Synthesist TWO - Will Parfitt

One of the things I am often asked, along with how come I’m so astonishingly
fabulous, how I get paid so very much for doing so very little (talent, darling,
talent, there really is no substitute; lack of talent is just God’s way of saying you’re
going to have to work for a living) and what’s the recipe for my amazing tomato sauce
(which is so fantastic that straight guys have left their wives for it, or possibly that was the
bread-and-butter pudding), is how come I’m so insufferably smug and annoying.
Now this last is a tricky one, as, unlike all the others (including the tomato sauce) it
didn’t come to me naturally. No, once I was a snivelling bunch of insecurities just like
you are. But then I started my Big Smug Spiritual Practice, which basically consists
of taking time out every day to tell myself that I’m bloody fantastic and that everyone
who suggests otherwise is just evil scum talking out of envy and bitterness. I call this
meditation because it sounds more poncey, and makes it look like I’m doing that really
difficult stuff that Buddhists do.
Of course if I was just telling myself that I was totally marvellous I would be insane and
deluded, and anyway it wouldn’t work. People who try this kind of self-affirmation are
generally sad losers, simply because it falls foul of the following paradox:
Sad Person:
Sad Person:
Sad Person:
(a little desperately) I am wonderful, I am marvellous, I am not a sad loser
despite what my boss/lover/parents/friends/public opinion may say.
(to self) But the person who is saying all these things is just me, and I’m
a big sad loser, so how can I trust my opinion on anything
(back to self) Shut up and keep chanting.
To avoid this paradox, I pretend it is the Universe (the artist formerly known as God)
who is telling me these things in a dead spiritual way. Hey, it works for me.
So where did I learn this meditation of smugness I learnt it at the International Centre
for Smugness: the Findhorn Foundation. Okay, time for a picture:
.
(The main bit of road in the Findhorn Foundation, called the Runway because, back
when this was an aerodrome, Lancaster bombers used to take off along it. Given that it’s
only around a mile long I’m astonished they managed to get airborne; possibly this is an
example of an early Findhorn miracle, though the slope may also have helped)
The Synthesist • 2 • page 143
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