​                                                        LIFE AFTER LIFE   

                  A semi autobiographical, non fictional account of a life spent searching;  

This is a collection of stories, fictions and facts; of events, true and imagined, of past lives ( maybe ) and present existence. Please feel free to take what you like and leave the rest. 

1 Family stories.     

One morning, on my way to school with my best friend Sophia, we were kidnapped. She was six, I was five. 

And that’s all I know about it. 

Strictly speaking, I don’t even ‘know’ that much because I have no memory of the event at all. I’m only aware it happened because it is a ‘family story‘. 

I know every family has it’s stories; about the time aunt May dropped the Thanksgiving turkey or brother Bill put the frog in your moms underwear draw. Nice, friendly stories, the warm fuzzy kind.

My family has those too.

 We also have other kinds of stories; some are “fact” and some are “fiction”. They speak of events, true and imagined; of past lives, present existence and alternate universes. 

Some of them go way back.

D2 A Buyer of Glass

Aix, Provence, France 1485

The merchant rides up to the pile of old stone that is the glass factory he has been hearing about for months. They, the people of the small village packed into the valley below, say that the artisan who owns this manufactory is the finest craftsman in all of France. But temperamental and moody, a very excitable fellow and prone to attacking those who disagree with him. Also, he does not like strangers, no one can understand how he stays in business…except he is the best in France, maybe in all of Europe. 

The merchant is not worried about all this talk, it is just talk to him, besides he is prepared to give this disagreeable blower of glass very large order. 

No, he will not have any trouble. 

The building is just as it has been described, set in a large clearing to one side of the path way, a few hundred yards past the Lords grain mill. The shop itself is a

low structure, built of local stone many years ago, more than seventy; its true age is before the memory of anyone now alive. The steeply pitched roof is thatched and in need of repair. He can see places where birds have removed thatching for their own building purposes. 

As he is about to dismount a large white crane appeared over the roof line and, with a loud flapping of wings takes to the air. It flies within a few feet of the merchants head, startling his young horse. With some difficulty he regained control of the animal but not before it knocked over a stack of boxes next to the door. The sound of braking glass is all too apparent. 

   

The man ties his mount to a post and, with some apprehension, opens the door to the work shop. 

He is greeted by a wave of hot air and the roaring of several large furnaces where the glass is melted. There are piles of raw material everywhere, sand and other items he can’t identify. The apprentices scurry about, carrying finished items to the cooling racks located against the back wall. Journeymen glass blowers sit at their work benches, long blowing tubes held to their mouths. They puff air into one end, it travels down the tube and, when it hit’s the hot glob of glass at the other end, it expands causing the glass to take on the shape of a 

vase, or bowl or whatever item he is crafting. The worker further shapes the glass with metal or wooden tools before it cools. Apprentices quickly return the items to the heat so they can be worked further  

   

The air is hot and smoky despite a few open windows, it smells of….. heated metal or maybe hot oil…..he can’t be sure, but imagines that this is what hell must smell like. 

As he looks around, the merchant see a middle aged man, presumably the 

 owner, coming toward him waving his arms and shaking his head vigorously. 

“What have you done? Did I not say you should not come here“? 

The merchant, slightly taken aback, replies that he thinks not, he has never had the occasion to speak to him. 

“Sir, you must have me confused with someone else.”

“No, I have told you I will not sell to you. And you must pay me for the items you broke when you arrived….uninvited“.

“ I must say again…..’

The master craftsman takes a step closer picking up a large hammer as he does. He says nothing but his intent is clear. 

The merchant now becomes alarmed, he see that this man is slightly mad and unpredictable. The stories were not exaggerated. He takes a step back but trips on a coil of rope, falls backward, striking his head on the corner of a stone work bench.  

 He dies instantly. 

Blackness, silence, supreme calmness. The merchant looks down on the scene; he sees himself lying in a heap on the floor, he is surrounded by workers…….the owner, staring in horror at what has just happened. Slowly the entity that used to be John , son of Longford, , a buyer of glass, drifts up and up, through the ceiling, through the roof, and into a vast sea of tranquility…….  

3 MY MOTHER

People say to me, how is it that such a horrific thing as a kidnapping can happen and you don’t know anything about it? 

To even begin to understand that you would have to know my parents. In a word, they were dysfunctional kids, from dysfunctional families, trying to raise families of there own.

 Your basic receipt for disaster. 

I was born in New York City on August 21st 1944, a war baby. 

It’s not just that I don’t remember anything about the abduction, I have blocked out 98% of my life before the age of about ten years. 

Apparently, I was kinda’ sickly from the start, small, runty, with allergies and, according to my mother, prone to waking up in the middle of the night, screaming in terror and calling for her.  

She says I would look straight in her face and continue to scream and call for my mother, she could not understand what was happening. But I knew. 

My mother, Rosalina Cacciatore, born in New York City, 1917, first generation Sicilian, the last of eight girls. Her father was a stone mason and a drunk. Her mother was a stay at home mom, long before the it became ’fashionable’. She stayed at home because there was absolutely no alternative and she never learned to speak English. 

 Apparently my mother was a very bright girl who graduated high school at age14. While this was admirable, in the long run it worked against her because she could not enroll in collage until she turned 18. Since it was unheard of in those days for a child to just stay home and do nothing, one of her older sisters got her a job working in a factory. Of course you see what is coming. She never did go to back to school.

By 1943 World War 2 was in full swing, my mother had moved up to a job working at the front desk of the Astor hotel on Manhattan. My soon-to-be father happened to come into town with a band which was scheduled to play at that very hotel. No prize for guessing what happened next. 

To give you some idea of the world my mother lived in, it is important to understand that in order to marry she would have had to ask permission of her father. Since he died the year before, she would have to talk to the oldest male in the family. This would have been the husband of her oldest sister. This man did not speak any English, and was so set in the ways of the old country she knew there was no possibility he would OK the marriage. To a non Sicilian, non Catholic, previously married… American entertainer?  

So, they eloped.  

Now, the is pretty much a known fact that the child of an alcoholic parent has a 50% chance of either becoming an alcoholic themselves or marring one. 

For my mother to marry the glamorous, handsome (alcoholic) musician is no surprise. That she did it on the spur of the moment to escape an unhappy home life is even less of a surprise.  

In the first few years of the marriage my father was always on the road, traveling with one band or another. So my mother and I lived with her mother and two of her unmarried sisters. As I have said, I have no memory of any of this except for several highly unusual events. I don’t recall for sure how offten this happened but I am certain it was at least three or four times. 

In the middle of the night I would find myself awake and floating near the ceiling.

4 Horror in the Night

I would find myself being awakened by a loud buzzing sound and a strong vibration thought my entire body, I would then realize that I was floating, or hovering near the ceiling. I would look down and see my body asleep on the bed five feet below. This was so shocking that, with an abrupt and violent falling sensation, I would be back in bed and in my body. This was so terrifying I became disoriented to the point where I was unable to recognize my own mother.  

This was the first of four events which have had a major impact on my life; it would not be an exaggeration to say, they provided its entire focus.  

  Slowly, Understanding Dawns.

For many years I had no idea what this was and never mentioned it to anyone. Then in my early teens I started searching for answers. That’s when I discovered this phenomena had a name, it was known as an “out of body” experience or OBE and people been having them for centuries. Now at least I knew I was not crazy. Others who had these experiences had actually gone places and done things, in this world and beyond. Mine never lasted more than a moment or two and I never left the room. I was actually a little disappointed that mine were so tame, but at least I had an explanation

These events continued to occur at random, and in much the same manner for years. Then, one day, when I was in my early twenties, they suddenly took a radically different form.  

Always, in the past, it would start from a dream, I would dream I was running down a steep hill, picking up speed and the buzzing and vibration would start and……… I would be out of my body, flying. Or, again in a dream, I would be spinning in a tight circle, faster and faster until I was almost flung out of my body. 

But they always started from a dream state and no matter how real it seemed there was always the possibility it was still a dream, just a particularly vivid one. 

This time it was different. This time it started from a fully awake state, in the middle of the afternoon, on Thanksgiving day, 1967. We had a house full of people, there was a football game on TV and since we are Italian, it was anything but quit. 

I was laying on the couch, FULLY AWAKE, when the buzzing and vibration started. I though to myself, wow, I can finally go with this and see what happens.

As the buzzing grew louder and the vibrations stronger, I felt “myself” slowly raising up, feet first, gradually raise until “my feet” were pointing at the ceiling.

But I was still attached at the head and I could not figure out how to let go.

I opened these physical eyes, the very ones I am using to type these words and I could see both bodies. The normal physical one laying horizontally on the couch, and a second one, floating, “feet” first toward the ceiling. This body had the appearance of swirling, shifting smoke, with a light pearly gray color. It had no distinct features, all I could see was just the basic outline line of a human shape. 

Most importantly, I could feel both bodies at the same time.

They felt the same. 

I could see the room around me, hear the noise, my relatives talking, the TV, but it was obvious they had no idea what was going on with me. 

After three or four minuets, this second body slowly sank down and merged with my regular body, the buzzing and vibration subsided and everything returned to 

“normal”  

What the……???????? 

   

   

_____________________________________________________________

The only other memory I have from my very early childhood is, I’m pretty sure, connected with the kidnapping.  

But I remember it as if it was a scene in a movie rather than something I experienced. 

We, Sophia and I, were getting out of the back of a big black car, the seat was covered with a fuzzy, light tan upholstery.  

The car had stopped to let us out on a dirt road that had tall rushes lining both sides.  

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a man and a large gray dog walking away from us, they went around a bend in the road and were gone, out of sight. 

 ______________________________________________________________  

5 A large Gray Dog 1785  

Lord Rutherford was considering the purchase of a young Greyhound to add to his hunting pack. The one he had in mind was quite tall even compared to others of his kind. For many centuries these magnificent animals have been breed for speed, the legs on this one looked like he would be a champion. 

Greyhounds are an ancient breed, in fact there are pictograph of these animals in the tombs of the rulers of Egypt. The sole aim of the breeding was to produce an aerodynamic running machine. The breeders have succeeded admirably. These dogs are capable of speeds approaching 45 miles per hour, exceeded only by the cheetah and then only for short bursts. 

The nose is long and slim, the ears fold back flat against the head, the eyes are small but exceptionally sharp. These animals don’t hunt by scent, but rather by sight; they can spot the slightest movement at 200 yards or more.

They have an enormous chest cavity and this, combined with an abnormally large heart, gives them the stamina to out run any game over long distances. 

Their rear legs are like catapults; from a standing start they can literally launch 

themselves with such force that their front legs hit the ground as much as 12 feet away. 

They come in all colors from white to brown to black, brindle, spotted and everything in between. Their coats are short and remarkably silky to the touch, there is no under coat so they do not tolerate cold well. As for temperament, they are calm, quite, even tempered animals, very seldom bark and are friendly to all, as a result, they are not well suited to be guardians. 

His purchase completed, the young noblemen mounts his horse and, with his fine new addition on a short lead, heads back to his estate.  

With the Grey trotting easily along side, Robert Methuen, 3rd Earl of Buckingham, is in a fine mood, the air crisp and cool on this, the first day of fall, in the year 1785. 

He has a good life, a beautiful young wife, who has given him three fine sons, his estates are in good condition, and his health is excellent. He reminds himself to give thanks to God for all he has been given.

About a mile from his manor house, along a stretch of road lined by rushes on both sides, is a bend where a dear path emerges from the woods. The young noble has been keeping an eye on this area for some time, he suspects someone has been poaching game in this vicinity, God help him when I catch him Robert thinks. 

Just as he rounds the bend a large stag bounds out of the woods on his left, races across the road and into the woods on the other side. The young Grey sees the stag and, true to his training and instinct, launches himself after the quarry. He flashes in front of Methuen’s horse, it spooks, rears and the Earl is thrown off. He lands on the back of his head and the horse fall on top of him, breaking his neck. He dies instantly.

As he regains consciousness, he looks around, the Grey is nowhere to be seen, but his horse is ten feet away, grazing beside the road. He stands up and tries to walk, surprisingly he feels no pain, he is amazed that he escaped that fall with no injuries, one more thing to give thanks for. He reaches the horse and as he strokes it’s nose, his hand passes right through the animal. He pulls back startled, looks at his hand…..

it is …..

NOT HIS HAND!!!  

It is …. 

It looks like….

It is made of smoke!!! ….swirling gray smoke. 

The shock is so great, he losses consciousness again.  

6 Finding A Purpose

When I think about the utter strangeness of the Out of Body experiences and how they so contradicted my everyday world, I felt I was faced with a mystery I could not ignore. But that very strangeness, coupled with a fearfulness about life in general and a lack of “life skills” kept me from looking for answers for many years. By the time I was about fourteen or so I had developed enough confidence, and my curiosity had built to such a point I finally came out of my shell a bit, enough anyway to begin looking for answers.  

I wish I could say I pursued these questions in a logical and scientific way. In fact the truth was anything but that. As I look back now, I can’t say I could have done it any differently, my method was to read everything I could get my hands on.

At that time, around 1958, the Out of Body events were alive and well, they would occur several times a year so I was drawn to books about mysticism, Paul Thitchel and T. Lob sang Rampa were some of the firsts. While these books were interesting and provided me with an explanation as to what the night time events were, they also opened up new questions; what did they mean by “Enlightenment“? What was a “Spiritual Teacher”? Did I need one? Where could he be found? And many, many more. 

In other words, the Out of Body experiences, which generated these types of questions, and the search for answers, basically defined the course of my life. By fifteen years of age, I had a real purpose. Of course I did not see that at the time, I just went from one book to another, finding some answers but more often than not, generating many more questions, questions provoked by new concepts like reincarnation, karma and alternate universes; ( in this life, in this place, I do one thing, in another life, in an alternate universe, I take a different course.) 

7 Bartolommeo Methuen, 1642

In the year of our Lord 1642, the Roundheads and the Royalists were at it again. The Royalists, English Nobles such as the Earl of Essex and the Duke of Buckingham took to arms over the refusal by Parliament to grant the traditional taxes due the King. Tensions had been mounting for many months and now the two sides faced each other across a shallow but swift flowing river. The Royalist on one side and the Roundheads, as the army raised by Parliament were known, on the other. The question on everyone’s mind was, which side would attempt to cross first…… and when.

Bartolommeo Methuen, in service to the Baron Rutherford, lay behind a fallen log, in a group of low bushes. He was observing a lone individual wading the shallow ford where the river was broadest.  

Why would they send just one man he wonders, do they think perhaps it would be easier for one man to slip across unnoticed ? 

It is past midnight and while Methuen can not make out any details, the moon is bright enough for him to see that the man is not in uniform. 

What could this mean? 

A spy! 

The man is a spy! 

The worst, the lowest of enemies!  

Quickly he raises his firearm, aims carefully, and calls out, “halt who goes there?” He is nervous and the gun fires by accident, ….the detested spy is knocked to the ground, he struggles briefly, then all movement stops. 

Methuen is momentarily upset, he had not meant to kill the bastard, better to have taken him in for questioning. But, what’s done, is done, no help for it now, one less Roundhead pig to kill later.  

The “Spy”

As he raises from the water, he looks cautiously around, he has changed from his uniform to plain civilian cloths hours ago and he knows he will be taken for a spy unless he can get word to his brother, in the Royalist camp. He must tell him of their fathers death last month. They may disagree violently about this war but nonetheless he owes that much to him. 

Robert has the last letter he received from his brother, he opens it now to read it again and reassure himself. If he is caught he can show this and everything will be fine. 

Suddenly he hears a shout “Halt, who goes there“?

A fraction of a second later he feels a tremendous shock, a blast which knocks him to the ground. He knows he is hurt, hurt bad, mortally. 

Suddenly his vision becomes crystal clear, the scene around him is lit by a strange icy blue light; he hears a voice, dimly saying, “no wait” 

He can see his life’s blood flowing out, forming a pool, like a red halo around his head. 

Then…..

Blackness

Gradually his vision clears, it starts as a small spot of light, it slowly widens 

until full sight returns. He knows he has been shot but for some reason feels no pain. He is aware of a loud buzzing sound and vibration in his body but it fades as his vision improves.

He doesn’t want to stand, fearful he will be shot again. Thinking the best thing to do is crawl back toward the river, As he starts to roll over on to his front, he feels light headed, I’ve lost a lot of blood he thinks. Raising his head to get a look at his wounds, he is startled to suddenly be looking down on himself from five feet above. His body is still laying face down. 

“ I know I’m…. how can this be….“ 

His confused mind refuses to accept what he is seeing. 

“ Can I be dead….”?  

A strong feeling of calm begins to envelope him instead of the terrible fear he would expect. The calmness grows and grows as he begins to drift up, over the trees, he can see the man who shot him….but it is of no importance…… he continues to drift……. The last image he sees is his brothers signature on the bottom of the letter; the letter which has blown from his dying hand. It is signed, ‘your loving brother, Bartolommeo.

8 Almost a Killing

The Out of Body experiences were the first of four events which added fuel to the fire of searching.  

The second one was manifested only once, but it left an indelible mark on my awareness. It was an amazing display of “the mysteries of life” and has turned out to be a most profound “learning experience” and that is putting it mildly.  

The effort to try to make sense of these events, the reason they occurred, and how they fit into the path my life has taken, have been the carrot and the stick which have kept me searching, without them I’m sure I would have stopped long ago. 

At seventeen years old, I had decided to quite school because it was boring and painful beyond belief. Boring because it was all very tame compared to my night time adventures. Painful because I was a complete failure as a student. While I have a high IQ, it was canceled out by undiagnosed dyslexia, no matter how vigilant I was or how much I tried to “be more careful ” I the best I seemed able to do was ’D’ work; once in a while a ’C’ . Eventually I walked out of school and never looked back. It was not a mistake. 

 I was at loose ends and not knowing any better, I joined the Army thinking it would an adventure. It was, but not quite what I had in mind. 

___________________________________________________________

An overseas duty station, late night…about 3 AM.  

I’m on perimeter guard when, for some reason, which to this day is unknown to me, the man on the next guard post opened fire on me.

Boom….! 

He has a pump action shotgun. 

He is standing in the middle of the a dirt road, about 30 yards away. 

I can see him plainly because there is a full moon, he yells something, 

it sounds like….. 

“Halt who goes there”? But I could not be sure.

 

I shout , “Paul, it’s me, Roger“!

Boom….! he fires another round.

I’m about five feet from a small sand bag bunker which houses fire extinguishers. 

At the first shot I dropped down behind that bunker. 

I can see through a small gap that he is not just standing still, he is slowly advancing toward me. And there is no other cover within 50 yards; 

I’m a sitting duck if he reaches my position. 

I slid the barrel of my weapon through the opening in the sand bags and 

chamber a round, 

flipped the safety off 

draw a bead on the center of his chest.

I’m looking down the barrel of the standard Army issue combat weapon of that time, 

the M14, 

30 caliber, 

clip fed, 

15 steel jacked rounds,  

I am a crack shot. I will not miss at this range 

and…..

there is a living, breathing, human being at the other end of that barrel.

and 

he is still advancing on my position, 

“Paul, it’s Roger, what are you doing”? No answer.

I can not let him get any closer

There is no other choice, I have to take him out; 

I’m draw a l slow breath preparatory to squeezing off a burst.

Suddenly I heard a loud voice say ” NO WAIT”  

It is so clear that for a split second I think an actual person had shouted at me. 

But no, it is a voice….. in my head. 

Simultaneous with the voice, everything changed; in a flash, the entire scene is bright as noon, lit by a brilliant, icy blue light.

My sense of time is slowed down to the point where I can see the rounds flying towards me. 

I became dead calm, no trace of fear, or anxiety, in fact, no emotion whatsoever. 

It seemed natural to enter into a dialog with this “voice“;

Me: “What should I do?”

Voice “Wait.“

Boom……! Another shot.

Me; “Should I do it now?” Meaning pull the trigger.

Voice: “No wait.”

Boom……! Another round. 

Me: “Should I do it now.”

Voice “No wait.”

Boom….! 

Me: still calm, still quite “Should I do it now?”

Voice: “No wait”

Boom….! 

Me: “Should I do it now“? 

Voice: “No wait.”

Click…….click…….he’s out of ammunition. 

I see him working the slide, so I knew he really was out. 

By now people have converged from all directions.

They found six spent shell casings but I still had all my rounds. 

He was taken away and that was the last I ever heard about any of this. 

_____________________________________________________________

For many years I have thought about this event, tried to see it from different points of view, made attempts to fit it into various thought systems. All pretty much to no avail. My latest view ends with a far bigger question than merely “What happened here?“ Over time the question has evolved into “Why“? Why did this happen? Why did “something “ actively interfered with the course event were taking? “It “ clearly inserted its self into my awareness in order to prevent someones death, not mine, because despite outward appearances, he was in far more danger than I. In fact he was literally a hairs breath away from death.

As a result of writing this account, I have come to this rather startling revelation. The “Great Whatever, “ can and does interferes in the affairs of the common man. It certainly did in this case. Usually we prefer to think “God “ will act in response to some pray or plea to help ME . But here we seem to have a case where “It, Something “ did act; it interfered with my actions on behalf of a third party, without a request from anyone. 

What sense does this make? What belief system could account for this happening? What known scenario does this fit into? 

To this day I have no answer. 

___________________________________________________________

9 An Indian….. Raid? South West Arizona 1869

As I glance out a ranch house window, I spot a fluffy white tail sticking out of a bush, it is twitching violently back and forth. This tail is attached to Cleo, my cat, nine pounds of sleek muscle and fur. 

The twitching tells me she is in stalking mode. 

Suddenly, in a burst of white, she streaks toward the base of a nearby tree. 

Now I see the cause of all this excitement; a squirrel, who quickly spots the ball of white fury bearing down on it. 

Foolishly it attempts to make it to an adjacent tree. 

Bad move.

Cleo is closing fast. 

Our seemly doomed squirrel, deciding the tree he has just left offers a better haven, reverses course!  

In so doing, he come face to face, should I say, whisker to whisker with Cleo. Apparently, this is a totally unexpected turn of events for both animals. 

Cleo stops dead in her tracks; 

ditto the squirrel. 

It’s A Mexican standoff! 

For a split second no one moved, then an arrow pierced the squirrel through its side, pinning it to the ground!

Franticly I search the area, to the left, coming through a grove of cottonwoods I see a small party of Indians, about 6 in all. They have dismounted and are moving toward the house!

My mind flashes to the Garrets, the family just a few miles over the hill. They were attached by a war party just 3 months ago, The husband killed, wife and 14 year old daughter raped and killed, a five year old male child was taken. The savages stole all the livestock then burned the house and barn. So far the Army has not caught those responsible.

My husband is in town

My sons are miles away tending to fences;

I’m alone. 

There is a loaded pistol in the desk draw, six shots, can I get them all?

I’m scared and shaking like a leaf, but this is sure, no matter what, the last bullet is for me; they will not take me alive. 

I crouch down next to a window, peeking over the edge just enough to see what the murdering animals are doing.  

Visions of my family appear, I will never see them again, the tears start to flow, my breath is ragged coming in gasps, I can’t bare the thought of my family left alone without me. I can only hope they will be OK….I will never see my sons grow, get married, have families of their own, I’ll never be a grandmother. 

It is almost too much. 

But I snap back to the present, those savages, where are they? 

I peek over the window sill again. 

They have picked up the squirrel and are looking toward the house, I cock the gun. I am sure I will get at least one maybe two or even three.

I can not think of a worst fate than being raped and killed by those brutes . Nothing could possibly be worse. 

I take another look, now I see there are two woman with them and one has a baby strapped to her back. 

They put the squirrel in a sack and turn back toward their horses.  

10 My Sister

Judy first attempted suicide at age 12. At that time she was diagnosed with a mental disorder and underwent electro shock treatments. Her doctors said she might eventually outgrow it if she could be keep alive long enough. Over the years she made 6 or 7 other attempts. God knows she had her reasons. 

When she was 14 she was raped by her music teacher. He was a friend of our fathers, a fellow musician who taught piano on the side. Nothing was ever done about this. 

When she was 20 she and a girl friend were lured by an acquaintance to a supposed party. It turned out the ‘party ‘ was an initiation into a motor cycle gang. In order to join the gang the acquaintance had to supply two woman who were then held at gun point and repeatedly raped by the entire gang. 

They were held for about ten hours. 

When they were released in the morning it was with the warning that if they went to the police they would be killed. Besides they were told, no one would believe them. 

Despite this, and being very brave young woman, they did report it. They were able to identify four men from mug shots and within a day all four were locked up. But they were part of a gang, The Pagans, a Brooklyn motorcycle gang, and only four were behind bars; the rest, about twenty five in all, were out on the streets. 

The six months of Grand Jury hearings were brutal. We knew they would do everything they could to make sure the woman would not testify. The police did what they could to provide protection but they were short handed. Fortunately, the woman had friends and family who were not intimidated; none of those savages got anywhere near them. 

 

I’ll just say that it was an extremely unpleasant time and leave it at that.

In the end run, there was no trial, the Pagans were a large club with chapters all up and down the East Coast. They raised money, someone got bought off and the four were given suspended sentences and lost their drivers licenses for six months. 

The original charges amounted to 32 class A felonies, multiple counts of rape at gun point, kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment and I don’t remember what all.

And for that they lost their driving privileges for six months?  

It did not end there. After several months of “back and forth” and an event which cost them dearly, they paid the woman a substantial sum of money to put an end to the “back and forth.”

So, by the time she was 21 she had attempted suicide, underwent electro shock treatments and been raped twice and had to live through more than a year of what could best be called a ‘B‘ grade movie, except it was all too true.

 Is it any wonder she became addicted to drugs? As the head nurse on a surgical ward she had the keys to the narcotics cabinet, and helped herself liberally, at her worst she was using 300 milligrams of morphine a day.

She battled that addiction for years, finally getting the upper hand only to fall into other, equally destructive addictions, over eating was bad enough, she had put on 50 lbs. but gambling is by far the worse, it has the highest suicide rate of all the addictions.

She fought it for years too, went to GA, over eaters anonymous and therapy but I could see that she was becoming more depresses every time I visited her. 

Finally, after two more unsuccessful attempts, she went into the woods a few miles from her home and shot herself. She was 51. 

11 The Other Side of the Coin

A few weeks after the funeral, my mother was still besides herself with grief and guilt. Her constant refrain was “If only I know that at least she is at peace” of course I would have liked to know that too.

Then I got a call from my second wife, Sandra, she had stayed in NY while I took care of family business in New Orleans,

Sandra is from Brazil and comes from a family where many of the woman are….I don’t want to say ”witches” exactly, but maybe, highly intuitive is a good way to put it.  

“I had a dream last night, it was about your sister, she was in it.’ (her English is good but sometimes she reverted to the syntax of Portuguese. )

“Really, what was it about”?

‘She was surrounded by white light, there were many children and animals with her, cats and dogs, there was a beautiful music. She was very happy” 

 

The thing is, for various reasons, mostly geographic, Sandra had not met my sister yet, she had not even seen a picture of her. 

With this in mind, and with an eye to substantiating this dream, I causally ask her what Judy looked like. Without hesitation she describer her to a “T”.

“She was short, a bit stocky with short dark hair with a little gray at the temples.”

That was exactly right.

That was really enough but for some reason I asked one more question.

“What was she wearing in this dream”?

Again no hesitation.

“A two piece, light blue, crush velvet suit“. 

This was astonishing because that is exactly what she was wearing when the police found her. The cops and myself are the only ones who knew this. 

Needless to say my mother was ecstatic. 

I have given this event much thought over the years. I can only conclude that it is exactly what it seems. My sister “came back “ to reassure my mother that she was fine. And she showed herself to the one person who would have any creditability. If she had come to one of my aunts for example I would have said, ya, sure, right, and not given it a second thought. As it was, she picked the one person who had a strong connection with our family, but who had never set eyes on her before.  

________________________________________________________________

Right about here the reader would be within their rights to expect the author to offer some explanation or at least to have a relevant comment about this event. 

I’m afraid I don’t have much of either. 

The only conclusion I can come to is that this event is exactly what it looks like. 

The entity that used to be my sister, “came back “ to reassure our mother that everything was OK.  

________________________________________________________________

   

12 A GREATER REALITY

This is the third of the four life changing experiences, the one which has been the carrot for most of my life. 

For many years I have been tying to put this experience in to words. This is the latest, and so far the most accurate, attempt.

Fundamentally it was a complete shift in perception. Not in the sense of things I could see, or in the appearance of the world around me. No, this shift had to with how I reacted to everything. In other words, rather than seeing/feeling the world as a dangerous place, full of people and situations which could be harmful, I perceived it to be a totally benign. In a word, all sense of fear had been eliminated. Not just the major fears which are easy to see such as death, But also the hundreds of fears we all live with, every moment of every day; Fears such as; “I will say something and people will think I am a fool”. Or I will make an overture to someone and they will reject me.  

When those fears are no longer present in us, when they are completely eliminated from our psyche, we…. naturally and without the slightest effort….. manifest what we truly are; a being who lives in a body but whose essence is an intense, almost overwhelming feeling of objective love; and whose only function, whose only desire, is to express that love to everyone and everything that exists. . 

Without fear, each instant is exactly perfect, precisely as it should be with absolutely no need for it to be even the slightest bit different. A crumpled ball of dirty paper laying in a grime incrusted gutter in the Lower East Side of Manhattan, is perfect; the paper is perfect; the gutter is perfect, the setting is prefers and the observer……is perfect. 

I was Perfection, and perfection was all I could see. I could not perceive anything that was not perfect. There was no judgment, simply because nothing was lacking, nothing was missing, nothing could be improved on. In other words, there was no need to judge because it was obvious that everyone was perfect; the very concept of “judgment” had no meaning. 

All this was accompanied by a feeling of complete tranquility which could not be disturbed by any outside events. In short this state was very much akin to that which has been described by mystics for thousands of years as “ Bliss “, the peace which surpasses understanding. 

Each of the episodes lasted eight to ten hours. Over two year span I experienced four of them. 

I have spent the rest of my life chasing this state. 

 

13 General Lee’s frayed sleeve July 1863

He is a small man, at 17 he is still just a boy really, and stands barely 5’7. His problem now is that some how he has ended up at General Lee’s Headquarters as a Lieutenant and aid to General Pickett. His father, a Senator in Pickett’s home state got him the appointment, He wants to do his part, but he has reservations. His personal belief is that slavery is an abomination, the sooner it is ended the better for everyone. And truth to tell, he does not want to hurt anyone, let alone kill them, even a Yankee. But he can not let onto about this, he is sure no one will understand, and even if they did, what could anyone do? No, he is stuck, all he could do was hope for the best. And watch these men, see if he can learn something that will help him when the time comes…when he may have to do the unthinkable. So he sits just outside the circle of campfire light and watches.  

They sit on stools and sumps and up turned ammunition cases. These Generals of the Army of Northern Virginia: Robert E. Lee, commanding; assisted by Generals A.P. Hill, John Bell Hood, Jubal Early, Longstreet, Ewell, Rodes, Anderson, and Pickett. Absent is General J. E. B. Stewart, Calvary commander. 

 Lee sits quietly listening to what the others are discussing. The brass buttons of his tunic are open, one corner of the gold braid on his left sleeve has become frayed.

 

“I must see to this” he thinks. “Can’t be appearing slovenly in front of the men.”

He has enough to worry about without seeming ….unsolderely.  

He knows what some are saying behind his back, they call him ‘Granny Lee’, they maintain he is too old, too timid, that he has lost the ’fighting spirit’. There are even rumors that he is to be recalled. For the sake of the men he can not let that happen. Who would replace him? All of the men in line to assume command have flaws, Lee knows these men well, they are good men for the most part. However some are inclined to be too timid and others too reckless, they would risk this army in an attempt to gain personal glory. No, he must retain command at all costs, for the sake of the men. 

But he can not spend time dwelling on this now, he must focus on the decision which has to be made before the night ends. General Stewarts’ disappearance has deprived him of valuable information, but he must get on as best he can without it. 

His second has just finished the briefing on estimated enemy strengths and positions. Now he must consult with these men, or, at least give the appearance of consulting, he is almost certain he knows what must be done. 

“Gentleman, your thoughts on the situation” he asks.

 Longstreet, tall, rangy, a very competent, reliable commander, but conservative. He strokes his long black beard, weighing his words. To him the decision is obvious. 

“The Yankees are entrenched at the top of that hill, it is very good ground Sir, indeed, it is too good. We will be slaughtered if we try to take it “ 

 

He does not know the name of that hill but has been told there is a seminary school just beyond the crest. 

“It is a commanding position General, to assault it means crossing almost a mile of open fields with not so much as a tree stump for cover“.

He feels there is another possibility, a flanking maneuver to the north and east but it is unknown what ground lays in that direction, and with Stewart missing it will remain unknown, there is no time, and therefore, no sense, in bring it up.  

“Sir, I feel that storming that hill would be Fredericksburg in reverse.” 

General Pickett raises from his seat and shifting his saber, speaks in a loud, clear voice.

“Sir, this army has beaten those people time after time, and they will do it again, in the morning, here in this place.” He can not recall the name.  

No question about it, thou, this army is the best in this part of the world

“They will beat them again General, and that is a fact.” 

It is a fact that is, if Granny Lee does not falter. 

“Yes, it is a long way to the top, yes the yanks are seemly well entrenched, yes, it looks like it could be the reverse of Fredericksburg.” 

“But our artillery will pound them too dust before and during our advance. Just give the word Sir, we will take that hill for you.” 

We don’t need that showboatin’ Stewart he says to himself.

 We can do it, this army, these good southern boys will beat ‘em again, and I will lead them. What was the name of this place anyway? Chambersburg? No, well, it does not matter .  

Longstreet grumbles to himself. That’s Pickett for you, all petty red sash, fancy boots and not a lick of sense.  

He decides to advance his idea after all and hope it will be accepted. 

“General Lee Sir, If we withdraw undercover of night and move north around their flank and toward Washington, they will have to come down off that hill and chase us. By the time they know for sure we are gone, we will have found a strong defensive position on top of a hill just like the one they are sittin’ on now. It will be Fredericksburg again but it will be their dead piled up at the bottom, not ours. 

What if he is right? Lee thinks, he may be, he just may be right. But…but….. my reputation; no to the devil with that, I can not let that influence my decision. 

Lee stands up, picking at the frayed braid on his sleeve. 

“General Longstreet, Sir, the enemy is there, on top of that hill, how can I ask these men to run, to turn tail and run? I can not ask that of them. Think of their moral.” 

“No Sir, the enemy is in front of us, we will end this affair once and for all right now, right here. That is all gentleman.”

“General Pickett , a word with you please.“

“ I am assigning you and your men the honor of leading this assault in the morning. I am aware that this fight could go down in history as the one that ended this horrible war. But it will not be easy, we will loose many men in the morning, therefore, under no circumstances are you to lead that charge yourself, I can not afford to loose you. You will do your duty from the rear, that is an order. They have an advantage here, so we must do our utmost.” 

Paul, overhearing this, is relieved, elated even. If given the choice, he is sure Pickett would have been all over the field, maybe in front, he was, after all a truly brave man. Now though, with Lee’s order he will have to remain in the rear which means that Lt. Paul Anderson must be at his side at all times…in the rear. 

“What is the name of this place anyway“? Lee asks his aid, 

“Sir, I believe the town is called Gettysburg. 

July 9th 1863

Mrs. Annabelle Anderson:

My dear Anna, it is with the greatest regret that I must inform you of the death of your husband, Lt. Anderson. Be assured that he was the bravest of solders and never left my side for one second during that terrible fight. 

I hope it will be of some small consolation to know that Paul did not suffer in the slightest, he was struck down by a shell fragment and died instantly. Believe me when I say that I share in your loss, your husband was the best aid I had on my staff. 

With my sincerest regrets,

   

Major General George Edward Pickett

 

14 EXTREAM TERROR

In the late sixties, like so many others, I did a lot of experimenting with drugs, weed, hash, mushrooms and LSD.  

It was my custom to mix various substances and on the fateful night, which turned out to be the very last of these escapades, I ate a hit of Window Pane acid, smoked some particularly potent Afghani hash, and laid back to listen to Sly Stone. I was with several long time friends and had not the slightest inkling of what was to come. 

After awhile the drugs began to take effect, I was flying and really getting into the music. 

As I was getting deeper and deeper, I felt something change, a sensation in the pit of my stomach, not unpleasant, just odd. It flashed up into my head, then back down, flipping back and forth several times then it went up to my head….and stayed there. 

At first I did not notice anything unusual, but shortly my attention was drawn to the fact that I did not seem to be breathing. For all the world, I could not detect any movement of air, in my nose or chest. I could see that my chest was raising and falling normally, and logically I know I must be breathing or I would be dead. And I was not dead. Therefore, I concluded that something was seriously wrong. 

A slight panic set in, I got up and walked around the apartment, but that did not change anything, I was getting a bit more panicky by now. My friends sensed something was wrong and asked if I was alright. Some how this made it worse. I said I was ok and went outside for some air, thinking maybe getting away from the music would calm me down. 

It did not. 

In fact, the more I tried to “do something” the worse it got. On the other hand I felt that if I gave in and admitted to my friends that I was having a problem, or even admitting it to myself, would only make it worse. The fact was the situation was intensifying by the moment no matter what I did. 

There were some physical symptoms like seemingly not breathing, but also the sound of my heart beating was becoming very loud. That was bad enough, but the real problem was in my head. The predominant thought was that my body was malfunctioning, that it was shutting down, going into a comatose state, sealing my mind off in a little world of insanity. The mind would continue to function, but I would not be able to communicate. I had visions of spending the rest of my life curled up in a ball in some forgotten corner of some godforsaken insane asylum. To make matters worse, I believed, rightly or not, that knowing or even thinking this was actually physically possible made the possibility more likely, knowing that the possibility was more likely because I was aware of it, increased the possibility it would happen. And so on. The more I considered this the more the panic increased, and that in turn fed on itself. 

After about an hour, the level of fear was so great that words just can not even begin to describe it. I was alone in a vast empty universe, with no possibility of help, and far, far beyond all hope of return,. I was cut of from every being who ever existed, in the past, the present or future. I was cut off from God 

By now my friends were quite alarmed at my condition, one of them was a registered nurse and she insisted we go to a hospital, I did not object. The fear had intensified to the point where I could just barely walk to the car. 

It was a short trip to the nearest hospital and I was sitting in the front passenger seat. The condition had escalated to where I decided my only option was to end it, I resolved to jump out of the car. We were on an expressway and traveling 70 or 80 miles per hours, there was no way to survive that. 

I had grabbed the door handle with every intention to open it and step out. 

The only thing that stopped me was a thought, at the last possible second, that if I did this, killed myself, things might not necessarily change, in fact it might make it worse, I would be dead and really and truly beyond any help. I would be in that condition for eternity.  

So what do you do when your state is so bad you can’t even kill yourself to end it? 

Well, that’s where I was.

At the emergency room, my nurse friend convinced them to just give me a shot of thorozine and let her take me back home. To this day I feel I owe her my life, there is no telling what would have become of me or where I would have ended up if they had confined me for ’observation’ 

By the time we got back to the apartment the tranquilizer had started to take effect. The utter turmoil in my mind had subsided enough that, as I lay down to sleep, my last thought was that if ’it’ was gone when I woke up. I would be OK. 

15 THE EARLY SEARCH

How to even begin to understand an experience like that? 

There was no question in my mind that I had to find some answers, or at the very least some sort of explanation. 

My approach was rather hit or miss, especially in the first 3 years or so. 

The basic pattern would be that I would ‘dabble’ with this or that system of thought. Usually deciding rather quickly that it did not measure up and move on to something else. 

“Measuring up” gradually became defined by… did it move me in the direction of The Greater Reality and away from the terror? If the particular ‘way’ or discipline did not, and most of them did not, I would try something else. No doubt I was impatient and may have not allowed sufficient time. However, many years later I realized that some inner sense seemed to be operating because, I “just knew” when it was time to move on. In hind sight I see that in most cases, it was the right thing to do. 

That isn’t to say I did not learn valuable lessons from each ‘dabble’ , I did. And they seemed to build in such a way that I was “more ready” to take the next step. 

This narrative is, in part, an exploration of “The Truth” It is not a stretch to say that, due to many of the “events” related here, my life has taken the path of searching for the “truth”. I will always and forever put the word “Truth” in quotes because it is a word which should, in my opinion, be taken with a large grain of salt. 

Three people seeing the same event may have very different versions, so which is “true“? . For example:

16 Three Points of View

THE DOCTOR

He catches his first good look at the new patient as he enters the exam room, she is unusually attractive with long dark hair and gray eyes. The exam gown can’t hide her large breasts. 

Just my type he thinks. 

After introducing himself, he glances at the instrument tray next to the table. 

Bandages, disinfectant, thermometers, and a small scalpel.

He turns to Shelly his nurse, “Where is my stethoscope”? 

“Doctor, it is in your pocket.”

“Oh, yes, thank you.”

As he approaches the patient, he directs her to lower the front of the exam gown, “…..so I can check your heart.”

She hesitates, glancing at the nurse.

“It is alright , I’ve done this a thousand times” He says in his most reassuring voice.  

As the cold stethoscope touches her left breast, she recoils.

“It is fine I tell you.” He says reassuringly.  

He tries to slip an arm around her to provide support, but she is resisting, trying to push him way. 

“This little harlot wants to give me a hard time” he thinks to himself. 

Suddenly she pushes him away forcefully and grabs the scalpel from the instrument tray. He sees it coming toward his face and manage to dodge but the blade catches his ear. The blood flows freely, runs down his neck and on to the collar of his fresh white lab coat.

 

That bitch Shelly makes no move to help.

THE NURSE

The new patient is good looking in a cheap, sluttish way, with the exam gown half way up her thigh, tits bouncing around like that, can’t be wearing a bra. 

The Doctor finally makes his appearance; he looks good for once, nice starched white lab coat and all. If only this kid knew what a pig he really is, she would be out of here in a flash, without bothering to getting dressed I‘m sure.

The Doctor glances over the instrument tray,

“Where is my stethoscope” ?

“Doctor, it’s in your pocket” you moron. 

“Oh, yes, thank you.”

As he slithers over to the new kid, he mumbles something but Shelly can’t quite make it out, something about her gown. 

The girl looks startled, clutching the front of the exam gown. She shoots a panicked glance toward the door. A scared rabbit look. 

That’s it run, you silly bitch, I can’t help you. 

“It’s alright, I’ve done this a thousand times.” 

Yes, and someday it will backfire on you Shelly thinks.

The girl hesitantly lowers the front of the her gown

Those are some nice boobs on this kid Shelly observes grudgingly to herself. 

The Doctor is staring at them too, he’s going to drown in his own salvia.

As he jambs the stethoscope on her left breast, the girl jerks violently back against the wall. 

What a fool he is, I have to find another job before we both end up in jail. 

“It is fine I tell you” he yells at the trembling girl. 

Now he attempts to restrain her by throwing an arm around her back.

In a flash she shoves him violently away, grabs the scalpel off the instrument tray and slashes wildly in his direction; catching his ear. 

Instantly there is bright red blood everywhere.

Oh man, she got him good, must have hit an artery. 

Good, serves him right, the stupid jerk.  

THE PATIENT 

April is sitting on the exam table, the gown her only covering. She is naked underneath at the doctors direction. This does not seem right to her but the nurse is standing right there so what can happen. Her gray eyes betray her unease, she is young, barely 19 and very attractive; she has already learned what men want. But, a doctor, he’ll be different, won’t he? 

The Doctor finally comes in, he is wearing a starched white lab coat with a stethoscope in the left pocket. 

“Hello, I’m Doctor Welby and you are…… April“?

She nods, feeling even more nervous now for some reason. 

Glancing at the instrument table, he asks the nurse where his stethoscope is.

“Doctor, it’s in your pocket” the nurse says with a note of amusement in her voice. 

“Oh, yes, thank you.”

“April, please lower the front of the gown so I can check your heart”

A flash of panic erupts in the pit of her stomach.

She looks at the nurse, a plea in her eye. 

The nurse does not react.

“It is alright , I’ve done this a thousand times” the Doctor snaps.

April slowly lowers the gown, burning with embarrassment. 

She jerks away as he presses the cold metal against her tender skin.

“It is fine I tell you” he yells, a small drop of spittle hits her chin. He tries to grab her with his free hand. 

“You discussing pig” she yells, but only in her head.

She is in a full blown panic now. Shoving his hand away, she spots the scalpel, grabs it and slashes blindly, she just wants him to get away from her. 

Suddenly there is blood everywhere.

Oh my God, I’ve killed him! She thinks. 

 

17 A Return  

To return to the kidnapping; I don’t go blabbing this story around to just anyone, but on the few occasions where that seemed appropriate, the questions it elicits are pretty much the same: 

How long did they keep you?

What happened to you?

Did they ask for a ransom?

How did you get back?

The only answer I have is I just don’t know… you know as much as I do and that is a literal fact. 

Once, many years later, I asked my mother what had happened at that time. Her answer was that it was so many years ago she just did not remember the details. 

I can hear you ask, how can this be? How can a mother have her only child be kidnapped and not have every tiny detail etched forever in her memory?

There are two possible answers. Both have their roots in the fact that she was an extremely co dependent person with a very weak and vulnerable ego.

It is possible that she really did remember but would not tell me because it would mean she was admitting that ( in her eyes ) she was a terrible mother to have let such a thing happen. She could not afford to have that view of herself or let me have it either. 

The second possibility is that she really did not remember, she had blocked it out for the same reason noted above. 

Either way it had the same effect on me. I blotted out the first ten years of my life; I cut it out so completely and efficiently that all I have are a few vague snippets;  

the smell of oranges in a school cafeteria; which school? I don’t know. 

A corner candy store on a street somewhere, I don‘t know where.  

Building ‘forts’ in a vacant lot with a friend? I think maybe his name might have been Ron…but I’m not sure. 

Early in my spiritual search, I would run into the admonition to “Think back to when you were a child, your early years are especial important; think back to what was it like when…..”

And there I was stuck. So much of our personality is formed ( they say ) when we are very young. For a very long time, I felt I was at a serious disadvantage because I could not recall those years. 

18 The Work

Although not very well known even in the world of spiritual work, “The Work” as it became known, originated with a man named G. I Gurdjeff, a man who, in some circles is acknowledged as an accomplished spiritual teacher. 

His background and origins are somewhat obscure with many blank spots and unanswered questions. I have the impression this was deliberate to some extent. There is an “official version but personally I have my doubts about it. 

Nonetheless, the system of “spiritual development” he brought to the west was very useful to me for many years. It is generally referred to as a work of attention, one which utilized the sensation of one’s body as a basis for the study of the human organism, its functions and miss functions, the nature of the mind, our emotions and physical movements.  

A central feature is a sitting practice very much like a Zen Buddhist meditation ( I have done both). In short it is a training of the mind to observe, objectively, the totality of the functions of the organism.

The shorthand version of this is known as “remembering ones self”. This practice became the focus of my search for almost thirty five years, years in which I met my first wife, moved out of New York City and became ever more involved with ”The Work”. 

I followed this practice from 1971 to about 2004 when I made a final break with the teaching The split was only partly related to the Work itself but a main reasons was that the founder, Gurdjeff had died in 1949. He said that by the third generation after his death it would have lost most of its “force”. I was part of that third generation and in my experience was that is exactly the case. There are many spiritual traditions which feel that personal contact with the teacher or guru or what have you, is essential. 

A second motive was that for some reason, unexplainable by anyone, including some very senior members, my ability to stay present, moment to moment, had diminished greatly after surgery to remove a cancerous thyroid gland. The only explanation which seems to fit is that Mr. Gurdjeff referred to the human machine as a chemical factory. This factory took in elements, food, air and impressions, combined them with other elements already present in the factory and produced energy of different qualities for different uses. One of the energies produced is that of attention, it is of a very fine quality and is needed for the process of maintaining our awareness of the moment and observing ourselves in that moment. 

If one of the essential elements has been eliminated, the naturally produced thyroid hormone in this case, the factory no longer has all the raw materials it needs to produce the required energy. Therefore I was no longer able to do the “work” of staying present and observing myself for any useful amount of time. 

My assumption is that the synthetic thyroid hormone is not subtle enough, that some perhaps unknown element was left out. 

In any event, it was clear to me that it was time to move on. 

This was a bit traumatic, in many ways I did not want to quit the Work, I had been with it a long time. And in the back of my mind I could hear my father and one of his typical refrains: “Your quitting? Why can’t you ever pick something and stick with it? What is the matter with you”?  

It did not matter that the thing I was supposed to “stick with” no longed served a purpose or was totally useless. If you start something you are supposed to finish it. He certainly applied that principle to a bottle of booze, once he started on it, he did not quit until he had finished it. 

   

19 My Father

My father, Frank Benson Parrish, known to all as just Ben, was born in East Texas in 1911, his father was a Federal Corrections Officer who’s idea of how to get his son out of bed was to grab him by the ankles and bounce his head on the floor until he woke up. What fun! His parents were well off enough to afford to send their son to collage where, apparently, he discovered he could make some decent money playing in local bands, In fact he was making money and having so much fun that, in his own words.…’why do anything else?’ Much against his parents wishes he quit collage and went on the road with, the lowest of all forms of music, A Jazz band! 

His life was made up of constant travel, playing one night stands with small five man bands, They worked mostly around East Texas, Oklahoma and Louisiana 

By the late thirties he had moved on to the big bands, 10 and 12 piece outfits. He claims to have played with some of the great bands of the World War II area. Jimmy Dorsey and Red Nichols to name two. And the bigger cities, Chicago, Boston, New York. Some where along the way drugs and alcohol entered the picture. and stayed for 40 years.  

20 Artie 1947

Art stumbles to the overstuffed chair in the corner, lifts the seat cushion, unzips his fly and pees; just as any man would do standing at a regular toilet. In fact, Art thinks he is in the bathroom, he thinks the chair is a toilet. He thinks this, because as usual, he is drunk, very drunk. 

  

This is normal for him, he gets smashed almost every night, been doing this for many years now. It is just part of the job he tells himself, he has been saying that for many years too, “It’s just part of the job“. His adoring fans just keep buying him drinks, how can he refuse, they would be insulted. Really, he has no choice, it is just part of the job. 

He crawls toward the couch but blacks out before he reaches it.  

The East Texas hill country, 1931. 

A black Packard touring sedan pulls into the dusty farm yard. It is dusty too, like everything else around these parts. There is a luggage rack on top, filled with instruments cases and covered with a canvas tarp, it too is coated in a find layer of dust. There are four men inside, members of the same band Artie has been playing with for the past few months. 

He picks up his small bag and the case with his battered old Selmer E flat tenor sax. He bought that horn from a pawn shop for five dollars, a lot of money to him at that time. 

 

He turns to his parents, they are framed in the doorway to the kitchen. 

“You are making a big mistake.” his father says. 

 Artie opens the front door and steps out on to the porch. He turns to look at his parents but makes no reply.

“This is the work of the Devil, this music.” The word ‘music’ is so laden with scorn you can almost hear it clang as it hits the floor. 

“That is nonsense.” Art replies.

“It’s the devil’s music, you’ll burn in hell for this.” His farther shouts at him. 

A typical hard shell Southern Baptist, his father. This kind of renting is not new to him, he’s been listening to that garbage for most of his 20 years. 

 That is one of the main reasons he has to get away from this sun baked hundred acres of hard scrabble. 

 

Art does not reply but turns and walks to the waiting car. He puts his suit case in the boot, but his horn goes into the back seat with him. 

He is visibly upset, his hands are trembling.

The drummer hands him a silver flask, the cap is attached by a slim chain which bumps against his chin as he takes his first long pull. The first of many. A pattern has been set. 

Room 204 the Royal Hotel Kansas City, 1938.

“If you leave, I won’t be here when you get back in the morning.”

This from Julie, his wife of two years. The band is due to start playing in 15 minutes. 

“She knows that” he thinks to himself. 

She knows he does not have time to discuss anything with her. It pisses him off that she always starts these scenes just when she knows he is due at a rehearsal or on stage for a performance.

“What the hell is wrong with you, you know I don‘t have time to discuss this now” he demands as he stalks out the door.  

From the hall, he hears the door slam behind him. 

 “Go ahead and leave, I don’t give a shit.” He mutters over his shoulder to the closed door, He hopes she doesn’t actually hear him, because he does give a shit. 

She is a great lay. 

He walks to the bar for a quick one, make that a double, before heading to the stage in the ballroom. 

At three AM he stumbles back to his room, it is empty.

Harlem Hospital, New Your City 1947

He is stretched out on gurney in the emergency room, the battered old Selmer clutched to his chest, the case long disintegrated. He is almost as battered as that horn, face bruised and still oozing blood from his fall. They found him in a heap at the bottom of a flight of subway stairs, a few blocks from the gig at Eddy Condon’s on W. 3rd St.  

Art recalls leaving the joint around closing time, 5 AM or so and walking to the subway a few blocks away, but that is all he remembers. He is not sure where he is now or how he got there. He aches all over and the hangover has not even hit yet.  

A young, fresh faced, clean shaven intern is reading his chart. He is not smiling. 

“I’ll be blunt Mr. Sims, I don’t know how you are still alive, how many packs do you smoke a day”? 

Art just looks at him, takes his time answering, he is not being rude, he just can’t remember for sure. “I think maybe two.” It is actually more than that, but he won’t admit it. 

The Doctor continues, 

“Your pulmonary function is down to 70 percent of what it should be for a man your age. Your liver is shot, and I’m seeing a growth on your neck which need to be looked into immediately.” 

I’m going to admit you for tests and observation, do you need to call anyone?

Art shakes his head no, 

“OK, I’ll be back shortly.” 

As soon as the doctor is gone he gets up, finds his clothing, dresses, and leaves. 

No one tries to stop him. 

The East Texas Hill country, 1949

The old steam engine pulls slowly into the clap board station, chugging and puffing, it’s bell slowly clanging. Stella Sims waits with her minister and some of the ladies from her church. As the door to the baggage car slides open, the minister’s son and a helper slide the coffin off the train and onto an old fashioned wagon, it’s drawn by two elderly mules. That is the custom in these parts, a motorized connivance is deemed unfitting for that last ride. The deceased makes this journey in a buckboard pulled by creatures almost as stubborn as he was. 

Stella holds that old Selmer to her thin boney chest, it is all she has left to remember her only child. But, Oh how she hates that instrument. 

21 THE TERROR RETURNS

By now, several months had passed since I encountered, and survived, the “The Terror ”. I felt I had pretty much gotten over the effects of it and I knew beyond any doubt that I would never again do drugs, for any reason; ever. Period. 

Then, one day, out of the blue, “it” came back, in full force. I was devastated, and completely at a loss because I had not so much as taken an aspirin for months. Fortunately, after a few hours it disappeared on it own. Nonetheless, this shocked me to the core. Then to my real horror, a few days later it returned again. And again, and again, and again….for the next thirty three years. 

I could never be sure what would set it off, some times all it would take was a slightly unusual visual impression. At other times the sound of my own heart beating would do it. Often it would be as simple as a thought, just a random thought that “didn’t feel right”. 

 Trying to fall asleep at night turned into an ordeal. I was afraid to “let go”, afraid that if I did “it” would slip in. I never went for any professional help because I did not think anyone would understand; plus I felt all they would do would be to dope me up with more drugs. Maybe I was wrong but I did not see how I would ever over come this, if every time it came on me, I just drugged myself into oblivion.

After a year or two I noticed that each episode was shorter and less intense. That patterned continued. The time between events grew longer, sometimes years, the events themselves were shorter and less intense. Finally, one day in 2005, I had a thought which normally would trigger an episode , and I realized that it was, in fact, just a thought, it had no power over me and I did not have to believe it. 

I didn’t and that was that, something which had plagued my life for over three decades was over, gone, just like that. And to this day has never returned.

This was the stick which drove me to search for answers. Without it I am sure I would have given up many years ago. So, ultimately, in a very perverse way, it did me a great favor. 

And one more thing, I learned the true nature of fear and that is this: it does not exist, except in the mind. With the exception of instinctive fear, a tiger suddenly appears in front of you for example, FEAR is a construct of the mind and has no reality outside of it. Does this mean that I no longer experience fear? Hardly, it is a daily companion but in as very subtle way. I’m still afraid of saying the wrong thing and looking like a fool, I am still afraid I will be rejected, I am still …. The list goes on and on. The difference now is that when I can “catch it” and can remember its true nature, often its effect is reduced, sometimes even eliminated.  

22 PAUL’S NOT SO GREAT ADVENTURE

   

Jan. 29 1962  

He is a small man, at 17 he is still just a boy really, and stands barely 5’7. His problem now is that he has to put on two pounds to make the minimum weight required to enlist in the Army. He plans to do this by eating two pounds of bananas just before reporting for the induction physical. 

He had quit high school a few months earlier because it was too painful to continue. His parents did not object, they knew he had racked up a solid ‘D’ average so it is obvious to them he does not have much of a future. He has an IQ of 138 but, as far as school went, this was effectively canceled out by undiagnosed dyslexicia, and a minor attention deficit disorder. None of this is known to anyone, not his parents, his teachers and least of all himself.

The fact that his parents moved so often Paul had been to 14 different schools in ten years did not help. 

He was worried about that two pounds, he is worried about many things, this was just one more. He is a worry wart, a perfectionist worry wart. Which is at odds with his disorganized, procrastinating side. Just as with the learning disability, this is invisible to him along with many other aspects of his personality. As he waits in line for his physical he is anxious and fearful, what would he do if he did not pass the exam? He could not stand the thought of failing at this too. So he had crammed the bananas.

He does not especially like bananas. 

When he was younger. 8 or 9, he stuttered, this plus his small size, brought on unmerciful bulling from everyone, even girls. This treatment instilled a very strong sense of inferiority, he felt he had no rights to anything, even the right to protect himself. Other children did malicious, hateful things to him. They stole his lunch, poked him with pencils, told lies to get him in trouble. And he did nothing. He felt he was a cowered because he did nothing. But he didn’t want to fight them, partly because he was afraid of getting hurt, but mostly it was because he did not want to hurt anyone himself. 

Much of this was about to change. 

March15, 1962 7 AM Ft. Dix New Jersey, Firing Range Charlie.  

Paul stares down range, seeing nothing but trees, rocks and low bushes. This is one of the new ranges, where the targets are concealed behind those same obstacles. There are six human sized silhouettes positioned at 50 yards intervals. They pop up at random, stay visible for three to four seconds then disappear again. Paul sits in the firing position he has been taught, ten clips of .30 caliber ammunition lined up in front of him; eight rounds per clip. The officer in charge bellows the command to fire, Paul slams the first clip into his weapon and waits for a target to appear.  

Bang……..bang…….at measured intervals…..bang. The smell of cordite, the impact of the rifle butt against his shoulder, the ‘ping’ every time a clip is ejected. And 80 rounds later, the smoke clears, 74 of his rounds have struck home.

He does not see the small crowd which has collected behind him, two sergeants, the Range Officer and his Company commander. He knows he has done well but has no idea how well.  

On the spot, his CO suggest he go to sniper school. Paul knows this is an honor, snipers are an elite, the cream of the crop and are treated like modern day Gladiators. But he has enlisted for a particular school and it is not snipers. He wants to learn to repair electronic equipment. He mumbles this to the CO and politely declines the offer. He enlisted for training in a useful trade, thinking maybe it will make up for no high school diploma. But a second reason, just as important to him is that he does not want to hurt anyone let alone kill them. .He wants the school he enlisted for.  

October 9,1962  

Ft. Bliss Texas: Paul reads his new orders again; Panama! He can’t believe it. He has been in the army for nine months and still has not received the training he was promised. 

He is furious, “I need to see the old man“

“Why?” the first Sergeant demands curtly.

“I have orders to report to a new station in Panama, the Captain told me last week I was getting orders for electronics school. “

“Well, I don’t know anything about that, the boss is on leave and won’t……..”

Paul turns around and stalks away. He has been screwed again and he knows it. He is so mad he doesn’t trust himself to say anything. 

“Did you put in for leave ? You can get a week before you ship out you know. ”

“Rossi, did you put in for….. Rossi?” Fuck it, what the hell is wrong with that kid?

OCT. 16  

Washington DC: Reconnaissance photographs reveal the presence of Soviet missiles in Cuba

President Kennedy schedules the first meeting of the Executive Committee of the National Security Council or EX-COMM. 

Their first recommendation is a Naval blockade of the Cuban island.

Penn Station, Midtown Manhattan NYC 3PM. 

He is dead broke, except for the 25 cents for the subway down town. 

He get off at his usual stop and walks the two blocks to Spring St and the building where his parents live, where he used to live. 

“Not no more” he says happily to himself, “Fuckin’ A, I got out of this rat trap.” 

This area is known as “Little Italy” , he pass Messina’s’ Bakery and the Garibaldi Social Club, also known as The Italian American League. A few men are sitting out front at small tables sipping demitasse coffee from tiny multi colored cups, he knows them, and most have known him since he was born. He nods and waves, they nod back, no one smiles. Paul is not one of them, these Mustache Petes and their old world ways. Paul does not want to be one of them, they know this and take it as an insult. That is why he can’t be one of them, their “Honor” is everything, insulting them by not showing proper respect can cause serious problems. Not so much for him directly, but more for his father. They won’t say anything to Paul openly, on the surface everything is ‘tutto bene’ …. all good. But they talk to his father about him. 

“How come your son is not more friendly “? 

“Why don’t he sit and talk with us like you do“?

“What is wrong with that kid of yours”? 

It’s not really a problem though, his father can handle them. Most of their fathers grew up together in the same small village back in the old country. Most of them arrived in the US just after the turn of the century. In many ways Paul’s father is not one of them either. But they have an ”understanding” Paul not quit sure what that entails, but he knows it is none of his business. He just nods and waves. 

His building is three doors from the corner, it is reached by passing thou a tunnel from the street to a court yard behind the main building. In years past the apartment was known as a “cold water walk up flat”. But some time before he was born, the owner added hot water. 

Their apartment is in the third floor, and one had to “walk up” several flights of stairs to get to it. 

I’ve only been gone nine months but it seems like forever he thinks, the smell of the hall has not changed, garlic and bleach.

I would never believe I would miss that smell.

To him it says “home”

It is hard to imagine but I really missed this place he muses as he climbs the stairs.

Not the windows though. No, not the windows. He does not miss those windows. 

They are filthy, really dirty; the dirt is on the outside and can never be cleaned because there is no way to reach them. Just like humans, only with people the dirt can’t be reached because it is on the inside.  

The apartment consisted of three small rooms. The kitchen, which is the center of everything; in the middle is a table and four chairs. Like many first generation immigrants this is the heart of the family. The stove is many years older than Paul. 

It is a big cream colored monster with a baked on porcelain finish, trimmed in black. It is more chips and broken handles than anything else. But it functioned. The other object which dominated the room is a bath tub. 

This was common in these old tenements; there was no real “bathroom” as such There is only one sink, in the kitchen. The toilet is in a closet, literally, a closet in 

the corner; it contains a toilet, that’s it. A toilet. Oh ya, there is a toilet paper holder, but that made the room a little crowded.

“Why didn’t you tell us you was coming home, tu stupiedo cafonie“

Stupiedo cafoni…..you stupid peasant, Yup, I’m home alright.  

“Nice to see you too Pop.”

OCT 17  

State Department Legal Advisor Leonard Meeker informs the Secretary of State that he was not convinced of the legality of a blockade; he was certain that the United Nations Security Council would never support such a measure.

Ever since that day on the firing range Pauls attitude, his feelings about himself had undergone a subtle change. He no longer felt so worthless, he felt that he had a right to his existence after all. Maybe he was not quite the coward he had always thought himself to be. After all, could a cowardly boy have hit 74 out of 80 targets? And be invited to become a professional killer? 

Now, two nights after arriving home, Paul is heading back after visiting friends. As he gets off the train at Spring St. he spots two kids coming toward him, sandy hair, high water, peg pants….. they are Irish, and their body language says they are looking for trouble. He keeps walking toward them anyway. If he turns around to head for the other exit they will know he is scared, that would set them off for sure. Their coming straight for him, but he does not change course. He is scared but determined to not let it show. 

“Hay wop, where you think you are going“? the bigger of the two says as he puts his hands flat against Paul’s chest and shoves him back three feet. There are other people around but no one interferes. They stop to hoping to see a good fight.

“Fuck you Mick” and Paul reaches into his back pocket, he does not take anything out. He looks around ”Fuck you Mick“, he repeats, “lets go some place with no witnesses and I’ll show you where you are going, straight to the morgue“. His hand is still in his back pocket. 

Now the people who had slowed, hoping for a fight, quickly move away. 

The punks hesitate, not sure if this is a bluff. 

 “ Best not to chance it, it is the little guys you always have to watch out for” the big one remembers the warning he heard many times from his father, the cop.

 They don’t say anything but edge past him and move away, they don’t run but they don’t take their eyes off him either.  

Paul is sweating and shaking but he is elated, he beat them without laying a finger on anyone! He pulled off a giant bluff, there is nothing in his back pocket but his wallet. 

That night in bed, he can’t sleep, he plays it out over and over in his mind. 

Only now it is a little different. Now there are three of them and he attacks first, he grabs the big one by his hair and drives his fist right into the middle of his face, imagining the feel of his nose shattering, blood spurting everywhere, it is a good feeling, seeing the rivers of bright red blood pouring out on to the floor. He hears the punk howl in pain, and he hits him again, just to make it hurt more. 

Paul relishes this image, he wishes he could have done this for real. Inflict serious damage on someone, really hurt them, it would be payback for all the hurt he has suffered at the hands of scum like that. But he knows he could never do anything like that for real. Still, he sure does like the “pretend.”

Oct. 18  

 Pentagon’s war planners mobilize to develop a military solution to the Cuban Crisis ; this set the military behemoth on a course leading to war.

 Arrangements are made to facilitate the use of Naval Air Station Opalocka Fl.

5:00 PM Gromyko and Kennedy meet at the white house.  

Paul’s Uncle Sal is a push cart peddler, he does not just sell things, he sharpens knives and scissors. He pushes his cart up and down the crowed streets of lower Manhattan, the Bowery, Five Points. Selling his cutlery and sharpening the same merchandise he sold many years ago. He rings the old brass bell attached to the handle of his 30 year old cart. So the housewives know he is on their street. 

His wife, Aunt Lena, is a skilled seamstress, she works for a small Italian owned enterprise which produces one of a kind hand crafted wedding dresses. They sell for more than she makes in a year.

They have no car, no phone and no TV, they work 10 hrs a day six days a week to make ends meet. Sometimes those ends are far apart. 

Today is Sunday, Paul know they will be home because this is the only day they do not work.  

He also know they are poor but very proud, they will spend their last dime on food to entertain him so he stops at a small bakery to pick up a box of Italian pastries. At a fruit stand he buys a bag of assorted fruits; apples, oranges, bananas, grapes. They are too proud to accept anything that looks like it might be charity, but hospitality demands that they can’t not refuse a gift. 

“You know your father is very up set with you.” his uncle says first thing. 

“Why is that?”

“You weren’t in the apartment two minuets and you stormed out again”

“What the hell is wrong with you anyway?” He demands.

OCT 19  

Brooklyn Navy Yard NYC The USNS Upshur sits anchored in “the Yard” it is a gray hulk of a ship, not pretty by any standards, but it does not have to be, it is a troop transport. At 530 ft long and a weigh of 17thousand tons, it has a maximum capacity of 1500 troops plus an additional 200 or so in its 93 state rooms which are reserved for officers. 

Guantanamo Bay, Junior Officers Quarters. 

Chrissie Norton is 23, a large woman 5’10, short blond hair and 185 lbs. and gaining. She married her high school sweetheart six months after he graduated from the Navel Academy at Annapolis. They are both Nebraska farm kids, never been anywhere, never done anything. Guantanamo is his first duty station. 

For a year or so everything was idyllic but gradually the relationship had soured. She put on weight, he worked too much.

 She neglected house keeping, he ignored her. 

She began to drink, he worked even later. 

Lower Manhattan, NYC. It is unusually hot for this time of year, the sidewalks outside his apartment are empty, everyone is in doors to escape the heat. Paul is board, at loose ends, he only has a few more days of his leave. 

Finally making up his mind, he heads for the train stop at Spring and Broadway, In a few stations he will be at White Hall, then it is one more stop to South Ferry, the end of the line for this section of the BMT. He likes to stand at the front of the very first car, looking out the window of the locked door; watching the tracks appear out of the black hole that is the subway tunnel, and then disappearing again into his peripheral vision. He has been doing this since he was old enough to reach the window. He decided to take the ferry thinking that a ride across the bay to Staten Island would cool him off and kill the afternoon. 

The train pulls into a station, shudders to a stop, the doors open, and three Porto Rican kids get on. 

Shit.

They always travel in packs, these Ricans, can’t blame them he thinks, right now he’s wishing pretty hard he had a pack to travel with. 

 

He doesn’t turn around but as he watches them in the reflection in the window he begins to plan. He won’t give them a chance to act first. He learned in infantry school that a surprise attack will give him an advantage. 

He’ll start with the smallest one, rush him, kick ‘em in the nuts.; then…

One looks his way, the smallest of the bunch, ( “it’s always the small one you have to watch out for” ). Where did that thought come from?……  

……then I’ll grab the next one and slam him into the last one; then… 

The shrimp says something to his buddy. Gestures with his head in Paul’s direction. 

Then I’ll grab the last one…… 

Rector St is the next stop, Paul makes up his mind to attack just as the train pulls to a stop.

They seem oblivious of him, horsing around pushing and shoving each other, jabbering in their own language. But the short one keeps glancing in his direction. 

The train pulls up to the platform, comes to an abrupt stop, momentarily throwing him off balance; his adversaries stagger too but quickly regaining their footing; 

they move in his direction; 

Still watching their reflection in the window, Paul readies himself to spring.

The door is only 8 feet away, it is between him and the this bunch of hoods. 

 

As it slides open he whirls around,

The small one looks at him hard, then files out the door with the rest of his crew. 

The door slides shuts behind them. 

Shaken but relieved, and maybe a little disappointed, he gets off at Bowling Green, crosses to the uptown side, boards the next train and goes home. 

Maybe Panama won’t be so bad after all.  

Oct 20  

By this time tomorrow, gentlemen, we will be in a flaming crisis.”

 Dean Rusk, Secretary of State

Bang, he punches the wall, he feel like shit. 

Bang he punches it again; he is drunk, 

Earlier that day he rode the train over the bridge to Brooklyn and walked several blocks to the PX at Ft. Hamilton. 

He had planned to buy as many cartons of cigarettes as he could carry. The idea was to resell them around the neighborhood, make a few bucks, show a good time to his friends before he left. 

But the clerk was giving him a hard time. 

“I need to see your ID.”

“Sure” Paul fishes it out of his wallet, hands over the plastic laminated card. .

“This doesn’t look like you.”

“What, of course it’s me, open your eyes.”

“You don’t have a mustache in this picture.” 

“So what, I grew one, what’s the big deal.”

“It doesn’t look like you, I can’t sell you nothing’”

Paul is fuming, he has an urge to grab this moron and slam his head into the counter, bang it a few times. But he controls himself, he knows it can mean big trouble if he causes a scene. A part of him is saying, to hell with consequences, I’m goin’a wreck this guy. His mind toggles back and forth, do it or not; smack him or not? 

Finally, common sense wins out, Paul curses at him in Italian:  

le palle su un bastone  

This jerk’s a spear chucker, he’ll never understand that.  

“I hate this fucking army and everyone in it“  

“Fucking asshole clerk.” 

“Panama, what’s there? Nothing there but bananas, And bugs. Bananas and bugs, bugs and bananas. Who gives a shit ? Not me. 

He starts to take another swing at the wall but slips and fall .

“I give a shit that I enlisted for a school and now I’m not going to get it.” 

His head is spinning.

“For two cents I would not report tomorrow. Fuck ’em” 

He collapses in his bed, out cold in three minuets.

Oct 21  

The National Security Council holds its first informal meeting.

Kennedy sends a letter to Khrushchev informing him of the discovery of missiles in Cuba and called for the removal of all missiles and offensive weapons. 

Quarantine line established around Cuba. 

Guantanamo Bay, Junior Officers Quarters. 

Chrissie has been drinking all afternoon. 

She is in her usual dark mood, feeling sorry for herself, blaming Brian for everything.

“It really was all his fault“, this is her constant mantra. Her drinking, the lost baby, everything, all his fault. If he did not work so much none of this would have happened. If he would only pay more attention to her, tell her she was still pretty even tough she had put on a few pounds. What’s a few pounds? She was trying to take it off; if it wasn’t for those bitches at the gym, well, never mind. 

“This will teach him“, she thinks as she cuts up another wedding photo.  

She reaches for a cigarettes and knocks her drink over into a box containing all his family photos. She makes no move to rescue anything, just sits there staring at the mess. She knows those are the only photos he has of his family, both his parents are dead and he has not heard from his only brother in years.  

She stirs the mess with a finger; 

‘Well’ she thinks, ‘maybe this is a good thing….. he is too tied to his past‘. 

Besides it will teach him a lesson, teach him not to ignore her any more, that‘s what. She gets up and stumbles over her hand bag, she is a little drunker than she thought, no matter, he needs this lesson. 

Rummaging around in the kitchen cabinets she collects bottles of ketchup and syrup, a can of condensed milk, a bag of flour.

‘I’ll teach him a lesson he will never forget, he’ll learn’ she repeats to herself as she empties the bottles and the bag of flower into the box of photos. ‘He’ll learn to respect me’ 

A car pulls up in front, 

Oh God, she thinks…. it’s him! 

But no, the driver enter the house across the street.

Oct 22  

3:00PM President Kennedy formally established the Executive Committee 

7:00 PM Kennedy delivered a nation-wide televised address on all of the major networks announcing the discovery of the missiles.

“The thing is we were not going to unleash war. We just wanted to intimidate them…..“ Nikita Khrushchev. 

Chrissie files into the auditorium with the rest of the wives. Rumors have been ripe for the past two days. The Cubans are going to attack the base, the US has agreed to leave, and craziest of all, the Russians have shipped missiles to Castro. How stupid would that be?

Now the officer standing in front of the room is confirming that they will have to evacuate the base as early as tomorrow. No reason given beyond, it is just a precaution and it’s for their own safety, national security and all that rot. 

On the one hand she is pissed, this moron is saying all she can take is one suit case and a hand bag. No mention of all her other things, clothing, books, records. What will happen to them? Oh sure, they say it is only temporary but she has come to believe you can’t count on anything the Navy says. 

On the other hand, Brian does not know about the photos, she hid them, and now, with any luck, she will be long gone before he finds them. 

Truth to tell, she was feeling a little bad about it, having some regrets about destroying them. Well, not regrets actually, more like she was afraid of what he would do when he found out. And this is an island, where would she go? Where would she hide?  

 Fuck it, the way she feels now, she will file for divorce as soon as she gets home. ’Screw him, I hope Cubans invade and he gets killed, the ten thousand in insurance money would come in handy.  

Oct 23  

 3:00 p.m. Moscow, Ambassador Kohler meets with Soviet Foreign Minister Kuznetsov and receives Khrushchev’s response to Kennedy’s letter.

Kennedy signs Proclamation 3504, authorizing the naval quarantine of Cuba.

The Organization of American States unanimously supports the U.S. decision to quarantine Cuba and, by the end of the day, all naval vessels are in place. 

Reconnaissance photos reveal that the Soviet missiles are poised for launch.

6:20PM USNS Usher: 

The normal ships compliment is totally inadequate to handle 1,724 people, many of them kids. Usually the troops they haul provide their own personal for kitchen duty. But under these unusual conditions the 67 Army men still on board have all been assigned to security work. That leaves the Navy wives to man the serving lines and do the clean up. Most are resigned to this and at least try to keep up a good front.

 

Some are not happy about it and make it clear that they do like this turn of events.

 

As Paul moves alone the chow line he is thinking that this breakfast, their second day of the trip back to Norfolk Va. has produced a pretty good haul. Most of the woman are young and fairly good looking. All except this one that is. She is a giant of a woman, fat, with course blotchy skin, and short blond hair which looks dirty and unkempt. Despite the hair net Paul has visions of strands of that greasy looking hair falling into his food. 

“What kind of toast you want”? 

Her voice matches her looks, grating, unpleasant. 

Paul realizes he has been staring.

“White please.”

The Amazon slaps two slices of cold wheat toast on his tray and curtly motions for him to move on. 

Something clicks in his mind, he wants to smash his full tray of food in her face or jump over the counter and….. wait, calm down, calm down, this is not the place, too many witnesses. 

Later maybe he will get the chance to….to….. whatever.  

He stares at her for a moment, just nods, smiles and moves slowly on.  

OCT. 24  

9 AM The Kremlin: 

Soviet Premier Khrushchev views the blockade as "an act of aggression" and will instruct their ships to ignore it.

4:15PM Washington DC: 

Department of Defense, and SAC announced a full nuclear alert – DEFCON 2 This is the first time this degree of readiness has ever been declared. 

5:30 PM The Kremlin: 

Premier Khrushchev tells President Kennedy he will withdraw Soviet weapons from Cuba if the United States will pull its rockets out of Turkey. 

5:45 PM Havana, Cuba:

Premier Castro offers to stop construction of major military facilities in Cuba if the U.S. lifts its blockade.

Time unknown: Washington DC:

President Kennedy informs Premier Khrushchev he is ready to negotiate an

immediate end to the Cuban blockade.  

11:20 PM USNS Usher 

 The sea has finally calmed down and the ship has stopped heaving. 

Thank God too. I don’t think I will ever be able to stand the smell of corned beef and cabbage again Paul says to himself. 

 Especially when it has been lying around in pools after it has been puked up. And particularly after it has been puked up by 1,724 woman and kids, tots, toddlers and babes in arms. The odor reminds him of sour milk x 10 + dirty socks + a whiff of baby powder. Bad, really bad. 

He can’t sleep so hops out of his bunk and heads top side for some much needed air. 

He is walking on the fan tail when he sees that big blond pig from the breakfast food line. She is leaning on the rail.

He has calmed down from this morning and at first he thinks to turn around and go the other way, but then decides he won’t let her intimidate him. 

 

‘I seen you staring at me in the line and I don’t like it, you better not be doin’ it now.” she says.

‘I ain’t watching you so don’t go accusing me of nothing, bitch.’  

‘Bitch! I’ll show you a bitch, you ass hole.’

 She takes a step towards him and aims a slap at his face. 

Paul snaps for real now “I’ll kill you….. 

He doges the blow but loses his footing, slips and falls, banging his head on the railing. Momentarily stunned, he shakes his head to clear it.

‘You fucking whore…….’

Infuriated by that word, Cassie kicks him in the head, twice, as hard as she can.

Paul blacks out from the blows.

‘I’ll fix your ass for good you dumb son of a bitch. I’ll teach you, I’ll teach you real good’.

Dropping to her knees, grunting with the exertion, she lifts his inert body up on top of the rail. Balancing it there for a moment, she hesitates, catches herself, 

“What am I doing? What am I doing?” 

Then with a shrug and a push, she heaves his inert body over the rail. 

She watches as the body splashes into the water forty feet below. Slowly the ship pulls away. 

November 19 1962 Ft Davis Canal Zone

Paul Rossi is listed as AWOL.

April 6 1963 Ft. Davis Canal Zone

Paul Rossi is dishonorable discharged from the US Army for desertion. 

23 ADI DA or things that make you say hummm……

At a book store in New Orleans I ran across a paperback titled “The Knee of Listening” This was a most intriguing title I’m sure you will agree. Further more, it was written by a ‘living Guru’ whose life story, the book revealed, had parallels to my own in many respects. 

He was born in the town of Franklin Square Long Island, NY. As a young man he had experienced a transformative event very similar to the Extreme Terror I had gone through many years ago, only for some reason it left him in a permanent state of “bliss” which, as he related it, was almost identical to my “Peek Experience“. As if that was not enough, part of his early “initiation” in New York City, involved a mysterious individual, a dealer in Turkish antiquities, who went by the name of “Rudy“. I had met Rudy myself on several occasions, and I knew him as one of the teachers of the Gurdjeff work at a place known simply as The Foundation, which was the headquarters of the teaching in the Western Hemisphere.  

After his transformation (and a move to California ) he began to collect a following and changed his name to Adi Da. His main claim was that anyone who committed themselves to his “way” would eventually achieve his state. Since his description of this state so closely resembled what I had been searching for all these years, I felt I needed to find out more. 

The book contained contact information and it did not take long to arrange to visit his sanctuary in central California for an orientation. The cost for this was $250 but that was for a week stay and included housing and meals. After flying out there, for another 350 bucks round trip, I found out that he had just left for his sanctuary in Hawaii; apparently he had several of them scattered in various places around the world. And no one knew when he would return to the US. Hummm….

I returned to New Orleans disappointed but still interested. 

Eventually I was told that he was holding a Darshan in Hawaii and I was invited to attend, $750 for five days ( includes accommodations and meals ) plus air fare. 

I went, after all it was a special invitation. 

I had never been to Hawaii and found it to be as beautiful as all the posters said. I’m sure would be an ideal place to live except for the expense.  

I spent time on the beach, did some art work, and hung out with his followers.

Finally the night of the Darshan arrived. 

Everything is micro managed by the Devotees, wait in the parking lot, enter here, sit there; don’t talk. Hummmm……

Soft music is playing in the background, the lighting is subdued, beautiful wall hangings are everywhere, and incense smolders in low brass burners. 

But no Aida Da. 

We wait, listening to the music, which was live by the way, smelled the flowers and incense, and ….finally, he is spotted walking down a palm lined pathway. He is dressed in a floor length black robe, his salt and pepper shoulder length hair is brushed straight back and stirs gently as he walks. He is flanked on both sides by woman, they are not young but nonetheless still very beautiful, they are his ”wives”. He is escorted to his seat, which is a low bench like affair draped with bright orange cloth, it is surrounded by a sea of flowers.

I have been instructed that he would make eye contact with individuals at random, would hold it for a few moments, then go to the next one. 

And that is how it went; he fixed his gaze on me, held it for 30 seconds or so and moved on. A few moments later he came back, held my gaze for another 30 seconds or so then went to another person. In a few moments he returned again, for a total of maybe 4 times in all. 

Finally he stands, makes a slight bow and leaves. He has not said a word. Again, I was disappointed….. I expected to hear…….well, something. 

Hummmm…….

Outside in the parking lot we are handed paper and pens and asked to write our impressions, we must be quick, he is waiting. 

Next morning, as I step out of the shower, I notice two large, bright red spots, one in each arm pit. They are about the size of a quarter and oblong in shape. There is no pain, no itching, in fact I would not have known they were there if I had not applied deodorant. . 

I waited a day or two to see if they would change in someway, but they did not; so I mentioned it to one of his followers. She wanted to see them for herself; her comment was “ Wow, he really marked you“, giving me the impression that this was something special. I’m a bit leery of things like this so I asked several of the new people if they had any interesting marks anywhere. No one did. 

OK, so he had “marked me” that’s a good thing….right?

Back in New Orleans after a two month stay at the sanctuary in California, I find myself back to square one.. 

For all Da’s talk about how he would do everything ( necessary for his followers enlightenment ) it was obvious this was not true. I had a lot of contact during that visit with his older devotees, some who had been with him from almost the beginning. As a group, they were some of the most unbalanced, co dependent people I have ever met. If that was what 30 years of working with him produced, I wanted nothing to do with him or any of them. 

But, now what?  

 

 24 “NOT FOR CHILDERN” 1993

   

Act 1 scene 1

“What if you stripped my naked, tied my up so I couldn’t move, and did anything you wanted with me” ? 

My lovely wife of eight years said to me one Sunday evening.

I was a little surprised, while Olivia was always quite willing to try almost anything, this was the first time she had a suggestion herself. And what a suggestion it was!

“You mean like, right now” 

“Well, yes, right now,……why not?” 

I could see it in her eyes, the possibility instantly made her hot. 

“Do you like the idea of doing anything I tell you to do?” 

She hesitated, smiled and just nodded a yes.

“Even if you are not tied up?”

“Yes, but it might be more fun if I were.”

”So, you agree to do anything I say……. right now?”

Again a slight hesitation.

“Yes”

“OK……stand up and take your pants off.”

No hesitation now, she raises slowly, kicks off her shoes, reaches for the zipper and in one graceful motion strips off her jeans and panties.

“Now sit down.”

She sits but crosses her legs; I know she is doing this on purpose, she is not shy or bashful about exposing herself. She wants me to take charge and tell her what to do.  

“Did I tell you to cross your legs?”

“No”

“Well……”

She uncrosses her legs and parts them slightly; now I know she is teasing me. 

I look at her sternly, and motion with one finger for her to open wider. 

She does.

“More” 

She does.

“Wider” 

She does

Now I sit back and enjoy the view.

Olivia is a petite brunette with smiling gray eyes, a thin straight nose and full lips.

She is sitting across from me, naked from the waist down, the light glints off a few drops of moisture clinging to her sparse pubic hair.  

“Do you like this little game?” she asks.

“Yes, do you?”

“Yes, but we haven’t gotten to the good part yet.”

“The good part being?”

“Were I’m tied up, naked and helpless and I don’t know what you are going to do.” 

Act 1 scene 2

Her father had always been a stern man, for as long as she could remember, he had been controlling and demanding. Any infraction of the rules brought an appropriate reaction. And there were a lot of rules. The punishment could be anything from standing in the corner to being confined to her room with no TV, no books, no phone. 

She was never spanked or physically abused in any way; to the contrary the sentence was always handed down in a quite, almost respectful manner.  

“Olivia, please go to your room, unplug the phone and place it in the hall. 

Lay face down on your bed and do not move until you are told to. 

The worst was not knowing what was going to happen. Would she stay like that for a few minutes, a few hours? For the whole night? Would her father return in a few moments and tell her everything was OK, she could come down for diner? She just never knew. 

Some times she thought a spanking would be preferable. There was something about being places over a knee and…… 

But no, she never finished that thought. In fact, she had not let her mind drift down that road for years. 

Oh, there was the occasional fantasy of course. Her favorite was where she had misbehaved and been told by an unidentified, genderless voice to “….go your bedroom, pull your pants down, lay face down on the bed and….wait.” 

For some reason she was unable to see the link to events in her childhood. 

Her mind was taken over by the anticipation, the waiting, the not knowing what was going to happen. This was so intensely exciting she never made the connection. But then again, she never allowed herself to finish the story either. 

ACT 1 scene 3

Ever since meeting Stephan several months ago those old inner prompting had disturbed her waking hours and even invaded her other wise boring dreams. 

Now, as she sat across from him, the memory of last nights dream was still clear in her mind. She had been swimming in a river and was just emerging from the water when someone shouted at her. The words were inaudible, like a radio with the sound turned so low you could not make out anything. 

Olivia took a few steps on to dry land, looking around for the for the source. 

Someone stood up from a bush and pointed an odd looking rifle at her. 

“Do not move you Round head pig, I will kill you if you do.” The words were English but the man had very strange accent.  

As he came closer she could see it was Stephen, but he did not seem to recognize her. 

Suddenly, a powerful blast of sound had knocked her to the ground, she…..

“Olivia….. “ The sound of her name pulled her back to the present, the dining room in Stephens’ Manhattan apartment. 

“Olivia, about this party next weekend, you know how stressful it can be for you to meet new people, are you sure you really want to go?

She took in the sight of him. Not very tall, not the most handsome man in the world. Quite a bit older than her, and with a slight paunch. But he was intelligent; very intelligent, and confident; supremely confident. And he seemed to know what she wanted, what she needed, even when she did not.

 What an amazing thing it was to have found him she thought.  

She herself was an extremely attractive woman, a twelve on a scale of ten. Most men would pay 50 bucks just for the chance to rummage through her underwear draw.  

But Stevie …he did not like to be called that so she only said it in her mind; Stevie was different, he was not impressed by her beauty, he never cut her any slack because of it. He was always a perfect gentleman to be sure, but he never let her get away with being a brat, he called her on it every time. When they had first met she had tested him, as she did all men. She intentionally caused a minor scene in a restaurant, acting bratty and demanding. He told her in no uncertain terms if she did not cut it out he would leave; she could sit there by herself and be as bitchy as she cared to. 

She believed him.  

Most men would have turned themselves inside out trying to placate her. On one occasion he had promised to spank her right there in front of the whole restaurant. That was the last time she pulled one of her little stunts. 

The spanking….it might have.. …been……

ACT 1 Scene 4  

The room was dimly lit by a defused golden light, tinged with a hint of dusty rose, it’s source not readily apparent. 

Soft music plays from unseen speakers. Incense burns in a hand made ceramic bowl sitting on a fine wooden stand in the corner. 

Her hands are tied loosely at the wrists with a soft silky rope, the line is not tight but nonetheless she can not escape. The rope is attached to a hook in the ceiling so her arms were stretched above her head. 

Olivia can see herself in a full length mirror located directly in front, 8 feet away. 

She is fully clothed. ……alone……. and waiting…….

The music is relaxing, but the scent of the incense keeps her mind alert; she is not afraid. To the contrary, There is a sense of excitement and apprehension, anticipation and yes, she has to admit it, an eagerness growing in the pit of her stomach. 

The longer she waits, the more it grows. 

Finally an unseen door opens then closed softly, she hears a click, has the door been locked?

A small table appears just on the edge of her vision, because of the position of her arms, she can’t turn her head far enough to see clearly but it looks like there are “items” lined up ready for use. Her heart beats a little faster, her pulse rate begins to climb.

“Someone” steps close behind her, she can feel his clothing brushing hers. The scent of…..something….is familiar. 

Looking in the mirror she can not make out the face but she is sure it is a man, he is a little taller than her, and well dressed in a dark business suit. She knows who it is but wants to pretend she does not. 

His arm take something from the table and disappears from view.

She waits.

It seems like hours, but she knows it can’t be more than a few seconds. 

 In the mirror, she can see his body behind her, but can not tell what he is doing. 

Suddenly she feels a tug at the bottom of her shirt, movement, another  

Tug…. and….. she feels cool air in her back. He is cutting her shirt off!

The scissors moves quickly down each sleeve. 

Then 

Three snips, and her bra is gone. The cool air feels wonderful on her hot sweaty breasts. 

Now he slices up the back of each pant leg.

Snip, snip, and he tosses what is left of her panties to the floor. 

She in stark naked.

Taking a small length of rope form the table, he loops it around one ankle, positions her foot 8 inches to the left and ties the rope to a cleat fastened to the floor.  

He repeats this with her other ankle. 

She looks at herself in the mirror, she is totally nude, legs spread wide, with her hands tied above her head; this causes her back to arch slightly and pushes her tits forward in a provocative way. Her nipples are hard. Seeing her self displayed in this manner, with a fully clothed man behind her is……… intensely exciting. 

The man takes a small cut crystal vile from the table, removes the stopper and holds it up to her nose, it is wonderfully scented, perhaps with rose water? 

Cupping a breast in one hand, he pours out scented oil, slowly it trickles down her stomach and into her pubic hair, which is already quite moist. He does the same with the other breast. 

Next he takes a silk scarf from the table and blindfolds her with it. Then a pair of head phones is placed over her ears, 

Her sensory input has thus been restricted to the soft soothing music in the head phones, the scented oil running down the front of her body, and the feel of his gentle hands. 

Those hands, they are everywhere; massaging her breasts, tugging her nipples, sliding down to her pubic area, lingering briefly then returning to her breasts. 

He pours oil on her shoulders and down her back, working it into the muscles, down the spine, down over her butt. He works her ass cheeks with a firmer hand now, digging in harder, relaxing, caressing the crease where her legs meet her trunk. 

He slips a hand around to her pubic area, sliding a finger up, searching for her clit. He finds it, one hand is slowly stroking her clit while the other is gently pulling on a nipple.  

Her breathing and pulse rate have skyrocket now. 

Those magic hands are every where, slipping, sliding, caressing, pulling kneading, now soft and gentle now hard and demanding.

“Cum” he says.

She moans softly.

“Cum now” …..it is a command. 

And she does, she responds with an intensity she has never known before.  

She gradually becomes aware of a buzzing sound, it grows louder, drowning out the music. And then come the vibration, stronger and stronger, she knows what is happening, she is leaving her body. This has happened before but never under these conditions. 

The separation is complete, she is gently floating in a corner, near the ceiling; her “body” has no weight or substance, it resembles dense, gently swirling, luminescent smoke.

She is watching the scene below her; only it has “rewound” a few moments.

She is alone in the room, still fully clothed, long dark hair flowing down her back, gray eyes half closed, full lips slightly parted, large breasts slowly raising and falling with each breath. 

The door opens, a man steps in, turns and locks the door, so they won’t be disturbed; she knows it is Stephan.

He glances up in her direction as if drawn to her but she knows full well she can’t be seen. 

He has no idea this happens to her, she has never told him; maybe someday she will. 

Suddenly, with a strong uncontrolled motion, she is slammed back in her body, her naked, hot sweaty and terribly excited body. 

“Cum” he says.

She moans softly.

“Cum now” …..it is a command. 

He strokes her clit, 

“Again” And she does.

And again, more times than she can count. 

Finally, he unties her, leads her to a bed fitted with new, clean sheets and scented with almond water. He uses a soft towel to rub down her entire body, removing the last traces of oil. 

He lays beside her, folding her in his arms, he whispers,  

“My darling , my angle, you were magnificent“. 

She drifts off ….. with those words…… the last she hears before a deep and peaceful sleep over takes her.  

25 Waking Down

It seems as though the primary way the Great Mystery chooses to reveal itself to me is by calling my attention to books which relate to my next step. This time it was one titled “The Translucent Revolution” by Arjuna Ardagh . The focus of this book is on people who “woke up” spontaneously. In other words, the experience of “enlightenment” arrived in their consciousness and set up house keeping. It would be easy to get caught up in defining the words “enlightenment” and “consciousness“, but I’m not at all sure I wish to take on that task at this point, maybe not ever for that matter. 

For now I will just continue with this story.

One of the people noted in 14 different places in the above mentioned book is a man named Saniel Bonder. His story rang a very familiar bell with me. 

Turns out he was Adi Da’s right man for many years, but one day, ( to make a long story short ) he announced that he had “awakened” just as Da said he would. And, he was promptly ostracized. Of course, would the great man allow an equal in his court? No way. Competition for money, power and woman would not be tolerated. So Bonder left and after a time began to collect a small following of his own. Sound familiar? 

I made contact with him and some of his people and spent quite a bit of time with them off and on over the course of a year or so. By and large they are a very likable bunch, well educated for the most part and the vast majority had been thought the “spiritual awaking mill” just as I have. Many were ex Adi Da people. 

Like many other groups, they hold seminars and retreats, some lasting a week or more. I went to several of their weekend events and one week long seminar. The seven day affair was my last contact with Waking Down.

A highlight of this week was that Sanial, who felt himself to be a Shaman, offered to do a “cleansing ritual” for anyone who was interested. I thought it might be informative and had nothing to loose so I signed up. 

He only did a few ceremonies a day and since I had signed up late, my turn came near the end of the retreat. Anyone who wanted to watch was invited as long as there was room. This seemed like a good idea so I arrived ahead of my appointed time to observe. 

The “patient” ( this word is not exactly correct but it seems to be close enough ).

The patient lays on a pile of pillows and cushions placed on the floor; they are enclosed in a circle of small stones. The curtains are drawn so the room is in semi darkness but with small lamps shedding light in what would otherwise be dark corners. Those observing sit on chairs and couches arraigned around the walls.

Out of respect for Saniel and the other participants, I won’t go into any of the details of the ritual, but it was interesting and seemed to have a positive affect on many people. My turn comes; I am relaxed as I lay down on the cushions; Saniel starts the ceremony and very quickly I feel a wall, as solid as if it were made of stone descend like a medieval portcullis from my head to my feet. I was a bit shocked, and could see no reason for this reaction, I did not feel threatened in any way. But the intent of the barrier was crystal clear; no one was getting in. Period. 

Saniel just looked at me, I could see he was perplexed and frankly, so was I. Finely he just said something to the effect that “….this could take some time.” 

I just nodded and said maybe we could try later. But I know there would be no later. I left the next morning, a day early. I made some lame excuse and headed for the airport. 

I felt like I had really reached the end of the road with this searching business; close to forty years at that point and Saniel says “This could take some time”? 

I want to be clear, I do not blame him or any of the people at that seminar, it was all me. I just had had enough. I had spent countless thousands of hours to say nothing about a small fortune pursuing the “Awakening” and here was a man who I am pretty sure WAS awake to one extent or another telling me this could take some time?  

No, that was it, I was done. 

26 A Funeral, the South of England, 2016  

They had tried everything, all the traditional western medical models, natural foods and strict diet, but nothing had worked. Even the Tibetan Shaman who came highly recommended could not help, his parting words were that the rituals would take much time, he did not think the patient would live long enough. 

And, as fate would have it, few days later the old man regained conscience one last time, muttered “That’s it, I’m done.”

And died.  

The building was a large two story brick Tudor, which was in immaculate condition, as good as if someone actually lived there. Bushes trimmed, walkway swept, white trim paint gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Through the great bay windows could be seen large ornate crystal chandeliers, with many small bulbs projecting light through tens of dozens of crystal pendants.  

The energy signature that used to be Robert Mortimer, the 5th lord Rutherford, had adjusted nicely to his new condition, being dead that is. He was actually enjoying it now that he had learned to control his movements some what. At the moment his awareness, that is, the essence of who he thought of himself as, was occupying a new “body”; one which did not seem to have any substance to it at all. I was very light with a gray coloring resembling smoke. He has taken up a position in a corner of the room near the ceiling which offered an excellent birds eye view of the room below.  

The crowed arrayed below him almost out glittered the light fixtures. 

They are a well dressed lot, the woman in basic black, with double strands of pearls encircling their crape paper necks, flashing diamonds on stick fingers, colorful scarves used as belts (this being the fashion ten years ago ). 

The males more subdued in their dark Savile Row suits; school pins and ties rampant

“I’m right up there with the best of them“ thinks Olivia, wife to Reginald Mortimer, soon to be the 6th Lord Rutherford.

“With my Oscar De dress and Gucci pumps, actually, I am more than a match for any of them. Far more.” Her she notes smugly to herself. . 

Everyone was grouped into small herds, engaged in conversation or strolling from one group to another, chatting for a moment than moving on. The tall distinguished man at the door greeted each new comer with a warm hand shake and grave smile, inviting each to sign the guest book located on a stand just to the right, in the hall. He is very well paid to play his part. 

For all the world, this looks like a gathering of social elites, collected together here to celebrate a graduation or perhaps a wedding.  

But when the gust of honor arrives, the true nature of this event becomes apparent.

He arrives in a box.

This is the moment the deceased has been waiting for; he wants to see the reaction of this crowed

The coffin is an expensive affair, mahogany and brass with silver trimmings. Made by the finest craftsman in Germany, and costing many thousands of Euros. It had been imported especially for this event. 

The former occupant of the body residing in this elaborate container is observing the proceedings with great interest, his attention centered on his daughter-in -law Olivia. He has never quite warmed to her, there was always something which nagged at him, something not quiet right, but he was never able to put his finger on exactly what it was.  

He is aware that despite his 96 years, for some reason his demise seems to have come as a gigantic surprise to all. Aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews; their spouses, offspring and even a bastard who, since he had risen very high in Government Service was not only tolerated but actually had his ass kissed regularly. 

Somehow, everyone professed to believe the old buzzard would go on indefinitely. Yes, he was quite aware of the names they bestowed upon him, old buzzard was actually fairly mild.  

They are all accomplished actors of course, he know their displays of grief and dismay are as genuine as crocodile farts. 

The fact is, they are secretly elated at this turn of events. I used the word “secretly” as a singular when in fact, in this case, it is a plural. Several of them. 

You see, there are quite a few secrets in operation here. 

The cause of secret number one is, of course, one daren’t show any positive reaction to finally being rid of him, their dear departed relative and his obnoxious aura.

Secret numero dos is they all think they will…..should…..hopefully….damn well better! become vastly more well endowed in their respective pocket books.  

None of this is apparent on the surface of course. But, underneath? Well, that is an enormously different picture. 

You see, he knows these people very well, under a thin polished veneer, a visible glaze which is much like the frosting on a sugar donut, (nice to look at but very bad for your health ) lays an inner core which is far more true than anything visible to the eye. This core is akin to something like lead, painted a dark and unappetizing buzzard puke green.  

And now at last the former Lord Rutherford has discovered the reason for his distrust of Olivia. With his new “abilities” he had followed her to the lady’s room. There, she had become careless because she thought she was alone. This carelessness had reveled that she, wife to his favorite son, potential bearer of the much hoped for male hair the Rutherford estates, had been born a man. 

27 ACIM

OK, so maybe I’m not quite done. 

I was relating some of this history to a my good friend Jane W. she is a very intelligent and well educated woman with a solid background in philosophy and things spiritual.

She dragged out a fat blue book, thumbed around awhile, and finally finding what she was looking for proceeded to read from the text. I knew this book, I had run across it several years ago and my reaction then was, right, more Christian fluff. I had read enough of this book to “be sure” it was of no interest.

However, the section she was reading, for some reason had an impact on me, I wanted to know more. Now with this second reading, I was “hearing” it with different ears. This material is not fluff, far from it. To the contrary it is not out of place to referred to it as esoteric Christianity or better yet Non Dualism for Christians. ( Jane’s phrase )

The book and its system are often referred to by the letters ACIM.

ACIM …. A Course In Miracles; and It is a very sophisticated system of mind training, in many ways similar to advanced forms of Buddhism but encompassing areas the Buddhists have not ventured into.

It is over 1200 pages of small type, broken down into three sections. One section is made up of 365 lessons; doing these lessons is how the mind training takes place. The aim of this training is to correct the miss perceptions which are at the root of our unbalanced view of the world and ourselves. 

It doesn’t require a teacher, guru or spiritual guide of any kind. The book itself is the teacher. There are groups all over the world devoted to this practice so one can go to meetings if one wishes, it might be helpful, but it is not necessary.  

It would be tempting to write many pages trying to describe what the Course is all about but that is not my intent here, anyone who is interested can find a copy and see for themselves.  

So it would seem that the four major life experiences had the effect of demonstrating, beyond any reasonable doubt, that my perceptions are incorrect, they are distorted to the point where I have to conclude I do not see “reality” as it truly is.

The out of body experiences show clearly that “I”, my awareness, my consciousness is not limited to this physical body, it can operate separately from it.

The shooting experience in the Army, revealed that the appearance of my immediate environment can be radically altered in a heart beat and more, that something can intervene to the alter the course of events.

The terror, while extreme, was in many ways the least informative of the four; certainly it showed the power of the mind to produce negative experiences, but to this day I have not learned how to voluntarily produce the opposite.  

The common thread in here is that in all cases, my perception was incomplete at best and in the case of the “Greater Reality“, it was absolutely opposite from what it could be.  

So, I am left with what is, for me, an inescapable conclusion: the human organism, the five senses and the system which interprets everything is faulty, it is putting a meaning on events which I know, from first hand experience can be seen in an entirely different light if “something” were altered.  

All my searching for these many years was an attempt to discover what needed to be changed, fixed, corrected, and how to do that. 

At this point, I an certain of one thing, I can not do it myself

  

   

28 Conclusion

It would be nice to say, yes, I have reached a conclusion and here it is: 

This, this, that, that, blagh, blagh. And you should too.

But, no, happily that is not the case. The best I can do is say that my goal, from the very first time I experienced the “Greater Reality“, has been to live in that state permanently. All the searching, the striving, the efforts, the reading and experimenting was, and still is, aimed at attaining that. 

Is that state “enlightenment“? 

I don’t know. I have read many descriptions which seemed to indicate that it might very well be; and yet others speak only of a “oneness with everything’ and make no reference to “Bliss”. This word, “Bliss” is one I distrust but it does seem to be applicable to the “Greater Reality” Experience. 

Present Oboma has his State of the Union Message, and I, not to be out done, have mine.

Currently, there are times where my inner condition has many of the elements of the original experience: an inner calmness, an unhurried approach to things and events, a peacefulness of mind which I thought impossible just one year ago.

 ( 2010 ).  

There is also an overall positive wish for the well being and good fortune of all creatures, human and other wise. 

Is this state constant? No, it comes and goes, when it is present it can vary in intensity a great deal. Sometimes days go by in which it makes no appearance, on other days it may last for many hours. There is no way to know how or when it will manifest.

What is significant is that it is slowly, very slowly increasing in duration and intensity. As long as that continues, I have no doubt at some point I will live in that “Reality” 24/7. I count this as a “Miracle”

I truly wish I could tell you, step by step, how this came about, so you could do it too. Unfortunately, that is absurd on the face of it. I don’t know the step by step of it and even if I did, it was my process and most likely would not correspond to your process, except in a very general way. 

I also sincerely wish I had some advice to offer, but I don’t, other than to say be very careful of anyone who claims to have the answer, one who says they know what “enlightenment” is and what you need to do to achieve it. Especially if it involves large amounts of money ( you define large ) A few bucks here and there, sure, but hundreds? Regularly? Be very careful. 

For now, I will leave it at this: we are all “works in process” , nothing is finished, 

( or concluded ) so keep at it…. or not, as you wish. 

  The Great Mystery

What we are, who we are, what our place is, how things and events are connected ( if they are connected at all ) And most of all what can be done about it all, that is the greatest mystery of all. 

Hopefully, this has provided some ideas relating to pathways which might be of interest to you; if you are so inclined. If not, well, as was said at the beginning, take what you like and leave the rest. 

 

   

 

 

o

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