Forward

We are sitting round a table in the Executive Suite of a smart hotel in the middle of Toronto, waiting for Bapak to come. There are about a dozen of us, all with some function or other to do with ISC. My function, with Howard, has just been to dash out at the last moment to buy chocolate biscuits. Marilyn and Mary are feverishly wrapping up little gifts for Bapak's family. Herbert is downstairs waiting to receive Bapak at the wrong entrance to the hotel. Dan is trying to get the tape machines to work, "Testing, testing, testing". Allah, Allah, Allah. I feel awful. So much tension, and nothing ready. I have to give a report to Bapak. Have I thought what I am going to say? And can I with all this feverish faffing around, with my head pounding and my hands on the shake?

Then he comes in and sits at the head of the table with Sjarif and Varindra next to him; with me too near to be comfortable; and Rahayu, Mastuti, Tuti, and Muti at the other end. And suddenly, as Bapak looks round at all our grinning faces, it lifts. All the stupid unnecessary fears are gone. Everything seems possible and easy and jolly and right. I don't even need to go to the toilet.

For the umpteenth time I understand (but I never seem to learn) that when you have to be near to Bapak because you have a Subud job to do, Bapak at that moment lifts you up and gives you the strength to do it in the right way. Now, in case anyone thinks this is a load of soppy nonsense, let me add the corollary: when you leave Bapak and return to the ordinary world, you have a nasty (but mercifully short) bout of feeling awful all over again, until the balance is restored and you can stand on your own feet.

If this book of Bapak's World Tour gives the slightest clue to what Bapak has done for us during these last eight months, all those tens of thousands of miles travelled just to help us, then I'11 be amazed!

Stephen, England.