. Susan was about forty, and her aura seemed to glow with just the kind of inner peace that Margaret sought for herself.

When asked for the secret of her happiness, Susan looked long and deep into Margaret's eyes, before whispering, "Yes, I believe I can ... I can tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"You must visit the Master. Then you will know."

Margaret's heart swelled with excitement. She did not have to ask what it was she would know - from the twinkle of joy in Susan's eyes, she felt instinctively what it must be: surely, nothing less than that precious answer to the riddle of life's mystery; that secret meaning that, once felt and understood, would make her life flow with the serene bounty of inner bliss.

The Master, explained Susan, was an Indian guru who had chosen to bring the wisdom of a lifetime's spiritual practice to England; more precisely, to Croydon, a suburb in South London where he lived in simple obscurity, bestowing enlightenment upon only the truest seekers, those whose destiny drew them, as if by some hidden guide, to the front door of his semi-detached two-up, two-down.

"But don't be fooled by appearances," whispered Susan conspiratorially. "The greatest saints have always appeared to Humanity in the humblest of guises."

"Yes, that's true!" whispered Margaret eagerly.

"You tithe him £49 and, if you are worthy, he will give you the gift of his hands."

"His hands?"

"Yes, he has hands like no other. You will see. And the £49 represents seven times seven - the ancient Aramaic number of forgiveness."

Margaret obtained the Master's details from the beguiling Susan, and went straight home to make what she felt sure would be a life-changing appointment.

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