Young English film director Henry
Clarke sets out to make a documentary
to tell the truth of everything about
Xavier and his highly successful
international spiritual movement. Henry
follows Xavier from Johannesburg
shanty town to English country priory
to Calcutta ashram and Hollywood film
set. En route Henry unearths Xavier's
gun-running activities and sexual
exploits. In a remote cult headquarters
in northern Australia, a shocking
discovery pushes Henry to the brink of
discovering the truth of everything
about himself.

I was a very naive young
man. I travelled the
world and saw and did a
great many things. But it
wasn't until fairly late in
life that I began to see a
little of what lay beneath
the surface.

I wandered through
seaport bars, mountain
ashrams and film
studios. I met jungle
shamans, sufis and

I asked all the usual
questions and received
all the usual answers.
And then something
began to get through to
Kippie Moetketsi recording
at Gallotone, Johannesburg.
Butley Priory is in East Suffolk, where Henry went to
find out about Gurdjieff - "Mr. Gurdjieff" that is.
The auhor as yogi - with a
couple of tantric teachers
A giant tree spread its branches
almost to his window. At its base
was a concrete building like a
machine-gun post. Wooden
shutters dangled from openings
on two sides. In one of these
openings a man sat
crossed-legged selling empty
bottles, single cigarettes, bits of
paper and cloth. On the wall
space space next to him another
shopkeeper had four shelves
heavy with glass jars containing
nuts and seeds, and a picture of
the elephant-headed god Ganesh.
On the remaining piece of
blockhouse wall somebody had
built a semi-circular mud oven
that a small boy fanned with a
piece of cardboard. On a plank
were cans to use as cooking
utensils. A barber sat in the gutter
on an upturned box, cut-throat
razor and a piece of broken mirror
razor and a piece of broken mirror
in hand, waiting for a customer. A
in hand, waiting for a customer. A
young man stopped and borrowed
the piece of broken mirror and
combed his long black hair.
Wedged between the tree and the
steps of the Roxy, another man
had strung up a small piece of
plastic and under this roof he
repaired shoes. His tools he kept
in an Air India travel bag. From
the plastic awning hung a piece of
smouldering rope, and people
stopped from time to time to light
their cigarettes from it.
All the locations in this
novel are real. Above is
a street map of
Lourenco Marques, and
the Penguin Bar. Used
to be Portuguese East
Africa but now it's
Tantric sex in Goa
Bar in a boat at Silver Sands, in southern India.
Cult gurus, Tantric ashrams, Gurdjieff, Kali and township jazz all feature in this book about filming
the truth of everything. Soweto, Big Sur, Calcutta, Rodeo Drive and Goa are some of the exciting
places where the author searches.
Slowly but surely, the young
film director in search of the
guru conman feels himself
opening to awareness.