Wednesday

We had an outside guest speaker for the day, Rosie Barton, well known in her field of Transcendental Analysis. She lectured, using a flip chart to give examples of what she was saying. It went on all day long and although it was interesting, it was hard work to take in.

Transcendental Analysis is a system in which elements of the reality of everyday experience become symbolic. It is the study of the nature of humankind by the study of the self, in which it must be assumed that the individual self is the same or similar to every other self, in terms of the human sensory apparatus, as a similar sensory system. It must also be assumed that every individual would, in similar circumstances and with a similar value system, if not do exactly the same things, might at least come to understand the propensities and temptations of others, no matter in what age or time.

One can always feel that they would never do what has been done by others, and thus never truly understand why others do what they do. For a better understanding of reality, the best mode of learning would be to be a participant in events, such as taking part in historical circumstance by time travel.

The character of the self, may be determined by the type of decisions an individual will make, in what is perceived to be actual circumstance, wherein real consequences are inherent in the situation and decision-making, which is a measure of one's true character, knowledge and constitution. Knowledge learned in the abstract from such things as books, theater or word of mouth, may be perfectly valid, but without true and real involvement with actual consequence, the individual cannot possess an actual measure of one's own true character, and thus can also believe about themselves anything that is convenient.

Enough said, I should think, on that subject. We did enjoy it, and were buzzing with enthusiasm for it during the evening meal. When our small group met later in the evening, the tension was gone. We seemed to get along without any problems. Ben suggested that we work up our skit for the next night on the theme of TA - that which we had been learning all day.

He suggested that Ed and I, being the oldest, should represent the parents; he and Bill being in the middle aged group should be the teachers, and Carole and Bob, being the youngest, should don the equivalent of nappies and be the children. One teacher would tempt the children with a carrot - the other would threaten them with the stick. No prizes for guessing who had the stick.

Our group then, as one, decided we would go to the local pub together, foregoing our usual drink at the FESC bar. We chose the Seymour Arms, a black and white 16th century pub, not far from our location, which had a roaring fire and a cosy atmosphere. We got our beers and found our places. Ed and Bill sat across from me at one table. Frances and Bob sat next to us. I was pleased to see how well Frances was dealing with our problem child Bob. She seemed to be taking an interest in him and making sure he felt included in our conversations and activities. He had relaxed a great deal since the trauma of the previous day. But Ben, much to my disappointment went across the room and sat with another bunch of people completely. I spent much of the evening watching him, and wondering why he had chosen to break from our now cohesive group.

I was aware that Ed was chatting me up - and was of course flattered by this. Bill didn’t say much but he was part of the group - and I suddenly noticed that he was a very good looking man. I had been so obsessed with my bette noire, Ben, up until this time that I hadn’t properly looked at or listened to the others in the group. It was a very comfortable and happy evening, as we were all starting to feel at home and enjoying the conference and each other.

Day 4

We convened as a whole group for feedback on the TA session of the day before. When we were asked for comments, first Ben said something and then I chipped in. “I really enjoyed the lecture yesterday, but felt it was too much in too quick a time. I would have preferred it if we had been able to break into small groups to discuss each aspect, rather than having it all as a lecture.” Then Carole pitched in with her point of view. Three comments, and all from our group, I thought, rather proud of us for leading the conference.

Later at coffee time, I happened to be sitting next to Rosie, the speaker from the previous day. She seemed annoyed with me in some way - which seemed odd so I asked her about it. “You didn’t seem to think much of my delivery yesterday,” she said.

“I did like it. I liked it very much.”

“That didn’t seem how it sounded this morning. You and your friends were all criticizing me and nobody said anything good about it.”

“If you had been here last night after your talk, you would have been ‘stroked’ to death. The place was buzzing with enthusiasm for the subject. Our criticism this morning, which wasn’t meant that way at all, was because we wanted more or it, and for it to have been put in a way which we could have seen the immediate relevance for ourselves.” Stroking is a much used word in TA.

Rosie seemed somewhat mollified by what I said. “I couldn’t have got the whole subject covered if we had broken into small groups. I felt it was important that you got the whole picture.”

“You might be right about that. You certainly stirred up people’s interest sufficiently for most of us to want to investigate more about it.”

After coffee break I was involved in the session that many had been dreading the whole week - the telling of deep dark secrets.  In fact, Carole opted out of the activity completely - refused to take part, as was her right, and went off to do some shopping in Bristol.

Again I was in a small group with Ben. There were 10 of us in each of 5 groups, and we sat in a circle. We were told that it was important for our own well being that we should be honest with ourselves. Sometimes we might have done things in the past that we felt guilty about. We might carry that guilt to such an extent that we couldn’t develop properly to our full potential. So the exercise was for us each to take a piece of paper and write down what we felt most guilty about in our lives. These papers, which weren’t to be signed, were then to be put on the table in the centre of the group and mixed around. Then one by one we were to pull out someone’s guilty secret - pretend it was ours - talk about it, and then the others in the group were to forgive us (or whoever had written the secret). It did seem a very odd idea to me, but I was willing to give it a go.

It took me forever to think of a guilty secret. I think the others were having the same problem. I considered making something up - as I knew that whatever I wrote would be pretty bland and not worthy of the exercise. In the end I wrote about a wedding where I had been the chief bridesmaid. I had drunk copiously of the champagne and made a fool of myself. And then when I was stretching to try to catch the bouquet, I had split my dress down the back. Rather than being deterred and retiring gracefully, I insisted on going to the airport, along with the best man to see the newlyweds off - me drunk and very inappropriately dressed. I still blush when I think about it.

Everyone folded up their bit of paper and placed it as required in the centre table. Then one by one we read out each other’s secrets. Somebody had failed their O levels. Somebody else has cheated on an exam. Somebody had slept with his best friend’s girlfriend. I can’t now remember them all, but I do remember that mine was the least interesting of the bunch and I wished that I had followed my original instinct and had made something up.

When it was time for mine to be read out, it turned out to be Ben who picked it up to read. You could almost hear the scorn in his voice. “I expect this person was embarrassed to be seen with her underwear showing. It sounds to me as if she was being perfectly normal and getting drunk is what we all have done at sometime or other, so no need to feel guilty.” My moral dilemma was dismissed as it deserved to be. I couldn’t help but wonder which one Ben was - had he failed his O levels, had he cheated on his income tax, had he seduced his best friend’s wife - or had he made his up?

Thursday afternoon was spent, for those who wished, in a tour of Cheddar Gorge. I opted in for the trip, but nobody else from my group got involved. It was fascinating, and as we have wonderful Derbyshire limestone caves nearby where I live, it was fun to compare this with them.

I copied this from the literature I collected, so as not to make any mistakes.

As well being famous for cheddar cheese, Cheddar is also home to the famous Cheddar Gorge, and the Cheddar Caves. Cheddar's distinguishing feature is the natural phenomenon of Britain's largest gorge, while The Cheddar Yeo in Gough's Cave is Britain's biggest underground river, and the Gorge Cliffs are Britain's highest inland limestone cliffs.

All those superlatives.

The Village of Cheddar has a long and ancient history, having been important Roman and Saxon Centres. As early as 1130 AD, the beauty of the Gorge was recognised as one of the "Four wonders of England". Historically, Cheddar's source of wealth was farming and cheese making for which it was famous as early as 1170 AD.

It was a very enjoyable trip, but loyally, I felt that the stalagmites and stalactites in our Derbyshire caves were bigger and more impressive.

Thursday night was the performance night - when each group would show how they had melded over the week, by putting on a skit. We were nervous because our group was going to go on first. It was a stupid skit - completely mindless and of no intellectual merit whatsoever. But we were all involved. Just before we went on Bill said, “Let’s all take off our shoes and socks. It will be a sort of costume for us.” So as dumb as most of us thought it, we agreed, and it did sort of lend an intimacy to the skit.

We performed and the others laughed and clapped. We sat back and watched their equally stupid and worthless offerings, and laughed and clapped for them. But it dawned on me, as I am sure it did on my colleagues, that the “we” of our group really had become a group. We had worked together on a project, all contributing, all making equal fools of ourselves, but as a unit. We had passed the test of personal development.

After the performances were over, we went into the lounge to have a drink or two. Both Bill and Ed offered to buy me a drink, and they sat next to me, almost as if we were not just a group but had a relationship. Ben, as I couldn’t help but notice, was not sitting with us, but had joined another group in the opposite part of the room, but we were glowing with our newly found closeness, and didn’t miss him, not much anyway.